'I will not ask if that was all you gave him, dear Lowenna. I can see it in your face.'
No rebuke or warning. That was Nancy.
The carriage clattered on to the main road, the horses glad to be on the move again, away from the lingering smell of fire. Past wild countryside made beautiful by great patterns of purple foxglove, and wild roses amid the hedgerows and slate walls.
At one point they passed parties of labourers clearing the way for a new road. Mostly young men, stripped to the waist, looking up as the carriage moved by. A sign of the times: men who such a short time ago had been in the uniforms of troopers or seamen. A new and unfamiliar life, but at least they had work to pay and feed them. Lowenna had seen too many of the other kind. Men along the pier or dock wall, watching the ships, even the lifeless ones. Like Adam's Unrivalled. Staring and remembering.
But never the bad times, the harsh discipline and the ever-present nearness of danger and death. Only the comradeship, something she had felt and understood, like love.
'I have to go to Bodmin shortly.' Nancy reached out and folded the girl's hand in her own. 'The lawyers have arranged a meeting. Will you stay at the house until I come back? Longer, if you can.' She patted the hand as if to soothe it, like a startled creature. 'I would not ask you to accompany me, my dear.'
There would be too many bitter memories in Bodmin. Not least, members of her family who had turned their backs when she most needed their help and support. No smoke without fire. How could they even think it?
'Lawyers? Is it trouble, Nancy?'
'Always that, my dear.' She shrugged, glad that the hurdle was past. 'But we do need them. Tenant farmers, repairs to cottages and barns… it never stops. I had hoped…'
She did not continue.
Lowenna remembered that she had two grown children, both of whom preferred London to Cornwall.
Nancy shaded her eyes as the roof of her own house showed above the familiar bank of trees.
'It's Elizabeth, you see. She has her own governess, of course, but she's growing up. Fast. Too fast, I think sometimes. She likes you. Admires you. I would feel less troubled if you were with her.'
'I've little experience, but I shall do my best.'
The grip tightened over her hand. 'Just be yourself. It will be good for her.'
Francis wheeled the horses through the gates, but heard them both laugh as Lowenna retorted, 'For both of us! '
A stable boy was already running to greet them, and Francis knew the exact moment when to apply the brake.
But his mind was still back on the new road, and the men who had paused in their work to watch this fine carriage sweep past. Glad to have employment when so many had come back from the war to find nothing; envious, too, maybe, at the sight of the lovely girl in the straw hat.
His boots hit the ground and he had the door open, and the step lowered without even noticing what he was doing.
But of course you never forgot. On the right of the line, the spurs digging in, the sabres all coming down in one shimmering rank, then the piercing blare of the cornet. Charge! Of course you never forgot.
'I shall be ready if you need me, m' lady.'
But Nancy was staring past him, as if she had heard something.
'Take the roses, Lowenna.'
'What is it, Nancy?'
She shook her head. 'I'm not sure.' She climbed down carefully, one hand on her coachman's arm. 'Something has happened. If only Lewis were here…'
It was the first time she had spoken her husband's name.
John Allday walked carefully across the parlour floor, avoiding the parts recently waxed and polished. A plank creaked under his heavy tread and he glanced down at it. Something he could fix himself, play his part in running the inn. Belonging, being useful. Like the handsome inn sign, The Old Hyperion; it had been swinging in the fresh breeze from the Helford River, and it had squeaked with each move. A touch of grease would fix it. He had been in the yard, watching his friend Bryan Ferguson moor his plump little pony Poppy where she would be comfortable during his visit. Allday frowned. The visits had been getting fewer over the months; this was his first since young Captain Adam had set sail yet again, in a different ship, a third-rate no less, with a vice admiral flag above his head. As if he didn't have enough troubles…
He looked at his friend now, seated at one of the parlour tables, his head resting in his hand. Older, strained; it seemed to have happened so suddenly. Allday tried not to think of it too often. They were older. Thirty-five years ago they had been pressed together and put aboard the frigate Phalarope and taken off to war. Their captain had been Richard Bolitho. In Cornwall it was almost a legend. Ferguson had lost an arm at the Saintes, and had returned to Falmouth a sick man. His wife Grace had done everything to restore him, to give him back his confidence and his health, and he had become steward of the Bolitho estate, with the same Richard Bolitho who was to become a Knight of the Bath, and an admiral of England. And I was his coxswain. And his friend. He had called them and a few others 'my little crew'. And now he was gone, with all those other misty faces.
He put down two glasses and said, 'Have your wet, Bryan, an' tell me all the news. You're becoming a stranger here.'
Bryan looked up at him.
'Sorry, old friend. I'm getting past it. Time moves at a faster pace these days.'
Allday grinned, and said, 'Bilge! The whole estate would fall apart without you.' He winked. 'An' your Grace, o' course! All them good meals, a soft bed an' servants to wait on you hand an' foot you should be on top o' the world.'
He sat down and looked around the parlour, the home Unis had made for them and their daughter Katie. The old life would never leave him, nor his desire for it, but he was grateful, and it troubled him to see his friend so dispirited.
Ferguson said, 'It used to be simpler… when he was alive. Now there are so many things… Grace does more than enough, and always has, as you well know, but there's no hand on the helm, too many outsiders to deal with…' He listed them on his fingertips. 'The tenants always need something, and the land does not bring in the returns it should. The new road won't help, not us anyway. Sheep to be moved, new walls to be built when the slate can be quarried. It takes me ten times as long to get around the estate and see every one.' He seemed to hesitate. 'I'm too old for it, and that's all there is to it.'
Allday took a swallow of rum to give himself time. The estate, but more importantly the Bolitho house, had always been there. One Bolitho after another, every kind of ship and campaign you could think of. You didn't question it; it was a part of their lives. Allday considered it. He lived with Unis here, in the little village of Fallowfield on the Helford River, not in Falmouth at all. But his heart was still there. The Admiral's coxswain.
He tried again. 'What about Dan Yovell? He was helping with the books, an' that. When he came ashore he said it was for the last time.'
Ferguson smiled sadly.
'What you once said, old friend, remember?'
Allday slammed down the glass. 'That was different. I was somebody in them days, an' that's no error! '
Ferguson reached for his own glass, as if he had only just seen it.
The times we've had together, old friend.' He drank slowly.
There were voices in the adjoining Long Room, as it was known. Two salesmen had spent most of the morning in there. Ale, cognac, and some of Unis's beef. Money to burn. He did not need to look at the clock. Some of the workers from the road would be arriving soon. They could eat like horses, but their money was good, as Unis had often reminded him.
Dear Unis, so small and pretty; some of the customers got too stroppy when they had a few tankards of ale under their belts, and they thought it entitled them to take liberties with her.
He sighed. They only tried it once with Unis.
He said, 'Young Cap'n Adam will be well on his way to the Indies by this time, eh, Bryan? Brings it back when I think on it. Not the same for him, with a vice admiral breathing down his neck, I'll wager! ' He heard Unis's voice outside. He had not even noticed the sound of the carrier's cart coming into the yard. Unis had been into the market; he frowned; he could not recall what for. Then he swung round and exclaimed, 'You're not leaving, man?
