When Commodore Turnbull has discovered their content.
He followed Galbraith's gaze and added, 'There goes a part of the old navy, Leigh.' He touched his arm and walked aft again. 'None better!'
Captain James Tyacke pushed his servant to one side and finished tying his neckcloth himself.
'Don't fuss, Roberts! I have to see the commodore, not the Almighty!'
He looked into his hanging mirror and then at Adam, who was sitting in one of the cabin chairs with a glass in his hand. 'Good of you to come aboard at such short notice, Adam.' He seemed to hesitate over the name, as if he were not yet used to such informality. 'I met up with Seven Sisters on passage here and spoke to her captain.' He looked at him in the mirror again. 'About this and that.'
Adam smiled. He had watched Kestrel enter harbour, working her way slowly and expertly under minimum sail to where the guardboat loitered to mark her point to anchor.
He said, 'I've received orders. To return to Plymouth.' He heard the words drop into the silence; he had not yet accepted it, nor did he know his true feelings.
Tyacke nodded, buttoning his waistcoat. 'So I heard. You know the navy-I expect the whole west coast knows about it by now!' He turned and regarded him thoughtfully. 'I expect you'll be ordered to return here. One step at a time.'
Adam noticed that Tyacke no longer betrayed any discomfort or self-consciousness. The devil with half a face, the slavers had called him when he had come to this station, and had welcomed its solitude. He had said more than once of Sir Richard Bolitho, he gave me back my self-respect, and whatever dignity I still possess. People still stared at the melted skin, his legacy from the Nile, young midshipmen dropped their eyes; others showed pity, the one thing Tyacke despised.
Adam had told him about Osiris, and what he had learned about her. Tyacke was like steel, and would never indulge in gossip, especially if it concerned, no matter how remotely, the reputation of Catherine, Lady Somervell.
While Adam sipped some wine Tyacke had shaved himself, waving his harassed servant aside with the razor. 'If I can't shave my own face, I'm ready to go over the side!'
A difficult captain to serve, but he had the feeling that they thrived on it.
'All a long time ago, Adam. When it was fair and respectable to grow rich on slavery. Now, as controls grow even stronger, the price goes up, but it's still the same market.' The eyes held his steadily. 'I heard about Sillitoe's father-he made his fortune out of it. He's long dead, but the profits live on.' He walked to the stern windows and back, his burned face in shadow, so that it was possible to glimpse the man who had been cut down that day, and had lost the girl he loved because of it. Now she wanted him back, and Tyacke had seen her, in the house she had shared with her late husband and the two children of her marriage.
All Tyacke had said was, 'Never go back. Ships, places, people, they're never the same as you chose to remember.'
Adam said, 'What about you, James?'
'I'm content on this station. Probably the only one who is!' It seemed to amuse him. 'But the work wants doing, and it needs men who care enough to do it without thinking all the while of prize-money and slave bounty.' Then he took Adam's hand and said, 'You're still finding your way, and the navy is going to he hard put to find good captains at the rate things are moving… I wish you luck, Adam. We both share the memory of the finest man who ever lived.' I Iis eyes hardened. 'And I'll not stand by and allow others to defame his lady!'
He held out his arms and allowed the servant to help him into his coat.
'Take care, Adam, and watch your hack.' He shouted, 'Enter:''
The screen door opened instantly; it was Fairhrother, the captain's coxswain.
'Unrivalled's gig is alongside, sir.'
'Very well, Eli, we shall he up in a moment.'
Adam grinned. The story had gone around the squadron when Tyacke had chosen his new coxswain. 'Fairhrother? What sort of a name would that be in half a gale, man?' So it was left at Eli. Adam wondered how John Allday had got along with him, in the flagship together.
Raven, the first lieutenant, was waiting with the side party. He shook hands too, as if they were old friends. As it should he, in frigates.
Adam looked over to his own ship, and another prize which Kestrel had brought in with her. A small schooner or, as Tvacke had described the capture, 'Just a rabbit sneaking out when it believed all the foxes had gone elsewhere.' The rabbit had carried a hundred slaves nevertheless.
As the gig pulled slowly amongst the anchored shipping, Adam sat with one hand on the sun-heated thwart, and tried to assemble the events and his reactions into some sensible pattern.
The orders were precise but suitably vague. Four months since they had left Penzance, with a long commission the only likely outcome.
They would be home in the spring. Like the words of Paradox's dying boatswain… But he recalled Tyacke's flat statement. Never go back… they re never the same as you chose to remember.
Jago saw his sun-browned hand grip the edge of the thwart and wondered what was going through his mind. The captain, who had everything. He watched a boat pulling across the channel, and scowled.
Back to some other squadron with another admiral who probably didn't recognise his backside from his elbow. Officers.
Adam was aware of the scrutiny, but was glad of it. Something honest, even if you were never quite sure what he might come out with.
What might be waiting this time? He allowed his mind to explore it. Falmouth, perhaps. The empty house. More memories.
Perhaps there would be a letter waiting for him. He touched the locket beneath his damp shirt.
He said, 'What d'you think about our returning to Plymouth?' As Tyacke had remarked, the news was all over the station.
Jago kept his eyes on the water ahead of the gig's raked stem.
'So long as I've got 'baccy in my pouch, an' a wet when I needs one,' he gave the smallest hint of a grin, 'an' a few coins to jangle in the right direction, then I'm not too bothered, sir!'
Adam saw the stroke oarsman contain a smile. We are all deluding ourselves.
'Bows!'
He glanced up at the ship's curved tumblehome, the faces at the entry port.
Lieutenant Varlo met him with the side party, and he recalled that Galbraith was ashore to offer support to the purser.
He looked at the masthead. A fair breeze, but the air was like an opened oven. Would it last?
Varlo said, 'Some mail came aboard, sir.' His face was full of questions. 'Official, for the most part.'
Adam walked aft, seeing their expressions, hope, expectation, anxiety. The sailor's lot.
He strode into his cabin and tossed his hat on to the chair Napier had offered to Herrick. The chair. He smiled a little. Sparse, for the captain who had everything.
He heard a quiet cough and saw Yovell waiting by the pantry door.
'Well, I expect you know all about it, but…' He stopped, his troubled mind suddenly alert. 'What is it?'
Galbraith would leave everything in order, and Varlo had said nothing. He asked again, 'Something troubles you. Tell me.'
It was unusual to find Yovell so hesitant, unsure of himself.
– There was a letter, sir. Some people might say it was not important, that it was not our concern…'
Adam sat down, slowly, to give Yovell time to compose himself.
He said, 'If it concerns you, or anyone in my ship, then it matters. To me.'
Yovell removed his spectacles and polished them on his coat.
'The letter was for your servant. The boy, Napier, sir. From his mother. He asked me to read it.'
Adam said, 'But he reads well…'
'He was too distressed to read anything after that, sir.'
'She's getting married again.'
Yovell cleared his throat. 'Is married again, sir. They are going to America -her husband has work offered there.'
