her father's house after all. She has the right.'
They had reached the study, and Lowenna paused as she looked at the portrait again. The elusive smile. The young boy looking out, as Nancy had described it, and that she would know better than any one.
'Of course, you were employed by the late Sir Gregory Montagu, when he painted this portrait of Captain Bolitho?'
'We worked together, yes. I was his ward.' She stifled her sudden resentment, anger, at the remark. The hostility. No smoke without fire. She should be used to it. Ought to have outgrown it. 'He was a fine man. He saved my life. I shall never forget what he did for me.'
Beatrix nodded slowly, as if in thought. 'I understand. I was so thankful to be given this appointment. My father was glad for me, too.' Only for an instant, her eyes clouded. 'He could have been here in Falmouth today, with a good living, receiving the respect he deserves.' The outspoken resentment was gone as quickly as it had ignited. 'Just rewards do not always go to those who have earned them.'
Lowenna allowed her muscles to relax, very slowly. Like finding and holding a pose while the initial sketches took shape.
She said, 'Did you know Elizabeth 's mother?'
'Of her. A fine woman too, to all accounts. Killed when she was thrown from a horse. I have tried to shield the child from that, and other memories and implications.'
There were sounds in the yard, a carriage, dogs barking. Nancy was back. They would leave here soon.
Her nails were biting into her palm; she had clenched her fist without realizing it.
I walked here with Adam. I was a part of it. Of him.
The doors were open; a breeze moved a bell-pull by the great fireplace, as if some phantom hand had called for attention.
Elizabeth walked across the polished floor, the sound of her riding boots sharp and clear.
She said, 'I am going for a ride, now that they're all coming back.' She looked directly at the tall, dark-haired girl with her governess. 'Will you go with me?'
'I don't ride, I'm afraid.' Lowenna could feel the other woman watching her, judging her. 'Perhaps I will learn some day.'
Elizabeth smiled, for the first time since she had come in.
Lowenna had seen the entry of her birth in the Bible in the study. Tomorrow she would be fifteen years old. Had nobody else noticed it? She was no longer a child, but a young woman.
Beatrix said quickly, 'I think we should speak with Lady Roxby first, my dear! '
Elizabeth ignored her, and said, 'I can teach you, Lowenna.' Her smile broadened. 'It is a nice name. I shall soon show you the rules.' She glanced at her tutor. 'Easy! '
Beatrix persisted, 'I think we should wait until Lady Roxby…'
'I'm not having my birthday spoiled because of the funeral, miss! I am a Bolitho – I will not be treated like some of those people out there! '
Nancy walked up the steps, and said, 'Enough of that, Miss Elizabeth. I'll not have any showing off, today of all days.'
Lowenna could not see her expression, as the sunlight was streaming in behind her. But there was no mistaking her tone, and she was suddenly sorry for her. Her children, grown up long since and in London, and nobody to make the decisions but herself. And she owned one of the largest estates in the county.
She stood in the sunlight, her face quite composed.
'Furthermore, my child, I'm glad you remembered that you are a Bolitho. Now try to behave like one! '
She turned to Lowenna, seeing what many would miss. 'Hard, was it?' She slipped her hand through Lowenna's arm. 'The others will be here presently. I want you to stay.'
Lowenna thought of the stares and the unspoken comments.
'You mean it, don't you.' She felt the pressure of the hand again. 'Then I shall stay.'
Nancy turned her easily toward the newest portrait again, her grip surprisingly strong.
'I know love when I see it, Lowenna. Cherish it, and this sweet sorrow will soon pass.'
They were all arriving now, Daniel Yovell, his round shoulders stooped, his gold spectacles perched on top of his head.
Young Matthew, the coachman, unsmiling, shocked by the death of his friend. Servants, estate workers somehow unfamiliar in their best clothes, and old Jeb Trinnick, his one eye averted to avoid unnecessary conversation. Nancy introduced her to only a few. The rest could draw their own conclusions.
And there was one who stood out, big, broad, and shaggy-haired. Nancy introduced him quietly as John Allday, Sir Richard's friend and seagoing companion. She remembered seeing him the day Adam had been recalled to duty.
Allday took her hand; it seemed to disappear into his powerful grip, and she felt defenseless under his steady gaze.
'I served with young Cap'n Adam as well, Missy, when he was just a lad. I heard about you an' him, o' course.' He touched her cheek momentarily with his free hand, and she could feel the strength of the man, and something deeper. She shivered as if she stood in a chill wind, but she remained very still, her hand in his, her skin alive to the roughness and the gentleness, and the years which had left this man so loyal.
She heard herself ask softly, 'How is it, John Allday? Do I measure up?'
For a moment she imagined he had not heard, or that he would resent her
directness.
Then he nodded very slowly. 'If I was a much younger fellow, Cap'n Adam wouldn't get a chance in hell, Missy! ' Then the grin came through, as if he had no control over it. 'As it is, I'd say you'll be flying with the wind afore you knows it! An' that's no error, neither! '
He looked at the open doors. 'Old Bryan said as much, bless 'im. An' he was right.'
She kissed his cheek, and said, 'And bless you, too.'
She knew that Nancy was smiling, saying something unheard, and that conversation had broken out again on every side.
And here was Grace Ferguson, very straight, her emotion contained, perhaps until she was alone and realized that it would be forever.
She did not resist when Lowenna hugged her, and said steadily, 'John speaks the truth and always did. You'll be right for young Captain Adam. After this, you come back to us. You belong here, and that's all about it.' She returned the embrace, suddenly unable to go on. 'You take care, y' hear?'
Nancy had called it sweet sorrow. It was far more than that. It was nearly dawn when, in a strange bed, Lowenna finally fell asleep.
Perhaps then, in fantasy, he would come again to her.
10. Chasing Shadows
Adam Bolitho moved his shoulders very slightly and winced as the heat seared his skin, as though he were naked, or his coat had been hanging on the door of a furnace. He had been on deck since first light, when the sun had found them and pinned the ship down as if motionless. It was now almost noon and he felt he had scarcely moved from his place by the quarterdeck rail, watching the land, which never seemed to draw any nearer.
A landfall was always exciting, to land man and old Jack alike. Few sailors ever questioned how or why it was achieved, or even the reason for arriving in a different place or harbour.
Adam glanced up at the topsails, barely filling with wind, and flattened occasionally against stays and yards, the flags all but unmoving. English Harbour, Antigua, was the most important headquarters for the fleet which served the Caribbean far beyond these Leeward Islands, a fine, sheltered harbour with a dockyard which could accommodate even the larger men-of-war like Athena.
Adam shaded his eyes and studied the white buildings beneath the shadow of Monk's Hill, all shimmering in a heat haze, and small local craft, like insects on the milky blue water.
June was almost gone, and this was now the hurricane season: old Caribbean hands would know it well.
