rumour or suspicion. lie had heard the older hands joking about it. That everybody in the whole world would know more than Unrivalled's people.
He peered at the compass card. South-south-west. Two more days, maybe less, and they would he beneath the Rock's great shadow.
His thoughts returned to Plymouth. His parents and sister had come to see him, to present him with the new sword they had purchased to mark his commission. He looked again at the skylight. Before that, he had worn a curved hanger which belonged to Captain Bolitho.
Galbraith had remarked, 'I can't say I've heard of anv other captain doing that!'
He allowed his mind to return to the girl named Jane, who had also been there. A friend of his sister's. A ready smile and dancing violet eyes; they had got on well together, encouraged, he realised, by his sister. She was of a good family, so what prospects could he offer as a lowly luff?
But she lived at Dartmouth, which was not that far from Plymouth. When Unrivalled returned after completing this mission, he might be able to see her again.
'Cap'n's comin' up, sir.'
'Thank you, Tucker.' He had learned well the risk of trying to be popular, or showing favouritism to this man or that. All the same, he could not imagine anyone warning Varlo if the captain was on the move.
He saw one of the helmsmen turn his head to make sure the windvane was in position. It got dark very suddenly hereabouts.
Bellairs waited near the wheel while the captain walked to the compass, and the log which was protected by a canvas hood; he had probably already been in the chartroom to make his own estimate of their progress. He made it seem so effortless; even when he stared up into the black tangle of rigging and the trimmed angle of each yard, it was as if he already knew. When they had been in action it had been impossible to register every act or injury. Only afterwards, when your heart and breathing steadied, could you realise what you had done. And those who had not come through it.
Bellairs could recall the captain's part in it. His apparent disregard for both danger and the nearness of sudden death. Or, far worse, a lingering despair in the agony of the surgeon's knife.
He straightened up as Bolitho said, 'Holding her course and progress well, Mr. Bellairs.' He tapped the pale planking with his shoe. 'But she's feeling it, with all that extra weight of stores and shot.' He turned away to watch a leaping fish, bright gold in the sunset. 'We'll be needing all of it, I daresay.'
He could have been talking to the ship.
Adam could feel Bellairs watching him. It was strange: when he had been a lieutenant he had never considered his captains young in thought and heart. Except his uncle. They had sometimes been mistaken for brothers.
He would know nothing until he was in Gibraltar. The prospects of battle might all have blown away by then. It happened often enough. But until then he thought of his carefully worded orders. Nothing which any captain could misinterpret if an opportunity offered itself. Lord Exmouth had been a great frigate captain. He would know every trick in the hook.
Like the vessel they had sighted two days back after they had weathered Cape Finisterre. He had sent Sullivan aloft, and had then joined him with a telescope, as if something had driven him.
A large ship, a barque as far as they could tell; there had been a stiff wind and a lot of spray which made proper recognition almost impossible. But they had seen her again, and she had immediately changed tack, her sails like pink shells in the dawn light. To avoid Unrivalled's closer scrutiny? Cristie had suggested that she might be standing closer inshore and heading for Vigo. It made sense. But Adam could not shift it from his mind. There were hundreds of ships in these waters, probably the busiest seaway in the world. And some of them would be barques. In any case his orders were clear. Blunt.
He said, 'I hear you had the good fortune to meet a young lady during our stay in Plymouth.'
He was aware of Bellairs' confusion. Had it been full daylight, he might have been blushing.
'This is a small ship, remember!'
Bellairs said, 'A friend of my sister's, sir.' He faltered. 'She cannot yet be seventeen.'
'I see.' Adam walked to the rail and stared down at the boat tier. Bellairs was just nineteen. Whereas I… He stopped it there.
They were at sea. It was all that counted.
He said, 'Time will pass quickly. You will know if your feelings are strong enough to endure the life we follow.'
He took two paces away, angry that he should or could offer advice.
He said, 'I note from the log that there are two men for punishment tomorrow?' Like cutting a cord. Safe in their ordered world.
'Yes, sir. One for drunkenness.' It was now too dark to see his expression, but Adam knew he was frowning. 'Craigie. The other one is Lucas, maintopman. He threatened a warrant officer.' No hesitation this time. 'Mr Midshipman Sandell.'
'I shall speak with the first lieutenant directly. I am not pleased about this.' He sighed. And it would be another two years before Sandell could even be considered for promotion to lieutenant. What Luke Jago would call 'the rotten apple.' He had heard his uncle say that it only needed one.
He said suddenly, 'We shall alter course two points, Mr Bellairs. I fear the wind is backing a little.'
He half-listened to the rush of feet, the shrill of calls, as more men ran to braces and halliards.
It might give an extra knot. At least it would keep his mind from her face. Her body framed against the soiled canvas, the imaginary rock, her eyes so dark, defiant, challenging him.
So different from the girl in the church, her pleasure over the rose which would be in that portrait. He touched his empty belt. And the sword.
'Steer sou'-west! Helm a-lee there!'
The squeal of blocks, men hauling on snaking lines and halliards before they could fling a sailor off his feet. Even the new hands were working like veterans.
Adam crossed to the empty nettings and waited for the deck to sway upright again. Still, faintly, he could see the beautiful figurehead's naked shoulders, showing only for a moment through the gloom while Unrivalled's stem ploughed into a deeper trough in a welter of bursting spray.
Like the girl on the rock. Helpless and in need.
IIe heard Bellairs say something and then laugh, somehow carefree despite the chorus of sea and thrashing canvas.
'Steady she goes, sir! Sou'-west, full an' bye!'
Adam raised one hand to Bellairs and walked to the companionway. The first watch could settle down, without its lord and master overseeing every move.
I Ic went down the ladder, feeling the ship closing around him. The marine sentry, his figure angled effortlessly against the deck, stiffened as he passed, and Napier had the screen door open, as if he had been listening for his step on the ladder.
Everything as it should be, and a weighted-down pile of letters and orders in Yovell's round hand awaiting his signature.
He stared at the sloping stern windows, one side in darkness, spray dappling the thick glass like spectres, the other tinged with dull copper, the last of the sun on the western horizon.
The whole ocean, and yet he was hound by his orders, tied to the fleet's apron strings.
Napier asked, 'May I bring your meal, sir
Adam stared at him and was touched by his concern. Ile knew what it must have done to him to be so well received in Falmouth, as if he was one of the family.
'Not too much, David. I'll have some cognac while I sign that little mountain.'
lie saw the boy smile and hurry away to the pantry. Why was it so easy to help others when you were helpless to rally your own sp irits?
Tomorrow things might seem different. The final approach to Gibraltar. The formalities. The new orders. If any.
Bellairs would he thinking of the girl he had met in Plymouth; Napier might still be remembering the excitement and laughter over his first ride on the new pony.
The hands had piped down now, and the ship was unusually silent. Overhead, the watchkeepers took note of
