Adam aft to the great cabin.
Bolitho related the bones of what he had already explained to Keen.
'If the French make any show of strength or attempt to interfere with the attack or our supply vessels, I must know without delay. I will send word to Zest and Mistral at first light, but our little schooner can do it.'
Adam asked, 'What do they say in London about the big liner Radiant sighted?'
Keen said sharply, 'They do not believe it.'
Adam murmured, 'I do, sir.'
Bolitho watched him. Adam must return to his ship before darkness closed in and they took up their stations for the night. But something was wrong. He could hear it in Adam's voice; he had always been very close to this other nephew. He allowed himself to think it. His brother's son. There had been many times when Bolitho had wished he had been his own.
He said, 'Perhaps Lieutenant Evans did make a mistake.' He recalled how the Welshman had swallowed the tankards of rum. 'But I trust him.'
Adam stood up. 'I had better go, Uncle.' He faced him, with troubled, restless eyes. 'If we fight, Uncle-you will take good care? For all our sakes?'
Bolitho embraced him. 'Only if you do the same.' He saw Keen leave the cabin to order his men to recall Adam's gig and said quietly, 'You are worried about something, Adam. You may command a King's ship, but to me you are still the midshipman, you know.'
Adam forced a smile but it only made him look more wistful. 'It is nothing, Uncle.'
Bolitho persisted, 'If there is anything, please tell me. I will try to help.'
Adam turned aside. 'I know that, Uncle. It has always been my sheet-anchor.'
Bolitho accompanied him to the companion ladder while shadows between decks watched them pass in silence, thinking themselves invisible, or beneath their admiral's notice. How wrong they were.
Bolitho listened to the sea's subdued murmur and was conscious that this might be the last time he saw Adam before the sea-fight which every one of his senses had now warned him was imminent. He felt a sudden chill. Perhaps the last time ever.
He said, 'Allday told me about his son.'
Adam seemed to rouse himself from his mood. 'I was sorry, but in truth, he has no place in the line of battle. I understand how Allday must feel, but I also know that his son will fall in battle if he remains. I see the signs.'
Bolitho watched him in silence. It was like hearing somebody much older speaking from past experience. As if his dead father was still a part of him.
'You are his captain, Adam-I suspect you know him much better than his father. A coxswain must be close to his commander. The nearest of all men maybe.' He saw Allday with the side-party, his bronzed face standing out in the slow sunset. The nearest of men.
'Side-party, stand by! '
That was Cazalet, another link in the chain of command.
Keen, Cazalet, and the embattled midshipmen, drawing together as one company; in spite of the ship, or perhaps because of her.
Adam held out his hand. 'My warm wishes to Lady Catherine when next you write to her, Uncle.'
'Of course. We often speak of you.' He wanted to press him further, to drag out of Adam what was weighing him down. But he knew Adam was too much like himself, and would tell him only when he was ready.
Adam touched his hat and said formally, 'Your permission to leave the ship, Sir Richard?'
'Aye, Captain. God's speed go with you.'
The calls shrilled, and the side-boys waited at the foot of the ladder to steady the gig for a departing captain.
'I wonder what ails him, Val?'
Keen walked with him towards the poop, where he knew Bolitho would fret out his worries in a measured walk.
He smiled. 'A lady, I shouldn't wonder, sir. None of us is a stranger to the havoc they can create! '
Bolitho watched Anemone's lower yards change shape in the gold light as her fore and main courses filled to the wind.
He heard Keen add admiringly, 'By God, if he can handle a fifth-rate like that, he should be more than a match for a saucy glance! '
Again he saw Allday standing by a tethered twelve-pounder; alone, despite the bustling shadows around him.
Bolitho nodded to Keen and climbed down to the quarterdeck.
'Ah, there you are, Allday! ' Once again he saw the watching eyes, figures still unknown to him. How would he convince them when the time came?
In a quieter voice he said, 'Come aft and share a glass with me. I want to ask you something.'
Somehow he knew Allday was going to refuse; his pride and his hurt would leave him no choice.
He added, 'Come, old friend.' He sensed his uncertainty, even though Allday's features were now lost in shadow. 'You are not the only one who is lonely.'
He turned away, and heard Allday say awkwardly, 'I was just thinkin', Sir Richard. You takes risks all your life at sea-you fight, an' if Lady Luck favours you, you lasts a bit longer.' He gave a great sigh. 'An' then you dies. Is that all there is to a man?'
Lady Luck… it reminded him of Herrick, the man he had once known.
He turned and faced him. 'Let us wait and see, eh, old friend?'
Allday showed his teeth in the shadows and shook his head like some great dog.
'I could manage a wet, Sir Richard, an' that's no error! '
Lieutenant Cazalet, who was about to do his evening rounds of the ship, paused by Jenour and watched the viceadmiral and his coxswain disappear down the companion ladder. 'A most unusual pair, Mr Jenour.'
The flag lieutenant studied him thoughtfully. Cazalet was a competent officer, just what any captain needed, in a new ship more than ever. Beyond that, he decided, there was not much else.
He replied, 'I cannot ever imagine the one without the other, sir.'
But Cazalet had gone and he was alone again, mentally composing his next letter home about what he had just seen.
Captain Hector Gossage of the seventy-four gun Benbow moved restlessly about the ship's broad quarterdeck, his eyes slitted against the hard sunlight. Eight bells had just chimed out from the forecastle and the forenoon watch had been mustered; and yet already the heat seemed intense. Gossage could feel his shoes sticking to the tarred seams and silently cursed their snail's progress.
He stared across the starboard bow and saw the uneven line of twenty store and supply ships reaching away towards the dazzling horizon. A pitifully slow passage-their destination Copenhagen, to join Admiral Gambier's fleet in support of the army.
Gossage was not a very imaginative man but prided himself on Benbow, a ship which had been in almost continuous service for several years. Many of the seasoned hands and warrant officers had been in the ship since he had assumed command; it had been, if there was such a creature in the King's navy, a happy ship.
He glanced at the open skylight, and wondered what his rearadmiral's mood would be when he eventually came on deck. Ever since he had received news of his wife's death, Herrick had changed out of all recognition. Gossage was prudent enough not to mention certain things which his rearadmiral had overlooked, or more
likely forgotten. As flag captain he might easily have the blame laid at his own door, and this he intended to avoid at all costs. He was nearly forty and he had his sights set on a commodore's broad-pendant before another year had passed-the obvious step to flag rank which he cherished more than anything. RearAdmiral Herrick had always been a reasonable superior, ready to listen, or even to use an idea which Gossage had put forward. Some admirals would bite your head off for so doing, then present the idea as their own. But not Herrick.
Gossage bit his lip and remembered the terrible nights at sea when Herrick had been incapable of speaking with any coherence. A man who had always taken his drink in moderation, and who had been quick to come down hard on any officer who saw wine and spirits as a prop for his own weakness.
He took a glass from the rack and levelled it on the wavering column of ships. Deep-laden, they were barely making a few knots, and with the wind veering due north overnight it would be another day before they entered the
