As she straightened again, she looked directly into his eyes. “George… please, go tomorrow.”
It was madness. But there was the other madness, which they had all shared, the thunder of the great guns, the screams and the horror of battle. How could he explain, how extricate himself from this? But she had already vanished among the remaining guests.
Avery made his way through the house until he found the garden, which was already in twilight.
Madness, then. So be it.
The carriage had stopped at the crest of a slight rise, the horses stamping on the rough road, untroubled by the keen morning air.
Bolitho turned toward her, holding her hand beneath her heavy cloak, wondering how time could pass so swiftly and without mercy.
“We are almost there, Kate.”
“I know. I remember.”
They could have driven all the way from Falmouth without stopping, but had stayed the night at an inn outside Liskeard. Bolitho had been very aware of the danger of missing his ship because of a late arrival, or some accident on the road: that the tide waited for no man had been impressed upon him since he had first gone to sea at the age of twelve, or perhaps even earlier, as a child listening to his father and the local men who lived on and from the sea. Nor would he have Catherine travelling so far without some brief respite.
They had left the Turk’s Head early; neither of them wanted breakfast. Even in such a small place there had been no escape from his own notoriety. People had been waiting outside the inn, and had waved and called to them, wishing them luck and happiness. Catherine had responded as she always did, although their kindness must have broken her heart. It was not next week or the week after. It was today.
The other members of his “little crew” would already be aboard: Avery, more withdrawn than usual after his sojourn in London; Yovell with his books and his Bible, untroubled as always; Ozzard, who gave nothing away; and, of course, Allday. Allday was genuinely sorry to be leaving his wife and child, but there was something more to it, pride, or a certain satisfaction because he was still needed, and had returned to what he considered his proper role in life.
He had talked with Catherine throughout the night. The ship, Royal Enterprise, was a fleet transport, faster than most merchant vessels, and used to carrying important passengers to any destination so ordered by Their Lordships. The voyage should take three weeks to a month, weather permitting: the masters of such transports were highly experienced, making the best use of prevailing winds for an untroubled passage. So there might be a hint of early spring in Cornwall by the time he rehoisted his flag above Indomitable in Halifax.
At least he would have James Tyacke, as well as Adam and Keen to sustain him. What would she have?
He had told her about Belinda and her need for more money. Catherine had known, or guessed.
She had exclaimed, “Need? Self-indulgence, more likely! I’ll not have that woman troubling you, Richard.”
When the inn had fallen quiet for the night they had held one another and talked, until desperate passion had brought them together for the last time.
They heard Matthew speaking softly with Ferguson. Ferguson had insisted on accompanying them, and would escort Catherine back to Falmouth rather than entrust her to the protection of a paid guard. He and Matthew had remained in the inn parlour yarning and drinking until they had eventually retired, Ferguson to one of the rooms, Matthew to sleep with his horses as he always did on the road.
Catherine twisted round to look at him again. “Remember, I am always with you. I shall write often, to let you know how it looks in Falmouth, at our house.” She touched the lock of hair above his right eye; it was almost white now, and she knew he hated it. She thought the savage scar beneath it must be the cause; the rest of his hair was as black as it had been on the day she had first seen him.
She murmured, “So proud, Richard.” She lowered her head and her fist struck the seat. “I will not weep. We have gone through so much, and we are so lucky. I will not weep.”
They had decided that they should part before he joined the ship: so different from that other time when she had climbed Indomitable ’s side and been cheered by Tyacke’s sailors, many of whom had since died in that last fight with Beer’s Unity.
But now that the time had come, it was hard to contemplate leaving her.
Reading his thoughts, she said suddenly, “May we get out, Richard, just for a few minutes?”
They climbed down and he took her arm as her cloak billowed out in the wind. Bolitho did not need any gauge: he knew the feel of it. A sailor’s wind. The Royal Enterprise would be tugging at her cable, eager to go. He had known it all his life, though rarely as a passenger.
And there, like a dark, twisting snake, was the Hamoaze, and beyond it, misty in the damp air, Plymouth and the Sound.
She said quietly, “The hills of Devon, Richard. How well I know these places, because of you.”
“We have done and shared so much.”
She put her fingers on his mouth. “Just love me, Richard. Say that you will always love me.”
They walked back to the carriage where Matthew stood by the horses, and Ferguson, shapeless in a big coachman’s caped coat, sat in silence, sharing it, as he had so many times.
The door closed and they were moving again. Downhill now, with more people about, some of whom pointed at the crest on the coach, and cheered without knowing if it was occupied or empty.
Houses next, a stable yard he remembered from his time as a junior lieutenant. He held her and looked at her, knowing what it was costing, for both of them. She was beautiful, despite the shadows beneath her eyes, as he always saw her when they were separated by the ocean.
She was saying, “I shall keep very busy, Richard. I shall help Bryan, and I will visit Nancy more often. I know she frets over Lewis. He will heed nothing the doctors tell him.”
Matthew called, “We’re here, Sir Richard.”
She clung to his arm. “I shall walk with you to the jetty. They may not have sent a boat yet. I can keep you company.”
He touched her face, her hair. “The boat will be there. I am an admiral. Remember?”
She laughed. “And you once forgot to tell me!”
He embraced her. Neither moved. There was no baggage: it had been sent ahead. All he had to do was get out, and walk through the gate and to the jetty. It was so simple. That was probably what they had told themselves on the way to the guillotine…
He opened the door. “Please stay here, Kate.” He held her again, and she leaned over and kissed him. Then he stepped back and stared at the others. “Take good care of her.” He could barely see them. “For me.”
Matthew grinned. “None better, sir!” But there was no smile in his eyes.
Ferguson was down on the road. He said, “God speed, Sir Richard.”
Bolitho stood quite still; afterwards, he thought it had been as if their spirits had joined.
Then he turned on his heel and walked through the gates.
She watched, her eyes smarting, afraid to miss the moment when he would look back. He had been right: they were waiting. Uniforms blue and scarlet; formal, austere voices. Respect for her man, an admiral of England.
But he did turn, then very slowly raised his hat and bowed to her. When she looked again, he was gone.
She waited for Ferguson to climb into the carriage, and said, “Tell Matthew to drive back along the same road.”
Ferguson replied, “The ship’ll stand well out before she changes tack, m’lady. We’ll not be able to see anything.”
She sat back in the seat. “I shall see him.” She looked at the passing cottages. “And he will know it.”
4. Captains
AS EIGHT BELLS chimed out from the forecastle belfry, Captain James Tyacke climbed through the companion and onto the broad quarterdeck. The air, like everything else, was wet, clinging, and cold, and the ship seemed hemmed in by an unmoving curtain of fog. He gripped his hands tightly behind his back and listened to the staccato
