Nessa’s parents were good chapel people, well known in Falmouth for their strict Christian beliefs. They had turned their daughter out of the house without hesitation.
Unis had taken her into the inn and she had settled down, perhaps grateful for Unis’s trust, and her own sturdy interpretation of Christian charity.
The door from the stable yard swung open and John Allday strode into the parlour.
She knew instantly that something was wrong with him, her man, her love. She also thought she knew what it was.
Allday said heavily, “I just seen Toby the cooper’s mate. He told me Lady Catherine was up at the house. Yesterday, he said.” It sounded like an accusation.
She faced him; she had been right. “I did hear something about it.” She put a hand on his sleeve; it looked very small and neat on his massive arm.
“You never said?”
She regarded him calmly. “And well you knows why, John. You’re coming to terms with things. So let you think of her, too. Poor lamb, she’s got more’n enough to carry.”
Allday smiled fondly. Small, neat and pretty. His Unis. But woe betide anyone who tried to take advantage of her. She was strong. Stronger than me in many ways.
They walked to the window together. The place had been in debt when she had bought it. Now it was prospering and looked pleased with itself. One of the ostlers was doing his usual trick with a potato, making it disappear in mid-air and then holding out both tightly clenched fists and letting little Kate choose the one where it was hidden. The child was thinking about it now, her face screwed up with concentration, while Unis’s brother stood nearby, watching the dark-haired Nessa.
The child tapped a fist, and it was of course empty, and she screamed with delight and frustration. It never failed.
“We’ve done well, John.” And they were widening the lane across Greenacre Farm; coaches would be stopping here soon. People had laughed at old Perrow when the plan had been made public, but they would be laughing on the other sides of their faces before long. The wily squire would charge a toll for every coach that crossed his land.
Allday said, “You’ve done well, lass.”
It was there again, the old sense of loss. Like when he had told her about Captain Tyacke calling at Falmouth in his new command.
She heard her brother’s wooden leg thudding across the floor, and wondered what Nessa thought about that, or if she had even guessed his feelings for her.
He said, “Someone asking for you, John.”
Allday came out of his thoughts. “Me? Who is it?”
He grinned. “Didn’t offer, John.” He added, “Odd-looking cove. Knows you right enough.”
Allday opened the other door and stared past the fire. There were two people in the room already, a black dog snoozing between them.
For a moment he thought he was mistaken. The wrong surroundings. The wrong background.
Then he strode across the room and grasped the newcomer around his narrow shoulders.
“Tom! In God’s name, Tom Ozzard! Where in hell have you been hiding?”
“Oh, here and there. Up home in London, mostly.”
“Well, I’ll be double-damned! You skipped off the ship the minute we was paid off. Not a word out of you. What are you doing here?”
Ozzard had not changed in one way. He was as curt and abrupt as ever, the pointed features unsmiling.
He said, “Thought you’d have a corner where I could pipe down before moving on.”
Moving on. Up home in London. Ozzard had no home.
“Course you can stay, you old bugger!”
Unis observed this from the doorway, seeing all things which her beloved John did not see, or want to see. The split shoes, and the threadbare coat with its missing button, the fading hair tied back with a piece of worn ribbon. But this man was part of a world which she could only share at a distance, the life which had taken one husband and had given her another, this big, shambling man who was so glad to see one of its ghosts return. He had spoken often of Ozzard, Sir Richard’s personal servant. Like Ferguson, joined now by Yovell up at the house, he was part of the little crew.
She said gently, “I’ve some stew on the fire. Maybe you’ve not eaten yet.”
Ozzard stared at her with eyes which were almost hostile. “I haven’t come because I need anything!”
Allday said quietly, “Easy, Tom. You’re among friends here,” and frowned as voices echoed from the yard. The first of the road labourers were arriving.
Unis was aware of two things. That Ozzard was wary, even distrustful of women, and that her John’s pleasure was changing to distress.
She said, “Come into the parlour. That lot are too noisy for greeting old friends.”
Ozzard sat silently at the table, staring around the room until his eyes came to rest on the model of Hyperion in its place of honour.
Allday wanted to talk, if only to reassure him, but was afraid to break something so tentative, so fragile.
Unis was stirring the pot in the kitchen, but her mind was elsewhere.
She said over her shoulder, “Of course, you being used to Sir Richard an’ the likes of other naval gentlemen, you’ll know all about wines an’ that like.”
Ozzard said suspiciously, “More than some, yes.”
“I was thinking. With the trade improving on this road, you could be a help to us. To me. There’s a room over the tack store. You’d be more’n welcome until you want to move on again.”
She sensed Allday’s pleasure and added casually, “I can’t vouch for the money though.”
She had to say something, she thought. Anything. She had noticed the torn cuffs and broken, dirty nails. But he was one of the men who had been with her John and Sir Richard in battles she dared not even begin to imagine.
She came over with the bowl and said, “Game stew. Get that inside you, an’ think about what I said.”
Ozzard bowed his head and blindly picked up the spoon. Then he broke.
“I’ve got nowhere else,” was all he said.
Much later, when they were alone together, and the inn was quiet until the new day, Allday held her in his arms and murmured, “How did you know, Unis love?”
She pulled his shaggy head down to her breast. “Cause I knows you, John Allday. An’ that’s no error!”
She could taste the rum in his kiss, and she was content.
18. Of One Company
“HEAVE, LADS! Heave away!”
With both of Unrivalled’s capstans fully manned and every available seaman putting his weight on the bars, the cable was barely moving. Adam Bolitho stood by the quarterdeck rail, his hands clasped beneath his coat-tails, watching the strange light and the low, scudding clouds. The harbour walls, like the waterfront buildings, seemed to glow with a dull yellow texture, and although it was morning it seemed more like sunset.
The wind had risen slightly, hot against his face, and he tasted grit between his teeth, as if they were already standing off some desert shore. He heard Midshipman Sandell shout impatiently, “Start that man! Put some weight on the bars there!”
And, instantly, Galbraith’s curt, “Belay that! The cable’s moving at last!” He sounded impatient, frustrated, perhaps because of the time wasted here in Malta since Admiral Lord Rhodes had hoisted his flag, which had been followed by this sudden order to get the ships under way.
Clank. The iron pawl of the capstan dropped into position.
Clank, and then the next one.
Someone said, “Flagship’s cable is shortening, sir!”
