Herrick remarked, “The mail-boat took your despatches ashore, sir. She’s just returned to her boom.”
“I see.” It was Herrick’s way of telling him that there was no letter from Belinda.
He glanced through one of the windows. The sky was as clear as yesterday’s, but the sea was livelier. He would use the wind to seek out the ships of the blockading squadron where he was to assume control. Off Belle Ile, a key point in a chain of patrols and squadrons which stretched from Gibraltar to the Channel ports. Beauchamp certainly intended that he should be in the centre of things. This particular sector would cover the approaches to Lorient in the north and the vital routes to and from the Loire Estuary to the east. But if it was a stranglehold on the enemy’s trade and resources it could also be a hazard for an unwary British frigate or sloop should she be caught on a lee shore or too interested in a French harbour to notice the swift approach of an attacker.
Bolitho was no stranger to Styx. He had been aboard her several times, and in the Baltic had seen her young captain engage the enemy with the coolness of a veteran.
Bolitho threw down his towel, angry with himself for his dreaming. He must stop going over past events. Think only of what lay ahead, and the ships which would soon be depending on him. He was a flag-officer now and, like Herrick, he had to accept that promotion was an honour, not some god-given right.
He smiled awkwardly as he realized the others were staring at him.
Allday asked mildly, “Second thoughts, mebbee, sir?”
“About what, damn you?”
Allday rolled his eyes around the big cabin. “Well, I mean, sir, after this the Styx will seem more like a pot o’ paint than a ship! ”
Herrick said, “You get away with murder, Allday. One day you’ll overstep the mark, my lad!” He looked at Bolitho. “All the same, he has a point. You could shift flag to Nicator, and I could take command until-”
Bolitho eyed him impassively. “Old friend, it is no use. For either of us. Today you assume the appointment of commodore and will hoist your broad-pendant accordingly. You will eventually have to select your own flag-captain and attend to the appointment of a new one for Indomitable.”
He tried to parry the thought aside. Another memory. Indomitable had been in the thick of it at Copenhagen, and it was not until after the order to cease fire that Bolitho had learned that her captain, Charles Keverne, had fallen in the fighting. Keverne had been Bolitho’s first lieutenant when he had been a flag-captain like Herrick. Links in a chain. As each one broke, the chain got shorter and tighter.
Bolitho continued sharply, “And I cannot moon about here like a sixth lieutenant. The decisions are not ours.”
Feet clattered in the passageway, and he knew that, like himself, Herrick was very conscious of these precious moments. Soon there would be the busy comings and goings of officers for orders, senior officials from Plymouth to be flattered and coaxed into greater efforts to finish the repairs. Yovell, his clerk, would have more letters to copy and be signed, Ozzard would need to be told what to pack, what to leave aboard the Benbow until… he frowned. Until when?
Herrick turned quickly as the sentry shouted the arrival of the first lieutenant.
“I am needed, sir.” He sounded wretched.
Bolitho gripped his hand. “I am sorry I’ll not be here when your broad-pendant breaks. But if I have to go, I’d like to go with haste.”
Wolfe appeared in the doorway. “Beg pardon, sir, but there’s a visitor coming aboard.” He was looking at Bolitho who felt his heart give a great leap. It fell just as quickly as Wolfe said flatly, “Your flag-lieutenant is here, sir.”
Herrick exclaimed, “Browne?”
Allday hid a grin. “Browne with an ‘e.’”
“Send him aft.” Bolitho sat down again.
Lieutenant the Honourable Oliver Browne had been thrust upon him as flag-lieutenant by Beauchamp. Instead of the emptyminded aide he had appeared at first meeting, Browne had proved himself invaluable as adviser to a newly appointed rear-admiral, and later as a friend. When the battered ships had returned from the Baltic, Bolitho had allowed Browne a choice. Return to his more civilized surroundings and duties in London, or resume as his flag- lieutenant.
When Browne entered the cabin he looked unusually dishevelled and weary.
Herrick and Wolfe hastily left the cabin, and Bolitho said, “This is unexpected.”
The lieutenant sank down into a proffered chair, and as his cloak fell aside Bolitho saw the dark stains on his breeches, sweat and leather. He must have ridden like a madman.
Browne said huskily, “Sir George Beauchamp died last night, sir. He completed his orders for your squadron and then…” He gave a shrug. “He was at his table with his maps and charts.” He shook his head. “I thought you should know, sir. Before you sail for Belle Ile.”
Bolitho had learned never to question Browne’s knowledge of things which were supposed to be secret.
“Ozzard. Make some fresh coffee for my flag-lieutenant.” He saw Browne’s tired features light up slightly. “If that is what you intend to be?”
Browne released the cloak from his throat and shook himself. “Indeed, I was praying for that, sir. I wish nothing more than to get away from London, from the carrion!”
Overhead, calls trilled and tackles creaked as more stores and equipment were hoisted up from the lighters alongside.
But down in the cabin it was different. Very still, as Browne described how Beauchamp had died at his table, his signature barely dry on his last despatches.
Browne said evenly, “I have brought those orders direct to you, sir. Had you sailed before I arrived here, it is likely they would never have been put aboard a courier brig and sent after you.”
“You are saying that Sir George’s plan would have been cancelled?”
Browne held a cup of coffee in both hands, his face thoughtful. “Postponed indefinitely. There are, I fear, too many in high places who can see nothing but a treaty with France. Not as the respite which Lord St Vincent and some of the others see it, but as a means to profit and exploit the plunder which an armistice will bring. Any attack on French harbours and shipping with peace so near would be seen by them as a handicap not an advantage.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
Bolitho looked past him at the two swords on the bulkhead. What did men such as Browne had described know of honour?
Browne smiled. “I thought it was important you should know. With Sir George Beauchamp alive and in control of future events, your activities on the new station would have made no difference to your security, no matter what hornets’ nest you disturbed.” He looked at Bolitho steadily, his youthful face suddenly mature. “But with Sir George dead there is nobody to defend you if things go wrong. His record of achievements and service will give weight to your instructions and nobody will question them. But should you fail, it will be a scapegoat not a blameless commander who returns here.”
Bolitho nodded. “Not for the first time.”
Browne smiled. “After Copenhagen I can believe anything of you, sir, but I am uneasy about the risk this time. Your name is known and toasted from Falmouth to the ale houses of Whitechapel. And so is Nelson’s, but their lordships are not so impressed that they could not hurt him for his impudence at Copenhagen.”
“Tell me.” Bolitho stared at the young lieutenant. His was another world. Intrigue and scheming, influence of fortune and family. No wonder Browne was glad to be quitting the land. The Benbow had given him a taste for excitement.
Browne sounded bitter. “Nelson. Victor of the Nile, hero of Copenhagen, the public’s darling. And now, their lordships intend that he should be appointed to take charge of a new force of recruited landsmen to defend the Channel coast against possible invaders!” He spat out the words angrily. “A set of drunken, goodfor-nothing rascals to all accounts! A fine reward for Our Nel!”
Bolitho was appalled. He had heard plenty of gossip about Nelson’s contempt for authority, his incredible luck which had so far saved him when others might have expected ruin at a court martial. Browne was only trying to protect him. He had no chance at all if he failed to execute Beauchamp’s plan with complete success.
Bolitho said quietly, “If you are coming with me, I intend to sail on the tide. Tell Allday what you need and he will have it sent over to Styx. Anything else you require will doubtless catch up with you later. With influential friends like yours, it should he easy to arrange.” He held out his hand. “Tell me. What are these orders?”
