papers, to take his leave as quickly as possible. The ship had fought well; without her, even Indomitable ’s formidable artillery might not have been able to beat the Yankees into submission. But that was as far as it went. He never felt that Zest was really his ship, nor had he attempted to make her so. His ship lay on the seabed, her beautiful figurehead staring into the deeper darkness, so many of her company still with her.
The midshipman in charge of the jolly-boat was very aware of his passenger’s rank and reputation: even the name of Bolitho had sent a flood of rumours through the ship.
Adam looked at the chests at his feet. All new, everything, even the fighting sword he had purchased with such care. The rest lay with Anemone.
He glanced at his small companion. John Whitmarsh, who had been the only one saved from the sea, had served in Anemone for almost two years before she foundered. A mere child. He had been “volunteered” by an uncle, if uncle he was, after the boy’s father, a deep-water fisherman, had drowned off the Goodwins. John was to be his servant. Adam had never seen such pride or such gratitude when he had asked him. The boy still did not understand the lifeline had been for his captain, and not the other way round.
The midshipman said stiffly, “There she lies, sir.”
Adam tugged down his hat. She was the Wakeful, a 38-gun frigate, hard-worked and in constant demand like most of her breed. Now she was completing the last tasks before sailing, taking on fresh water, fruit if there was any available, and, of course, men. Even the most dedicated press-gang would be hard put to find any suitable hands in a naval port.
He looked at the boy again. Not much different in spite of his smart new jacket and white trousers. Ozzard had taught him some of it; the rest he would learn quickly enough. He was bright, and if he was nervous or still suffering from his experiences and the memory of seeing his best friend, another ship’s boy of the same age, drift away beyond help, he did not show it.
Adam had sent a letter to the boy’s mother. Had she asked for his return, he would have put him ashore and made certain that he reached her safely. She had not acknowledged the letter. Perhaps she had moved from the area, or taken up with another “uncle.” Either way, Adam thought his young charge had been quietly pleased about it.
He ran his eye critically over the frigate. Rigging well set up, sails neatly furled. She was smart enough. He could see the scarlet and blue of the receiving party by the entry port. He knew nothing of her captain, other than that this was his first command. He found he could shut it from his mind. It was not his concern. He, like Rear- Admiral Valentine Keen, who was arriving tomorrow, was a passenger. He smiled briefly. An inconvenience.
He thought with affection of his uncle, and how close they had been after his escape from the Americans. They would all meet again in Halifax. He still did not know why he had accepted Keen’s offer. Because of guilt? To allay suspicion? He knew it was neither. It was simply a feeling, like someone or something leading the way. He recalled Zennor, the quietness of the place, the hiss of the sea on the rocks beneath the cliff. Her grave. He had touched it, and had felt her spirit watching him. The little mermaid.
“Bows!” The midshipman’s voice was loud. Perhaps he had taken Adam’s silence for disapproval.
The bowman was on his feet, boat-hook poised as rudder and oars brought the boat hard round toward the main chains. The oars were tossed, showering the seamen with salt water as the boat swayed and bounced alongside.
He looked at the midshipman. “Thank you, Mr Price. That was well done.”
The youth gaped at him, as if surprised that his name was known. He thought once more of Bolitho, all the lessons learned.
They have names. He could almost hear his voice. In this life we
share, it is often all they do have.
He stood up, ensuring that the new sword was safely in position on his hip. He had never forgotten Bolitho’s cautionary tale of the senior officer who had fallen headlong over his sword, in full view of the side party.
He glanced down at the boy. “Ready, young John?” He knew that above his head they were all waiting: the ritual of receiving a captain on board. But this, too, was important.
Whitmarsh picked up his bag, his brown eyes unblinking as he stared at the tapering masts, the ensign curling out from the taffrail.
“Ready, sir.” He nodded firmly. “Aye, ready.”
Adam smiled, and climbed swiftly up the side. He still wore a dressing on the jagged wound, but it was only to protect the tender scar from the pressure of his clothing.
He stepped onto the deck and removed his hat as the Royal Marines presented arms in salute. And to remind me, so that I never forget.
“Welcome aboard, Captain Bolitho! It is an honour!”
Adam shook his hand. Very young, and in the gleaming new epaulettes, he was like a youth playing the role of captain. He thought, as I once did.
The captain, whose name was Martin Hyde, led the way aft, and said almost apologetically, “A bit crowded, I’m afraid. Rear-Admiral Keen will have my quarters, and there is an extra berth for you. I’ve arranged for your section to be screened off. I see you have a servant with you, so you should be comfortable enough. ”He hesitated. “I must ask this. What is the rear-admiral like? It is three thousand miles to Halifax, and he will be used to rather more luxury than I can offer, I imagine.”
Adam said, “He is very agreeable, and a good man in every way.”
The other captain seemed relieved. “I understand that his wife died recently. It can change one.”
Adam heard himself answer levelly, “He will leave you free to direct your ship as you will.” He would have to become accustomed to it. People would always want to know.
He saw a corporal of marines pointing out something to Whitmarsh, and the boy nodding in agreement. He belonged. But just once Adam saw him glance uncertainly along the busy deck, where the guard was falling out and the hands were returning to their work.
Hyde said, “He looks a likely lad. Young, but I’m often so desperate for bodies I’d take them from their mothers’ arms if I could!”
An officer hovered nearby, obviously the first lieutenant. Hyde said, “I am needed, Captain Bolitho. We will talk later.” He smiled, and looked even younger. “It is a privilege to have you aboard, although after three thousand miles you may feel differently.” Then he was gone.
Overhead, the familiar sounds resumed, the twitter of bosun’s calls, the “Spithead Nightingales,” the thud of bare feet, and the squeal of tackles through their blocks. His world, but not mine. Adam sat on a chest and stared around at the great cabin, where he would live, and attempt to accept a future with Keen.
He heard Whitmarsh walking behind him, still very careful of his shining new shoes with their bright buckles.
Adam said, “In that chest.” He tossed him the keys. “There’s some cognac.” He watched the boy opening it. Like the others, it could have belonged to a stranger. All new. He sighed.
John Whitmarsh asked quietly, “Be you sad, sir?”
He looked sharply at the boy. “Remember what I told you aboard Indomitable, when I asked you to come with me?”
He saw him screw up his eyes. “Aye, sir. You said that when we were sad we should remember our old ship, an’ our lost friends.”
Adam took the cup of cognac from his hand. “That is so.”
The boy watched him anxiously. “But we will get another ship, sir!”
The very simplicity of it moved him. “Yes. We will, John Whitmarsh.”
He looked toward the stern windows, streaked now with salt spray like ice rime.
“But there will always be thoughts.”
The boy had not heard him, or perhaps he had spoken only to himself: he was unpacking one of the chests in an orderly fashion, as Ozzard had taught him. He was content.
Adam stood up. And so must I be. Others depend on me. It has to be enough.
But when he had knelt by her grave, he had known then that it was not.
George Avery paused to get his bearings, and reconsider what he was doing. When he had watched her drive away in the smart blue carriage, he should have left it right there, put it back into the past with all the other memories and bitter experiences. He had returned to Jermyn Street and prowled up and down, simply to reawaken
