across to me that it was something important. But I did not catch the gist of it.'
'How strange. My nephew was in my mind just now as I watched Tybalt running down on us. But why here? It must be serious.' The unanswered questions hung in the cabin's still air. Despatches for the admiral. But the Admiralty would be in ignorance about Sutcliffe's condition.
He persisted, 'Can you remember nothing further of this conversation?'
Esse frowned so that his pale eyes disappeared. 'I took little notice, Sir Richard, as it did not concern the squadron.'
'What did he say?'
'The French. He said something about enemy ships… I assumed he meant in home waters.'
'My God.' Bolitho saw Ozzard peering through his hatch. 'Fetch the captain and my flag lieutenant!'
To the bemused Esse he said, 'I shall give you written orders. You must return to English Harbour with all haste. You will see RearAdmiral Herrick and make certain that copies of my despatches are sent immediately to St Kitts and to London.' He turned away so that Esse should not see his despair. London? It could as well be the moon for all the good it would do now.
Keen and Jenour entered. Bolitho said tersely, 'Adam has come from England. Despatches from the Admiralty, no doubt-they'd never release a frigate otherwise.'
Keen said gently, 'But we don't know for certain, sir.'
'My responsibility, Val.' He tried to smile but it eluded him. It had been reported over the months that the French were secretly reinforcing their squadrons in the Caribbean. Now they were ready. In a matter of weeks a combined naval and military force would attack Martinique. And with some of the English supporting squadrons tied down in Jamaica… He felt a cold touch on his spine. It would be Herrick's massacred convoy all over again.
He said quietly, 'Make quite sure that RearAdmiral Herrick understands. Every available ship and garrison must stand-to. For once the enemy has scattered our invasion force, they will surely turn upon Antigua.'
Esse nodded, his face very calm. 'I shall do my best.'
'Leave me now. I have matters to dictate.'
Alone with Keen and Jenour, while the ship pitched on a low swell and the upper deck echoed to the squeak and thud of Sedgemore's mock battle, Bolitho said, 'You think me mad?'
'Far from that, sir.' Keen paused. 'But it must be said: it is all surmise.'
'Possibly. But we know from the past week that there is no enemy movement down here. So the ships must be elsewhere, correct?'
'If they are coming this way, sir.'
Bolitho strode about the cabin. There was no news. So why should he care, with a mad superior who would see any initiative, even by him, as gross insubordination? It would be a bitter twist of fate if Herrick were a witness at his court martial!
Aloud he said harshly, 'But I do care. It is what we are here for!'
To Keen he said more evenly, 'Bring the ship about, Val, and signal the others to keep station on us. We will pass through the St Lucia Channel tonight. A longer haul, but it will give us more favourable winds. With luck we shall meet with Captain Crowfoot's ships and then we can beat up to wind'rd. Tybalt will have rejoined us by then. If not…' He did not need to say more.
Keen said, 'I'm ready, sir.'
Bolitho smiled at him. 'To the final battle, the gates of hell if need be, eh, Val?'
Keen did not smile in return. 'Yes,' he said. 'Always.'
RearAdmiral Thomas Herrick stood by an open window and mopped his face with his handkerchief. The noon heat made it hard to think, and the persistent attacks by mosquitoes and other insects were a constant irritation.
Seated at a table, Captain John Pearse, now his second-in-command because of the admiral's disgusting illness but normally captain of the busy dockyard, watched him guardedly. Pearse was content enough with his appointment even though he knew he would rise no higher in the navy. He had been a long time in the Indies and was used to the extremes of climate; also long enough to avoid the many fevers and diseases which weekly led to sea-burials or funerals in the small garrison cemeteries, with their pathetic regimental crests and the names of towns and villages in the mother-country Pearse could barely remember. He wondered what was so disturbing Herrick. Sutcliffe was dying; he must die, or he would drive his staff as mad as himself. The horror of his appalling condition-sores, black vomit and near-blindness-pervaded the whole building, and Herrick's temper was daily growing more fraught.
There had been one such display of unreasonable anger just now when a messenger had come to inform them that the frigate Tybalt had cleared the entrance and was now on passage to join Bolitho's squadron, and that yet another frigate had been reported standing inshore. 'She's the Anemone, sir, 38, commanded by…' He had got no further. Herrick had snarled, 'I know who commands her, man-Sir Richard's nephew! Stop wasting my time!'
Pearse said carefully, 'I think it would be prudent to recall Tybalt, sir. Anemone may have news which might need attention.'
Herrick saw the two frigates passing one another on a converging tack, the red coats moving on the battery to prepare a salute.
'I think not.' The two vessels were slowly drawing apart now. Why was Adam here? Surely there was no more news since Black Prince had arrived at English Harbour? He heard feet running by, servants going to assist the admiral no doubt. Diseased of body and diseased of mind. He were better dead.
Pearse fiddled with some papers and looked warily at Herrick. 'Perhaps the French have surrendered.' He regretted it immediately.
'Surrendered? Never in a million years, man! Damned barbarians, they'll fight to the last ditch.'
He winced as the first guns echoed around the harbour. He strode to the sill and watched the frigate gliding towards the guard-boat. The breeze was fresher; it might clear the air. He saw the gunsmoke drifting close to the water and recalled his own service in frigates. But never in command of one.
It had been Adam who had brought the news to him of Dulcie's terrible death. Had it been anyone else he might have been able to contain it, at least for a while, from the curious. But Adam was a Bolitho, even if he held the family name only because of his uncle; he had been born a bastard, and his father had deserted the navy to join the American rebels… and yet that shame never tarnished him, or impeded his promotion.
It was all so unfair. Dulcie had given him everything: stability, pride, and above all, love. But a child had been denied them. He watched the flash of the final gun, the anchor throwing up spray as Anemone came to rest. Even Richard and his wife had been blessed with a daughter. How could he have turned his back on her? He thought suddenly of Catherine. She had stayed with Dulcie to the end, in very real danger to herself. Why can I not come to terms with it?
He said abruptly, 'Pass the word to the signal-station, Captain Pearse. I want to see Anemone's captain before anyone else does.'
Captain Pearse nodded uneasily. It was unlikely that Lord Sutcliffe would know or care what was happening.
It was another hour before Adam Bolitho arrived, his hat crammed under one arm, his short hanger pressed against his thigh.
Herrick shook his hand. 'Do not keep me in suspense, Adam! This is most unexpected. How long have you been at sea?'
Adam glanced around. Although the officer-of-the-guard had shouted to him from his boat that Lord Sutcliffe was sick, he had somehow expected to find him here.
'Eighteen days, sir.' He smiled, the recklessness on his tanned face wiping away the shadows of command.
Herrick waved him to a chair and sat down opposite him, frowning.
'Why the urgency?'
'I have important despatches from the Admiralty, sir. It seems that the bad weather in the Atlantic allowed some French ships to avoid our blockading squadrons.' He waited, expecting some reaction he could recognise. 'I am ordered to acquaint Lord Sutcliffe with the despatches without delay.'
'Impossible. He is too ill. I cannot tell him anything.'
'But-' Adam grappled with Herrick's blunt reply. 'It may be vital. It is said that the enemy ships are on passage
