hour.'
'Thank you, Adam.'
Bolitho's eyes moved back to the chart. He could picture the brig's commander clearly when he had described his discovery of the Sparrowhawk's few survivors in an American trader. Napier, that was his name. He must have sailed under every inch of canvas to make such a fast passage to Antigua and then westwards to San Felipe. Dare he hope that Electra would be able to wait in the harbour as a show of authority? She was only a small brig, but she flew the same flag as Achates.
Bolitho suspected that many of the islanders would be happier if a King's ship was always here, rather than leave the door open for the French or, as Tyrrell had said, the Spaniards.
Bolitho walked to the windows and shaded his eyes with his forearm.
'Signal Electra's captain to repair on board immediately he anchors.'
Adam smiled gravely. 'I have requested the battery to relay that signal already, Uncle.'
Bolitho turned and spread his hands. 'You'll make a fine commander one of these days, my lad.'
Keen entered the cabin and dropped into a chair at Bolitho's bidding.
'I wonder what news she brings us, sir?'
He took a glass of hock gratefully and held it to his lips. Ozzard had been keeping a special store of it in the bilges ever since the ship had left the Beaulieu River in Hampshire.
'Any news will be welcome. I sometimes feel like a man who has gone deaf.'
Keen said, 'Maybe their lordships will recall us.'
Bolitho said, 'Adam, make a signal to Vivid, better still, go across and speak with Mr Tyrrell. I'd like him aboard with me when we sail.'
Keen waited for the door to close and then put his glass down very carefully.
'May I say something, sir?'
'You disagree with my proposed strategy, is that it?'
Keen smiled briefly. 'You are taking a terrible chance. Two chances to be exact.' When Bolitho remained silent he continued, 'This man Tyrrell. How much do you know about him?'
'He was my first lieutenant…' Keen nodded. 'You mean that's not enough after twenty years?'
Keen shrugged. 'Hard to say, sir. He said himself he's desperate. He's lost his wife and family, even his reputation, because he fought for the King rather than Washington.'
'Go on.' Bolitho could sense Allday holding his breath.
'Suppose you meet with the Spaniard and bring her to action, what would we do if she hoists her true colours? Would you spark off a war?'
'Tell me about the second risk.'
Keen was perfectly right to point it out to him. But it made Bolitho feel more isolated than ever.
'The second one is that the Spanish ship, If she is still in these waters, might be waiting for you to leave harbour so that she can snatch Achates' place. You would have to fight your way back in. Not against a few stupid planters and the local militia, but a real ship, and the men to back up her authority. In my opinion, the risk outweighs the profit.' He dropped his eyes. 'I – I am sorry, sir. But it had to be said.'
Bolitho smiled sadly. 'I understand what it cost you. In truth, I do not know if a risk can ever be measured. I don't wish our people to die for no purpose. Nor do I want my own body divided between the wings and limbs tubs around the surgeon's table. I have everything to live for. Now. But… '
Keen grinned and took a refilled glass from Ozzard.
'Aye, sir, but. What a powerful argument that small word can raise against reason!'
Bolitho tapped the chart with his brass dividers.
'I believe that ship to be here, just as Jethro Tyrrell described. She has a sizeable company, so will require a good haven to shelter in while her captain seeks information about us. Beset as we are by enemies, that part will not be too difficult for him.'
Keen stood up and joined him by the table.
‘Tyrrell is right, it would make things very difficult in a war.' He ran his fingers along the islands. Puerto Rico, Santo Domingo, Haiti, even Cuba. 'The Spaniards would command all the approaches to the Caribbean and to Jamaica.' He nodded slowly, understanding spreading on his handsome features. 'And San Felipe stands astride the Windward Passage like a drawbridge. No wonder the French want the island for themselves. They need an ally, but they are not required to trust him!'
They were both studying the chart when a midshipman announced the arrival of Electra at the anchorage.
Keen buttoned his coat.
'I'll receive Commander Napier, sir.' He glanced at the table. 'I'm still not sure that I am convinced, sir.' Bolitho smiled. 'You will be.'
He allowed Ozzard to assist him into his sea-going coat out of respect for Electra’ s captain.
His body ran with sweat, and through the stern windows he saw the gentle rise and fall of the clear water and imagined himself swimming naked there. His thoughts turned instantly to Belinda. It only took a split second. Like dropping your guard through fatigue or over-confidence. The enemy's blade darting forward like a steel tongue. He had tried to occupy every moment of his time with his work and the puzzle which he must solve. But every so often he saw only Belinda and the distance which divided them like an eternal barrier.
He vaguely heard footsteps and lowered voices. He had to recover himself for their sakes as well as his own.
Soon now, probably very soon, they would have to fight. This was no haphazard scheme or piratical aspiration. The unknown ship had already proved that to be in the right was no protection. Too many had died already to support such an argument.
He faced the door. In any war the cannon was impartial. Its roar swept away saint and sinner with the same indifference.
Commander Napier, with a shining new epaulette fixed to his left shoulder for the occasion, entered and clicked his shoes together.
Bolitho took the heavy envelope from his hand and passed it to Yovell.
'You made a speedy passage, Commander Napier.'
Bolitho tried to contain his impatience as Napier was put in a chair and a glass of wine brought for him.
Napier said, ' English Harbour is almost empty of ships but for a third-rate which is refitting and two frigates. The admiral has taken the squadron to the Leeward Islands, sir. Commodore Chater is in temporary command.' He swallowed under Bolitho's grey stare. 'He sends you his respects and best wishes, sir.'
Bolitho heard Yovell breaking the seals on the canvas envelope and wanted to run and tear out the despatches from Antigua. But without the admiral there he was helpless. He knew a little of Commodore Chater. He was not one to risk the displeasure of his superior with some brave gesture.
Napier added huskily, 'I am commanded to place myself and Electra at your wishes, sir.' He screwed up his eyes as he tried to recall exactly what Chater had told him. 'When he learned of Sparrowhawk's loss he wished to send some marines to enlarge your force.'
Bolitho nodded. 'But the marines have also sailed with the squadron, am I right?'
Napier replied miserably, 'Aye, sir.' Then he brightened and added, 'But I was ordered to embark a platoon of the Sixtieth Foot in their stead, sir.'
Keen, who had followed him aft, said quietly, 'That's something.'
Bolitho turned towards the windows while he tried to fit the pieces together.
Napier said brightly, 'But I expect you knew about the soldiers, sir. The commodore sent word with the courier-brig which sailed two days ahead of me.'
Bolitho swung round. 'What did you say?'
Napier paled. 'The courier, sir. Despatches for the admiral at Antigua, others for you, sir.' He looked to Keen for comfort. 'From England, sir.'
Keen exclaimed, 'You were right, sir. They must have caught and sunk the courier-brig too.'
Bolitho grasped his hands behind his back and squeezed them until the pain controlled his dismay.
From England. With despatches. And letters. News of Belinda. And now…
He looked at Keen. 'So you are convinced?' He did not hear his answer.
To Napier he said, 'Have you a capable first lieutenant?'
