would like to get a message to him. Is it possible?' She looked towards the coachman. 'I can pay.'
The coachman relaxed muscle by muscle. A patrol of soldiers was coming along the road. He was no longer alone.
He said, 'I'll drive us down to the waterfront, Miss Lowenna. I can barter with the wherrymen there.'
The one-legged man said firmly, 'I can do it. I've got me own boat.' There was a kind of defiance in his voice. Pride, too.
Then he looked at her, eyes taking in everything, reliving memories, perhaps.
'It'll be the cap'n, then?'
'Yes,' she said.
'I can take you too, if you wishes it?'
She shook her head. 'I will write a note, here and now.'
She opened the little case she had brought with her. As if she had known.
It was impossible. It was madness.
And all at once it was done.
The man took it with great care and said, 'My Cap'n Bolitho in Tempest, 'e had a fine lady like you. Lovely, she was.'
She laid her hand on his ragged sleeve. 'Was?'
'We buried 'er at sea. Same fever.'
He gripped her hand and folded her fingers firmly over the coins she held ready for him.
'Not this time, missy. ''E's a lucky man, I'll give 'im that. None luckier, eh, lads?'
She climbed into the carriage, eyes blind to everything, even the anchored frigate.
If they knew, they would pity her. She bit her lip until the pain steadied her. Everyone did, who knew.
She recalled crying out in the night. Not caring.
It's love I want. Not pity, can't you see that?
Like the sealed room. The only key.
Vice-Admiral Sir Graham Bethune waited for his servant to close the doors and said, 'It was good of you to come, Thomas. I am aware that you are very busy at this time.'
He watched his visitor sit carefully, holding his shoulder, and frowning as if in anticipation of pain. He looked tired, more so than on the previous visit.
RearAdmiral Thomas Herrick looked around the room, with its glittering chandeliers and a splendid portrait of Earl St Vincent as First Lord of the Admiralty.
Bethune knew Herrick disliked any contact with this seat of Admiralty; hated it, was a better description. He felt out of place here.
'I received your last report.' Bethune paused, like a wildfowler testing his ground. 'I found it very informative. Helpful, especially to me.'
Herrick looked up at him, his blue eyes very steady. 'Commodore Turnbull needs more ships, Sir Graham. And he needs them now. I doubt if we shall ever stop the slave trade completely, but without proper patrols we will be outmanoeuvred at every stage. A waste of time, and money too, if that is their lordships' only yardstick.'
Bethune walked to a window and looked down at the carriages and the riders heading towards the park, seeing that other stretch of parkland, the leafless trees that marked the old duelling site.
He had spoken to Catherine just a few days ago. There had been more people about, and she had seemed surprised that he had come to meet her wearing his uniform. He touched the gold lace on his sleeve. It had been a reckless thing to do, but he had already read Herrick's report and had acted swiftly. He had not even stopped to consider what it must have cost Herrick to break his silence.
He tried to put it from his mind. Herrick was not doing it for him, but for Catherine and Catherine's lover, Richard Bolitho.
He said, 'I hope you will take a glass with me, Thomas, We shall not be disturbed.'
Herrick shrugged. It could have meant anything.
But Bethune was ready. He knew Herrick well enough by now. I think I do. Stubborn, single-minded, loyal. The navy was his whole life, and, like an hourglass, it was running out.
He opened a cupboard and poured two glasses of cognac. From the dusty shop in St James's where Catherine had bought wine for Richard…
He saw her face again, her eyes flashing when he had mentioned Baron Sillitoe of Chiswick.
'We are not lovers. But I owe him so much. He stood by me when others did not. I would have died but for him.'
Herrick took the glass and studied it gravely. 'Early for me, Sir Graham.' Always the title, like a last harrier, just as he never used 'Lord' in connection with Sillitoe, either in his report or in this room.
'It seems certain that Lord Sillitoe is deeply involved with business affairs in the West Indies.' Bethune hesitated. 'And in Africa?'
Herrick said, 'No doubt about it. The offices in the City of London have confirmed it. Sillitoe may have been unaware of the extent to which it was tied to the slave trade, but ignorance is no excuse in the eyes of the law.' He added with sudden bitterness, 'Anyone who has faced a court martial will say as much!'
Bethune turned back to the window. He must have been mad; Catherine had been right. So near the Thames, where anyone might have seen them. A promising flag officer, well placed for further promotion, with a wife and children, and still young enough to rise to the new demands of the navy in peacetime. He thought of the fleet which had sailed from Plymouth, to an inevitable confrontation with the Dey of Algiers. Hardly peace, and there was growing friction between the new allies over the slave trade.
He had even touched her, held her hand, prevented her from pulling it away.
'I don't want you to go, Catherine. You could remain here, in London. I can make certain of your privacy.'
He had seen her eyes.
'As your mistress, Graham? Another scandal? I have too much respect for you to ruin your whole life.'
Herrick asked abruptly, 'Is there news of Catherine?'
Bethune faced him. 'I spoke with her. A few times.' He saw the disbelief, then the caution. 'She intends to go with Lord Sillitoe to the West Indies.' He thought suddenly of the Nile medal, her relief when he had told her that it had been delivered safely to the Bolitho house in Falmouth.
He heard the clock chime, more of a tremble than a sound, and refilled the glasses while he considered what he had done.
He would be blamed for warning her. His future would he in ruins. Perhaps a sea appointment might have saved him… He put down the bottle.
He saw her walk towards her carriage. She had paused once, and had asked quite calmly, 'Are you in love with me, Graham?' He could not recall his answer, only her final dismissal. 'Then you are a fool.'
Herrick said, 'Can nothing he done?'
'Their lordships are too concerned with Algiers at the moment. Afterwards…' Ile shrugged. 'Perhaps Lord Sillitoe will absolve himself.'
Herrick stood up carefully. 'I must take my leave, Sir Graham. I am told that I will be required to return to Freetown shortly. That damnable place! And afterwards, 1 shall he put on the beach.' As if he could see it, face it, like a man with one foot on the scaffold.
Bethune said, 'Will you go hack to Kent?'
Herrick studied him. 'I am a stranger there now.'
He watched the door, knowing that a servant was waiting, ready to spirit him out.
'I ask you, Sir Graham. Igo what you can for Catherine. Sir Richard gave me my life. She gave me back my trust.'
Something seemed to hold him by the door. 'Adam Bolitho. Is he at sea yet?'
'I am informed that Unrivalled left Plymouth yesterday.'
Herrick said, 'How I envy him.'
The door closed, and Bethune picked up the bottle again, which was unlike him.
He raised the glass, and said aloud, 'Yes, Catherine, I am a fool!'
He thought of her hand in his, her resistance. And something more.
The servant was hack. 'I thought to remind you, Sir Graham. We have an appointment with the First Lord at
