using tackle to shift their cargoes directly ashore. Not very different from when he had first seen it as a youth, and he had always remembered it.
She smiled, face fresh in the cold salt breeze, eyes bright with interest and excitement. Sharing it with him, unconcerned or unaware of the attention from idlers and labourers alike.
But he tightened his grip as two men with arms linked, obviously full to the scuppers, as Luke Jago would have said, lurched aside with elaborate respect as they passed.
'Greetin's, Captain, an' yer lovely lady!'
Lowenna said, 'The deck looks very lively today.'
The two seamen stared at her and then fell laughing in each other's arms. There were grins and nods throughout the crowd.
Adam murmured, 'You are wonderful. For a second, I thought.
But she was shading her eyes against the hard light, the moment already past as she watched a vessel moving slowly clear of others moored close by.
'Your world, Adam. And I want to be part of it. 'She laughed as some gulls swooped down on a few fishheads thrown on the water. 'Look, they're happy, too.'
When she looked at him again her face was serious.
'I saw you watching that ship. A brig, isn't she?'
'Yes, she is. Clever of you. Most people would not know.'
But she did not smile.
'I saw it in your eyes. An understanding. Almost… a hunger. 'She thrust some of her hair under her cloak. 'Am I right?'
He stared across the choppy water. The brig was already under way, topsails and jib filling slightly to the brisk offshore wind. Too far out to hear the sounds of a vessel coming alive, the squeal and clatter of blocks, the measured stamp of bare feet. But he could have been there on her deck.
He said, 'Small and handy, fourteen guns. Very like Firefly, my first command. She taught me all I know.' He took her arm again, unconsciously. 'And you are a part of it. Since that day…' A great chorus of laughter mixed with jeers scattered his thoughts, and he saw a group of onlookers pointing or gesturing toward the brig, shaking their heads in disgust.
'What is it, Adam?' should have known. Been prepared. The time of year did not matter, nor the weather. There were always the old hands, men who had once served in ships of war, and now were unable to stay away from the life which had brutally rejected them. Missing an arm or a leg, permanently scarred, there was not a whole man amongst them.
There was a distant squawk from the brig's speaking trumpet, doubtless her first lieutenant yelling threats at a small boat carelessly pulling across the bows. It was common enough in confined waters. But somehow a necessary reminder to survivors like these.
'That showed ‘em, eh, Cap'n? 'More laughs, and hostility too. It was different at sea. So different. The risk and the danger were ever present. The toast to 'absent friends 'was supposed to soften the harsh reality.
He could feel her hand on his arm, very still, like a small creature, listening, waiting.
He said, 'We'll walk to the end of the jetty now that we've come this far. 'Suppose they all stood firm. To prove something, take some cheap revenge.
'Everything in order, Captain Bolitho?'
Adam had not even seen them approach. Two uniforms, gilt buttons; one was wearing a sword. Authority, from the revenue cutter he had seen earlier when they had reached the waterfront.
'Thank you, yes. 'He touched his hat and saw the other man respond. He felt her fingers tighten on his arm as he added, 'We are amongst friends here.'
They walked on, the way suddenly cleared. Nothing was said; there was only a smile or a brief nod of recognition here and there, and once a hand reached out as they passed.
'I shall not forget that, Adam. 'She turned and looked at the moored vessels, and the brig, which was under more sail and leaning slightly on a new tack. 'And neither will they.'
Together they paused to look up the slope toward the town.
The square tower of the church was just visible above the surrounding roofs.
Adam thought of the imposing curate and said, half to himself, 'God and the Navy we adore.'
She pressed his arm.
'I cannot wait. Is that so wrong?'
They walked back along the jetty. The onlookers had vanished.
Absent friends.
David Napier walked steadily toward the house, his feet avoiding the loose cobbles by instinct; they were already familiar, after so short a time. He paused, noting the wind's direction as sunlight lanced off the Father Tyme weathervane.
He had walked as far as the little coastguard cottage where a dog always rushed out to bark at him, and there had been no more pain in his leg. He had not even been out of breath. He had seen a few people on his way, most of whom he had come to recognize, or thought he did. It was wrong to pretend, deceive himself, but he could not help it. While he lived here, it was his home. His life.
It could have been so much worse. But every day it was getting better. He raised his foot and took his weight on it.
Surely by now…
'I 'card tell you was up an' about when the cock crowed, young David. You'm missing walking that deck, my son!'
Old Jeb Trinnick was standing at an open stable door, a mug of something gripped in his hand. Tall and fierce looking, with only one eye, he would take no arguments from any one. But this morning his habitual grimace seemed to be a smile.
A boy called something and he turned away, scowling now.
'Never gets a bloody minute!'
Napier smiled. Jeb Trinnick would have it no other way, from what he had seen and heard.
Perhaps it was the best way. When you were trying to forget, afraid of what might lie in wait. Crying out in the night, even here, where there was nothing to fear.
Our secret.
He had never known any one like her. Lowenna meant 'joy' in the old Cornish tongue.
What must it be like? Really like? When they were together…
He looked up toward the windows of the estate office.
Yovell never probed or asked questions, and might even be called secretive, but he cared enough about those he worked for. He could almost hear him saying it. Otherwise, my boy, I wouldn 't be here.
It was warm in the office, but not the oven it had been when Jago had been acting the barber. The cat was back in its usual place, and Yovell was at his desk.
'Ah, here he is. Mister Midshipman Napier in person! 'He said it lightly, but Napier was staring at the man with him, a courier, booted and spurred and dressed in a heavy riding coat.
He must have ridden up to the house from the main road. 'He has a letter for you.'
He peered over the spectacles at the courier. 'And Mrs.
Ferguson will no doubt give you something to keep out the cold.'
The courier grinned at Napier.
'I'd take kindly to that, 'and walked to the door, spurs jingling, his duty done.
'A letterЦ for me? 'He tried again. 'Is itЦ my mother?'
Yovell said kindly, 'Sit you down. It might be a mistake. 'He slid the letter across the desk, his hand resting on it, as if to give him time. 'But it's addressed to you right enough.'
Napier took the letter and the knife he had always seen Yovell use, here and aboard Unrivalled. So long ago.
There were several addresses and directions, all scored out, the final one reading In the care of Captain Adam Bolitho, Falmouth.
Yovell said, 'open it, David. 'His spectacles had slipped, but he did nothing to adjust them. 'I shall be here. 'He
