seemed pointless to challenge the rutted, treacherous roads merely to visit an empty house. Even more so to venture further, perhaps to Zennor.
He pushed the thought away, and drew the scroll from inside his damp coat. This was all that mattered, all that counted now. There was nothing else, and he must never forget that.
He looked steadily at the assembled company for the first time. The seamen were uniformly dressed in new clothing from the purser's slop chest, cheque red shirts and white trousers. A new beginning.
Unlike any other ship in which he had served, Adam knew that Unrivalled carried not a single pressed man. The ship was under manned and some of her company he knew were felons from the assizes and local courts who had been given a choice: the King's service or deportation. Or worse. There were seasoned hands too, a tattoo or some skilled piece of tackle to mark them out from the rest. With ships and men being paid off with unseemly haste, why did some choose to remain in this harsh world of discipline and duty? Perhaps because, despite whatever they had sacrificed or endured, it was all they trusted.
Most of them would have heard other captains read themselves in at some time in their service, but as always it was a moment of significance for every one. The captain, any captain, was their lord and master for as long as the commission dictated.
Adam had known good captains, the best. He had also known the tyrants and the petty-minded, who could make any man's life a misery, or just as easily take his life from him.
He unrolled the scroll, and saw men leaning towards him to hear more clearly. There were visitors as well, including two vice admirals and a small group of burly men in rougher clothing. They had been surprised to be invited, and proud, too; they had built this ship, had created her, and had given her life.
The commission was addressed to Adam Bolitho Esq, in large, round copperplate writing; it could have been Yovell's, he thought.
'Willing and requiring you forthwith to go on board and take upon you charge and command of captain in her accordingly.'
It was like listening to someone else, so that he was able both to speak and take note of individual faces: Vice-Admiral Valentine Keen, now the port admiral at Plymouth, and, with him, Vice-Admiral Sir Graham Bethune, who had come from the Admiralty in London for the occasion.
He recalled the moment when he had been pulled around the ship, and she had been warped to her first mooring. The figurehead had intrigued him: a beautiful woman, her nude body arched back beneath the beak head her hands clasped behind her head and beneath her long hair, her breasts out-thrust, her eyes looking straight ahead, challenging and defiant. It had been made by a well-known local carver named Ben Littlehales, and was said to be the best work he had ever done. Adam had heard some of the riggers saying that Littlehales always used living models, but none of them knew who she was, and the old carver would never tell. He had died on the day Unrivalled had first quit the slipway.
Adam saw Bethune and Keen exchange glances as he drew near to the end of the commission. Strange to realise that both of them, like himself, had been midshipmen under Sir Richard Bolitho's command.
If only he were here today…'…hereof, not you nor any of you may fail as you will answer to the contrary at your peril.' He pulled his hat from beneath his arm and raised it slowly, saw their eyes following it. So many strangers. Even the gunner's mate, Jago, who had accepted the invitation to become his coxswain, looked like a different man in his new jacket and trousers. Jago was probably more bemused than anyone at the turn of events.
He thought suddenly of the boy, John Whitmarsh, who had died in that brief, bloody fight. He would have been here, should have been here…… and Anemone, the ship he had loved more than any other. Could this ship, and this new beginning, replace either of them?
He called. 'God Save the King!'
The cheering was loud, unexpectedly so, and he had to fight to contain his emotion.
He thought again of the figurehead; the old carver had chiselled an inscription at the foot of his creation. Second to None. He would have to entertain his guests in the great cabin. It seemed so large and so bare, devoid of every comfort, and occupied at the moment only by some of the frigate's armament.
Valentine Keen stood back as the builders and senior carpenters crowded round Unrivalled's first captain. Adam had done well today. Keen had sensed the thoughts possessing him, the memories, on this bleak morning.
So very like his uncle; changed in some inexplicable way from the flag captain he had left in Halifax. The confidence and resolve remained, but there was a new maturity in Adam. And it suited him.
And what of me? It was still all so new, and a little overwhelming at times. Keen had a full staff, two captains, six lieutenants and a veritable army of clerks and servants.
Gilia had surprised him with her grasp of this new life, her ability to win hearts, and to be equally firm when she thought it was necessary. With each passing day the old shipboard life seemed to fade further into the distance; perhaps eventually, he thought, he would be like Bethune, with only a painting or two of a ship or a battle to remind him of the life he had known, for which he had bitterly fought his father, and now had, voluntarily, given up.
Boscawen House, his new home, was an imposing place with fine views over the Sound; sometimes, when he was alone, he had tried to imagine Zenoria there. The admiral's lady… He stared at the land. Like the image in his mind, it was misty, and eluded him.
Graham Bethune felt the damp, cold air on his face, and was glad he had come for this day. By using what influence he possessed, he had made certain that Unrivalled would go to no other captain. It was for Richard Bolitho; it was what he would want more than anything.
He recalled Catherine's pride and anger at the reception when Rhodes had presented Bolitho's wife. And later, when he himself had faced Sillitoe's fury and unrestrained contempt, he had known that this commission was for her sake also.
She was said to be in Malta with Bolitho; if anyone could manage it, she would. He thought of his wife's hostility, her shock and astonishment when he had turned on her and said coldly, 'Honour? What would you or your family know of that?' She had scarcely spoken to him since.
He sighed. But neither had she spoken out against 'that woman'.
He walked over to Adam Bolitho and thrust out his hand.
'I am so glad for you. It is a day one never forgets.' He saw the shadow in the dark eyes, and added kindly, 'There will always be thoughts.'
Adam bent his head. He had once said as much to John Whitmarsh.
'She's a fine ship, Sir Graham.'
Bethune said, 'I envy you. You cannot know how much.'
Adam joined the others and walked aft to his quarters, where a party of Royal Marines had been detailed to act as rnessmen. When they had all departed the ship would close in on him, and make her own demands.
He paused, the first laughter and the clink of glasses washing over him, unheeded. There was so much to do before they would be ready to put to sea, to teach, to learn, and to lead.
He pulled out the heavy watch and held it in the grey light. In his mind he could still see the shop in Halifax, the ticking, chiming clocks, the proprietor's interest when he had chosen this odd, old-fashioned watch with the mermaid engraved on its guard.
Aloud, he said, 'Unrivalled. Second to none.' He thought of his uncle, and smiled. 'So be it!'
Paul Sillitoe sat at his broad desk and stared moodily through the windows, across the swirling curve of the river to the leafless trees on the opposite bank. Everything was dripping from an overnight rain; it seemed that it would never stop. The new year of 1815 was only two days old; he should be filled with ideas and proposals to put before the Prince Regent at their next meeting. Today, if His Royal Highness was sufficiently recovered from yet another celebration.
The unwanted and costly war with the United States was over, ended by the Treaty of Ghent, which had been signed on Christmas Eve. There would still be battles between ships or even armies until the news was officially confirmed and carried; he had known several such incidents, partly due to the difficulties of communication across sea and wilderness, but also, he suspected, because the officers in command were not prepared to ignore any prospect of action.
He knew that his valet was hovering behind him with his coat. He pushed some papers aside, angry at his inability to summon any enthusiasm for the day's work, let alone a sense of urgency.
His valet said. The carriage will be here at the half hour, m'lord.'
Sillitoe said curtly, 'Don't fuss, Guthrie. I shall be ready!'
