There were candles on the cabin table and he held the goblet to their light, hesitating, his mind still lingering on questions and doubts. Then the strain seemed to fall away. 'To us, Mark.
And those we are leaving behind.'
They touched glasses, but Vincent barely noticed the taste.
Leaving behind? They had not even finished with the watch and muster bills yet.
'I did hear that you were about to be married, sir. 'He broke off. 'My apologies, sir. I did not intend…'
'It does you credit. Here, in this cabin, you may speak as you will. No misunderstandings! 'He looked toward the darkening windows and said, 'God willing, I will marry soon. It asks so much of any woman. And in exchange…' He said nothing for a moment. 'About tomorrow. I should like to walk through the ship with you. Before the admiral comes aboard. 'He moved across the cabin, speaking his thoughts aloud. 'To the people, I am still a stranger. That will change. Any ship's company deserves to share the pride as well as the responsibility.
Pride, MarkЦ what we can create together.'
The mood changed. 'I looked at the punishment book today.
A captain I once served told me that it reveals the true strength or weakness of any ship's company, and in particular her officers.'
He looked at the screen door.
'You've done well during your time aboard. Not an easy role in a new ship, with a company as mixed as flags in a locker.'
He smiled again. 'Let's have the others join us.'
Vincent saw Morgan hovering, half in and half out of the pantry. He, at least, was ready; Vincent had not realized that, during their conversation, the other lieutenants and warrant officers had been waiting.
Adam called, 'MorganЦ you're from Swansea, right? 'He was looking critically around the main cabin. 'More candles, I think, can you do that?'
Morgan seemed surprised or pleased, it was hard to tell.
'Good as done, sir!'
In the growing light Vincent noticed a tall-backed chair facing aft by the stern windows; it must have come aboard in one of the last boats. Not new, quite the opposite: he could see scars and stains on the green leather. Well used, a place to rest between watches, even snatch an hour's sleep when you were expecting to be called. A captain's chair; Bolitho's chair.
He became aware that Adam Bolitho was watching him, waiting, but relaxed. Then he smiled, as if recalling something private, intimate.
'So let's be about it, shall we?'
Midshipman David Napier found himself crossing an enclosed courtyard, and heard a gate clang behind him. Around the corner of the guardhouse would be the jetty, and then he would see the ship. As he had pictured it in his mind, again and again, as if to reassure himself. He wanted to stretch his arms until the muscles screamed, stamp his numbed feet, anything to drive away the strain and confinement of the journey from Falmouth.
It had rained all the way without pause. Like being shut in a box, reeling from every rut and jolt between Cornwall and Plymouth.
He looked at the sky, now hard and clear, without warmth.
Somewhere along the way the road had been flooded: another delay while Francis had searched for an alternative route, little more than a cart track. Ex-cavalryman though he was, even he had been at a loss for curses.
He had recovered by the time they had reached the last barrier, and found a porter to carry the midshipman's chest.
Just a grin, and a pat on his shoulder. Maybe Francis understood better than many what it meant. The need to make it brief. No time to brood or regret.
'Can I 'elp youЦ sir?'
A tall Royal Marine, scarlet tunic unnaturally bright in the harsh sunlight, had appeared from nowhere.
Napier held out the creased warrant, his fingers stiff from clenching it in his pocket.
'I'm joining Onward.''
He felt the marine's eyes giving him a quick, disinterested look from beneath the brim of his smart leather hat. Just another middy. Be giving all of us hell before you know it.
'If you'll just wait 'ere, sir. I'd best tell the sergeant.'
Somewhere there was a clock striking. It went on and on, and Napier thought he could smell cooking. He swallowed hard.
'Well, where the hell has he been? On the moon?'
Then the sergeant stepped into the courtyard, the same warrant gripped in his hand.
'You were logged to arrive earlier, Mister Napier.'
It sounded like an accusation.
'The road was flooded.'
The sergeant brushed biscuit crumbs from his immaculate tunic with the warrant.
'We've all been on the hop since dawn. The admiral, see? Nothing but the best! 'He relented slightly. 'There's another young gentleman waitin 'to join Onward. Tell the piermaster.'
Then, brusquely, 'Best we can manage till we get the word.'
Napier felt his ankle turn on a loose cobble, expecting the pain, the warning. Nothing happened.
And he had not even thought about it. All those miles. The lurching and the unending rain…
'This way, sir, 'the marine was muttering. 'Probably all over by now. 'He did not offer an explanation.
Napier took off his hat and loosened his hair. He could smell perfume on his cuff. Elizabeth. He flinched almost guiltily, as if he had spoken her name aloud.
The room was long and narrow, and had been used for stores. There was a solitary, barred window at one end, with a shaft of sunlight playing across a few crude chairs and an empty bookcase, which did nothing to make it welcoming. He realized that some one was standing beside the window, half hidden in shadow, his elbow resting on the sill.
Napier heard the marine's boots clicking away, then there was silence.
He said tentatively, 'I was told that you're joining Onward. So am I. But I got here so lateЦ it was not my fault. The weather…' He moved closer to the window. 'I'm Napier. David Napier.'
'I was delayed, too. 'An even, unhurried voice.
Disinterested? Wary? Impossible to tell.
He tried again. 'They say the admiral is on board. I suppose we shall have to wait until we're told what to do.'
The figure had moved slightly, and Napier saw the sunlight playing across his own midshipman's chest. So bright and new, like his uniform, and everything else.
The voice said, 'My name is Huxley, by the way. 'A pause.
'Simon Huxley. 'The shadow moved again. Restless, impatient, waiting for something. On edge.
Then, 'Not your first ship? I thought perhaps.
Napier clenched his fist, and pressed it against his hip.
'No. I was in Audacity.'
Nothing else would come.
'Audacityl I read about it in the Gazette. Heated shot from a shore battery. Your captain was killed, wasn't he?'
Napier said quietly, 'A lot of them died that day. But I could swim. 'Like an apology for being alive.
Huxley reached out and tapped his shoulder. 'Luck or skill.
Fate decided in your favour, David. 'He dropped his arm; the gesture had taken them both by surprise. 'I can't swim a stroke!'
He had moved further into the sunlight, turning as boots tramped along the road outside, perhaps from the jetty.
'I shan't be sorry to get aboard, to be doing something useful.'
Napier studied him. A year or so older than himself, with a serious, thoughtful face. Onward might be his stepping-stone to promotion, or oblivion. What most midshipmen joked about, and dreaded.
