death.
The carriage had followed several hours after Bolitho, when Yovell had commented that Lady Belinda had left since his departure for Chatham. He glanced at Catherine's profile and held her arm even tighter. Not once had she mentioned that Belinda had abandoned her to cope with Dulcie on her own. Almost anyone in her position would have done so, if only to bring contempt and scorn on a rival. It was as if she no longer cared. Only that they were together. Six days on the awful roads, a long and tiring journey, but now they were here.
Ferguson and his wife, the housekeeper, were waiting for them, while other familiar faces floated into the carriage lamps, gathering luggage, calling greetings, glad to see them back.
Ferguson had had no idea of the exact date of their return but he had been well prepared. Great fires in every room, even in the stone hallway so that the contrast with the cold outside was like an additional welcome. Alone at last in their room facing the headland and the sea beyond, Catherine said she would have a hot bath. She looked at him gravely. 'I want to wash it all away.' Then she held him tightly and kissed him.
She said just one word before she prized herself away. 'Home.'
Ozzard came up to collect his uniform coat and left with it, humming softly to himself.
She called through the door, and Bolitho guessed it had been on her mind for much of the time.
'When will he be told?'
'Thomas?' He walked to the low window and peered out. No stars, so it was still overcast. He saw a tiny light far out to sea. Some small vessel trying to reach port for Christmas. He thought of Herrick coming to him and bringing the news of Cheney's death; it was something he could never forget. He answered quietly 'Admiral Godschale will send word on the first vessel carrying despatches to the squadron. I sent a letter to go with it. From us both.' He thought he heard a catch in her voice and he said, 'You are not only lovely, you are also very brave. I would have died if anything had happened to you.'
She came out wearing a robe, her face glowing from the bath which was something else Ferguson had thought of.
'Dulcie said something of that to me.' Her lip trembled but she composed herself. 'I think she knew what was happening to her. She called for her husband several times.'
Bolitho held her against him so that she could not see his face. 'I will have to join the Black Prince quite shortly, Kate. A few weeks, perhaps less.'
She rested her head against his shoulder. 'I know… I am prepared. Don't think of it-take care of yourself as much as you can. For me. For us.'
He stared desperately at the crackling log fire. 'There is something I did not tell you, Kate. There was so much to do, after the duel and… everything-then poor Dulcie.'
She leaned back in his arms as she so often did to study him, as if to read his innermost thoughts before he uttered a word.
She whispered, 'You look like a little boy, Richard. One with a secret.'
He said bluntly, 'They can't help me with my eye.' He gave a great sigh, relieved to have got it out at last, fearful what she might think. 'I wanted to tell you, but-'
She broke away from him and took his hand to lead him to the window. Then she thrust it wide open, oblivious to the bitter air. 'Listen, darling-church bells.'
They clung to each other as the joyous peal of bells echoed up the hill from the church of Charles the Martyr, where so many Bolitho memories were marked in stone.
She said, 'Kiss me. It's midnight, my love. Christmas morn.'
Then she closed the window very carefully and faced him.
'Look at me, Richard. What if it were me? Would you cast me aside? Do you think it makes any difference, could make any? I love you, so much you'll never know. And there is always hope. We shall keep trying. No doctor is God.'
There was a tap at the door and Ozzard stood there with his tray and some finely cut goblets. He blinked at them. 'Thought it might be proper, m'lady.'
It was champagne, misted over with ice from the stream.
Bolitho thanked the little man and opened the bottle. 'The only thing of any value to come out of France! '
She threw back her head and gave her bubbling laugh, something Bolitho had not heard since the pleasure gardens.
Bolitho said, 'You know, I think this is the first Christmas I have been in Falmouth since I was a midshipman.'
She turned down the bed, the half-empty glass still in her other hand. Then she let her robe fall to the floor and faced him, with pride and love in her dark eyes.
'You are my man. I am your woman. Then let us celebrate.'
Bolitho bent over and kissed her breast, heard her gasp, all else forgotten. And so it would be, he thought. The new flagship, Herrick, a court-martial… even the war could wait. He touched her breast with some champagne and kissed it again.
She pulled him down. 'Am I stone that I can wait so long?'
Ferguson and Allday were crossing the yard to share a last drink before the festivities in the house and on the estate commenced in earnest. Allday glanced up at a candlelit window. Ferguson, his friend since being pressed into Bolitho's Phalarope, heard him sigh, and guessed what he was thinking. He had known his wife
Grace since childhood. Allday had nobody to call his own.
He said, 'Come and tell us all about it, John. We've heard a few rumours, but not much else.'
'I was thinking about RearAdmiral Herrick. Takes you back, don't it, Bryan? Phalarope, the Cap'n, us an' Mr Herrick. Come a long way. Now he's lost his wife. Full circle, that's what.'
Ferguson opened the door of his little house and glanced round to make sure Grace had retired at long last.
'Here, I'll fetch some grog from the pantry.'
Allday gave a sad grin. Like them up there in that great bedroom. A sailor's woman. 'I'd relish that, matey! ' All of us, holding things at bay, knowing it must end, but making the best of it.
He coughed on the rum and spluttered, 'God, this is the stuff to fill the sails! '
Ferguson smiled. 'Got it off a trader from Port Royal.' He saw the shadow lifting from Allday's face, and held up his glass.
'Welcome home, old friend! '
Allday's eyes crinkled. What Bolitho called him. 'An' here's to those who won't never come home.' He laughed, and the cat sleeping by the fire opened one eye with irritation. 'Even the officers-well, some of 'em! '
As Ferguson went away to open another bottle, Allday added quietly, 'An' to you both over yonder. May God protect you! '
When he looked out, their window was in darkness and only the distant boom of the sea gave him an answer. Always waiting.
16. The Squadron
HIS BRITANNIC Majesty's Ship Black Prince seemed to hesitate for a moment before plunging her massive one thousand eight hundred tons into the next procession of troughs.
Aft in his spacious day cabin, Bolitho looked up from his final cup of coffee before starting the new day, and was surprised how easily the big second-rate took even the heaviest sea.
It was eight o'clock in the morning, and he could vaguely hear the muffled movements of the forenoon watchkeepers as they relieved the men on deck. Unlike Hyperion or any other two-decker, there was a sense of protected remoteness in Black Prince. Bolitho's quarters with their own private sternwalk were sandwiched between the wardroom beneath his feet and Keen's own domain directly above.
He shivered and looked at the leaping patterns of salt spray on the stern windows, frozen there like the ramblings of some insane artist. The day cabin was finely painted and moulded with carved panels, the stern bench seat and chairs finished with dark green leather. Catherine could have chosen it herself, he thought. But now it was
