Ferguson swung round. 'Not visitors! Not now! '
Yovell patted his arm.
'Easy, Bryan. I think it's Lady Roxby. I rather thought she might call.'
The other carriage turned in the yard and a boy ran to calm the horses.
Grace was here now, hurrying to greet her as she was assisted down. Ferguson saw that the girl Elizabeth was with her.
He heard Jago remark, 'Break somebody's heart, that one will, if I'm any judge.'
Ferguson also noticed that his wife had been crying, as he had known she would.
But she was smiling now, gesturing to each of them in turn. 'Come into the house, will you? I only wish Captain Adam could be here! '
They walked up the broad steps and into the familiar hallway. The study door was open, a fire burning cheerfully. Almost as if one of those faces in the portraits would be there. Waiting.
They were a very mixed group, the one-armed steward and the plump Yovell, who had become so much a part of their lives. Jago, at ease but never relaxed, soon to join his captain, and questioning even that. The two women, and the slim, upright girl with the chestnut hair.
Nancy heard one of the servants give an excited hand clap and some one call out something from the broad landing. Very quickly, she made her decision.
She saw Jago turn and stare at her, his usual composure, sometimes hostility, gone as she grasped his hand in hers. It might be the worst thing she could do But she said abruptly, 'I know you, Luke Jago. My nephew trusts you, and so must I.'
She thrust an envelope into his fist and felt his fingers close round it like a trap. 'Give him this. Tell him…' She broke off as Ferguson called, 'Well done! Well done! '
Jago stared past the woman he knew to be Captain Bolitho's aunt. He knew, too, that she was more than merely that. It was enough. The envelope was in his jacket pocket.
'Good as done, m' lady.'
Nancy turned away, angry that tears might spoil this day.
She walked to the foot of the stairs and opened her arms, holding him as she had once held Adam, a lifetime ago.
The youth Elizabeth had described as 'the captain's servant' had gone. In his new midshipman's uniform, with the single-breasted tailed coat and white collar patches which still haunted her memory, he was some one else.
She embraced him and thought she heard Grace Ferguson sobbing, as if she, too, was losing somebody dear to her.
'He would be so proud of you, David.' His slight shoulders were rigid under the new blue coat, as if he were still trying to come to terms with it. 'It is what he wanted for you.'
David Napier swallowed hard and gazed past them at the big doors, standing open to the cold air. The wall, the curving drive, that line of trees. And the sea.
He was going to another ship; he could feel the stiff document folded inside the pocket of the coat. He stared at the gilt buttons on each sleeve and saw himself as he had just seen his reflection in the mirror on the landing.
He thought his hands were trembling, but when he held one out to the sunlight it was quite steady.
He had no right to think of this house as his home, but the feeling would not change, or go away. He looked at their faces, each one in turn, so that he should not forget: Grace, wiping her eyes and trying to smile, her husband, who had done all he could to make him feel welcome, and Yovell, the man who had shared so much with him in Unrivalled, and had taught him about things and deeds he would never otherwise have known. And the lady who had just hugged him. Part of a great family. How can I leave them now?
It was Luke Jago who cut the cable.
'Here now, Mister Napier, we'd better get a-moving if we're to get you on board today! '
As he climbed into the carriage Napier paused to look at the house, and to wave, although he could see very little in the hard light.
But he thought of his mother. Might she have been proud, too?
4. 'The Higher We Climb…'
The small working party of seamen had retreated from the cabin, and the screen door was closed once more.
Adam Bolitho stood by the stern windows and felt the sun warming his shoulders through the thick glass, although he knew it was still very cold on deck.
He ignored the litter of cases and bags which had just been delivered, each seaman darting a quick glance around the cabin, and at the man who had been their captain for almost four days.
He hestitated, then walked slowly to the high-backed chair which had received the particular attention of the boatswain's mate in charge, a mahogany berg ere upholstered in brass-nailed dark green leather. A chair you could doze, even sleep in, and be readily on call. Where you could plan and think, somehow separated from the ship and her routine. There were a few scratches and a dark stain on one arm rest, but it was the same chair, the one she had wanted him to have after Sir Richard had been killed in Frobisher.
He gripped it and moved it very slightly. He had sat here many times himself. Feeling it. Sharing it with his own command, Unrivalled.
'May I suggest something, sir?'
Adam turned sharply; he had forgotten that he was not alone.
John Bowles had been Captain Ritchie's servant for three years, and the previous captain's for a shorter period, until he had been killed in a sharp engagement with a French blockade-runner.
At first meeting Bowles seemed an unlikely candidate to fill the role of cabin servant. He was tall, slightly stooping because of the lack of headroom, with greying hair trained into an old-style queue, and long sideburns. His was a grave, rather melancholy face, dominated by a large, hooked nose, so that his surprisingly bright eyes seemed almost incidental.
Not a young man, and listed as forty years old on the ship's books, he was light-footed and unobtrusive, unusual for one so tall.
Adam said, 'Yes?' thinking again of Napier and his clicking shoes, his earnest and often deadly serious eagerness. We take care of each other.
Bowles moved around the chair, careful not to touch it, or so it appeared. He stopped suddenly and lifted up a small flap in the deck covering.
'Just 'ere, sir.' He indicated a brass ringbolt. 'The chair can be shackled, nice an' safe, if the sea gets up.' He looked directly at Adam for the first time. 'Athena can be a lively lady in alfa gale if she feels like it.' He almost smiled.
He had a London accent, and Stirling the first lieutenant had told Adam that he had been working in a riverside tavern when he had become involved in some kind of brawl at the very moment that a press gang had been passing. The rest was a familiar story in those times; the lieutenant in command of the press gang had been thankful just to lay hands on a few more men, sailors or not.
It was strange that Bowles had apparently made no attempt to quit the navy when the war with France and her allies had at last come to an end. Adam found that he was touching the chair. When my uncle was cut down.
'That sounds a sensible plan.' He gestured to the other pieces of baggage but before he could speak Bowles said, 'I can 'ave it all stowed by the dog watches. I am instructed that you are dining with the wardroom, so I will make sure that everything is right, sir.'
Once Adam would have preferred a younger man, but it seemed unimportant now. Bowles belonged to the ship. A part of her. And I am his third captain.
Bowles said suddenly, 'That is a fine old sword, sir. I 'ave some special oil that might suit.' He was thinking
