For My Country’s Freedom

His eyes moved restlessly to the great arched entrance, then to the bewigged footmen sweating in their heavy coats as they bustled with trays of glasses, while others stood at the long tables of food, bowing over their charges like priests at an altar loaded with offerings.

Vice-Admiral Sir Graham Bethune and his frail-looking wife. Two or three generals and their ladies, politicians and merchants from the City Rear-Admiral Keen’s father had at first been unable

to accept the invitation, pleading a previous engagement. Sillitoe had seen to that.

The footman tapped his staff on the marble floor.

'The Viscountess Somervell!' A pause. 'And Rear-Admiral Valentine Keen!'

The noise of conversation faded away like surf dying on a beach as Sillitoe took her hand, and kissed it.

'It was so gracious of you to come, Lady Catherine.'

She smiled. 'How could I not?'

Sillitoe offered his hand to Keen. 'It is good to have you back at home, sir. Tragic news, of course. My sincere condolences.'

To Catherine he said, 'I will see you again very shortly.' His eyes lingered on the diamond fan at her breast. 'You do me too much honour.'

Catherine and her escort walked out on to the terrace as the conversation buzzed into life once more.

Keen said, 'I am never certain of that man.'

'You are not the first, Val.' She took a goblet from a tray. 'Or the last. It is as well to be wary of him.'

She had not expected to be participating in any social activities during what had been intended as a brief visit to London, and had brought only one suitable evening gown, a particular favourite of Richard’s. It was of kingfisher-blue satin, so that her piled hair seemed to reflect in it as if she stood above moving water.

But it was cut very low, and she knew that the sunburns she had suffered in the shipwreck were still visible after nearly four years. So long, she thought, how could the time have passed so quickly? She would not allow herself to dwell on the precious hours and days she had spent with Richard since then, because they could never be relived, could never be had back again.

The torches were lit, and the lights and the river reminded her sharply of the pleasure gardens where she had taken him.

To her surprise she recognised Valentine Keen’s father, who had been ushered in without any announcement and presented to Sillitoe. She heard Sillitoe say silkily 'I am so grateful'you changed your arrangements.' Neither of them smiled.

Sillitoe glanced up at an overly ornate clock and left his place by the doors.

Then he saw them and came to join them, taking a glass as he passed a footman.

'I have done my part as host, Lady Catherine. Now let me bask in the light which you seem to create wherever you go.' He barely glanced at Keen. 'Your father is here, sir. He craves a word. I think it may be useful if you oblige him.'

Keen made his excuses and left to look for his father. He had said nothing of his relationship with the rest of his family, but he appeared angry at the interruption.

'Was that true, Sir Paul?'

He looked directly at her. 'Of course. But I do see a rift between father and son, which is a pity. Over the girl from Zen-nor, no doubt.'

'No doubt.' She refused to be drawn.

'Why, Sir Paul!' It was Vice-Admiral Bethune, with his wife. 'May we both offer our congratulations?' But his eyes moved too often to Catherine.

Bethune’s wife said, 'A pity Sir Richard cannot be so rewarded for all that he has done for England.'

Sillitoe was, for once, caught off guard.

'I am not certain what…'

She said rudely, 'A peerage such as yours, Sir Paul. After all, Lord Nelson was so honoured!'

Bethune said angrily, 'You have no right!'

Catherine took another glass of champagne and found a few seconds to thank the footman. She was inwardly burning with anger, but her voice was quite calm.

'If Sir Richard and I were parted, madam, he would still not return to his wife, but then I am certain you know that already.'

Bethune almost dragged his wife away, and Catherine heard him muttering, 'Do you desire to ruin me?'

Sillitoe said, 'I should have prevented it. I know something of that woman’s spite.'

Catherine smiled but her heart was still beating furiously. No wonder Bethune had eyes for other women. He surely deserved better.

Sillitoe said abruptly, 'Let me show you something of the house.'

She said, 'Very well, but not for too long. It would be discourteous to my escort.'

He smiled. 'You seem to have a habit of provoking sea officers, my dear.'

They walked along a colonnade and up a staircase, which was bare of any paintings except one, of a man in dark clothing, a sword with an outdated basket hilt at his hip. Despite the neat Spanish-style beard and the clothing, it could have been her companion.

He was watching her profile, the smooth curve of her breasts, her breathing shown only by the diamond pendant.

'My father.'

She looked at it more closely. It was strange that she knew nothing about this man but his present power, and his confident use of that power. It was as though a door or a locked chest had been opened for the first time.

'What was he like?'

'I barely knew him. My mother was in poor health and he insisted we were in the West Indies as little as possible. I yearned to be with him. Instead I was sent to school, where constant bullying taught me that it was sometimes necessary to hit back.'

She turned her head to change the light on the portrait. Even the same hooded, compelling stare.

The West Indies. He had mentioned his estates in Jamaica and elsewhere. He was obviously very wealthy, but still lacked satisfaction.

She said, 'Was he a man of business, or a courtier like his son?'

He took her arm and guided her to a wide balcony, which overlooked the terrace with its flickering torches and the river beyond.

He gave a harsh laugh. 'He was a slaver. A Black Ivory captain. The best!'

She heard her gown hissing against the balustrade, the din of voices from the terrace. It looked so far away.

'You are not disagreeable to that, Lady Catherine?'

'They were different days.' She thought suddenly of Tyacke, coming to their rescue in his brig Larne. 'There will always be slaves, no matter what people promise and pretend.'

He nodded. 'A wise head as well as a beautiful one.'

They reached the end of the balcony and she said, 'I think we must go back.'

'Certainly.' He seemed to be grappling with something. 'I must say, Lady Catherine, that you are quite lovely. I can take care of you-you would want for nothing. There would be no more scandal, no harm done to you by simpering fools like Bethune’s wife. Believe me, I would see to that!'

She stared at him. 'Can you see me as your mistress, what it would do to the one and only man I love?'

He gripped her arms. 'As a wife, Lady Catherine. That is what I am asking you. As a wife.'

She released herself gently and slipped her arm through his.

'I am sorry, Sir Paul. I thought…'

'I can imagine.' He pressed her arm against his side. 'Let me hope?'

'You overwhelm me.' She glanced at his face, but saw only the man in the portrait. 'Once I came to you for aid. I shall not

forget. But do not hurt me or Richard if I decline.'

'Ah, your escort is approaching!'

She turned, but Sillitoe seemed quite composed. It was as though she had imagined all of it.