everything as a hidden danger, part of some sinister strategy!” He glanced at the clock. “Time to eat soon. Better go and pump the bilges before I give the word.” He walked away, nodding to an occasional guest, deliberately ignoring others.
Keen said, “You don’t care much for him, do you?”
Adam watched a tall woman with bare shoulders bending to listen to her smaller companion, then she laughed and nudged him. She could not have been more blatant if she had been stark naked.
He answered, “Or those like him, sir.” He saw a footman drawing the vast curtains, hiding the dark water of the harbour from sight. “Men are dying every hour of the day. It has to be for something more than profit, surely?” He broke off.
“Continue, Adam. Remember your uncle, and what he would say. There are no officers here. Just men.”
Adam put down his glass and said, “Supplies, and escorts for the ships that carry them, keeping the sea-lanes open-all essential, but they will never win a war. We need to get to grips with them as we do with the French, and all the others we have had to fight, not just stand gloating over the prospects of trade and expansion when the bloody work is comfortably past!”
Keen said quietly, “I wonder if you know how much like Sir Richard you are. If only…” He looked away. “Damnation!”
But it was not Massie: it was the flag lieutenant, de Courcey.
Adam wondered what Keen had been about to say, and why the lieutenant’s arrival had disturbed his customary composure.
De Courcey exclaimed, “I do apologize, sir, but someone came here, to this house, without any prior arrangement or excuse, and demanded to see you.” He sounded outraged. “I sent him away with a flea in his ear, you may be sure!” His eyes moved to the footman who had taken his place on the stairs, a staff raised, ready to announce dinner. “Most inconsiderate!”
Massie was thrusting through the throng like a plough. Keen said, “Will you deal with it, Adam? I am the principal guest tonight, as you know.”
Adam nodded. He had not known. As he walked with de Courcey to the adjoining room, he asked sharply, “Who is this intruder?”
“A damned ragged fellow, a scarecrow in the King’s coat!”
“His name, man.” He controlled his anger with difficulty: everything seemed able to penetrate his defences. He had seen his lieutenants watching him, obviously wondering what was troubling him.
De Courcey said offhandedly, “Borradaile, sir. Most uncouth. I cannot imagine how he ever…”
He winced as Adam seized his arm. “Alfriston ’s commander?” He tightened his grip so that de Courcey gasped aloud, and two passing soldiers paused with interest. “Answer me, damn you!”
De Courcey recovered himself slightly. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact. I thought that under the circumstances…”
Adam released him and said, “You are a fool.” He was amazed at how calm he sounded. “How big a fool, we shall yet discover.”
De Courcey blinked as the footman’s staff tapped the stairs three times.
Adam said, “Wait here. I may want to send word to the ship.”
From another world came the cry, “Pray be seated, ladies and gentlemen!”
“But, sir! We are expected!”
Adam said sharply, “Are you deaf as well?” He turned, and walked toward the main entrance.
Meanwhile, Massie and his guests were arranging themselves around the two long tables, each place setting marked with a card, each place denoting the status of each guest or the magnitude of the favour being done.
Massie said significantly, “I’ve delayed grace until your young captain can spare himself from his duties.”
Keen sat on Massie’s right hand. Facing him was a woman whom he guessed was Massie’s special guest. She was beautiful, self-assured, and amused by his scrutiny.
Massie said abruptly, “Mrs Lovelace. She has a house near Bedford Basin.”
She said, “I regret that we were not introduced earlier, Admiral Keen.” She smiled. “It is a bad sign when even our admirals are so young!”
Adam strode between the tables and paused behind Keen’s chair. An utter silence had fallen in the room.
Keen felt Adam’s breath against his cheek-quick, angry. “Alfriston ’s brought word from Sir Richard. Reaper’s been taken, surrendered.” All the while he was watching Keen’s fine profile. “The admiral intends to remain with the Bermuda squadron until the convoy is safely at sea.”
Keen dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Surrendered?” One word.
Adam nodded, seeing the woman sitting opposite for the first time. She smiled at him, and indicated the empty chair beside her.
He said, “It was mutiny, sir.”
“I see.” Then he looked directly at Adam, his eyes very calm, and, Adam thought afterwards, very well concealing his emotions. “I trust you have informed the ship?”
He thought of the enraged de Courcey. “Yes, sir. They will be ready.”
Keen dropped the napkin on to his lap. “Then Reaper is heading this way.” He saw the doubt in Adam’s eyes. “Trick for trick, see?” He stood up, and every face turned towards him. “I am sorry for the interruption, ladies and gentlemen. I am certain that our host will understand.” He waited for Adam to walk around the table, where a footman had drawn out the empty chair. The sound of his shoes was very loud on the polished floor, reminding him unpleasantly of that snowy day in Portsmouth, at his court martial.
Massie cleared his throat noisily. “We’ll have grace now, Reverend!”
Adam felt the woman’s slippered foot touching his, even as the prayer was being intoned. He was surprised that he could even smile about it.
Trick for trick. Keen was speaking calmly with Massie. We Happy Few. It was as if somebody had spoken aloud. He thought of his uncle: the mark he had left on all of them.
His companion said softly, “You say little, Captain. Should I feel insulted?”
He turned slightly to look at her. Fine, brown eyes, a mouth that was used to smiling. He glanced at her hand, which lay so near to his own at this crowded table. Married, but not to anybody here. Mistress, then?
He said, “My apologies, ma’am. I am unused to such brilliance, even from the sea.” Trick for trick.
A footman loomed over them and her slipper moved away. But she looked at him again, and said, “We shall have to see about that, Captain.”
Adam glanced at their host. A slip of the tongue; was Keen remembering it even now, when outwardly he was so composed, so in control? Massie had spoken as if he had known of the mutiny. It was not a word to be used lightly. A rumour, a piece of gossip: Massie would have fingers in a lot of pies. It would mean only one thing. Reaper was already here.
“Are you married, Captain?”
“No.” It came out too abruptly, and he tried to soften it. “It has not been my good fortune.”
She studied him thoughtfully, with delicately raised brows. “I am surprised.”
“And you, ma’am?”
She laughed, and Adam saw Massie glance up at her. At them. She replied, “Like a cloak, Captain. I wear it when it suits!”
Trick for trick.
The Valkyrie’s chartroom was small and functional, the table barely leaving space for more than three men. Adam leaned over the chart, the brass dividers moving unhurriedly across the bearings, soundings and scribbled calculations which, to a landsman, would be meaningless.
The door was wedged open, and he could see the bright sunlight moving like a beacon, back and forth, to the frigate’s easy rise and fall. They had left Halifax in company with a smaller frigate, Taciturn, and the brig Doon. They had left with mixed feelings, the prospect of hunting down Reaper, the only possible way of settling the score, set against the very real likelihood of directing fire on one of their own. The Americans would have had no time to replace the surrendered frigate’s company, so many of them, except for the officers and professional warrant ranks, would be mutineers.
But that had been five days ago, and he had sensed Keen’s uncertainty, his growing anxiety about the next decision.
