Honour This Day

appeared to be doing well out of it, he thought.

Adam sat opposite him, his eyes distant as he watched the rolling Hampshire countryside, his reflection in the coach window like the portraits at Falmouth. ~

On and on, stops for fresh horses, tankards of ale from saucy wenches at the various coaching inns. Heavy meals when they halted so that the passengers could ease their aching muscles and test their appetites on anything from rabbit pie to the best beef. The further you went from the sea, the less sign of war you found, Bolitho decided.

The coach ground to a halt at the final inn at Ripley in the county of Surrey.

Bolitho walked along the narrow street, his cloak worn to conceal his uniform although the air was warm and filled with the scent of flowers.

England. My England.

He watched the steaming horses being led to their stables and sighed. Tomorrow they would alight at the George in Southwark. London.

Then she would give him back his confidence. Standing there, without a uniform in sight, and the sound of laughter from the inn he found he was able to say it out loud.

'Kate. I love thee.'

12. The One-Legged Man

Admiral Sir Owen Godschale watched while his servant carried a decanter of claret to a small table and then withdrew. Outside the tall windows the sun was shining, the air hot and dusty, remote like the muffled sounds of countless carriage wheels.

Bolitho took time to sip the claret, surprised that the Admiralty could still make him ill-at-ease and on the defensive. Everything had changed for him; it should be obvious, he thought. He and Adam had been ushered into a small, comfortably furnished library, something quite different from the large reception room he had seen earlier. It had been crowded with sea-officers, mostly captains, or so it had appeared. Restlessly waiting to meet a senior officer or his lackey, to ask favours, to plead for commands, new ships, almost anything. As I once was, he had thought. He still could not get used to the immediate respect, the servility of the Admiralty's servants and guardians.

The admiral was a handsome, powerfully built man who had distinguished himself in the American Revolution. A contemporary of Bolitho's, they had in fact been posted on the same day. There was little to show of that youthful and daring frigate captain now, Bolitho thought. Godschale looked comfortably sleek, his hands and features pale as if he had not been at sea for years.

He had not held this high appointment for very long. It seemed likely he would discourage anything controversial which might delay or damage his plans to enter the House of Lords.

Godschale was saying, 'It warms the heart to read of your exploits, Sir Richard. We in Admiralty too often feel cut adrift from the actual deeds which we can only plan, and which with God's guidance, can be brought to a victorious fruition.'

Bolitho relaxed slightly. He thought of Nelson's wry comment on wars fought with words and paper. Across the room, his eyes alert, Adam sat with an untouched glass by his side. Was it a courtesy, or part of a plot to include him in this meeting?

Godschale warmed to his theme. The treasure-ship was one such reward, although… .' his voice dragged over the word. 'There are some who might suggest you took too much upon yourself. Your task is to lead and to offer the encouragement of your experience, but that is in the past. We have to think of the future.'

Bolitho asked, 'Why was I brought here, Sir Owen?'

The admiral smiled and toyed with his empty glass. 'To put you in the position of knowing what is happening in Europe, and to reward you for your gallant action. I believe it is His Majesty's pleasure to offer you the honorary rank of Lieutenant Colonel in the Royal Marines.'

Bolitho looked at his hands. When was Godschale getting to the point? An honorary appointment to the Royal Marines was only useful if you were faced by a confrontation between Army and Navy in some difficult campaign. It was an honour, of course, but it hardly warranted bringing him away from his squadron.

Godschale said, 'We believe that the French are gathering their fleet in several different areas. Your transfer to the flag at Malta will enable you to disperse your squadron to best advantage.'

The French are said to be at Martinique, Sir Owen. Nelson declares -'

The admiral showed his teeth like a gentle fox. 'Nelson is not above being wrong, Sir Richard. He may be the country's darling; he is not immune to false judgement.'

The admiral included Adam for the first time. 'I am able to tell your nephew, and it is my honour so to do, that he is appointed captain from the first of June.' He smiled, pleased with himself. The Glorious First of June, eh, Commander?'

Adam stared at him, then at Bolitho. 'Why, I thank you, Sir Owen!'

The admiral wagged his finger. 'You have more than earned your promotion. If you continue as you have I see no reason for your advancement to falter, eh?'

Bolitho saw the mixed emotions on Adam's sunburned features. Promotion. Every young officer's hope and dream. Three years more and he could be a post-captain. But was it a just reward, or a bribe? With the rank would come a different command, maybe even a frigate, what he had always talked about; as his uncle had once been, his father too, except that Hugh had fought on the wrong side.

Godschale turned to Bolitho. 'It is good to be here with you today, Sir Richard. A long, long climb since the Saintes in eighty-two. I wonder if many people realise how hard it is, how easy to fall from grace, sometimes through no fault of ours, eh?'

He must have seen the coldness in Bolitho's eyes and hurried on, 'Before you quit London and return to Gibraltar, you must dine with me.' He glanced only briefly at Adam. 'You too, of course. Wives, a few friends, that kind of affair. It does no harm at all.'

It was not really a request, Bolitho thought. It was an order.

'I am not certain that Lady Belinda is still in London. I have not had the time yet to -'

Godschale looked meaningly at a gilded clock. 'Quite so. You are a busy man. But never fear, my wife saw her just a day back. They are good company for one another while you and I deal with the dirtier matters of war!' He chuckled. 'Settled then.'

Bolitho stood up. He would have to see her anyway, but why no word from or about Catherine? He had gone alone to her house against Adam's wishes, but had got no further than the entrance. An imposing footman had assured him that his visit would be noted, but Viscount Somervell had left the country again on the King's service, and her ladyship was most likely with him.

He knew a lot more than he was saying. And so did Godschale. Even the cheap comment to Adam had an edge to it. The promotion was his right; he had won it without favour and against all prejudice.

Outside the Admiralty building the air seemed cleaner, and Bolitho said, 'What did you make of that?'

Adam shrugged. 'I am not that much of a fool that I could not recognise a threat, Uncle.' His chin lifted again. 'What do you want me to do?'

'You may become involved, Adam.'

He grinned, the strain dropping away like an unwanted mask. 'I am involved, sir!'

'Very well. I shall go to the house I mentioned.' He smiled at a memory. 'Browne, once my flag lieutenant, placed it at my disposal whenever I needed it.' Browne with an 'e'. Since the death of his father, he had succeeded to the title and had taken his place well ahead of Godschale in the House of Lords.

Adam nodded. 'I will put the word about.' He glanced at the imposing buildings and richly dressed passers-by. 'Though this is not some seaport. A man could be lost forever here.'

He glanced at him thoughtfully, 'Are you quite sure, Uncle? Maybe she has gone, thinking it best for you,' he faltered, 'as it might well be. She sounds like a most honourable lady.'