the course and behaviour of the wind, and in the wardroom there might still he a few lively enough for a game of cards, or the unfinished letter to a wife or lover somewhere.
He yawned and sipped at the goblet Napier had put by his side before returning just as silently to the pantry, feet pale against the checkered deck covering.
And tomorrow he would speak with Galbraith about the punishment book. But he looked at the desk and pictured the rose pressed in the small log. It was little enough. He watched Napier arranging the table for him, a plate rattling suddenly in time with the rudder as the keel sliced into another long trough.
He moved to another chair and regarded the neatly laid table. Being captain kept you apart from the ship's routine, watchkeeping and everyday work on hull and rigging; it also left you without an ordered programme of eating and sleeping. The carefully prepared meal consisted of slices of fat pork, fried pale brown with bread crumbs. That must be the last of the loaves, he thought; iron-hard biscuit from now on until the next time. And there was a bottle of red wine.
He looked at Napier and smiled. 'You do a good deal for me, David, with precious little thanks.'
The boy poured some wine, frowning slightly as he usually did.
He said simply, 'It's what I want, sir.'
He walked back to the pantry, and Adam noticed that he was limping again. Not much, but he would mention it to the surgeon.
Later when Napier came to clear the table he found the captain in the one deep chair, legs outthrust, and fast asleep.
He carried the tray to the pantry again, pausing occasionally to allow for the deck's erratic movements. Then he closed the shutter on one of the lanterns and stood beside the chair again, uncertain but characteristically determined.
Using two fingers he loosened the captain's neckcloth, holding his breath, waiting for the motion to settle.
The captain opened his eyes wide and stared at him, seizing his wrist, holding it, but saying nothing.
Napier waited. He knew that the captain was still asleep. It was important that he should remain so.
He released his hand and backed away, satisfied.
It was what he wanted.
When Adam did awaken it took a few moments to recover his awareness, the instinct of any sailor, the feel and movement of his ship, no matter what hour of day or night it might be.
Too much cognac, or that red wine which rasped on the tongue. It was neither. He had hardly slept since leaving Plymouth. And now…
He stared at the partly shuttered lantern, and the empty table. It was still dark, but the sounds overhead were different. He sat upright, feeling his way. It must be eight bells. The morning watch was taking over.
He had been dreaming. He touched his neckcloth. In the dream she had been there, with him.
He saw the figure darkly outlined against the white paintwork. He pushed his fingers through his unruly hair and said, 'You should have roused me, man!'
Luke Jago stood up and looked at him. 'I would've. I just thought I ought to come.'
He was instantly wide awake. Like those other times, so many of them. Like a fox's scent of danger. Even his voice was clear, sharp.
'What is it? Trouble?'
Jago turned his head and glanced at the shuttered skylight, as if he could see the disruption in the order and discipline.
He said flatly, 'Mr Sandell's gone missin', sir.'
Adam was on his feet. 'Are you sure?' His mind was reaching out like a beam of light, a warning. Galbraith had had the middle watch. He would not leave it for somebody else to act.
Jago replied, 'They've searched the ship, sir.'
Napier was here now, a jug of water held ready. Adam wiped his face and neck with a wet cloth, seeing it for himself. Sandell was in Galbraith's watch. The night was reasonably calm but for a steady wind; an unemployed person could not come on deck without being seen by one of the watchkeepers. An accident? Somebody would have seen that too.
He blinked as Jago unshuttered the lantern. It would be first light very soon, the ship coming awake to a new day.
Jago lifted a hand as someone shouted something, the voice carried away by the wind.
He said, 'They've not found him, sir.'
Adam looked at him. Nobody liked Sandell; some hated him. He should never have been selected. He could guess what Jago thought about it.
He turned and faced the door, hearing Galbraith's familiar footsteps. The responsibility, as always, lay here, in this cabin.
He heard the sentry stamp his boots outside the screen door.
Accept it, then. It was murder.
Lieutenant Galbraith strode aft, his shoes sticking on the deck seams as the sun bore down on the anchored ship. It had been a long and slow approach to the anchorage, as if the Rock's majestic presence defied the wind to intrude. He squinted his eyes against the reflected glare at the other ships anchored nearby, and the guardboat which had waited with tossed oars to mark their journey's end, rolling evenly above its own image.
He looked at the fortifications and batteries, which seemed like part of the Rock itself, a flag flapping listlessly above one of them. 'There was a lot to do. All boats would be lowered no matter how short their stay here, to seal the sun-baked hulls. The captain would expect windsails to be rigged, to draw what air there was into the cramped quarters between decks. Galbraith had known captains who would never have contemplated it, would have insisted that the ungainly canvas spoiled their ship's appearance, no matter what discomfort they averted. But not this captain. The gig was already being hoisted out over the starboard gangway, Jago's voice urging or threatening as required.
He saw Lieutenant Varlo speaking with I lastie, the master-atarms, arranging another search, maybe. The captain had told the second lieutenant to carry out a final investigation, although it seemed unlikely that anything would he gained by it. But Galbraith could feel a difference in the ship and amongst the various sections of men he had come to know so well. Resentment, suspicion; it went deeper than these.
To many of them it would seem a betrayal of something personal and intimate, that bond in any fighting ship which made each man look out for his friends. Sailors owned little enough, and a thief, if caught by his fellows, would suffer a far harsher fate than that meted out by the Articles of War. And a man who would kill another in this ship was like something unclean. Midshipman Sandell would not be missed, but the threat would remain.
He saw the captain by the taffrail, a telescope trained towards the main anchorage, but unmoving, as if he was unwilling to let it go.
Galbraith touched his hat and waited. 'Ship secured, sir. The gig is being lowered now.'
He followed Bolitho's telescope. A little apart from the other vessels, and larger than most of them: they had seen her on the last two cables before the anchor had plummeted down and the cable had taken the strain.
A receiving-ship, they called such vessels, used mainly as temporary accommodation for officers and personnel on passage to other appointments. Mastless, and with most of her upper deck covered by a protective awning, her gun ports empty and opened to attract any offshore breeze, she was another hulk. The last time they had seen her, she had worn an admiral's flag at the mainmast truck. Was that only last year? Even now, her 'gingerbread,' the ornate scrollwork about her stern and counter, was still brightly gilded in the sunlight, and her name, Frobisher, was not to be forgotten. Least of all by the man at his side.
Adam said, 'Is that all they could find for her, Leigh?' He closed the glass with a snap and looked directly at him.
I saw my uncle's old coxswain when I went to Falmouth.' He looked at the ship again, but Galbraith knew he was seeing something else. 'I am only thankful that John Allday is not here today to see this!'
He seemed to pull himself out of it with a great effort and said, 'I will be going ashore directly. In the meantime, perhaps Mr Tregillis will loosen his purse strings again and attempt to obtain some fresh bread. The garrison will be the best chance.'
'I'll deal with that, sir.'
He looked down, surprised, as Bolitho's hand gripped his arm.
