Keen had spent more time than was necessary on board, simply to show his depleted company that he was sharing it with them. Even as it crossed his mind, he knew that too was a lie. He had stayed because of his fear that he might make Zenoria openly reject him, unable even to pretend.
'Something wrong, sir?'
'No.' It came out too sharply. 'Vice-Admiral Bolitho will be coming aboard at noon.' He looked across the nettings at the shining walls of the dockyard and harbour battery and on to the huddled buildings of Portsmouth Point, beyond which the Channel and the open sea were waiting. Bolitho might be over there already; at the old George Inn, perhaps? Unlikely. Catherine would be with him. He would not risk a snub or anything else which might distress her.
Sedgemore kept his young features impassive. He had never really liked his predecessor, Cazalet. A fine seaman, admittedly, but a man who was so coarse in his speech and behaviour that he had been hard to work with. He watched the bustling figures at the tackles, swaying up more bales and boxes from one of the lighters alongside.
Well, he was the first lieutenant now, in one of the navy's newest and most powerful three-deckers. And with an admiral like Sir Richard Bolitho and a good captain like Keen, there would be no stopping them once they were at sea again. Promotion, prize-money, fame; there was no end to it, in his mind anyway.
It was the navy's way, Sedgemore thought. If a dead man's shoes were offered, you never waited for a second chance.
Keen said distinctly, 'Tell my cox'n to prepare the barge, and have the crew piped at six bells. Inspect them yourself, although I doubt if Tojohns will leave anything to chance.'
He glanced at the open log again where the midshipman-of-the-watch was writing something, his tongue poking from one corner of his mouth with great concentration. Another picture crossed his mind. His coxswain, Tojohns, on his wedding day only two months ago, supervising the garlanded carriage which had been towed by the midshipmen and petty officers of this ship, his ship, with himself and his young bride inside.
He turned aft and stalked away beneath the poop to seek the one place he could be alone.
Sedgemore watched him go and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
A post-captain-what Sedgemore himself would be one day if everything went well for him, and he managed to avoid Cazalet's fate.
To be captain of a ship like Black Prince… He looked up and around him. There was no higher reward for any man. He would want for nothing.
He saw the midshipman staring at him and rasped, 'Mr M'Innes, I'll trouble you not to waste your time, sir!'
It was uncalled for; but it made him feel more like a first lieutenant.
Lieutenant Stephen Jenour caught his breath as he turned the corner above the shining dockyard stairs which led directly down to the landing stage. After two months ashore either working for Vice-Admiral Sir Richard Bolitho or visiting his parents in Southampton, he felt at odds with the sea and the bitter wind.
He thrust open a small door and saw a blazing fire shining a welcome across the room.
A uniformed servant asked coldly, 'Your name, sir?'
'Jenour.' He added sharply, 'Flag lieutenant to Sir Richard Bolitho.'
The man bowed himself away, muttering something about a warming drink, and Jenour was childishly pleased at his ability to command instant respect.
'Welcome, Stephen.' Bolitho was sitting in a high-backed chair, the fire reflecting from his gold lace and epaulettes. 'We have a while yet.'
Jenour sat down and smiled at him. So many things had changed his young life since joining Bolitho. His parents had laughed at him for vowing that one day he would serve this incredible man who had been, until Nelson's death at Trafalgar less than three years ago, the second youngest vice-admiral on the Navy List. Now he was the youngest.
He never tired of recalling each separate incident, even that stark moment when Black Prince had been about to leave Copenhagen in search of Herrick, and Bolitho had turned on him in pleading desperation and confirmed his worst fears. 'I am losing my sight, Stephen. Can you keep a secret so precious to me?' And later when Bolitho had said, 'They must not know. You are a dear friend, Stephen. Now there are other friends out there who need us.'
Jenour sipped the hot drink. There was brandy in it, and spices too, and his eyes smarted but he knew it was from that memory and nothing else.
A dear friend, and one of the few who knew the extent of the injury to Bolitho's left eye. To be entrusted with such a secret was a reward greater than anything he had believed possible.
He asked carefully, 'What will Captain Keen's answer be, Sir Richard?'
Bolitho put down his empty goblet and thought of Catherine, imagined he could still feel the warmth of her body in his arms as they had parted this morning. She would be well on her way to London now, to the house she had bought by the river in Chelsea. Their private place as she had called it, where they could be alone together when they were required to be in the capital.
It was strange to be without Allday, but his coxswain-his 'oak'-had gone with Yovell, his secretary, and Ozzard his little servant, in the same coach. Catherine was fearless, but Bolitho felt safer on her behalf knowing that she travelled with such a staunch escort.
He thought too of his last interview with Lord Godschale at the Admiralty, and Godschale's attempts to soothe him whenever he touched on a point which might provoke controversy.
'Their lordships insist that you are the best choice of flag officer to go to Cape Town. You had, after all, a vital part in taking it from the Dutch-our people know you and trust you accordingly. It should not take long, but it needs your handling to establish regular patrols of smaller craft in the area, and perhaps to send more of the major men- of-war back to England. When you have installed a post-captain in overall charge there-acting-commodore if you like-you can return too. I will offer you a fast frigate, and do everything possible for you.' He had given the great sigh of one overburdened with responsibility. 'Even while Admiral Gambier and your own squadron were in Copenhagen preparing the prizes for their passage here, Napoleon was already busy elsewhere. God damn the fellow-twice he has attempted to seize the Danish fleet, and he has even provoked Turkey to turn against his old ally the Tsar of Russia. As fast as we seal one door, he explores another.'
It was difficult not to admire Napoleon's ever-changing strategy, Bolitho had often conceded. Shortly after Herrick's hopeless fight to save his convoy, the French army had invaded Portugal, and by November was in Lisbon, with the royal family in flight to their possessions in Brazil. It was rumoured in Whitehall that Spain, another ally if an unwilling one, would be Napoleon's next target. He would then become a ruler of overwhelming strength, a threat once again with all the riches of Spain to support him.
Bolitho had said, 'I think that this time he may have overreached himself. He has turned Portugal into an enemy, and will surely incite Spain to rise against him. It will be our one chance. A place to land an army where it will find friendship, and be treated as a liberation force.'
Godschale had looked distant. 'Perhaps, perhaps.'
Another secret. Jenour knew; so did Yovell and Allday. Bolitho had refused to take passage in a frigate and had seen Godschale's heavy features go almost purple as he had exclaimed, 'Do you mean to say that you are going to take Lady Catherine Somervell with you on passage to Cape Town?'
Bolitho had been adamant. 'A ship of war is no place for a lady, my lord. Although I am sure Lady Catherine would accept without hesitation.'
Godschale had mopped his face. 'I will arrange it. A fast packet under Admiralty warrant. You are a damned difficult fellow to deal with, Sir Richard. What people will say when they discover-'
'We shall simply have to ensure they do not, my lord.'
When he had told Catherine she had been surprisingly excited about it.
'To be there with you, dearest of men, instead of reading of your exploits in the Gazette, to be part of it all… I ask for nothing more.'
The door opened and the servant peered in at them. 'I beg your pardon, Sir Richard, but it is reported that your barge has just left Black Prince.'
Bolitho nodded and remarked to Jenour, 'I'll wager Captain Keen will be surprised to find that I am not staying aboard.'
