For My Country’s Freedom

'For me?'

'And the ship.' He turned aside, as if suddenly conscious of his terrible scars. 'If you will excuse me, sir, I have much to do.'

Bolitho followed him and stopped him by the screen door.

'Do you regret it? Tell me the truth.'

'Well, I didn’t do it out of pity, sir.' Surprisingly, he grinned. 'Regret it? I’ll speak my mind when we run that damned Yankee to earth!' He was still smiling as he shut the door behind him.

Bolitho touched his eye and waited for the pain, but there was none. He sat again, deeply moved by Tyacke’s words, the very strength of his concern. A truly remarkable man.

That night while Indomitable thrust her heavy bows into open sea, Bolitho awoke with that same dream still fixed in his mind.

Carrick Roads and Pendennis Castle, the ships as clear and familiar as ever. Each one taking in her cable. Where bound? Who manned these phantom ships? There was an additional vessel this time, with the gilded figurehead he knew so well. Daughter of the Wind. And when she swung to her cable, he saw that it was Zenoria. Even then, as he fought his way out of the dream, he heard her last scream.

'All right, Sir Richard?' It was Allday, his powerful frame leaning over with the ship.

Bolitho held on to the cot as his feet touched the deck.

'Tell me something, old friend. Do you think he is still alive?'

Allday padded after him to the stern windows. The moon was making a ragged silver path on the lively crests. So that was what troubled him, he thought, as much or more than ever. All this time, with officials and officers coming and going with their offers or demands-mostly the latter, no doubt-planning what he should do, placing his ships where they would make the most difference, he had been fretting about Captain Adam. His nephew, but more of a son, a friend, than anyone else really knew.

Then he walked to the sword-rack, and waited for the moonlight to touch the old blade he had proudly buckled or clipped into place before so many fights, so many deeds, which he had shared.

'When we’re gone, Sir Richard…' He knew Bolitho was watching him in the eerie light, 'An’ we can’t live for ever, nor have I a mind to… this old blade will be his. Must be.'

He heard him say quietly, his voice suddenly calm again, 'Aye, old friend. The last of the Bolithos.'

Allday watched him climb into his cot. He seemed to fall asleep instantly.

Allday smiled. The squall was over; the storm still to come.

13. LONELINESS

Lady Catherine Somervell rose from the tall leather-backed chair and walked to the window. Down in the street in front of the Admiralty main building, it was raining quite heavily.

She toyed with one of the thick gold ropes that held the curtains, and watched people hurrying for shelter. Heavy, cleansing rain, thinning the traffic, causing steam to rise from the dirty cobbles, refreshing the avenues of trees so richly green on this late summer’s day.

She turned and glanced at the empty fireplace, the old paintings of sea-battles. Richard’s world. She shook her head, rejecting the antiquated ships. No, more his father’s navy. She had learned much merely by listening, by being with him, just as he had shared her London, and, she hoped, learned to enjoy it in a manner he had not found possible before.

She studied herself in a gilded tall looking-glass, imagining nervous sea officers here, examining their reflections before being summoned to meet whichever admiral would decide their fate.

A plain green gown, the hem and sleeves of which were spotted with rain even as she had alighted from the carriage. She wore a wide-brimmed hat with a matching green ribbon. She had dressed with care, as she always did, not from vanity or conceit, but out of defiance, and because of Richard. Sixteen months now, and the ache was as cruel as ever.

The room was much as she had expected it would be. Unwelcoming, aloof from the rest of the building, a place of decisions, where men’s lives could be changed with the stroke of a pen.

She could imagine him here, as a very young captain, perhaps. Or afterwards, as a flag-officer, when their affair had become common knowledge. The whole world knew about them now. She half smiled, but the Admiralty would not be impressed by

her position in his life, or by her rank. If anything happened to Richard, it was ironic that Belinda would be the first to be told. Officially

Over the months she had kept busy, helping Ferguson, or independently with her own projects. But each day was an eternity her rides on Tamara her only escape. She had not been near the cliff path and Trystan’s Leap since the day of Zenoria’s death.

An old servant stood now between the tall double doors. Catherine had not noticed him, nor heard the doors open.

'Sir Graham Bethune will see you now, my lady.'

He bowed slightly as she passed him. She could almost hear him creak.

Sir Graham Bethune strode to meet her. She had resented the fact that he had once been one of Richard’s midshipmen in his first command: even though he had explained the complexities governing seniority, it still seemed deeply unfair. Only one rank lower than Richard, and yet he was a lord of admiralty a power who could help or dismiss as he chose.

But Bethune was not what she had expected. He was slim, energetic, and was wearing a genuine smile to greet her; suddenly and rather unwillingly, she understood why Richard had liked him.

'My dear Lady Somervell, this is indeed an honour. When I heard you were in Chelsea and I received your little note, I could scarce believe my good fortune!'

Catherine sat in the proffered chair and regarded him calmly. He was charming, but he was quite unable to hide his curiosity and the interest of a man in a beautiful woman.

She said, 'We were deeply concerned at Falmouth to learn of Anemones loss. I thought that if I came in person you might give me more news-if there is any, Sir Graham?'

'We will take refreshment in a moment, Lady Somervell.' He walked to his desk and rang a small bell. 'Yes, we have indeed

received more news, first by telegraph from Portsmouth yesterday, and then confirmed by courier.' He turned and rested his buttocks on the table. 'It is much as I expected. After the sinking, the American frigate Unity took what prisoners could be saved from Anemone, and because of her own damage was forced to cancel any further attempts on our convoy. It was a brave act on Captain Bolitho’s part. It will not go unrewarded.' She put her hand on her breast and saw his glance follow it and linger there for a few seconds.

She said, 'Then he is alive?'

A servant entered with a tray. He did not look at either of them.

Bethune watched the servant opening the bottle with the deftness of one who was called to perform the task often.

'I was told that you enjoy champagne, my lady. I think we have something to celebrate. Don’t you agree?'

She waited. Bethune was probably imagining other reasons for her concern.

He said, 'He was badly wounded, but our informants have told us that, thanks to the American commodore, he was well cared for.' He hesitated for the first time. 'We are still uncertain as to the extent of his injury.'

Catherine took the tall glass and felt its coolness through her glove. Word for word, Richard’s letter was engraved on her memory: Adam’s arrival at English Harbour, and his anguish at the news of Zenoria’s death.

It was like some playlet, in which they all had lines to speak. Richard and his dead brother; Adam and Zenoria; and yet to come, Valentine Keen.

Bethune held his glass to the window. 'We have not been told officially what the Americans intend. Captain Bolitho, in the normal course of events, would be exchanged with one of our prisoners. However, as a frigate