To… prevent what, for God's sake?'
Sillitoe said harshly, 'Oliphant, the officer chosen to be Sir Richard's flag captain, is not only a gambler and a thief, he is one so rotten with disease that he wanted only revenge, in the last and only way he knew.'
Tell me, sir is she safe?'
Sillitoe felt his muscles slackening. Had Bethune given a single hint of involvement, he would not have trusted himself.
'She is safe. With no thanks to those who might have protected her.'
Bethune persisted, 'And Oliphant?'
'He is in care.' His mouth hardened. 'And under guard. It seems likely he will either die or be driven to the bounds of madness before much longer. If not, he will face a court martial, where the severest penalty will be demanded.' He dabbed his mouth with his handkerchief. 'And deserved!'
Bethune thought of the night when it had happened. Weeks ago; he should have suspected something. But his wife had been against his becoming further involved. I should have known… Sillitoe added, 'I have a few small suggestions to make to Lord Rhodes.
I am confident that they will be easy to act upon.'
Bethune looked at the clock. 'I fear Lord Rhodes has a prior engagement, my lord. As I explained
Sillitoe said, 'Announce me.'
Bethune repeated wretchedly, 'A prior engagement……'
Sillitoe gave a faint smile. 'I know. With the new inspector-general.' He laid the envelope on his desk. 'Here are my credentials, Sir Graham.'
Bethune stared from him to the buff-coloured envelope with its royal seal.
'I shall attend to it immediately!'
Sillitoe walked to a window and stared down at the wet streets, the bowed heads and shoulders of people hurrying for shelter. He should feel something beyond the contempt and impatience they afforded him. But all he could think about was the woman, naked and bound in that small, quiet house in Chelsea. Holding her, protecting her. Wanting her.
The doors opened again; Rhodes had come himself.
'I must congratulate you -i had no idea!' He darted a quick glance at Bethune, and another officer who had followed him. He smiled. 'I think our meeting should be recorded, Sillitoe. Everything out in the open, eh?'
Sillitoe did not return the smile. 'As you wish. There are several items. To begin with, the desertion from duty by your cousin, Captain Oliphant, and the failure to provide medical evidence when you agreed to discharge him. Courtmartial of fences you will not dispute. Gambling debts, frequenting premises used by prostitutes and becoming diseased to such an extent that he is all but out of his mind. And an attempted rape.' He balanced lightly on one foot. 'Need I continue, Lord Rhodes?'
Rhodes stared around, barely able to speak. 'I shall not need you, gentlemen.' When the door closed again he exclaimed thickly, 'I did not know about the extent of his illness, I swear it! I wanted only the best chance for him to improve his circumstances.'
'Yes. Under Sir Richard Bolitho, the man you tried to humiliate through another.'
'What must I do?'
Sillitoe glanced at the painting of a sea fight, Bethune's old ship. Men fighting and dying. He suppressed his mounting fury. For arrogant fools like this.
'Continue as before, my lord, what else might you expect? Your cousin will not disturb you. You have my word on it.' He reached down and took his hat from a chair. 'I am the new inspector-general, not judge and jury.'
Rhodes made a final attempt. 'When I am offered the post of First Lord…'
Sillitoe waited for the doors to open for him.
'Be assured, Rhodes.' He gave a cold smile. 'You will not.'
He walked out of the building, and was suddenly glad of the wet pavings and the cool, damp air on his face. He could walk for a while, and think. He recalled Bethune's wife on the night of the reception when he had arrived late, to find Catherine gone; it was the closest he had ever seen her to elation. A conniving woman, who would use her husband when he believed it was the other way about.
He nodded to himself, and was unaware of the scrutiny of passers-by. That was it. It would be better for Bethune, for all concerned perhaps, if he was sent to a new appointment. Somewhere a long, long way from England.
Grace Ferguson watched as a housemaid placed a vase of freshly cut roses by the window and gave them her approval.
'Saw you cutting them yourself, m'lady. Did my heart good.'
Catherine smiled. '1 hate it when they are finished.' She glanced at the window, to the grey-blue line of the horizon beyond the headland. 'I shall try to make them last, in case……'
Grace busied herself tidying some books which did not require it. She had mentioned her thoughts to her husband several times, but Bryan had insisted that her ladyship was well enough, missing Sir Richard, but otherwise the same.
Grace was not so sure, but Bryan was like that. All men were. Lady Catherine was a lovely woman. But she was a human being, for all that. Of course she missed her lover, as she herself had fretted over Bryan all those years ago when he had been snatched up by the hated press gang, along with John Allday. And now look at us… She thought of Catherine's eventual return from London, the strain and tension in her face. One night Grace had arranged a bath for her, and had seen the bruises on her arm, the healed cut on her neck. She had said nothing, not even to Bryan.
Catherine said, 'Lady Roxby will be coming this afternoon, Grace.'
Lady Roxby she might be to the outside world, but as Richard's sister she could never be anything but Nancy to Catherine. With only the servants for company, she still lived in the big house, with a steward taking care of the estate. Lewis Roxby's presence was still very tangible whenever Catherine had visited, and she thought that Nancy, in her way, was less lonely than herself.
Grace Ferguson faced her, having made up her mind. 'You'm not eating right, m'lady. You'll fade away if you don't eat! When Lady Roxby comes I shall bring some of those little cakes you like, I made them myself.'
'I don't mean to worry you, Grace we've all had enough of that in the past few years. All I want is to have him here, with me, with us. He's done so much can't they see that?'
She seemed suddenly troubled by the watching portraits. '1 want to be strong, to be patient, like all the others must have been.'
Grace said. 'You'll be strong, m'lady. I knows it.'
Later, when the Roxby carriage rolled on to the cobbles. Catherine saw that there were two visitors. Nancy was accompanied by a young woman with fair hair. She was neatly but plainly dressed, a servant, or perhaps a companion. She heard Grace Ferguson greeting them and then went to the door, hoping her anxiety and lack of sleep would not be as apparent to Nancy as it obviously was to her housekeeper.
Nancy embraced her, and said, 'This is Melwyn. Her mother is a dressmaker and seamstress over in St. Austell. I've known her family for years, since I was a child.'
Catherine looked at the girl, for that was all that she was. Serious, almost grave features, but when she smiled she had an elfin prettiness which would soon draw some young man's attention.
'Melwyn has been staying at the house with me for the past few days. She works hard, and is pleasant company. A fine seamstress too, like her mother.' She smiled, and Catherine saw Richard's warmth in it. 'As you have lost your Sophie, I thought you might consider taking her into your service.'
Catherine said, 'Melwyn. What a pretty name.'
Nancy said, 'It means 'honey-fair' in the old Cornish tongue.'
Catherine asked quietly, 'Do you want to leave home, Melwyn?'
The girl seemed to consider it. 'I – I think so, m'lady. I need the work.' She looked at one of the portraits, her eyes distant. 'My father went for a soldier, to the West Indies. He died there. I do still think about him.' She turned again. 'Do 'ee know the West Indies, m'lady?'
Nancy said with unusual severity, 'Don't ask so many questions, my girl.'
But Catherine said gently, 'Yes, I know them. Where I found my love again, after losing him.' She felt the girl's shoulder tremble slightly beneath her hand. As I once was.
