always been so trusting, willing to leave judgement and assessment to those who were better experienced. He was ready now, mature enough to offer what he had learned to others. Bolitho knew he would miss him greatly.
'Sou'-west-by-west, sir! Full an' bye!' Julyan the sailing-master was beaming at his mates and rubbing his beefy hands together. Once again, he had been proved right.
Keen shouted, 'Secure and belay, Mr Sedgemore!' Loud enough for all those around him he added, 'That was well done. Two minutes shorter this time!'
True or not, Bolitho saw some of the breathless seamen looking at each other and giving reluctant grins. It was a beginning.
He said, 'Perhaps this fellow is under French orders. We have seen too much of that.' But he was thinking of the depleted squadron awaiting him in the Caribbean. They lacked frigates, and the French would know it. This was no Brittany coastline, or the cat-and-mouse encounters in the North Sea. Here there were countless islands, which would have to be patrolled and searched in case an enemy squadron was in hiding amongst them, and these waters abounded with craft of all kinds: Dutchmen and Spaniards, vessels from the South Americas, all ready to pass their intelligence to the French at Martinique and Guadeloupe. There were also the Americans, who had not forgotten their own fight for independence; they had to be handled with great care. They resented being stopped or examined as possible blockade-runners, and several serious complaints had been presented to the government in London by that young but ambitious nation.
Bolitho smiled as he recalled Lord Godschale's warning. 'We need tact as well as initiative, and someone who is known to these people.' Bolitho was not quite certain what he had implied by known, but he had never considered himself particularly tactful.
He said, 'Thank you, Owen. I shall need you again presently.'
Keen watched the man knuckle his forehead and stride away to rejoin his division.
He said, 'A valuable hand, that one, sir-I'll rate him up to petty officer shortly. He makes many of our landmen look like bumpkins!'
The wind got up again as darkness closed in around the ship, but the motion was less violent and the hands were able to consume hot food, and an extra ration of rum to make the long day seem less miserable.
Outside the wardroom which stretched across Black Prince's massive beam, and was situated directly beneath the admiral's quarters, Lieutenant James Sedgemore sat more comfortably on a locker with a goblet of madeira in one hand as he completed his onslaught on the senior midshipman. The latter stood like a ramrod, moving only to the ponderous lift and fall of the great hull, and all the men, weapons and supplies crammed into it. He gestured to the open screen doors, where, in the wardroom, Houston could see the officers he observed every watch in their very different guises. Drinking, writing letters, playing cards, while they waited for the last meal of the day. A few of the lieutenants who were feared for their sense of order and discipline sat or lolled in their chairs while a mess-boy bustled amongst them with a jug of wine. The surgeon, usually so grave-faced, was roaring with laughter at something the Royal Marines major had told him. The purser, Julyan the sailing-master: the very company Houston wanted to join, if not here then in another ship. He felt much as Sedgemore about his own future, but at present Sedgemore was in no mood for sympathy. 'I'll not have you throwing your weight about in my ship, simply because a man dare not answer back-do you understand?'
Houston bit his lip. He had wanted the captain to notice him, but he had certainly never intended to bring all this down on his head.
'And do not try to get your own back, Mr Houston, or you will think that the horned god of hell has fallen on your miserable shoulders! On our last commission, after Copenhagen-something which even you will have heard about from the older hands-there was one such midshipman, who was a little tyrant. He loved to see the people suffer, as if they didn't have enough to deal with. They feared him, despite his lowly rank, because he was Sir Richard's nephew.' He gave a fierce grin. 'Sir Richard packed him off the ship, an' Captain Keen offered him a court martial unless he agreed to resign. So what chance d'you imagine you would have?'
'I-I'm sorry, sir. Really…'
Sedgemore clapped him on the shoulder as he had seen Bolitho do on occasions. 'You are not, Mr Houston, but by God you will be, if it happens again. You will become known as the oldest midshipman in the fleet! Now be off with you. It ends here.'
The surgeon strolled past. 'Busy, Mr Sedgemore?'
The first lieutenant grinned. 'We all go through it.'
The surgeon made for the companion ladder. 'Not I, sir.'
On the quarterdeck Houston, still smouldering, reported to the officer-of-the-watch for the extra duties Sedgemore had given him. The lieutenant was Thomas Joyce. He was the third most senior, and had seen close action even at the tender age of eleven in his first ship.
It was bitterly cold, with spray and rain falling from the straining canvas and rigging like arctic rain.
Joyce snapped, 'Masthead, Mr Houston. A good lookout, if you please.'
Houston saw one of the helmsmen give a grin as his face showed briefly in the compass light. 'But-but there will be nothing in sight, sir!'
'Then it will be easy for you, won't it? Now up you go, or I'll have the bosun liven your dancing for you!'
Lieutenant Joyce was not an unduly hard man. He sighed and glanced at the tilting compass, then forgot the luckless youth high above the windswept deck.
We all go through it.
Down one deck further aft Allday sat in Ozzard's pantry and watched the little man slicing cheese for the cabin.
Ozzard asked testily, 'What did you want to go and do a stupid thing like that for, John? I always thought you were a bit cracked!'
Allday smiled. What did he really care about it? He had told him that he had left his share of the gold with Unis Polin at the Stag's Head. Just in case.
Ozzard continued, his knife flashing as a mark of his anger. 'She could walk off with the lot! You see, I know you, John Allday-know you of old. A pretty face, a neat ankle, and you're all aback! Anyway, you could have put it in the strongbox at the house.'
Allday filled his pipe carefully. 'What's the matter with you, Tom? Don't you like women or summat?'
Ozzard swung round, his eyes flaming. It only made him look more brittle. 'Don't you ever say that to me again!'
They both realised that the door was open, and a young seaman who had been cleaning around the great cabin stood staring at them, his eyes shifting nervously from one to the other.
Allday roared, 'Well? What do you want?'
'Th'-the vice-admiral needs you, Cox'n!'
Ozzard added sharply, 'Be off with you!' The youth fled.
Ozzard laid down the knife and looked at his hand as if expecting to see it shaking.
He said hesitantly, 'Sorry, John. Not your fault.' He would not look up.
Allday replied, 'Tell me if you like. One day. It'll go no further.' He shut the door behind him and walked beneath the massive beams towards the marine sentry outside the great cabin.
Whatever it was, it was tearing Ozzard apart. Had been, since…? But he could not remember.
In his pantry Ozzard sat down and rested his head in his hands. In the Golden Plover's last moments when he had been by the companion ladder, he had seen her framed against the stern windows. He had wanted to turn away, to hide in the shadows. But he had not. He had watched her stripping off her bloodstained clothing until she had been standing completely naked with the sea's great panorama tumbling beyond her. There had been so much salt on the glass the windows had acted as a broad mirror, so that no part of her lovely body had been denied him.
But he had not seen Catherine until she had pulled on her borrowed breeches and shirt. He had seen only his young wife, as she must have looked when her lover had visited her.
He wrung his hands in despair. Why had none of his friends or neighbours told him? He could have stopped it, made her love him again as he had always believed she had. Why? The word hung in the air like a serpent.
The way she had looked at him on that hideous day in Wapping. Surprise, contempt even, then terror when she had seen the axe in his hand.
He said brokenly, 'But I loved you! Can't you see?'
