Keen smiled. You would. Given time, Sedgemore would become a good first lieutenant; he had already shown that. It was just as well, with all the raw hands at their disposal.
Sedgemore, he noted, was well turned-out to greet his admiral. His uniform coat had not been thrown together by some dockside Jew, but spoke of a good costly tailor. His sword, too, was expensive, its blade embossed and patterned in blue steel. It certainly did not come out of a lieutenant's pay, and Keen knew that Sedgemore's father was a humble saddler.
Keen brought his mind back to the ship's business. 'I see we have more than a fair share of squeakers amongst our young gentlemen.'
'Aye, sir. Two of the midshipmen are but twelve years old.'
Keen picked up his sword. 'Well, watch them, Mr Sedgemore.'
'As if they were my own sons, sir!'
Keen eyed him calmly. 'It was not what I meant. At that tender age they are often the cruellest bullies in the ship. I'll not have the people harassed more than need be.'
He strode past him and glanced at the sentry. 'How's the wife, Tully?'
The marine brought his heels smartly together. 'We're expecting a third bairn, thank you, sir!' He was still beaming as Keen and his first lieutenant came into the watery grey daylight beyond the poop.
Sedgemore shook his head. He was learning a lot about his captain today. Had he been more perceptive he might have guessed where Keen had first gained his own experience.
Keen watched the green-painted barge, turning now to pass astern of a motionless yawl. Without the aid of a telescope he could see Bolitho hunched in his boat-cloak at the sternsheets, Allday beside him, and his own coxswain at the tiller. Remembering, yes. Perhaps him most of all. The lovely woman beside him, her body revealed by the soaking spray as she had taken her place in the crowded boat. The mutineers who had died, one at Allday's hand, the other, if he had indeed been one of the mutineers, under the merciless agony of drinking seawater. There had been news of one other mutineer who had been taking refuge in the boatswain's big cutter. He had been hanged at Freetown within hours of being marched ashore. Justice was always harder and faster the more sea miles you were from high authority.
Lady Catherine would have been here in Portsmouth, whatever Bolitho had said. She would be over yonder now, watching the lively barge, clinging to his image as she would soon have to hold on to his memory.
Keen smiled briefly to the senior Royal Marines officer, Major Bourchier, as he completed inspecting the guard of honour.
'Sorry to leave, Major?'
Bourchier puffed out his cheeks, which were almost the colour of his scarlet coat.
'No, sir, I'm ready for a spot of soldierin', what?'
Little imagination, but in truth a good soldier, Keen thought. The only time he had seen him show any emotion had been aboard Herrick's Benbow after the battle. The marines, the whole afterguard had been scattered like toy soldiers, their mingled blood marking them down for what they were. Perhaps he had seen himself there. What they all thought, at one time or another.
'Stand by aft! Royal Marines, ready!'
It seemed bitterly cold on Portsmouth Point, with a wet, blustery wind making the green barge shine like glass as its crew fought to hold station on the stairs.
Bolitho glanced past the weathered opening of the sallyport, through which he and so many others had gone before. This time it was so different. He put his arm around her shoulders, hating the moment of parting. He saw Allday on the stairs watching the boat, a sergeant of marines nearby keeping an eye on a squad of his men. Their duty was to see that Bolitho's remaining minutes in England were undisturbed by curious onlookers. Not that there were many of those. This must surely be a foretaste of the winter, and the October gales.
Catherine brushed some wet hair from her face and gazed at him searchingly.
'You will take care, dearest of men?'
He held her. 'You know I will. I have everything to live for-now.' He had begged her not to wait, but to go straight on to Falmouth. But he had known it would not happen.
She said, 'When we were in that boat…' She hesitated, wanting to be anywhere but on this windswept street. 'I knew I could face death with you beside me. Without you…' Again he heard the difficult pause. 'You see, I am not so brave.'
On their way here, with Matthew guiding the carriage through the deep ruts, which would become a bog as soon as winter closed in, he had told her about his squadron: six sail of the line instead of fourteen, one frigate instead of three. Even with the addition of Black Prince, arguably one of the most powerful ships in the world, it was not much of a force for finally stamping out French power and possessions in the Caribbean. And all because Bonaparte had wanted to take Portugal and put his own son on the throne of Spain. The action had divided their forces yet again, so that the Danish ships seized to complement the fleet were still not enough.
He said, 'I shall miss you with all my heart.' She said nothing and he knew she was finding it equally hard. Release her shoulders, step out on to the stairs and into the barge. It will be over.
He recalled how she had shown immediate dismay when he had told her that his solitary frigate was to be the old Tybalt, a ship he knew well, with a captain who would be worth his weight in gold when sniffing out the enemy's strength in the Indies.
'Not Adam, then?' Was she so concerned for his safety that she wanted all those dearest around him?
He asked, 'What shall you do?'
She was watching him intensely, desperately. 'I shall help Ferguson-and maybe Zenoria will ask my advice in seeking a house of her own in Cornwall. I know that Valentine's family still awes her…' Bolitho was not surprised. Lavish houses in London and in Hampshire, one brother a wealthy lawyer and the other who described himself simply as a 'farmer': he owned even more land than Roxby.
She turned in his arms and studied him again. 'I have sent a few things over to the ship. To keep you well nourished-to remind you of me sometimes.'
He kissed her hair. It was wet from spray and perhaps drizzle. But it could have been tears.
'Take care of your eye.'
It was all she said. There might once have been hope, the surgeon had said yet again. Something might still come about. But he had left little doubt in their minds that it was now only a matter of time.
Bolitho heard the horses stamping on the cobbles, eager to go, as if they knew they were returning this time to their own warm stables in Falmouth.
He said, 'I have arranged for some out-riders for the journey, Kate.'
She pulled off her glove and laid her hand on his cheek.
'Have you forgotten your tiger so soon? Have no fears for me, Richard. Just remember the house, waiting for you… D'you remember telling me to do that after the Golden Plover was lost, and our chances of survival were so small?'
He looked past her. 'I will never forget.' There was silence, then she said, 'If only we could have had more time.'
'What all sailors lament, my love.'
'And it will be your birthday in three days. I… so wanted to be with you.'
So she felt it too, he thought. Age; time; always the passing of time. It seemed so very precious now.
He walked her to the shelter of the wall. In his mind's eye he could see his flagship already there in the Western Ocean. A great ship, sailing alone, but a mere speck on that vast expanse of hostile sea.
'I shall raise a glass to thee, Kate.'
Allday did not turn but called, 'I think it's time, Sir Richard. The tide's on the turn an' Tojohns is hard put to hold the barge steady.'
'Very well. Signal him alongside.' Then he turned away from the sea and held her tightly against his spray- spotted boat-cloak.
'I love thee so, Kate. My heart is splintered in the pain I feel at parting from you.'
They kissed for a long while, holding on to the moment and all the memories which had triumphed over danger, even death.
When she looked at him again there were real tears in her dark eyes.
'I cannot bear the thought of you being at English Harbour again without me. Where you came, and our love
