It was as if he had spoken his thoughts aloud. Past it… Napier must have run from the gangway to reach him so quickly. No sign of discomfort, let alone pain, a far cry from those early days of his recovery. And so at ease now in his uniform. Hard to remember him as the attentive, often over serious cabin servant in Unrivalled.
'Settled in, have you? 'Jago gestured toward the slow moving schooner. 'I seen you with your mates, getting alongЦ or can't you tell yet?'
Napier shrugged. 'We're all finding our way. 'He was frowning now. 'I've been wondering about you, Luke. Onward's not a big ship, not like AthenaЦ but I never seem to see you. And we're sailing tomorrow. I wanted to ask you…' He halted, and touched his long-buttoned coat. 'It's not because of this, is it?'
Jago hesitated as two seamen hurried past, unwilling to be overheard, angry with himself for not anticipating this. Never get too close to them. You of all people shouldn 't need to be told.
He looked at him steadily, giving himself time. What he said now would matter. Napier was not just another 'young gentleman', thinking only of himself, reckoning his chances.
'The Cap'n came down and spoke to all of you midshipmen, right? 'He said it slowly, wanting it to reach him. 'All of you, David. But don't you think he was wanting to share the moment just with you. 'Cause you're special?'
Some one called, 'Mr. Falcon is yellin 'out for you, 'Swain, you'd better jump about!'
It had slipped Jago's mind. He reached out roughly and gripped Napier's arm, and felt him start a little with surprise.
'No favours, DavidЦ leastways you never show ‘em, or you're finished. Others look to you, or very soon will…' He shook his arm, hating his inability to express it, as if they were strangers. 'Think on it, David. One day you'll meet some fine well-bred young lady who's got her eye on a likely King's officer. She might even be an admiral's kin, no less. 'He waited for a smile, a flicker of understanding. There was neither.
'I've been looking for you, man! 'The carpenter.
Napier watched them go to the boat-tier, Falcon gesticulating with some sort of rule, perturbed about something.
He touched his sleeve, still feeling Jago's grip: strong, like his presence and his convictions. Always at a distance of his own making, but he could see right through things. When others turned aside, or spluttered excuses.
'Are you coming, David? 'That was Huxley. He must have seen Jago speaking with him, might even think it was gossip about his father and the forthcoming court martial.
He began to climb back to the gangway, his mind lingering on Jago and what he had been trying to say. He had seen and done so much, and had suffered in some unknown way which had scarred him as deeply as blade or ball. Maybe only the captain knew.
Jago understood the necessity of distance. No favourites. He stood on the gangway and felt the ship moving beneath him, as if eager to leave. To be free.
Was anybody? He looked toward the boat-tier but Jago and the carpenter had vanished.
A man apart and alone. Trusted but feared. Who missed nothing.
He shivered, remembering his comment about some fine, well-bred young lady. An admiral's kin… Just a rough allusion to make his point, as if he had witnessed that moment in the stable yard at Falmouth. The young, impatient Elizabeth very upright in her riding habit, staring at him, tapping her crop against one boot. 'Leaving now to exchange all this for a ship. Serious or mocking, he was never certain. Despite the new uniform and his experiences in the Caribbean, she still regarded him as her cousin Adam's cabin servant, and treated him as such.
She had waited for him to walk toward her, and he remembered how much he had wanted her to see that he was no longer limping.
She had watched his approach with cool eyes.
'It may be a while before you come to visit again. 'A slight crease of the clear, pale forehead. 'To stay…' She seemed to have been coming to a decision. He had heard the horses stamping on the cobbles, impatient to begin the long haul to Plymouth.
'Write to us, when you feel inclined. 'She had pulled off her hat and let her long chestnut hair spill over her shoulder. 'You may kiss me, if you wish.'
He could still feel the touch of her cheek, her hair falling between them. There were others in the yard, and the sound of somebody hammering metal on an anvil.
He had felt her turn very slightly, and the warmth of her breath across his mouth.
'So that you'll remember me. 'A hand pressing the back of his neck. Their mouths joined. No sound: even the horses were still.
She had walked away, toward the old grey house. She had not looked back.
An admiral's daughter.
He told himself it was only a dream. She would be the first to shatter any illusion he might cherish. Maybe Jago knew something, and was trying to save him from making a fool of himself. He thought of the kiss again. Or from breaking my heart.
'What's this, Mister Napier? Day-dreaming, are we?'
He did not need to turn to recognize the third lieutenant's sarcasm.
'On my way, sir!'
'Remember in future, Mister Napier. Promotion requires skill, not popularity!'
Monteith was already striding away, eyes everywhere, gesturing meanwhile to a seaman who was untangling some halliards.
Another sailor working nearby said quietly, but loud enough for Napier to hear, 'God knows best!'
Napier looked out to sea, embarrassment and irritation melting away, then he felt himself smiling. Thanks to the unknown sailor.
He looked then at the shore, the high ground beyond the old fortifications and the houses. Day-dreaming. Monteith was right. Only a kiss, and nothing more. Her way of saying goodbye, ending something that had never begun. It would soon pass and leave him in peace.
He waved to his new friend Huxley and hurried aft to rejoin him.
But she was still with him. Elizabeth.
Adam Bolitho walked through the cabin until he was right aft by the stern windows. There were no lights here, so that the sea and sky beyond seemed almost bright, and alive. He had been unable to sleep and had been shaving by candlelight long before all hands had been called to breakfast and clean, while the anchorage was still as black as pitch.
He had spent much of the night watches lying in the old bergere, as so often in the past, unsettled, going over every last detail. Something he knew was a pointless exercise.
His mind had never seemed to rest. Once in the night he had found himself thinking of Vice-Admiral Sir Graham Bethune, and the portrait of him he had seen at the house in London.
Wearing the uniform of captain, not even posted, as Jago had commented. Had he been any different as that young man? And what would become of him now without the authority, the power of command? He walked forward again and stood beneath the skylight, still dripping from overnight rain. He had heard it when the restlessness had driven him to leave his swinging cot; he had left the blankets turned down, but doubted if Morgan would be deceived.
Morgan seemed capable of anything, had even managed to have Adam's seagoing coat repaired; the tear above one pocket, the result of one of many unofficial inspections throughout the hull, was barely visible.
'One of the sailmaker's crew, sir. 'He had almost winked.
'Used to be a tailor until circumstances changed at home!'
Adam slipped his arms through the sleeves. It was not an old coat. But how many leagues, how many days and nights had it shared? Immortalized now in the portrait painted by Montagu, much against his own wishes, to satisfy his aunt. Naval Officer With Yellow Rose. When he had met Lowenna. Fate…
Feet thudded across the deck overhead, and some one slipped and fell. The planking would be treacherous after the rain, especially for landmen or the over-confident.
He felt his pockets, impatient with himself. Sailing day. It was like hearing some one shouting it aloud.
Full morning now, the great cabin laid bare in the daylight.
Vincent would be here soon to make his report, and step aside.
