'Demand, Admiral Herrick?' Sillitoe's incisive voice cut the sultry air like a rapier. 'You had a fair trial, in spite of a lack of reliable witnesses, and your own misguided insistence upon refusing any offer of defence, and circumstances, I believe, were very much against you. Yet still you were found not guilty? I hardly think you are in a position to demand anything!'
Herrick was on his feet. 'I do not have to put up with your comments, sir!'
Godschale interrupted, 'I am afraid you do. Even I bow to his authority,' hating the admission which he knew to be true.
Herrick said, 'Then I shall take my leave, my lord.' He turned and added, 'I have my pride.'
Sillitoe said calmly, 'Do sit down. We are not enemies-yet. And please do not mistake conceit for pride, for that is what you have.' He inclined his head with approval as Herrick sat down. 'That is better. I was at the court martial. I heard the evidence, and I saw what you were trying to do. To have yourself condemned, to absolve yourself of the tragedy-for that was what it was.'
Godschale closed the windows: someone might hear Sillitoe's words. He returned angrily to the table. The little carriage had gone.
'I was prepared for whatever verdict they might present.'
Sillitoe stared at him pitilessly. 'You hold the rank of rearadmiral.'
'I earned it many times, sir!'
'Not without the backing of your captain, who became your admiral, eh?'
'Some.' Herrick was watching like a terrier facing a bull.
'A great deal, as I see it. But you are still only a rearadmiral. You do not have any private means of your own?'
Herrick relaxed a little. This was familiar ground. 'That is true. I have never had things given to me, no family tradition to support me.'
Gosdchale said unhappily, 'I think what Sir Paul is trying to say…' He fell silent as Sillitoe's eyes flashed towards him.
'Hear me, if you please. Article Seventeen clearly states that if found guilty, you would not only have faced the very real peril of execution but more to the point, you would have been, in addition, responsible for reparation to all the ship-owners, merchants and others involved with the convoy. On a rearadmiral's pay-' His voice was suddenly laced with contempt. 'What sum would you have been able to afford? Twenty ships, I believe? Fully laden with supplies of war, and the men to wage it? How much could you offer to placate all those who would condemn you?' When Herrick said nothing he added, 'Perhaps enough to pay for the horses that died that day.' He got up lightly and crossed to Herrick's seated figure. 'To hang you would have been a stupid gesture of revenge, useless and without value. But the total bill for that whole convoy would have been laid here, at the doors of admiralty.'
Godschale exclaimed thickly. 'My God! I had not considered that!'
Sillitoe eyed him. The glance said, No, obviously not.
Then he waited for Herrick's attention and said in his silky voice, 'So you see, sir, you had to be found not guilty. It was… more convenient.'
Herrick's hands opened and closed as if he were grappling with something physical.
'But the court would not do that!'
'You turned upon Sir Richard Bolitho, the one man who could have saved your neck. If you had allowed him…'
Herrick stared at him, his face pale with disbelief. 'I never needed his help!'
The door opened and Godschale shouted, 'What the bloody hell do you want? Can't you see we're busy?'
The grim-faced secretary was unmoved by his master's rage. He said, 'This has just been received by telegraph from Portsmouth, my lord. I think you should see it.'
Godschale read through the note, and said after a silence, 'Of all the damnable things to happen.' He handed it to Sillitoe. 'See for yourself.'
Sillitoe felt their scrutiny, Herrick staring without comprehension. Then he looked at the admiral, who gave a despairing nod. He passed the note to Herrick.
Sillitoe said coldly, 'Well, you have nothing more to fear. You will have no more help from that quarter.' And he strode out of the room as if escaping from some contagion.
When Herrick finally put the note on the table he realised that he was alone. Quite alone.
Belinda, Lady Bolitho, paused at the entrance of the elegant square, her parasol raised to protect her complexion from the afternoon sun.
She said, 'Summer again, Lucinda. It seems no time at all since the last.'
Her confidante, Lady Lucinda Manners, gave a quiet laugh. 'Time flies away when one enjoys oneself.'
They walked on, their light gowns floating in the warm breeze.
'Yes, we shall take tea presently. I am quite exhausted by all the shopping.'
They both laughed so that two grooms turned to watch them, and touched their hats as they passed.
Her friend said, 'I am so glad that your Elizabeth is fully recovered. Was her father distressed by her injury?'
Belinda shot her a quick glance. Her best friend, yes; but she knew her other side as well. The wife of an elderly financier, Lady Lucinda was one of the first to spread a rumour or some lively tidbit of scandal.
'He paid the fees. It is all I ask.'
Lady Lucinda smiled at her. 'He seems to take care of most things for you.'
'Well, I cannot be expected to pay for everything. Elizabeth's education, her music and dancing lessons, they all mount up.'
'It is such a pity. He is still the talk of London, and she flaunts their relationship like some common trollop!' She gave her a sideways glance. 'Would you take him back, if…?'
Belinda thought of her confrontation with Catherine in that quiet house in Kent, when Dulcie Herrick had been on the threshold of death. She still shivered when she recalled it. She herself might have contracted the fever. Just to think of such a terrible possibility made all else seem unimportant… That thrice-cursed woman, so proud despite her lecherous behaviour. Scornful even when Belinda had lost her own self-control and shouted at her, 'I hope you die!' She had never forgotten Catherine's emotionless response. Even then, he would not come back to you.
'Take him back? I will choose that moment. I shall not make bargains with a whore.'
Lady Lucinda walked on, partly satisfied. Now she had gleaned the truth. Belinda would take him back to her bed no matter what the price. She considered Bolitho when she had last seen him. No wonder the Lady Somervell had dared scandal for him: given a chance, who would not?
'What is he doing now? Do you hear from him?'
Belinda was tiring of her friend's curiosity. 'When he writes to me I burn his letters, without opening them.' But, for once, the lie gave her no satisfaction.
A figure emerged from one of the mews, pushing another on what appeared to be a small trolley. Both wore various oddments of old clothing, but it was obvious that they had once been sailors.
Lady Lucinda put a handkerchief to her face and exclaimed, 'These beggars are everywhere! Why is something not done about them?'
Belinda looked at the man on the trolley. He had no legs and was completely blind, his head moving from side to side as his trolley came to a halt. His companion had only one arm, and a scar so deep on the side of his head that it was a marvel he was still alive.
The legless man asked timidly, 'Who is it, John?'
Belinda, who had nursed her previous husband until his death, was shocked nevertheless. Even the man's name. John, like Richard's faithful coxswain, his 'oak,' as he called him.
'Two fine ladies, Jamie.' He put his foot on the trolley to prevent it from rolling away and pulled out a cup from his tattered coat.
'A penny, ma'am? Just a penny, eh?'
'Damn their insolence!' Lady Lucinda took her arm. 'Come away. They are not fit to be seen in this place!'
They walked on. The man replaced his cup and patted his friend on the shoulder. He murmured, 'God damn them, Jamie.'
The blind man peered round as if to comfort him. 'Never mind, John, we'll get lucky soon, you'll see!'
