She heard the coachman shift again, the click of metal as he loosened the weapon he always carried. Something like a club, but it could change at the twist of a wrist to a foot-long stiletto.
'Comin', m' lady!'
She dabbed her eyes and looked again. A solitary horseman, approaching at a loose canter. Unhurried. Watchful.
She realised that it was the first time she had seen Bethune out of uniform. It was easy to recall her private visits to his office at the Admiralty. Up the back stairs, he had always called it.
She watched him wheel round towards the carriage. Another one who had done little to hide his feelings for her. The youngest vice-admiral since Nelson, with a brilliant career ahead, and a wife and two children to support his endeavours. He was taking a risk simply by meeting her today. She had never forgotten the savage cartoons, herself, naked and shedding tears while looking out at the assembled fleet. The caption Who will be next? had roused Sillitoe's fury more than anything she had seen; he was usually too clever to show emotion.
William called down, 'This 'im, m' lady?' No chances, or he would answer for it.
Bethune swung down from his horse and doffed his hat.
She said, 'Come in,' and moved along the seat. Richard had always spoken warmly of him; Bethune had been a mere midshipman in the Sparrow, his first command, and he had never lost that youthful look.
Bethune was studying her.
He said, 'We can always meet here, when you need to see me. It is secure enough.'
She said, 'It was good of you to come.' It was not so easy after all. They were like strangers. But it was safer this way. 'I have something for Adam.' She groped in her shawl, knowing that he was watching her, as she had seen him do in the past. He had never forgotten that it had been he who had allowed her to return alone to Chelsea, when the nightmare had been waiting for her.
He had blamed himself, and his wife for conspiring with Belinda on that same night.
She said, 'It is Richard's Nile medal. I think Adam should have it.' She knew Bethune was about to protest. 'Richard gave it to me at Malta. That last time.' She faltered, and tried again. 'I think he knew then that he was going to die. Adam must have it. It will help him.'
His hands closed around hers to cradle the little package.
'I will attend to it. Unrivalled will be at sea, but I can make arrangements.' The grip remained firmly on her hands. 'You are looking wonderful, Catherine. I think about you constantly.' He attempted to smile, the midshipman again. 'I did think that you might have married.'
He hesitated. 'Forgive me. I had no right.'
She released her hands and smiled at him for the first time.
'I lost my way. And what of you, Graham?'
'Their lordships are very demanding at times.' He seemed to come to a decision. 'I have been hearing a great deal of Sillitoe's involvement with the slave trade. I am certain that he is in no way a party to the continuation of such illegal dealings, but his other connections may bring criticism. The Prince Regent, as you may know, has discontinued his seals of office. Some people are quick to forget past favours.'
She nodded. She did not know about the Prince Regent. He had already revoked Sillitoe's appointment as Inspector General. Because of rumour. Because of me.
Bethune cocked his head to listen to a church clock somewhere.
'I have heard that Lord Sillitoe intends to visit the West Indies, some of his old interests?' He took her hands again, and this time he did not release them. 'I would ask that you do not accompany him. I would feel safer if you remained in England.' He looked at her openly. 'In London. Where I might see you. Do not seek trouble for yourself, I beg you, Catherine.'
She felt him touch her face, her hair, and she was suddenly ashamed. Is this what I have become?
The door opened and closed and Bethune was looking up at her again.
He said quietly, 'Remember. I am always ready. Always at your call… but you know that?'
She watched him swing easily into the saddle. My own age? Younger? She wanted to laugh. Or cry.
'Back to the house, please, William.'
The river came into view, a few coloured sails on the grey water.
But all she saw was the door.
Whore.
Unis Allday walked slowly across the inn yard and felt the sunshine hot across her neck and bare arms. She enjoyed it, even after the heat of the kitchen and the baked bread, fresh from the oven. It was afternoon, in some ways the best time of the day, she thought.
She looked at the front of the inn, freshly painted and welcoming, a place to he proud of. She waved to a passing rider, one of the estate keepers, and received a greeting in return; they all knew her now, but nobody took liberties with her. If they did it would only he once, small though she was.
Even the inn sign had been repainted, The Old Hyperion under full sail. To strangers passing through Fallowfield, on the fringe of the Ilelford River, it might be just another name for a local inn, but not to Unis, or the man she had married here. Hyperion was a real ship, and had taken one husband from her in battle and given her another, John Aliday.
She could smell the paint. The two additional rooms for guests were almost finished; the new road nearby would bring coaches, and more trade. They had done well, despite, or perhaps because of the struggle at the beginning.
At noon it had been busy, with men in from working on the road, and they were young men, proof that the war was truly over. Men who could walk free without fear of a press-gang, or the misery of returning home crippled and unwanted.
She thought of her brother, the other John, who had lost a leg fighting in the line with the Old Thirty-First. Now, at least, he would talk about it, instead of looking upon his injury as some kind of personal failure. Without him she would never have managed to build the inn into a successful, even prosperous business.
She heard the clatter of glasses and guessed it was Tom Ozzard, our latest recruit, John had called him. Another link, a veteran from that other world she could only imagine. Sir Richard Bolitho's servant, who had been with him until the day he had been killed. Out of nowhere, Ozzard had appeared here in Fallowfield, more like a fugitive than a survivor. A man haunted and hunted by something, and she knew that but for John's sake she would never have considered offering him a roof, and work which he understood.
Despite his dour and sometimes hostile manner he had proved his worth, with wine, and with some of the more demanding customers, auctioneers and traders in particular. An educated man, he had made the inn's bookkeeping and accounts seem simple, but he never shared a confidence, and she sensed that even her John knew little about him beyond that world they had shared at sea.
She saw a shadow pass the parlour door. It was Nessa. Tall, dark-haired, and rarely smiling, but she would turn the head of any real man. Her brother John, for instance. But it was hard to know if there was anything between them. Turned out by her parents because she had conceived and lost a child by a soldier from the Truro garrison, Nessa had become part of the family here, and had rejected the past. And she was so good with little Kate, necessary at a busy inn when you needed six pairs of eyes at once.
The Old Hyperion was doing well, and would do even better. She paused, one hand on the wall, the bricks almost as hot as new bread. So why was she worried?
She thought of the big, shaggy, some might say ungainly man who had burst into her life. Rough, but respected as a true seaman and Sir Richard's friend, John Allday had won her heart. He had come ashore now; he had done far more than his duty, but he was still not over it. When he made his trips to Falmouth she knew he would be watching the ships, coming or going; it was always the same. Trying to hold on. To remain a part of it.
She considered his last visit to Falmouth, when he had met Captain Adam Bolitho; she had been painfully aware of his uncertainty, his misgivings as he had tried to decide whether he should go back to the old house he had once called his home, when he was not at sea with Sir Richard.
She had heard Bryan Ferguson say that Sir Richard and her John were like master and loyal dog, each afraid of losing the other. Perhaps that was so. She clenched her fists. She would allow no harm to come to him now.
She had asked John how he had found Captain Adam. lie had thought about it, his chin in the big, awkward hands which could be so loving and so gentle in their private world.
He had said, 'Like his uncle, a good and caring captain to all accounts, but stands alone. Shouldn't be like that.'
