11. A Sailor's Woman
The staircase somewhere to the rear of the main Admiralty building was narrow and, Catherine guessed, rarely used. The banister was dusty; she could feel it under her glove, and when she reached the final curve of the stairs she looked down and saw cobwebs on the hem of her gown.
The few windows were sealed despite the heavy air, and the hint of a thunderstorm which hovered over London and the river.
She had once heard Richard mention going to the Admiralty by way of the back stairs. This must have been what he meant.
The elderly Admiralty clerk paused to look back at her. 'i am very sorry, m'lady. Sir Graham Bethune was unavoidably detained, and asked that you meet him here.'
Here was a small ante-room, with three chairs and little else. A place of assignations, perhaps.
Thank you. I will wait.'
She could hear the clerk's heavy breathing, almost painful. He was not used to the back stairs, obviously.
Alone again, Catherine crossed to a window, but saw only the slope of another roof. It could be anywhere. She suppressed a shiver. It was like the view from a prison.
Perhaps she should not have come. But once in London she had kept herself busy, seeing the lawyers again, and sending a note by hand to Bethune. She sighed. And tonight, another reception, as Sillitoe's guest. She would be careful. But she needed his advice, and he would know it.
Then a few more days before returning to Cornwall, to the grey house. Waiting.
She thought about the reception that evening; how different it might have been. It was yet another party in honour of the Duke of Wellington's return to England. She had heard of one held at Burlington House to which nearly two thousand guests had been invited, many wearing grotesque costumes, and with behaviour to match. The wine had been consumed in such quantity that it was doubtful many of the guests would have remembered if the Iron Duke had been there or not.
She was tired, and hoped it did not show. Now, as on other such occasions, she always felt as if she were performing, for both of them, no matter what interpretation others might choose to put upon it.
The main door opened and closed in one swift movement, so that she had only a brief glimpse of dark blue carpet and gilt chairs beyond.
Bethune seized her hands and held them to his lips.
'A thousand apologies. Lady Somervell. I only arrived back from Paris two days ago, and when your note came I could not free myself!' He did not release her hands, and studied her with a warmth and affection which she knew was genuine.
She smiled. 'How was Paris?'
He glanced toward a chair and then flicked it with his handkerchief.
'Crowded. Full of uniforms.' He looked at her again. 'Foreign.'
She sat down and turned her ankle to look for the cobweb, but it was gone. She saw his eyes follow the movement, and could understand why he was so attractive to women.
'Did Lady Bethune accompany you?'
He looked away. 'She did. She is here, at the Admiralty, now.'
It explained the back stairs, the secrecy, if there was such a thing any more.
He sat on the chair opposite her, his knees bent and apart, more like the awkward midshipman he had been than a flag officer. It made him seem more human; a friend.
He said, 'I have had little success so far, Lady Somervell.'
She raised her hand. 'Catherine.'
He smiled. 'Catherine. Sir Richard's squadron is not yet assembled at Malta, but when it is, we may expect more news.'
'And if he is allowed to come home, where then? Where next? Are they so ungrateful that they forget what they already owe him? I had hoped to join him, if only briefly, at Malta.' She looked at him until he dropped his eyes. 'It was my promise to him.'
'I remember. The situation in Malta is complicated. More so because there is trouble with the Algerines.' He tried to lighten it. 'Yet again. It is a sensitive time, not least for Sir Richard.'
'If I joined him, at my own expense and not that of the Treasury, unlike so many, it might offend the proprieties… marriage and religion… is that it?'
'Perhaps. But I have not abandoned the idea. However, there is one excellent piece of news. The frigate Valkyrie is to be withdrawn from the Halifax squadron. Adam will find orders waiting for him to return to England. To Plymouth.'
She shook her head, and did not see his eyes move to her hair and neck. 'I do not understand.'
'At times like these, there will be more captains than ships. It is the way of things when the guns are quiet. For how long, who can say? But there is a new frigate building and almost completed at Plymouth. I spoke with the First Lord and have written to the port admiral.'
She still could not grasp that Keen was there, a vice-admiral now. She had been invited to the wedding, which was arranged for October. She heard herself say, almost in a whisper, 'A new command, a fresh beginning.' Snaring it, seeing his face when he received his orders.
She said, Thank you for that, Graham. I should have known.'
He shrugged, unsure of himself, she thought. 'Neither Adam nor Richard will tolerate favouritism. So I thought I should do something.'
'It will do much to help both of them.' She looked down as he put his hand on hers. 'I am grateful, Graham.'
He pressed her hand very gently. 'If only, Catherine.'
She withdrew it, and faced him. 'As it is, remember? Not as it might have been. There has been dafhage enough already.' She gave him a folded note. 'My Chelsea address, in case you have forgotten it. If you receive any news, anything at all……' She did not go on.
She tugged off one glove, and held out her hand. This is less dusty.'
He kissed it, lingering over it, while she watched his bowed head in silence. What might he think or say if he knew what she felt at this moment? Did he not realise that she lived on dreams and memories, homecomings and the painful farewells always so close in pursuit?
A clock chimed somewhere in the building, in that other, safe and respectable society where men in power could break the rules but still manage to shield their mistresses and keep them separate from their pious wives. But the anger would not come.
Bethune had pulled out another handkerchief. 'Please. Use this. I I am so sorry I have upset you, Catherine.'
She shook her head and felt a tear splash against her skin.
'It is not you. Don't you understand? I miss him so much… each day without him. I die a little more.' She turned away and groped for the door. She had a vague impression of a figure in uniform bowing stiffly outside the room, and Bethune's curt, almost angry, 'Wait for me inside! I'll not be long!'
She did not remember reaching the bottom of the narrow staircase with him, and yet she felt the urgency, the need for Bethune to go back, where some unemployed captain was waiting to plead for a ship. As Richard had once done.
And where his wife would be waiting to hear about that woman.
Bethune was holding the carriage door. 'Tonight then, dear Catherine. Fear not, you have many friends.'
She looked past him at the bustling carriages and carters, the sightseers, and the red coats of soldiers off duty.
'Here, perhaps.' She glanced up at the Admiralty's arched entrance and imposing, pillared facade. 'Elsewhere, I think not.'
She climbed into the carriage and leaned back against the sun-warmed leather. She did not look round, but somehow she knew that Bethune was still gazing after her.
Hampton House, on the Thames Embankment, had been chosen as the venue for this latest of many receptions to honour the Duke of Wellington, and, indirectly, his victorious army. Although it was the London residence of Lord
