re-arm and lick their wounds. Nobody had expected it to last. So, to prepare the fleet for whatever lay ahead, a scapegoat, no matter how lowly, had to be found.
Avery said, 'I was found not guilty of cowardice or hazarding the ship. But Jolle had struck her colours, so wounded or not, I was reprimanded.' He began to rise from his seat. 'I knew it would be hopeless. I am only sorry that I had to waste your time.'
Not guilty, but condemned to be a lieutenant until he was discharged or killed.
Bolitho asked quietly, 'Do you have any family?'
He did not seem to hear for a moment. Then he said, 'There is nobody. Apart from my uncle, whom I barely know.'
Bolitho saw Catherine's shadow beyond the open door.
He said, ' Falmouth is not London, but there is a highly respected tailor here, Joshua Miller, who has served my family through several generations. See to it that you obtain the necessary clothing as befits a flag lieutenant.' He could not bear to see Avery's expression. Astonishment, gratitude, disbelief: it was all and none of them.
He added, 'My own nephew was once in the same demanding role. It will not be an easy one for you. You will see my secretary, Mr. Yovell, and he will drill you in your duties. Where is your gear?'
Avery tried to control his thoughts. 'In the inn yard, Sir Richard. I would have taken a room there, but I never thought '
Bolitho said, 'Have someone bring it to the house. It will be easier for you to find your feet here, and to know the little crew who work with me.'
'I do not know what to say, Sir Richard! I can only promise…'
'Promise nothing! It is wiser in the long run.' He hesitated and said, 'If it helps, I once threw down my sword to save the life of one very dear to me.' He thought of Allday falling to the Spanish blade, the terrible wound which still rendered him helpless if he was unprepared for it. 'I hope I would be strong enough to do it again.'
When he turned again the tall, gaunt lieutenant with the streaks of prematurely greying hair had gone, as if he had been the spirit of someone past.
Catherine was in the room, her arms outstretched until she had thrown them around his shoulders.
He kissed her neck. 'Did I do right, Kate?'
She could barely speak for a few moments. 'He is a good man. I will never forget his face when he left you.'
He hugged her, wanting to make light of it. But all the time the lieutenant had been blurting out his story he had seen only himself. It might have been me.
Later in the evening light, with a faint mist coming in from the sea, they walked together along the track to the stile, beyond which was the cliff path. They watched the sea as it hissed among the rocks where a few gulls bobbed up and down on the swell, but they could have had the world to themselves.
She said suddenly, 'I want to come with you to Plymouth, and be at your side. Until the last moment.'
He held her against him, her loose hair blowing into his eyes. That day when Anemone had sighted the shores of Cornwall their time together had seemed infinite, reaching out ahead of them with so much promise. Now, in days perhaps,
they would be parted, and her letters and his memories would have to sustain him.
'If you wish it, Kate. I am as greedy as you are persuasive.'
They returned to the old house, and Bolitho was surprised to see his secretary Yovell working on some books in the library.
She frowned at him. 'I'll not have you overtaxing yourself, Mr. Yovell! ' Then she laughed. 'I shall go up.' Her gaze lingered on Bolitho as he watched her mount the stairs. 'There will be no regrets, Richard.'
Bolitho was not certain what she meant. To Yovell he said, 'How did you get along with Mr. Avery?'
Yovell breathed on his little gold-rimmed spectacles and polished them vigorously with his handkerchief.
'A man of many parts, Sir Richard. Understands Latin too. He will suit.'
There could be no higher praise from him.
Bolitho went upstairs, past each watching portrait with its background of some forgotten battle or campaign. The house was still hot from the day: there might even be thunder in the air.
He went into the room and saw her standing by a window, which was opened wide. It was airless and even the candles shone unmoving, the shadows around the room quite still.
As he put his arms around her she turned towards the tall cheval glass, which was surrounded by hundreds of carved thistles. It had belonged to Bolitho's Scottish mother, a gift from Captain James. She watched his face as he looked at her reflection in the mirror. She wore the favourite robe with its fine gold cord, her body clearly etched against his own shadow.
'Remember, no regrets. Do with me as you will. Use me, take me, for I am yours and always have been, although we did not know it.'
He saw her body move against him as he played with the cord about her throat. It was like watching her being taken by someone else, a stranger.
'Slowly.' Her eyes were watching the mirror, her mouth moist as he pulled the cord and began to lower the gown until her breasts were revealed, his hand dark around them until she was suddenly completely naked, her hair falling across her bare shoulders as if to protect her.
He took her to the bed and lay with her, touching her, kissing her breasts, her body, her legs, until delay was unbearable.
Only a moment more while he threw off his clothes, and she pretended to hold him away, then she murmured, 'But I surrender…' The rest was stifled as he came down and entered her, holding her wrists, taking her like the stranger in the mirror.
There was thunder, lightning too. But in the room there was only peace.
6. The 'Valkyrie'
The long stretch of water named The Hamoaze which separated Plymouth. Dockyard from the neighbouring county of Cornwall shone. like burnished pewter in the forenoon sunlight. The last day of August, and yet there was already a chill in the air, a hint of misty rain across the Devon countryside.
The waterway was alive with shipping of every kind and size, from two lordly ships-of-the-line tugging at their cables in a brisk off-shore breeze to collier brigs, deep in the water with their cargoes for the towns on the River Tamar and the dockyard itself. A ma sting vessel towing a great tangle of spars was following them, using the tide to make a safe passage from the Sound through the narrow strait that guarded the final approach.
To any ignorant land man one man-of-war was much the same as another, size being the only comparison, but in any true sailor the frigate anchored closest to the dockyard would rouse an immediate interest. From her tapering jib-boom to her finely-raked counter with her name, Valkyrie, below the stern cabin windows, she was obviously much larger than any other ship classed as a fifth-rate, and but for her long main gun-deck she might have passed for a ship-of-the-line.
Men moved quietly about her gangways and high above the decks on rigging and yards. A last full inspection: who could tell for how long? She was a new ship, built at the famous Bucklers Yard to an advanced design, and she had been with the fleet for less than two months. The strain on officers and seamen alike had been considerable.
Extra officers and experienced hands had been poached from other vessels in Plymouth with the aid of the port admiral, who was better aware than most of Valkyrie's importance. Properly used, she could out-fight any other man-of-war below the line of battle, and had been so designed that she could be used as a squadron commander of almost any number of vessels.
Right aft in the great cabin, Captain Aaron Trevenen was considering this very possibility as he glanced into the adjoining quarters, which were already prepared for Vice-Admiral Sir Richard Bolitho's use for as long as the situation dictated.
The quarters were spacious by any standard, he thought, for Valkyrie boasted a beam of just over forty feet with headroom, aft at least, to make every movement comfortable. Trevenen had spent almost all of his life at sea
