who was rarely out of the news. But to these men, he was simply their new superior. Nothing which had preceded him mattered, until they had learned what he was like.
The sail maker and his mates were here, cross-legged, busy with palms and bright needles. Nothing was ever wasted, be it a sail ripped apart in a gale or the scrap that would eventually clothe a corpse for its final journey to the seabed. The carpenter and his crew; the boatswain making a last inspection of the new blocks and tackles above the boat tier. He saw the surgeon, George Minchin, walking alone on the larboard gangway, his face brick red in the hard afternoon light. Another man whose story was unknown. He had been in the old Hyperion when she had gone down, with Keen as her captain. The navy was like a family, but there were so many missing faces now.
Adam had been on deck at first light when Indomitable had weighed, and sailed in company with two other frigates and a brig. She had made a fine sight, towering above the other ships with her pyramids of sails straining and hardening like armoured breastplates in a sharp north-westerly. He had lifted his hat, and had known that his uncle, although unseen, would have returned their private salute. In one way, he envied Tyacke his role as Bolitho’s flag captain, even as he knew it would have been the worst thing he could have attempted. This was his ship. He had to think of her as his sole responsibility, and Keen’s flag made it an important one. But it would go no further. Even if he tried, he knew he would never love this ship as he had loved Anemone.
He thought of Keen, and the sudden energy which had surprised all those accustomed to a more leisurely chain of command. Keen had been ashore often, not merely to meet the army commanders but also to be entertained by the senior government and commercial representatives of Halifax.
Adam had accompanied him on several occasions, as a duty more than out of curiosity. One of the most important people had been Keen’s father’s friend, a bluff, outspoken man who could have been any age between fifty and seventy, and who had achieved his present prominence by sweat rather than influence. He laughed a good deal, but Adam had noticed that his eyes always remained completely cold, like blue German steel. His name was Benjamin Massie, and Keen had told Adam that he was well known in London for his radical ideas on the expansion of trade in America, and, equally, for his impatience at anything that might prolong the hostilities.
He was not the only person here known to Keen. Another of his father’s friends had arrived earlier, with an open-handed commission from the Admiralty to examine the possibilities of increased investment in shipbuilding, not only for the navy, but with the immediate future in mind and with an eye to improving trade with the southern ports. The enemy was a term that did not find favour with Massie and his associates.
So what would happen next? Keen had arranged local patrols in a huge box-shaped zone that stretched from Boston to the south-west, and Sable Island and the Grand Banks six hundred miles in the opposite direction. A large area, yes, but not so vast that each patrol might lose contact with the other if the enemy chose to break out of port, or that Halifax-bound convoys or individual ships could be ambushed before they reached safety. Like the Royal Herald. A deliberate, well-planned attack with the sole intention of killing his uncle. He was not certain if Keen accepted that explanation. He had remarked, “We will assess each sighting or conflict at its face value. We must not be dragooned into scattering and so weakening our flotillas.”
A master’s mate touched his hat to him, and Adam tried to fix his name in his mind. He smiled. Next time, perhaps.
He heard a light step on the quarterdeck, and wondered why he disliked the new flag lieutenant so much when they had barely spoken. Perhaps it was because the Honourable Lawford de Courcey seemed so much at home with the sort of people they had met ashore. He knew who was important and why, who could be trusted, and who might rouse disapproval as far away as London if he were crossed or overruled. He would be perfectly at home at Court, but in the teeth of an enemy broadside? That remained to be seen.
He steeled himself. It did not matter. They would put to sea in two days’ time. It was probably what they all needed. What I need.
The flag lieutenant crossed the deck and waited to be acknowledged.
“The admiral’s compliments, sir, and would you have his barge lowered.”
Adam waited. When de Courcey said nothing more, he asked, “Why?”
De Courcey smiled. “Rear-Admiral Keen is going ashore. Mr Massie wishes to discuss some matters. There will be a social reception also, I believe.”
“I see. I wish to discuss an additional patrol with the admiral.” He was angry, more with himself for rising to de Courcey’s bait. “It is what we are here for, remember?”
“If I may suggest, sir…”
Adam looked past him at the town. “You are the admiral’s aide, Mr de Courcey. Not mine.”
“The admiral would like you to accompany him, sir.”
Adam saw the officer of the watch studying the land with his telescope, and doubtless listening to the terse exchange as well.
“Mr Finlay, pipe away the admiral’s barge, if you please.” He heard the shrill calls, the immediate stampede of bare feet and the bark of orders: so much a part of him, and yet he felt entirely detached from it. It was not de Courcey’s fault. Adam had been a flag lieutenant himself: it had never been an easy role, even when you served a man you loved.
He turned, with some vague intention of clearing the air between them, but the fair-haired lieutenant had vanished.
Later, when he made his way aft to report that the barge was alongside, Adam found Keen dressed and ready to leave the ship.
He studied Adam thoughtfully, and said, “I have not forgotten about the extra patrol, you know. We should have more news when the schooner Reynard returns. She was sent up to the Bay of Fundy, although I think it an unlikely place for the enemy to loiter.”
“De Courcey told you, did he, sir?”
Keen smiled. “His duty, Adam.” He became serious again. “Be patient with him. He will prove his worth.” He paused. “Given the chance.”
There were thumps from the adjoining cabin, and two seamen padded past carrying what was obviously an empty chest to be stowed away.
Keen said, “I am settling in, you see. Not a ship of the line, but she will suffice for the present… It was suggested that I should take quarters ashore, but I think not. Speed is everything.”
Adam waited. Who had suggested it? He saw his youthful servant John Whitmarsh helping a couple of the mess men to unpack another chest.
Why cannot I be like him? Lose myself in what I do best?
There was a small, velvet-covered book on the table. He felt a sudden chill, as though awakening from a cruel dream.
Keen saw his eyes, and said, “Poetry. My late… It was packed in error. My sister is unused to the requirements of war.”
My late… Keen had been unable even to speak Zenoria’s name. He had seen the book that day when he had visited her in Hampshire on some pretext. When she had rejected him.
Keen said, “Are you interested?”
He was surprised at his own calmness, the complete emptiness he felt. Like watching someone else in a mirror.
“It is my intention that young Whitmarsh should learn to read. It might help, sir.”
He picked up the book, hardly daring to look at it.
Keen shrugged. “Well, then. Some use after all.” Then, “You will accompany me, Adam?”
He could even smile. “Yes, sir.” He felt the soft velvet in his fingers, like skin. Like her. “I shall fetch my sword directly.”
In his cabin, he pressed his back to the door and very slowly raised the book to his lips, amazed that his hands were so steady.
How could it be? He closed his eyes as if in prayer, and opened them again, knowing that it was the same book.
He held it with great care, all the ship noises and movements suddenly stilled, as though he were in another world.
The rose petals, pressed tightly in these pages for so long, were almost transparent, like lace or some delicate web. The wild roses he had cut for her that day in June, when they had ridden together on his birthday. When she
