a whole lot better.'
Keen watched the clerk's wariness change to gratitude, and as the door closed he said, 'That was good of you, sir.'
Bolitho made himself sit down and tugged his shirt free from his moist skin.
'I have been hard on you too, Val. I apologize.'
Keen gauged the moment and said, 'As your flag-captain, I have the freedom to suggest and warn if the occasion arises.'
'You do.' Bolitho smiled grimly. 'Thomas Herrick was quick to use that freedom, so speak your mind.'
Keen shrugged. 'You are beset from every side, sir. The French will not discuss San Felipe with you, nor do they need to as our two governments have signed an agreement on its future. The Americans do not wish to have the French on their doorstep as it could make their own strategy difficult in any future conflict. The governor of the island will fight you all the way, and I suspect that Admiral Sheaffe knew that from the beginning. So why should we worry? If the governor refuses to submit we can arrest him and put him in irons.' His tone hardened. 'Too many men have died to make his position count. Better we take command of the island than to leave its future with him. He probably craves independence from the Crown and will play one faction against the other if we allow it.'
Bolitho smiled. 'I have thought of that. But Sparrowhawk's loss and the unwarranted attack on this ship do not fit the pattern. That ship was Spanish-built, if I'm any judge, and yet His Most Catholic Majesty has voiced no protest about San Felipe. So we either have an attempted coup in the offing or piracy on the grand scale. Hell's teeth, Val, after all these years of war there would be plenty with the experience and the desperation to play for such high odds.'
Keen placed his fingertips together. 'And I know you are deeply concerned for your wife, sir.' He watched, waiting to see Bolitho's grey eyes give a flash of danger. 'The waiting has been hard on you, especially after your experiences as a prisoner of war.'
A boat pulled below the counter and Bolitho strode to the windows to examine her passengers. But they were only a few sight-seers, a local trader or two still trying to bargain with the sailors on the upper deck.
Adam was not here.
Keen read his thoughts and said, 'He is young, sir. Maybe it was a wrong choice to appoint him flag- lieutenant.'
Bolitho swung on him hotly. 'Did Browne say as much?'
Keen shook his head. 'I formed my own opinion. Your nephew is a fine young man, and I have nothing but affection for him. You have watched over him from the beginning, treated him like a son.'
Bolitho faced him again. He had no fight left. 'Was that wrong too?'
Keen smiled sadly. 'Certainly not, sir.'
Bolitho walked past his chair and rested his hand momentarily on the young captain's shoulder.
'But you are so right. I did not accept it because I did not wish to.' He waved down Keen's protest. 'I never saw Adam's mother, nobody did. The one good thing she ever did was to send him across the country to Falmouth, to me. But you were correct about me. I love him like a son, but he is not my son. His father was Hugh, my brother. Maybe there is too much of Hugh in him -
Keen stood up quickly. 'Let it stop there, sir. You are tiring yourself to no good purpose. We all look to you. I believe we are in for trouble. I do not think we would have been sent otherwise.'
Bolitho poured two glasses of claret and handed one to Keen.
'You are a good flag-captain, Val. It took courage to say that. And it is true. Personal feelings do not come into it.
Later maybe, but now the slightest anxiety may transmit itself through this ship.' He held the glass to the sunlight. 'And Old Katie will have enough to contend with. She can manage without an admiral who is so wrapped up in his own troubles he can think of nothing else.'
There was a nervous tap at the door and Yovell entered, his eyes fixed on Bolitho.
Keen looked away, unable to watch as Bolitho took the single letter from his clerk's hand.
He wanted to leave but, like the clerk, was unwilling to snap the spell.
Bolitho read the short letter and then folded it with great care.
'Get the ship under way, if you please. The wind will suffice to clear the harbour.' He met Keen's even stare.
'The letter is from my sister in Falmouth. My wife… His lips hesitated on her name as if they were afraid. 'Belinda is not well. The letter was written some time ago for the packet made another landfall before Boston. But she knew that the packet was sailing. And she wanted to let me know she was thinking of me.' He turned away, his eyes suddenly stinging. 'Even though she was too ill to write.'
Keen looked at Yovell's stricken face and gave a quick jerk of the head.
When the clerk had gone he said gently, 'It was what I would expect her to do, sir. And that is how you must see it.'
Bolitho looked at him and then nodded. 'Thank you, Val. Please leave me now. I shall come up directly.'
Keen walked through the adjoining cabin space and past the motionless marine sentry at the outer screen door.
Herrick would have known what to do. He felt helpless and yet deeply moved that Bolitho had shared his despair with him.
He saw Allday beside an eighteen-pounder and gestured to him.
Allday listened to him and then gave a great sigh. It seemed to come from the soles of his shoes, Keen thought.
Then Allday said, 'I'll go aft, sir. He needs a friend just now.' His face tried to grin. 'He'll no doubt take me to task for my impertinence, but what the hell? He'll crack like a faulty musket barrel if we allows it, an' that's no error.'
Keen strode out into the noon sunlight, adjusting his hat as his lieutenants and the master turned to face him.
'Stand by to get under way, Mr Quantock. I want to see your best today with half the port watching us.'
As the officers hurried to their stations and the boatswain's mates sent their shrill calls below decks, Keen ran lightly up a poop ladder and looked briefly at the anchored shipping, at the angle of the masthead pendant.
Then he glanced at the open skylight on the poop deck and thought of the man beneath it.
He cupped his hands. 'Mr Mountsteven, your men are like cripples today.'
He saw the lieutenant touch his hat and bob anxiously.
Keen made himself breathe out very slowly.
That was better. He was the captain again.
The negro groom wiped his hands on a piece of rag and announced, 'Wheel all fixed, sah.'
Adam helped the girl to her feet and together they walked reluctantly from the shade of some trees and down to the dusty road.
The carriage had shed a wheel as it had rounded a bend in the road and had dipped into a deep rut.
There had been momentary confusion, the carriage lurching over and a door opening to reveal the road rising to meet them. Then in the sudden silence Adam had realized his unexpected good fortune. What might have ended in injury and disaster had become a perfect conclusion to the visit.
As the carriage had bounced to a halt Adam had acted instantly and without conscious thought other than to save his companion from hurt. Then as the dust settled, and the coachman and groom had hurried fearfully to look inside, Adam had found the girl held tightly in his arms, her fair hair pressed against his mouth, her heart pounding to match his own.
It had taken longer than expected to repair the damage, but Adam had barely noticed. Together they had walked through the green woodland, had held hands while they had watched a stream and spoken of anything but their true feelings.
The whole visit to Newburyport had been an adventure, and Adam had been taken to visit a small, comfortable house by Robina and her father, and they had watched him, fascinated, while he had walked through every room with the owner, a friend of the family, and had touched the walls, the fireplaces, and one old chair which had always been in the house.
Robina had tried not to weep as he had sat in the big chair, his hands grasping the well-worn arms as if he
