drift of spray when the anchor broke free.
Sedgemore smiled to himself. Yes, it would be good to go. Not Portugal but the West Indies, it appeared. Where he would be out of reach of his creditors until his fortune improved. Sedgemore was ambitious to a point of devotion. A command of his own, then post-rank; it was like a mapped-out road of his own fate. But his weakness was gambling, and a spell safely in the Indies would keep him out of trouble… until the next time. And Sir Richard Bolitho would soon be aboard again. Surely with his experience and leadership, there would be even better chances for advancement.
He saw Jenour appear momentarily on deck with Yovell before they vanished beneath the poop. Jenour, previously such a lively young officer, full of experiences with which he had sometimes entertained the wardroom, of all those who had come back from almost certain death, seemed subdued and unwilling to talk. However, Sedgemore knew nothing would remain a secret from anyone after a few weeks at sea.
The fourth lieutenant, Robert Whyham, who was officer-of-the-watch, said, 'Barge is shoving off, sir!'
'I'll tell the captain. Pipe the guard to the side.' He liked Whyham, who was the only lieutenant from the original wardroom, and had been promoted from sixth place in the past few months. He also envied him without really knowing the reason, except that Whyham had served under Captain Keen in a previous flagship, the French prize Argonaute. There had been glory in her great fight too. Sedgemore rarely allowed his mind to dwell on the harsher side of things.
He hesitated, a last look round: nothing adrift which he might be blamed for. 'And tell that midshipman to go forrard and make certain the admiral's flag is already bent-on and ready to break on the last order of the salute.'
Whyham touched his dripping hat. 'Aye, sir.'
At least the reception would go smoothly; both of the Royal Marine officers were from the original detachment which now made up an eighth part of Black Prince's eight hundred officers and men.
Lieutenant Sedgemore straightened the lapels on his coat and removed his hat as he reached the rigid marine sentry outside the captain's screen door.
One day, I shall have something like this. For a terrible moment he imagined he had spoken aloud, but when he glanced at the sentry's eyes he was thankful to see they were suitably blank.
He rapped on the door with his knuckles. 'Captain, sir?'
The Black Prince's captain stood directly below the skylight of his day cabin and looked through the spray- dappled glass. The sky was grey, the clouds fast-moving in the occasional gusts against the ship's high tumblehome, which made itself felt in the very bowels of the hull. He glanced at Jenour, who was half-heartedly examining some papers Yovell had left for Keen's signature. It was hard to see him in that open boat with his torn hands hauling on an oar; the blood in the bottom after Allday had amputated the Golden Plover's master's infected leg. Hard to picture himself either, for that matter.
He knew what was troubling Jenour, and said, 'It had to happen eventually. You have been Sir Richard's flag lieutenant longer than anyone. He likes you, and this is his way of rewarding you, as is only proper.'
Jenour came out of his dark thoughts. Bolitho had told him himself that after they had reached the West Indies, and at the first opportunity, he would appoint him in command of some suitable vessel. It was customary, and in his heart Jenour had known it was inevitable. But he did not want to leave the vice-admiral. He had become a part of this precious body, we happy few as poor Oliver Browne had once called it. There were very few of them left now, but that had never deterred him.
Keen took his silence for a persisting doubt and said, 'Responsibility is not yours to toss away. It is a privilege, not a right, as I and others like me soon discovered. Once you were less certain.' He smiled. 'Less mature, if you like. But your experience has grown with you, and it is needed more than ever. Look at this ship, Stephen. Boys and old men, volunteers and rascals. It is the way of things. Sir Richard is ordered to the Indies to command a squadron of fourteen sail of the line.' He gestured across the litter of papers. 'So what have their lordships offered him? Six instead of fourteen, one frigate instead of the promised three. It never changes. Which is why your skills, like it or not, are sorely needed. Take the vice-admiral's nephew, for instance. He too was once his flag lieutenant-now he is posted, and commands a fine frigate.'
Jenour could not compare himself with Adam Bolitho. He was so like his uncle, but had a touch of fire which came from elsewhere, probably his dead father.
Jenour sighed. 'It was good of you to listen, sir.'
Keen watched him leave and began the routine of preparing himself for sea. Once the anchor was up and catted, he would not leave the quarterdeck until his ship was safely clear of the narrows and with the Needles well abeam. Then south-west into open waters, where his untried hands could find their skills, or lack of them, as the great ship bore down towards the Western Approaches.
Feet were moving everywhere, with the occasional shout, muffled by distance and the stoutness of the timbers, to tell of the activity and the tension of getting a man-of-war under sail. There would be other thoughts, too, apart from fear of heights above the swaying hull, or fighting out along the yards to learn the mysteries and terrors of making and reefing sails in half a gale. Thoughts of leaving home, perhaps never to return. Men snatched from the streets and lanes by press-gangs who had no time for heart or pity. That was a peculiar aspect of the character of seamen. For the most part those already in the King's service, even the pressed men, saw no reason why others should not share their own fate.
He crossed to the larboard side and peered through the streaming glass of the quarter gallery. Blurred, like a painting left out in the rain: the dull grey of fortifications, and the cheerful red roofs beyond. He recalled bringing this ship through the narrow harbour entrance, how Julyan the sailing-master had exclaimed, 'God, I thought we was going to take the veranda off the old Quebec Inn for a moment or two!'
Have I changed so much? Has she done that for me too?
After all, what had he really expected? He loved her; why had he been surprised that she could at last find it within herself to return it? Perhaps it was merely gratitude…
But it had been none of these things. For a long, long time she had stood pressed in his arms, sobbing quietly, murmuring into his chest.
Even then, he had doubted it.
They had sat by the fire in the rooms set aside for them in the great house in Hampshire. For all they knew, it might have been empty but for themselves. Then she had taken his hand and had led him to that adjoining room, where another fire made the shadows dance around them like rejoicing spectres. She had faced him, paces away, her eyes shining in the flames' reflections, then very deliberately had let her gown fall to the floor. She had come to him, and together they had fallen on to the great bed. He had been in a daze as she had drawn his lips to her thrusting breasts, held his mouth to each nipple until he was roused to madness. But it was not to be so soon. She had stretched herself naked on the bed, so that her curving scar had been laid bare in the flickering firelight: he had never been permitted to see it so unashamedly revealed. She had looked at him over her bare shoulder and had whispered, 'Take me as you will. I have the courage now.' Her voice had broken as he had gripped her body with both hands, 'And the love you were denied.'
It had been like that until Keen had received his orders for Portsmouth: passion, exploration, discovery. The parting had been difficult, and left an ache in his heart he had never before experienced.
There was a tap at the outer door and he said, 'Enter!' No wonder he had risked even this ship in a moment of remembered ecstasy.
Sedgemore glanced around the cabin, where important members of the court martial had taken refreshment during the various adjournments.
'Sir Richard Bolitho's barge has just left the sallyport, sir.'
'Very well.' Keen looked at his watch. Another departure, but this time with hope, the knowledge that she would be waiting for him. He knew now why he had been so unmoved by the events in the jolly-boat. Because he had not cared if he had lived or died, and had nothing to lose.
'Fast current running, sir.'
Keen nodded, his thoughts lingering on those nights and sometimes, the days. She had introduced him to a desire and torment he had never known, to pleasures he had never imagined.
He said abruptly, 'Yes. Put all spare hands on the capstan bars today. I want to break out the anchor as soon as possible.'
'I've already done that, sir.'
