Baltic pine and the like. On active service they'll last eight, ten years at the most.'
Some one called him away, and Roxby remarked, 'Talks too much, but he knows his trade. 'He lowered his voice. 'This place is far too big. My late father was always too busy to give it the proper attention, and I want my mother to be free to enjoy her life, not be tied to the estate and the constant demands of farmers and tenants.'
Herrick waited. He knew James Roxby was well respected in London; he had a fine mind and was ambitious, where many would be content.
But this was her life. Could he not understand? Grimes the builder was back, with sawdust in his hair.
'When we've cleared the old ballroom, we can give you a better idea. 'Then, 'You have another visitor.'
Herrick thought he sounded relieved.
Flinders spoke for the first time. 'Came lookin 'for workЦ Dan Yoveil's dealin 'with him. AnotherЦ 'He bit it back, and Herrick saw him avert his eyes. Another lame duck, he had been about to say.
He watched the new arrival as he spoke to Young Matthew, before striding toward them.
Roxby said, 'Fellow's on footЦ must've walked all the way from the house!'
Flinders scowled as two of the workmen pulled the servant girl's apron strings and made her protest, still laughing with them.
'Used to be a marine, served with Captain Adam, I heard.'
Tolan crossed the last few yards, his eyes moving between them and settling on Roxby.
He held out a sealed envelope, then glanced at Herrick and knuckled his forehead. 'Sir!'
Roxby said curtly, 'Some one is coming to see me tomorrow, 'folding the envelope and jamming it into his pocket. He nodded to Tolan. 'Thank you for that. Speak to them over there, and tell them to give you refreshment.'
Flinders said, 'I'll deal with him, sir, 'but stopped as Grimes the builder said to Tolan, 'A moment. 'Smiling, but quizzical.
'Don't I know you?'
Tolan faced him without expression. 'Where did you serve, sir?'
Grimes threw back his head and laughed. 'I was wrong! The only ships I served were the ones I helped to build. A long, long time ago!'
Roxby tugged out his watch.
'Must be getting back. My mother will return this evening, before it gets dark on the roads. We can tell her what we've been doing. 'He glanced around, but he and Herrick were alone. 'I consider it important. I believe she will, too.'
Herrick walked beside him to the carriage. Even now Roxby was opening a sheaf of papers and frowning over the figures.
Tomorrow he might be the surgeon again, but at this moment, Nancy would recognize her husband. The King of Cornwall.
Roxby looked up at Young Matthew.
'Shall we wait for the fellow who brought the message?'
'Already gone, sir. Cut across the fields, I reckon.'
Herrick looked in that direction. So near the sea, but you could not catch a glimpse of it from here. He reached up to pull himself into the vehicle and thought he saw Young Matthew smile.
As the carriage rolled out on to the road, it halted for a herd of cows meandering toward a wide gate, and a red-haired youth turned to raise his stick like a salute; he had recognized the crest on the door. Herrick ran his hand along the polished sill. Richard would have used this vehicle whenever he came home from sea. And that last time, when he had left here to hoist his flag above Frobisher.
He could see his face, the smile. Sometimes he imagined the resemblance in Nancy, sometimes in Adam, something in the bone structure, or a gesture, or in the voice.
The carriage was slowing, Young Matthew calling to the horses as they topped the brow of a hill. Herrick leaned forward. Here was the sea again, a blue that recalled the MediterraneanWhat would Richard say if he knew his true feelings for his sister? He looked over at Roxby, but he was already immersed in another document.
That last visit to Plymouth, and the admiral's condolences, were blurring, out of focus. Like some distant memory. Like those times with Richard.
Ahead lay not defeat, but a challenge.
He smiled to himself. So let's be about it!
'As you can see, my dear, the house is much as Gregory left it.'
Mark Fellowes paused at a bend in the grand staircase and waited for her to join him.
Lowenna looked down at the entrance hall, with its open door. The clatter of carriage wheels coming from the street seemed very loud in the silence. His study, its door half open.
A pale rectangle on one wall where one of his favourite paintings had hung.
It was strange to hear him named without his title. But Mark Fellowes had been his friend since… It was lost in shadows.
But the house was not as he had left it. She ran her fingers along the carved banister. It was dead.
She followed him across the broad landing. Quieter now.
Hard to believe that this was one of the busiest streets in London.
She was surprised that she was not tired after two days on the road, with only brief halts for rest and refreshment. True to his promise, Fellowes had ensured that she was watched over all the way by a soft-spoken agent engaged by the lawyers dealing with Montagu's affairs.
Her escort had not been so quietly spoken on one occasion.
They had stopped at an inn for the night, and somebody had called after her. She was not even sure what had been said. He might only have been the worse for drink. But in an instant her unassuming escort had the offender pressed against a wall, and she had heard the level voice take on a very different tone. The other man had fled.
When she had thanked him, he had merely shrugged. 'Goes with the contract, miss.'
Then a day with the lawyers. Papers to be signed, and it had been unsettling to see his familiar signature. Discreet enough, but she had seen the curious stares from the younger members of the staff and known they were trying to guess the nature of her relationship with Montagu.
She still found it hard to accept that he should have considered her in such a private matter, when he had already given her so much. Her very life had been his gift.
Even Mark Fellowes, who was used to more unconventional associates, had been unable to hide his surprise.
'Five hundred pounds! 'He had beamed with genuine pleasure. 'And the harp. 'It was a replacement for the one which had been damaged beyond repair. She wondered if he remembered her last visit, when she had refused to pose with it.
She lifted her chin. She would keep her promise. Then back to Falmouth.
It was only a promise, not a debt.
And she would have something to contribute to their future.
Adam would understand. So unalike, and yet he and Sir Gregory had become fast friends. Together they had created Andromeda…
More stairs, completely quiet now. The whole house standing between the real world and Montagu's creation.
Fellowes said, 'John Fielding is an artist of renown. I believe you have worked with him, and Gregory, of course.'
She nodded. He seemed unsure, even nervous. It was not like him. Most people would think him easy-going, untroubled. An artist in his own right, he came from a wealthy family, which must have helped in this precarious profession.
He said, 'He has brought his patron, 'he cleared his throat, 'his client, with him. He already owns two or three of your studies.'
She looked at the big double doors, and remembered the long, bare room beyond, windows on one side, a walled garden below. Recalling his patience, his kindness. And his moments of frustration and anger, throwing
