thought.
The cognac burned his throat, but it seemed to steady him.
He picked up a pen and began to write. Dear Catherine… When Whitmarsh entered the cabin again he removed the pen from Adam's out- thrust hand, and looked at the empty sheet of notepaper. Dear Catherine. The captain had even done that for him, taught him to read. Like so many things. Almost shyly, he reached out and touched the bright epaulette on the shoulder; Adam, deeply asleep, did not wake.
The captain was back. It was all that mattered. Tomorrow could wait.
When the hands were piped on deck with the morning watch, their captain was already in his customary place on the weather side of the quarterdeck.
Adam watched the familiar preparations, hammocks being stowed in the nettings, petty officers checking their lists and waiting to report to their lieutenants. He had had only a few hours' sleep, but a great deal of coffee and a change into clean clothing had made all the difference. He touched his chin. And a shave. He thought of Bolitho, and the restorative power of the customary shave from his faithful Allday. Impossible to think of them being separated. But it would come… Old Mister Allday. Young Whitmarsh had better not let him hear himself so described, he thought. Whitmarsh was very quiet these days, almost withdrawn, as he went about his duties. Another separation; but it would be for the best. His aunt would be more than willing to take care of the boy while he attended a local school. You could learn a lot in a man-of-war, but if Whitmarsh was to be sponsored as a midshipman he would need preparing for the other 'young gentlemen' he would eventually meet. As I did. It had been his Aunt Nancy then, another stranger who had become one of his own family, who had taught him to feel at ease in a world he had never known. But that was what was troubling Whitmarsh. Leaving the ship. Leaving me.
He turned as Ritchie called, 'West by north, sir. Starboard tack. Wind's backed a piece overnight.' He did not need to be able to see the masthead pendant. He knew. He could feel it.
Dyer was here, too. 'Ready, sir!'
'Very well. Hands aloft, set tops' is and fore course He saw one eyebrow rise very slightly. 'We shall save the t'gallants, Mr. Dyer, until we can see where we are going!' It brought a few grins from the helmsmen and the master's mate of the watch. All old hands, they knew what the captain meant. There was no sense in showing all your top canvas at first light, until you knew who else was about. He laid his hands on the quarterdeck rail, still ice-cold from the night. It would be a different story in a few hours' time.
He loved to hear a ship coming alive again; he had hardly ever given the order to lie-to, unlike some captains. Like Deighton… A ship should be moving. He recalled an old sailor's advice to him once. An equal strain on all parts, hull and spars, and she'll not let you down.
Valkyrie leaned over to the thrust of wind, spray glinting above the beak head as the darkness loosened its grip.
He thought about Deighton. Perhaps they were both at fault. It was not the first time he had served with a man he could scarcely tolerate. It was all too common. The cramped confines of a crowded hull made few allowances for personal dislikes.
They would receive new orders, either to continue their patrols and the stop- and-search tactics which had been so successful, or they might be returning to Halifax. All of the inshore squadron would need to be restocked with fresh water and, if possible, fruit. He turned it over in his mind. And if I should be offered another command? Because of Deighton, or because he needed a new beginning?
'West by north, sir. Steady as she goes!'
Dyer crossed the deck. 'Dismiss the watch below, sir?'
Adam saw a tendril of smoke from the galley funnel, earlier than usual, but sailors could eat at any time.
'Very well.' He looked for the sun. 'D'you have some good eyes aloft?'
Dyer nodded, relieved. 'I picked them myself, sir.' He hesitated, sensing the barrier which still separated them. 'Are we likely to meet with an enemy, sir?'
Adam smiled. 'Well, we know where most of our friends are, Mr. Dyer!' Even the nearest ones would be further away by now because of the commodore's insistence on lying-to.
And it was getting lighter. He could see the pale outlines of the brigantine's sails against the heaving water, and thought of Borradaile's uncanny knack of obtaining information from any vessel he sighted… He heard a splash, and knew it was Deighton's strange servant flinging some water over the side. Perhaps he had been shaving his master.
He took a few paces across the deck, and back again. It was no use; he would have to make allowances, be ready to bend more easily, even if he never understood Deighton's sudden fits of anger and his inability to conceal it.
The figures around him were assuming identity and purpose: men flaking down lines, another splicing a damaged halliard. Two midshipmen, their white patches very clear now, were making notes on their slates, a master's mate watching with a critical eye.
Perhaps they might meet with another courier vessel. But there would be no letters, unless Catherine had written again. He wondered where his uncle was, at sea, or performing some tedious duty ashore. How they would be missing one another. How they belonged…… And Keen, soon to be married. He thought of her letter, her visit to Zennor, the mermaid's church. Only she would have cared enough to write of it to him.
The sort of woman who could fascinate and thrill any real man. She was never truly absent from his thoughts; once he had even dreamed about her, when she had come to him not as a friend but as a lover. He had been ashamed and disgusted with himself because of it; it had seemed a betrayal of them both. But, in the wildness of the dream, she had not rejected him.
He heard somebody mutter, 'Another early bird.'
It was Deighton, wearing a boat cloak, with his hat tugged down over his eyes. He grunted as the officers touched their hats to him.
He saw Adam and remarked, 'That coffee like damned bilge water.'
Adam said, 'I'll have some of mine brought to you, sir. It comes from London.'
'From a lady, no doubt.' But there was no bite to his tone. 'I'd take it as a favour.' He glanced around. 'You're not under all plain sail yet.' Again, it was not a complaint. Perhaps he was making an effort.
Adam said, 'A precaution. You know, sir, first sunlight on their skyscrapers.'
Deighton said suddenly, 'Rear-Admiral Keen, you've known him for a long while?'
'Yes, sir. We've served together from time to time.'
'Lost his wife, I understand.'
Adam waited, tensed, for the next question.
But instead Deighton said, 'Getting married again, I hear. Shapely little piece, to all accounts.'
'When he's promoted, she will be an asset to him.' It was as far as he would go.
Deighton said abruptly, 'Promoted, of course! Vice-Admiral. No stopping him now. But for the damnable blockade duty, I would have been in that fortunate position. As it is, after this
Adam said, 'It's a question on everyone's mind.' He thought suddenly of Jago. I've done my share. Perhaps he was the lucky one after all.
Deighton turned to face him. 'You're young. Good reputation, successful, many would say. It will be different for you.'
It was the closest they had been, probably would ever be, and Adam was oddly moved by it.
Deighton said, 'When we rejoin the squadron I might discover more about this campaign
'Deck there!' The masthead lookout's voice seemed unnaturally loud. 'Sail to the nor'east!'
Adam was already pulling off his coat, and tossed it to one of the midshipmen.
'I'll take a glass and go up myself. I might know better then.'
Deighton restrained him. 'An enemy?'
He knew how it would appear to the lookout. Whatever it was, it was coming out of the sun. They would not sight Valkyrie in the lingering darkness just yet. It was little enough.
He replied, 'Unlikely to be one of ours, sir.'
Deighton peered over the side. They'll not snatch our prize, damn them!'
Adam hurried to the shrouds, faces turning on every side to watch him. How could he destroy the frail confidence which Deighton was trying to build between them?
He gripped the ratlines and began to climb.
