Honour This Day

weigh tomorrow and sail with their flagship. It was to be hoped they did not run down on some enemy frigates before they reached the Main. The brigs mounted only forty-two pop-guns between them. If only the one sloop-of- war had received his recall signal. The Phaedra at least looked like a small frigate, and in proper hands could double as one. Or was he again thinking of his first command, and the luck he had enjoyed with her?

Bolitho walked slowly to the end of the slipway where it dipped into the uneasy catspaws. The water looked like ebony, with only occasional shadows and reflections from riding-lights, or as in Hyperion's case, the checkered lines of open gunports. He felt the warm breeze stir his coat-tails and tried to picture his chart, the uncertainties which marked each of the six hundred miles as surely as any beacons.

Bolitho tried not to become irritated when he thought of Haven. He was no coward, but had shown himself to be beset by other, deeper anxieties. Whatever he really believed about being given command of a veteran like Hyperion, Bolitho knew differently. Old she might be, but she was a far better sailer than most. He smiled sadly, recalling her as she had been when he had first taken command as a young captain. She had been in commission so long without entering harbour for a refit that she was unbearably s'ow. Even with her copper-sheathing, the weed on her bottom had been yards long, so that under full sail she could only manage half the speed of her companions.

It was unusual for any captain to antagonise his admiral, whether he hated him or not. The climb to promotion was hard enough without flinging down more obstacles. Haven refused every offer of personal contact, and when, on the passage from England, tradition had insisted on his presence at table while Bolitho had entertained some of the junior officers, he had kept to himself. Alone amongst so many. He thought of the picture of Haven's pretty wife. Was she the cause of his moods? Bolitho grimaced in the darkness. That he would understand well enough.

A shadowy fishing-boat slipped past the nearest anchored brig. She could be carrying a message to the enemy. If the Dons found out what they intended, the admiral in Havana would have a hole squadron at sea within hours of receiving the news.

It was time to return to the jetty where his barge would be waiting, but he felt a reluctance to leave. It was peaceful here, an escape from danger and the call of duty.

The fishing-boat had vanished, unaware of the thoughts it had roused.

Bolitho stared at Hyperion's glowing lines of open ports. As if she was still hanging on to the angry sunset, or was burning from within. He thought of the six hundred souls packed into her rounded hull and once again felt the pain of his responsibility, which wrongly directed could destroy them all.

They did not ask for much, and even the simplest comforts were too often denied them. He could picture these faceless men now, the Royal Marines in their barracks, as they termed their section of the deck, polishing and cleaning their equipment. At other mess tables between the guns where sailors lived out their watches below, some seamen would be working on delicate scrimshaw, or making tiny models of bone and shell. Seamen with hands so roughened by cordage and tar, yet they could still produce such fine results. The midshipmen, of which Hyperion carried eight, would be performing their studies for promotion to the godly rank of lieutenant, sometimes working by the smallest light, a glim set in an old shell.

The officers had not yet emerged except for brief contact on deck, or at dinner in his cabin. Given time they would show what they could or could not do. Bolitho swung his hat at some buzzing insect in the darkness. Given leadership. It all came down to that. He heard Jenour's shoes scrape on the rough ground as he turned towards the top of the boatshed.

Then he heard the carriage wheels, the stamp of a restless horse, and a man calling out to calm it.

Jenour whispered hoarsely,' Tis a lady, Sir Richard.'

Bolitho turned, only his heart giving away his feelings. Not once did he question who it might be at this hour. Perhaps he had inwardly been expecting her, hoping she might find him. And yet he knew otherwise. He felt off- guard, as if he had been stripped naked.

They met below the propped-up bow of an old boat and Bolitho saw that she was covered from head to toe in a long cloak; its cowl hung loosely over her hair. Beyond her he could see a carnage on the road, a man at the horse's head, two small lamps casting an orange glow across the harness.

Jenour made to leave but she waved his apology aside and said, 'It is well. I have my maid with me.'

Bolitho stepped closer but she did not move towards him. She was completely hidden by the cloak, with just the oval of her face and a gold chain at her throat to break the darkness.

She said, 'You are leaving very soon.' It was a statement. 'I came to wish you luck with whatever -' Her voice trailed away. Bolitho held out his hand, but she said quickly, 'No. It is unfair.' She spoke without emotion, so that her voice seemed full of it. 'You met my husband?'

'Yes.' Bolitho tried to see her eyes but they too were in deep shadow. 'But I want to speak about you, to hear what you have been doing.'

She lifted her chin. 'Since you left me?' She half turned away. 'My husband spoke to me of your private meeting. You impressed him. He does not admire others very often. The fact you knew of the frigate's new name…'

Bolitho persisted, 'I need to talk, Kate.' He saw her shiver.

She said quietly, 'I once asked you to call me that.'

'I know. I do not forget.' He shrugged and knew he was floundering, losing a battle he could not fight.

'Nor 1.1 read everything I could, as if I expected that with time I could lose what I had felt. Hatred was not enough…' She broke off. 'I was hurt -1 bled because of you.'

'I did not know.'

She did not hear him. 'Did you imagine that your life meant so little to me that I could watch years of it pass and not be hurt? Years I could never share… did you think I loved you so little?'

'I thought you turned aside, Kate.'

'Perhaps I did. There was nothing offered. More than anything I wanted you to succeed, to be recognised for what you are. Would you have had people sneer when I passed as they do at Nelson's whore' How would you have ridden that storm, tell me?'

Bolitho heard Jenour's shoes as he moved away, but no longer cared.

'Please give me the chance to explain -'

She shook her head. 'You married another and have a child, I believe.'

Bolitho dropped his hands to his sides. 'And what of you? You married him.'

'Him*' She showed one hand through the cloak but withdrew it again. 'Lacey needed me. I was able to help him. As I told you, I wanted security.'

They watched each other in silence and then she said, 'Take care in whatever madness you are involved. I shall probably not see you again.'

Bolitho said, 'I shall sail tomorrow. But then he doubtless told you that too.'

For the first time her voice rose in passion and anger.

'Don't you use that tone with me¹1 came tonight because of the love 1 believed in. Not out of grief or pity. If you think -'

He reached out and gripped her arm through the cloak.

'Do not leave in anger, Kate.' He expected her to tear her arm away and hurry back to the coach. But something in his tone seemed to hold her.

He persisted, 'When I think of never seeing you again I feel guilty, because I know I could not bear it.'

She said in a whisper, 'It was your choice.'

'Not entirely.'

'Would you tell your wife you had seen me? I understand she is quite a beauty. Could you do that?'

She stepped back slightly. 'Your silence is my answer.'

Bolitho said bitterly, 'It is not like that.'

She glanced round towards the carriage and Bolitho saw the cowl fall from her head, caught the gleam of the lamps on her earrings. The ones he had given her.

She said, 'Please leave.' When he made to hold her again she backed away. 'Tomorrow I shall see the ships stand away from the land.' She put her hand to her face. 'I will feel nothing, Richard, because my heart, such as it is, will sail with you. Now go!'

Then she turned and ran from the shed, her cloak swirling about her until she reached the carriage.