'Why did you come?' Bolitho reached out as if to touch her.
'I am sorry. That was badly put. Forgive my crudeness. I'd give so much to please you, even in a small way.'
She watched him gravely. 'You must not apologize. You have done nothing. I did not really understand. Perhaps I was too proud, too sure I could make my way without favours from others. Every smile, each hint I received was like a smirk, a bargain. And I was alone.' She tossed the hair from her face. The brief gesture was both defiant and helpless.
She said, 'Your nephew. Tell me about him.'
Bolitho looked at the flickering flames. 'His father was named a traitor when he ran from the Navy to America. There, he joined up with the privateers, and by some cruel fate I was captured by his ship during the campaign. His desertion, his acts against his own country, destroyed my father. When I heard that my brother Hugh had died in an accident in Boston I could feel no pity, no sense of loss. Then one day, Adam, my nephew, walked out of nowhere with nothing but a letter from his dead mother. He wanted to be part of his real family. Mine. He had never met his father, nor had Hugh known about his existence.'
Without realizing he had moved, Bolitho was at the small window again, staring at the windswept waterfront, the anchored ships beyond.
'But my brother had not died. He had been hiding and running for too long when quite by chance he was rescued from the sea and brought to me, of all people. He was hiding in a dead man's uniform and using his name. Where better to find refuge than in the one life he really knew?'
He felt her staring at him, her fingers clenched in her lap, as if she was afraid to speak and break the spell.
'But it was my ship he found. And his son was serving in her as a midshipman.'
'And your nephew knows nothing of this?'
'Nothing. His father died during a battle. Killed by throwing himself between Adam and a French pistol. I'll never forget it. Never.'
'I guessed part of it.' She stood up lightly and took his arm with her hand. 'Please sit down. You must be tired, worn out.'
Bolitho felt her nearness, her warmth against him.
He said, 'If I had not come to Portsmouth Adam would be dead. It is all part of one hate. My brother killed a man for
cheating at cards. Now that man's brother wishes to harm me, to destroy me by reviving the old memories and, as in this case, by hurting those I hold very dear.'
`Thank you for telling me. It could not have been easy.'
Bolitho smiled. 'Surprisingly, it was easier than I would have imagined. Maybe I needed to speak out, to share it.'
She looked at her hands, once more resting in her lap. As she did so, her long hair fell about her shoulders very slowly, as in a dream.
She said quietly, 'Will you tell him now?' 'Yes. It is his right. Although…
'You think you will lose his affection? Is that it?'
'It makes me seem selfish. But at the time it was dangerous. If Hugh had been taken he would have hanged. But only when I tell Adam will I know why I really contained the secret.'
There was a quiet tap at the door and a homely looking inn servant entered with a tray.
'Your tea, ma'am.' She shot Bolitho a quick glance and curtsied. 'Bless me, sir!' She peered at him closely. 'Captain Bolitho, isn't it?'
Bolitho stood up. 'Well, yes. What can I do for you?'
'You'll not remember, of course, sir.' But her eyes were pleading. 'My name is Mrs Huxley.'
Bolitho knew it was terribly important but could not think why. Then, like the drawing of a curtain, he saw a man's face. Not moving, but like one in a portrait.
Quietly he said, 'Of course, I remember. Your husband was a quartermaster in my ship, the old Hyperion.'
She clasped her work-reddened hands together and stared at him for several seconds.
'Aye, sir. Tom often spoke of you. You sent me money afterwards. That was so good of you, sir. Not being able to write, I didn't know how to thank you. Then I saw you just now. Just like that day when you brought the Hyperion back to Plymouth.'
Bolitho gripped her hands. 'He was a brave man. We lost a lot of fine sailors that day. Your husband is in good company.'
It was incredible. Just a word, a name, and there he was, plucked from memory to join them in this room.
'Are you all right here in Portsmouth?'
'Aye, sir.' She looked at the fire, her eyes misty. 'I couldn't face Plymouth no more. Watching the sea, waiting for Tom, an' all the while knowing he was dead.'
She made a sudden effort and added, I just wanted to speak, sir. I've never forgotten what Tom said of you. It makes him seem nearer somehow.'
Bolitho stared at the door as it shut behind her.
'Poor woman.' He turned bitterly towards the fire. 'Like all those others. Watching the horizon for the ship which never comes. Will never come.'
He broke off as he saw her face in the firelight, the tears running down her cheeks.
But she smiled at him and said softly, 'As I sat here waiting for you I wondered what you were like, really like. Allday told me a lot, but I think that sailor's widow said far more.'
Bolitho crossed to the chair and looked down at her.
'I want you so much. If I speak my inner thoughts I could drive you away. If I remain silent you may leave without a glance.' He took her hands in his, expecting her to draw away,
tensing his body as if to control his words. 'I am not speaking like this because you are in need, but because I need you, Belinda. If you cannot love me, I will find enough love for us both.' He dropped on one knee. 'Please…'
But she looked at him with alarm. 'Your wound! What are you doing?'
He released one hand and touched her face, feeling the tears on his fingers.
'My injury must wait. Right now I feel more vulnerable and defenceless than on any gundeck.'
He watched her eyes lift and settle on his. Saw the guard dropping away, as if she were stripping herself before him. She said in a low voice, 'I can love you.' She rested her head
on his shoulder, hiding her face. 'There will be no rivals, no cruel memories.'
She took his hand and opened it in hers. 'I am no wanton, and I am disturbed by the way I feel.' Then she pressed his hand around her breast, holding it there while she slowly raised her eyes to his.
'Can you feel it? There is my answer.'
Down in one of the coffee rooms Browne sat with a glass of portby his elbow, a pack of despatches on the bench beside him.
It was growing dark, and some of the servants were moving about, lighting candles and preparing for the inn's visitors from the London coach or the usual throng of officers from the dockyard.
Browne glanced at the tall, dignified clock and smiled to himself.
He had been here for hours. But as far as he was concerned, the despatches, the Benbow, even the war could wait a while longer before he disturbed the couple in the little room at the top of the inn.
15. Lay the Ghost
His Britannic Majesty's ship Benbow tilted steeply on the swell, her hull and gangways soaked with spray. The Solent was covered with cruising white horses as the wind hissed through the rigging and furled sails.
Bolitho signed one more letter and waited for his clerk to put it with all the others. The ship was groaning and muttering all around him, as if she could sense the meaning of her change of anchorage. From harbour to Spithead.
