such a difference.
She held his arm around her waist and said, “Perhaps your next visit to the Admiralty will be the last for a while.”
He felt her hair against his face. Her warmth. How they belonged.
“And then, Kate?”
“Take me home, Richard. No matter how long we must travel.”
He guided her to the bed, and she laughed as the first dogs began to bark outside.
“Then you can love me. In our home.”
Vice-Admiral Graham Bethune was already on his feet when Bolitho was ushered into his spacious rooms at the Admiralty, and his smile was warm and genuine.
“We are both abroad early today, Sir Richard.” His face fell slightly. “Although I fear I have not yet had news of your nephew, Captain Bolitho. The telegraph, excellent though it may be in many ways, is no match for our English weather!”
Bolitho sat down as a servant removed his hat and cloak. He had walked only a few paces from the carriage, but the cloak was soaked with rain.
He smiled. “Adam was honourably acquitted.” Bethune’s astonishment was a pleasure to see. They had met several times since Bolitho’s arrival in London, but he was still surprised that Bethune’s new authority had not changed him in some way. In appearance, he had matured a good deal since his days as a midshipman in Bolitho’s first command, the little sloop-of-war Sparrow. Gone was the round-faced youth, his complexion a mass of dark freckles; here was a keen-eyed, confident flag officer who would turn any woman’s head at Court, or at the many elegant functions it was now his duty to attend. Bolitho recalled Catherine’s initial resentment when he had told her that Bethune was not only a younger man, but also his junior in rank. She was not the only one who was baffled by the ways of Admiralty.
He said, “My flag lieutenant, Avery, rode all the way from Portsmouth this morning to tell me.”
Bethune nodded, his mind busy on another course. “George Avery, yes. Sir Paul Sillitoe’s nephew.” Again the boyish smile. “I am sorry. Baron Sillitoe of Chiswick, as he is now. But I am glad to know it. It must have been hard for your nephew, losing ship and liberty at one blow. And yet you appointed him to command Zest at the final encounter with Commodore Beer’s ships. Remarkable.” He walked to a table. “I sent my own report, needless to say. One has little confidence in courts martial, as we have seen many times for ourselves.”
Bolitho relaxed slightly. So Bethune had found the time to put pen to paper on Adam’s behalf. He could not imagine either of his predecessors, Godschale, or particularly Hamett-Parker, even raising a finger.
Bethune glanced at the ornate clock beside a painting of a frigate in action. Bolitho knew it was his own command, when Bethune had confronted two large Spanish frigates and, despite the odds, had run one ashore and captured the other. A good beginning, which had done his career no harm at all.
“We shall take refreshment shortly.” He coughed. “Lord Sillitoe is coming today, and I am hoping we shall learn more of the Prince Regent’s views on the American conflict.” He hesitated, momentarily unsure of himself. “One thing is almost certain. You will be required to return to that campaign. What is it now, a bare four months since you engaged and defeated Commodore Beer’s ships? But your opinions and your experience have been invaluable. I know it is asking too much of you.”
Bolitho realized that he was touching his left eye. Perhaps Bethune had noticed, or maybe word of the injury and the impossibility of recovery had finally reached this illustrious office.
He answered, “I had expected it.”
Bethune observed him thoughtfully. “I had the great pleasure of meeting Lady Somervell, Sir Richard. I know what this parting will mean to you.”
Bolitho said, “I know you met her. She told me. There are no secrets between us, and never will be.” Catherine had also met Bethune’s wife, at a reception at Sillitoe’s house by the river. She had said nothing about her, but she would, when she judged that the moment was right. Perhaps Bethune had an eye for the ladies? A mistress, maybe.
He said, “You and I are friends, is that not so?”
Bethune nodded, not understanding. “A small word, for what it truly means.”
“I agree.” He smiled. “Call me Richard. I feel that rank, and the past, stand in the way.”
Bethune strode to his chair, and they shook hands. “This is a far better day than I dared hope.” He grinned, and looked very young. “Richard.” Another glance at the clock. “There is another matter, which I would like to discuss with you before Lord Sillitoe arrives.” He watched him for a few seconds. “You will soon know. Rear-Admiral Valentine Keen is being appointed to a new command, which will be based in Halifax, Nova Scotia.”
“I had heard as much.” Full circle, he thought. Halifax, where he had left his flagship, Indomitable, upon his recall to England. Was it really so short a time ago? With her had been their two equally powerful prizes, Beer’s USS Unity and the Baltimore, which together carried as much artillery as a ship of the line. Fate had decided the final meeting; determination and a bloody need to win had decided the outcome. After all the years he had been at sea, pictures could still stand out as starkly as ever. Allday’s grief, alone among all the gasping survivors as he had carried his dead son, and had lowered him into the sea. And the dying Nathan Beer, their formidable adversary, with Bolitho’s hand in his, each understanding that the meeting and its consequences had been inevitable. They had covered Beer with the American flag, and Bolitho had sent his sword to his widow in Newburyport. A place well known to men-of-war and privateers; where his own brother Hugh had once found refuge, if not peace.
Bethune said, “Rear-Admiral Keen will hoist his flag in the frigate Valkyrie. Her captain, Peter Dawes, who was your second-in-command, stands to accept promotion and is eager to take another appointment.” He paused discreetly. “His father, the admiral, suggested that the present was as good a time as any.”
So Keen was going back to war, still in mourning for Zenoria. It was what he needed, or imagined he needed. Bolitho himself had known the haunting demands of grief, until he had found Catherine again.
“A new flag captain, then?” Even as he spoke, he knew who it would be. “Adam?”
Bethune did not answer directly. “You gave Zest to him out of necessity.”
“He was the best frigate captain I had.”
Bethune continued, “When Zest returned to Portsmouth she was found to be in a sorry state of repair. Over four years in commission, and after two captains-three, if you count your nephew-and several sea-fights, which left her with deep and lasting damage, and without proper facilities for complete repair… the last battle with Unity was the final blow. The port admiral was instructed to explain all this to your nephew after the court’s verdict was delivered. It will take months before Zest is ready for service again. Even then…”
After the court’s verdict. Bolitho wondered if Bethune shared the true meaning. Had the sword been pointing at Adam, he would have been fortunate to have remained in the navy, even with a ship as worn and weakened as Zest.
Bethune was not unaware of it. “By which time, this war will probably be over, and your nephew, like so many others, could be rejected by the one calling he loves.” He unfolded a map without appearing to see it. “Rear-Admiral Keen and Captain Bolitho have always been on good terms, both under your command and elsewhere. It would seem a satisfactory solution.”
Bolitho tried not to remember Adam’s face as he had seen it that day in Indomitable, when he had given him the news of Zenoria’s death. It had been like watching his heart break into pieces. How could Adam agree? Knowing that each day he would be serving alongside and under the orders of the man who had been Zenoria’s husband. The girl with moonlit eyes. She had married Keen out of gratitude. Adam had loved her… loved her. But Adam, too, might be grateful for an escape provided by Keen. A ship at sea, not an undermanned hulk suffering all the indignities of a naval dockyard. How could it work? How might it end?
He loved Adam like a son, always had loved him, ever since the youth had walked from Penzance to present himself to him after his mother’s death. Adam had confessed his affair with Zenoria: he felt that he should have known. Catherine had seen it much earlier in Adam’s face, on the day Zenoria had married Keen in the mermaid’s church at Zennor.
Madness even to think about it. Keen was going to his first truly responsible command as a flag officer. Nothing in the past could change that.
He asked, “You really believe that the war will soon end?”
Bethune showed no surprise at this change of tack. “Napoleon’s armies are in retreat on every front. The Americans know this. Without France as an ally, they will lose their last chance of dominating North America. We
