Bazeley said loudly, “Here she is!” and, as they turned, “Captain Bolitho. More adventures, I hear!” He took his wife’s arm. “That’s a sailor’s life! Not for me, I’m afraid. I like to build things, not knock ’em down.”
Rhodes ’ eyes were on Bazeley’s hand around her bare arm. “Sometimes we have to do one before we can afford the other, Sir Lewis!”
Bazeley grinned broadly. “There, what did I tell you?” He made a show of dragging out his watch. “I must make our excuses, m’ lord. I have to see some people.” He looked at Adam. “I wish you well.” He did not offer his hand, or remove it from her arm.
A lieutenant was waiting anxiously. “I have summoned your boat, Sir Lewis.”
Bazeley nodded, dismissing him. “Given the backing of Parliament, we shall see Malta turned into a fortress. It makes me feel humble to be offered the task, huge though it is!”
They moved away into the crowd, but when Bazeley paused to speak with a senior army officer and clasp him ostentatiously around the shoulders, Rozanne turned and looked directly at Adam.
No words. Just the hand on the little silver sword, pressed against her breast. Nothing more was needed.
Rhodes was saying thickly, “If he’s humble, then I’m the bloody Iron Duke!”
Adam realised that Captain Forbes had joined him, and was holding two glasses, one of which he offered.
Forbes said, “Quite a gathering,” and sighed. “And ours is a private ship again, for better or worse.” Then he murmured, “I heard before you joined the squadron that you were not afraid to take a risk, if you considered it justified.” His eyes shifted to the admiral. “Now, I understand.”
When Adam looked again, she had gone.
Catherine Somervell turned away from the low stone wall and watched the coachman and groom adjusting the harness, and quieting the two horses which had just been led from the stables. A smart carriage, but it was strange not to see the familiar crest on its door. This one was Roxby’s. She smiled sadly, reminiscently.
The King of Cornwall, as he had been known, affectionately for the most part, although not, perhaps, to those who had appeared before him in his capacity as magistrate.
She saw Roxby’s widow, Nancy, giving a parcel to the coachman and emphasising something with a gesture. Food for the journey. Like Grace Ferguson at the old Bolitho house, Nancy always seemed to think she was not getting enough to eat.
She turned her back on the drive and the house and gazed at the nearest hillside. Smooth and green, and yet the sea lay just beyond it. Lying in wait…
She had stayed for a single night here with Richard’s youngest sister. Now she would return to Plymouth, where Sillitoe was waiting. She had had mixed emotions about meeting Valentine
Keen again, but she need not have worried; he and his wife had made her more than welcome, and Sillitoe also. There had been no questions or hints, not even the revival of old memories. Keen would never change, and his second marriage was obviously a success. Gilia was exactly what he needed, and Catherine knew simply by talking to her that Keen was still unaware of Adam’s love for Zenoria.
Coming back to the old house below Pendennis Castle had been very hard for her. So many familiar faces, obviously delighted to see her again: Bryan and Grace, Young Matthew, so many of them. And one other. Daniel Yovell, Richard’s secretary, had moved back into his little cottage and Bryan Ferguson had signed him on as his deputy, with obvious relief. One of the little crew, as Richard used to call them. There had been no time to visit Fallowfield, and she still did not know if she was relieved or saddened by it. Seeing Allday again so soon might have been more than she could bear. With Keen and the others it was difficult enough; she thought Allday would have broken down her last defences.
Nancy joined her by the wall, wrapped in a thick shawl.
“There’ll be an early winter, I think.” Catherine felt the eyes on her, full of affection and anxiety. “If only you could stay a while longer. But if there’s anything you need, you have only to write and let me know.” She slipped an arm around her waist, like a young girl again. The girl who had been in love with a midshipman, the young Richard Bolitho’s best friend.
“We have many things to do before we sail for Spain, Nancy. I have so enjoyed being here with you.”
They stood in silence for a moment.
“You mustn’t worry about Tamara. She’ll be well exercised and cared for, until…” She broke off. “You know what I mean.”
Catherine said deliberately, “I am not living at Chelsea now, Nancy. I am staying at Lord Sillitoe’s house in Chiswick.” She had started; she could not stop. “I have never felt the same about the Chelsea house since that night.” She felt Nancy ’s grip tighten around her waist. “Sometimes of late I have seen men watching the house, or imagined I have. Waiting for a chance to see that woman.”
Nancy asked softly, “Shall you marry this Sillitoe? It is obvious to me that he adores you, and rightly so. Remember, I did not marry Roxby for love, but it grew to something even stronger. I still miss him.”
They turned away from the wall to face the carriage. It was time.
Catherine said, “He gave up his appointment to the Prince
Regent because of me. I shall not destroy his life as well with another scandal.” She inclined her head, as if someone had spoken to her. “I shall tell you, you of all people.”
There were faces at the upper windows, servants looking out as that woman prepared to leave their ordered world. And Elizabeth would be here tomorrow. Another challenge, for both of them. Nancy had sent her to Bodmin with her governess to arrange for some more appropriate clothing and to see something of the town.
Growing up fast, Nancy had said. A withdrawn, demure child who had been too long in the company of older people. She had told Catherine about the day following the girl’s arrival. It had been hard to tell how she had been affected by her mother’s untimely death, and even now she was still not sure.
But on that day Nancy had taken her down to one of the beaches where Catherine had so often walked with Richard. Some children had been standing in the shallows, hunting for shells, Nancy thought. Elizabeth had remarked on their bare feet. Had the children no shoes? Were they too poor to own them?
She had said, “My word, when I think what we used to do at her age!”
Catherine turned and embraced her with great feeling.
“I shall never forget your kindness, and your love. I have always known why Richard cared so much for you.”
The door was open, a gloved hand was held out to support her wrist, Nancy was crying, and suddenly the wheels were moving.
Out on to the road, which ran in the other direction to the old grey house. Where she had waited, and hoped, for the sound of his voice.
When she looked again, the hillside had moved out to hide the house and the small figure who was still waving.
She sat back against the soft leather and stared at the parcel wrapped in its spotless napkin. His old boat-cloak was folded beside it, which she had always worn when the wind was blowing coldly off the Bay. There were scissors in the pocket, and she had found one rose still alive and blooming in that familiar garden.
But she had been unable to cut it. And was glad. It was a part of her. It belonged there.
The last rose.
Unis Allday knotted the ties of a fresh apron behind her back and gave herself a critical glance in the parlour glass. The first customers would be arriving soon, most likely buyers and auctioneers on their way to market in Falmouth, and it would be busy at the Old Hyperion inn. She checked each item in her mind, as she did every day. Deliveries of meat and fowl, ale from the brewery.
She walked to the door of the Long Room. Rugs brushed clean of the mud from farm workers’ boots, shining mugs and fashionable glasses for the salesmen, and a fire burning in the grate even though it was only October.
A carter had told her that fishermen had reported heavy mist around Rosemullion Head. They were all talking of an early winter.
Little Kate was out walking with Nessa, the new servant at the inn, a tall, dark woman who rarely smiled but had drawn many an admiring glance nevertheless. Not least from Unis’s brother, the other John. She was younger than he, but Unis thought she would be good for him; it would be a new beginning for both of them. Nessa had fallen for a soldier from the garrison at Truro; it was a familiar enough tale. She had carried and lost his child, and her lover had been posted with unseemly haste to the West Indies.
