Adam saw the stable boy waiting expectantly and felt for a coin. They would doubtless laugh at him once the door had closed behind him.
'She is very beautiful.' He expected the other man to interrupt, but Montagu said only, quietly, 'She was badly hurt also. Do not harm her.' He hesitated. 'Do I have your word?'
It was hard to believe they had only just met. That he could respond without any hesitation.
'You have it, Sir Gregory.'
He tried to smile, to reassure him, or perhaps for his own sake. He would never see her again, and she would remain as much a mystery as the poses of those myths of which he knew so little.
He climbed into the saddle and heard the boy call something and grin up at him. He could have put a guinea into his hand for all the notice he had taken.
He reined the horse round towards the gates and halted, hearing the harp from one of the tall windows, and imagining her as he had seen her.
Then he urged the horse out on to the road; he did not once look back. He dared not; he was afraid of destroying something.
He felt the horse pounding beneath him, as if his mood was infectious.
It made no sense, it defied all reason. He had always been made welcome in Falmouth. Nancy, Bryan Ferguson and his wife, and faces he knew only by sight on the estate or at the harbour. But he had always felt like a stranger, an intruder.
This was the first time he had ever felt he belonged.
12. Trust
LUKE JAGO slitted his eyes against the reflected glare and gauged the gig's passage through the mass of anchored shipping. It must have been a long time since Plymouth had seen such an array of naval strength, he thought. Not a day had passed since Unrivalled's return from West Africa without more vessels arriving, gathering around the flagship, Queen Charlotte. It was strange if you considered it. The flagship was only ten years old and carried a full armament of one hundred guns, a new vessel by naval standards. Some other well-known ships of the line had been over forty years old when they had been abandoned to the breakers, or had become melancholy hulks like those he had seen elsewhere. And yet Queen Charlotte was unlikely ever to stand ship-to-ship in any line of battle. They had seen the last of it.
He glanced at Lieutenant Galbraith, upright in the sternsheets, his strong features composed. On his way to the flagship, and Jago could guess what he was thinking. The captain was still away, and Galbraith had the weight. He smiled inwardly. Why I called away the gig. Make it look right.
Midshipman Martyns was in charge, but Jago had to nudge his arm as a barge-like craft pulled slowly abeam, obviously looking for trade like the rest of the boats which were never far from this impressive fleet. There was a colourful canopy rigged aft, and he could see several women sitting beneath it, their gowns and painted faces leaving no doubt as to what they were preparing to barter.
Midshipman Martyns gulped and actually blushed. There was some hope for him after all, Jago decided.
His thoughts returned to the captain. I Ic had never seen anyone so torn between taking leave of absence from his ship and remaining for everyone to see, in command. Others would never have hesitated, especially with a flag officer's blessing.
He had considered the captain's suggestion that he join him in Falmouth; he had laughed at the idea, but it had not gone away. He had even mentioned it to Old Blane, the carpenter, who had responded scornfully, 'I always thought you was a fool, Luke, but never that much of one! I wish t' God someoned make me the offer!'
And now they were on the move again. There had been no official orders, or speeches from the officers; you just knew it. The collection of ships had become a fleet. The flagship was like the hub of a great wheel, and when the word came, it would be sudden. The navy's way.
He glanced at the young midshipman's hand on the tiller bar, the watchful eyes of the stroke oarsman, as if the flagship's presence had touched each one of them. If not the big three-decker, then certainly the admiral whose flag curled only occasionally at the masthead: Lord Exmouth now, but better known and remembered as Sir Edward Pellew, who during the wars with France and Spain had become famed and respected as the navy's most successful frigate captain. The new title had been bestowed on him at the end of hostilities. Like most of Jago's contemporaries, Pellew had grown up in the navy, and wanted nothing else. He might have been expecting enforced retirement; it had happened to many officers of similar stature. Jago looked up at the towering masts and crossed yards. Not for me. He himself had served in a ship of the line, an old two-decker and by no means as grand as Queen Charlotte. He had been with her for over a year before being transferred to a frigate, and in all that time he had never ceased to meet people he had never laid eyes on before. A floating town, names you never remembered, officers who did not care to find out about any man outside his own immediate authority.
'Boat ahoy?'
Jago grinned and cupped his hands. Wye, aye. 'Just to let them know there was an officer coming aboard, but, dear me, not a ship's captain whorl need all the proper ceremony and respect. Only a lieutenant, this time.
He touched the midshipman's arm and murmured, 'Take 'er in now.
He remembered the rearadmiral named Herrick; he would have fallen outboard but for his quick action. Strange, he thought; there were plenty of senior officers he would have happily aided over the side if he had believed he would get away with it.
Oars tossed, bowman hooked on to the chains, and the flagship's gleaming tumblehome rising above them like a cliff.
Galbraith said, 'Stand off, Cox'n. I'll not be long delayed, on this occasion.'
Jago touched his hat and watched him seize one of the handropes and jump on to the lower 'stair.' As he had observed before, Galbraith was very light on his feet for so powerful a man. He was not soft or easy-going, nor did he try to be popular like some first lieutenants Jago had known.
Being close to the captain, he had got to know him better than most, or so Jago told himself. Enough, for instance, to catch the bitterness in Galbraith's tone. He knew the story, or most of it. Galbraith had had his own command. He watched the blue and white figure moving steadily up and around the curved hull, his sword slapping against his thigh. Not a big ship, just a little brig, Vixen she was named. And his own. A lot of junior officers started that way. Captain Bolitho's first command had also been a brig, and so, he heard, had been the cruelly disfigured Captain Tyacke's.
But Galbraith's promotion had stopped right there. The full story would be worth knowing.
He saw Galbraith reach the entry port and barked, 'Cast off! Shove off forrard! Be ready to out oars!' The last order was for the midshipman's benefit. Martyns was daydreaming again. Staring at the flagship. Ilis eyes saying if'only.
Jago snorted. He could have it.
Lieutenant Leigh Galbraith paused to doff his hat to the quarterdeck and the flag, pleased if surprised that he was not out of breath after the steep climb. The deck seemed vast after Unrivalled, you could lay two hulls here and still have room enough to drill the marines.
A lieutenant took his name and sent a midshipman scurrying away with a message. Ile recalled his own brief command. It was like no other feeling. Lowly or not, you were received with honours paid, as if you were already posted. He thought about it a lot. Too much.
'Ah, Mr Galbrice!'
He turned to see a lanky lieutenant with the twist of gold lace on his shoulder that distinguished him from all other mortals. The admiral's flag lieutenant.
He corrected calmly, 'Galbraith, sir.'
'Quite. Your captain is not aboard, I understand?' It sounded like an accusation.
'Flag Officer, Plymouth, insisted he should take some days' leave of absence…'
The flag lieutenant shrugged. 'Vice-Admiral Keen has hauled down his flag. Things are moving more quickly. I have a letter for you to take when you leave this ship. Arrange a fast courier, will you? Now, if you will follow me you may sign for your orders.' He let the words sink in. 'Your responsibility, you understand?'
