'Carry on, if you please, Mr Carwithen.'
It was almost dark on deck and Keen saw that the lantern by the entry port had been doused.
The boat was waiting below the stairs, and there were few figures on deck to notice that someone was leaving the ship.
Keen saw that Tuson was there, Paget too, but nobody spoke; even the master's mate-of-the-watch stood back as Bolitho passed, as if he did not exist.
Keen brushed her arm, the small contact tearing him apart.
'It is their way. They will miss you too.'
She looked into the gloom and then touched her hat before she clambered down the side.
Bolitho glanced at Keen. 'The LordEgmont's master is an old friend, Val. I made certain he was still in command before I entrusted our passenger to his care.' He flung his cloak over one shoulder. 'There is not a moment to delay.'
Keen said, 'We were just in time, sir.'
Bolitho looked down into the boat where Allday would be worrying about his descent.
'A time to care, Val. There must always be room for that.'
Then without another glance he lowered himself down to the boat. As the oars slashed at the water Keen could just see Allday in the sternsheets, one hand covering hers on the tiller, but hidden from the oarsmen by Bolitho's shoulders.
Ozzard bounded across the deck and exclaimed in a desperate whisper, 'The gown, sir! She's forgot it!'
Keen watched until the gig had merged with the anchored shadows and then replied, 'No matter. I shall hand it to her myself, in England.'
12. DIVIDED ROYALTIES
THE RESIDENCE of the flag-officer in charge of all His Majesty's ships, stores and dockyards in the island of Malta was a fine, imposing building.
After the dusty sunlight of the streets Bolitho found the room to which he had been ushered both welcome and cool. One long window looked out across the harbour, the crowded ships at the anchors, the criss-crossing wakes of cutters and gigs as the Navy got down to work for another day.
Waiting. In the Navy you always seemed to be doing it. As a midshipman or lieutenant, and even as a captain. When did it cease, he wondered?
He thought of the brig Lord Egmont and pictured her under full sail, heading for the Rock. She would not pause there for fear of fever, but would head out to the Atlantic and drop anchor only when she was in Carrick Roads, within sight of the Bolitho home.
He thought too of the brig's small cabin, and her master, Isaac Tregidgo, facing him across the table.
The master had a face like a block of weathered wood, lined and scarred by years at sea, fast passages and quick rewards. Tregidgo's name was legendary even amongst other masters in the Falmouth Packet Service. Storms, fever, piracy and war, the old man had faced them all. He must be over seventy, Bolitho thought, and he had known him all his life. Even his greeting had been typical.
'Sit ye down, Dick.' He had grinned hugely as Bolitho had dropped his boat-cloak. 'An' I hears yewm been honoured by King George, no less,' he had wheezed in the thick air of pipe smoke and brandy. 'But yewm still Dick to me!'
Bolitho had heard the girl moving about in the adjoining cabin. It was little more than a hutch, but it was safe.
The master had eyed him curiously. 'Might 'ave guessed yewd be up to summat, admiral's flag or not.' He had raised a fist like a smoked ham. 'Not to worry, Dick. She's safe with me. I knows me crew are a bunch o' roughknots, but I often carry me grandchildren on short passages. The men knows better'n to cuss an' blaspheme in front o' them!' He had shaken the fist grimly. 'I'll give any man, even me own kin, a striped shirt at the gangway if I catches 'im at it!'
The brig had stirred at her cable and old Tregidgo had squinted at the deckhead. 'Wind's favourin' me, Dick.' He had added slowly, 'I'll see 'er right, just like you said in yer letter.' He had watched him from beneath his sprouting white brows.
'Yewm not seeing too well, are yew, Dick?' He had turned aside to hide his compassion. 'God will watch 'e.'
The girl had entered the cabin self-consciously, the midshipman's coat and dirk in her hands.
'Keep the shoes.' Bolitho held her hands. 'Mr Hickling will not miss them. You will have to remain a youth until you reach Falmouth.'
She had watched him with that same misty stare he had first seen. It was like an unspoken question. He was still not sure how to answer it.
He had said, 'I am sending you to my sister Nancy. She will know what to do.' He had gripped her hands tightly, knowing she would pull away as he added, 'Her husband is the squire and the senior magistrate.'
'But, sir, he'll have me-'
He had said, 'No. I am not overkeen on the man, but he will not fail over this.'
He wrapped his cloak around him and reached for the companion.
She had said, 'I shall never forget you, Sir Richard.'
He had turned to see the tears in her eyes, the sad beauty which even her shorn hair and crumpled shirt could not conceal. 'Nor I you, brave Zenoria.'
On deck he had found the bewildered Hickling waiting for him. A midshipman had left with him. One would return. He had handed him his coat and dirk. Hickling would be safe, no matter what happened. No one could blame a mere midshipman for obeying his vice-admiral.
By the bulwark the old man said, 'I 'ear you've one o' th' Stayt boys as yer aide, Dick? From up north?'
Bolitho smiled. To a Cornishman 'up north' meant merely the opposite strip of coastline.
'Yes.' There were no secrets for long in Cornwall. Except from the revenue officers.
Tregidgo had gestured in the darkness towards the skylight.
'She's best along of me then.'
'Why d'you say that?'
'Well, 'er father was mixed up in the trouble near Zennor when a man got killed, an' the dragoons was called. Stayt was a magistrate, like the one who's wed to yer sister,' he had wheezed. 'The one they calls th' King o' Cornwall.'
The master had leaned closer and had murmured, 'It was 'im wot 'anged 'er father. I'm fair surprised young Stayt didn't mention that?'
So am I. Bolitho had lowered himself into the boat and had told Allday to head for the jetty. He had to think and he knew that Keen would want to see him as soon as he returned.
Sentries had barred his way to the repair docks until he had thrown off his cloak and they had stared with astonishment at his epaulettes. Allday had followed him anxiously, watching each step in case he lost his balance and fell into a dock.
There were some lanterns by the dock where Supreme lay. In the gloom she looked as before, her wounds and state of repair hidden in shadow.
Allday had whispered, 'Goin' aboard, sir?'
'No.' Unwilling or unable, he still did not know. But he had walked along the rough stones until he had drawn level with the taffrail where the ball had struck and flung him down.
Now, standing in the sunlight by the window, Supreme seemed like part of a strange dream. A cruel reminder.
He thought again of Tregidgo's words about Stayt. On his way here to present himself to the flag-officer-in- charge, Bolitho had been tempted more than once to ask Stayt directly about it. His flag-lieutenant had said nothing, even though he must have been aware that the girl was no longer on board.
Bolitho had sent Stayt ashore in the barge to protect his reputation and any suggestion of involvement. Or had
