Napier smiled. It was something to say, to help him in his own hard fashion. Jago could read your thoughts, if you let him.
It was stifling in the estate office, and the stove was roaring like a furnace. Even the cat, which was usually close by, had apparently found it unendurable.
He regarded himself in the spotted mirror that hung over a bookcase. His skin was still brown from the Caribbean sun. He balanced, tentatively, on the wounded leg, and tried to take his weight evenly on both, as the surgeon had insisted.
'Thank you. It looks fine.'
'A good seaman can turn 'is wits to anythin', given the chance.'
Napier could hear the surgeon again. It could have been much worse. That was probably what they had told Ferguson when they had taken off his arm at The Saintes.
It was sometimes impossible to remember the order of things. Audacity reeling under the bombardment of the great guns invisible on the shore. The captain cut down, and the deck exploding around them as the heated shot turned the lower hull into hell. Men dying, others still standing to their guns, until they had no escape but the sea.
He heard some one call out, and the clatter of wheels. Yovell had gone down to speak with one of the local carters. He seemed able to deal with everything: an admiral, a captain, and now a Cornish estate. He felt his hair again. Good enough for an admiral. And so it was. He was happy to be back with Jago after his brief service in the frigate: Jago, who hated officers.
Jago, who had insisted on taking him out to join…
Jago was at the window. 'Lot of new faces since we paid off Unrivalled. The Cap'n'll be thinkin 'as much, I reckon. 'He turned. 'Th 'big day today, eh? Th 'Cap'n an' his lady will be on their way to see the GЦ 'He had been about to say 'God bosun'. 'Preacher, round about now.'
Napier pulled on his shirt, and saw the coat with its white collar patches lying across a chest. Twelve days since he had arrived here, with the wound reopened and the former cavalryman bandaging it in the carriage. It could have been so much worse.
He had never known such a welcome. They had even given him his own room, which looked out across fields. You 'we seen quite enough of the sea for a while, my lad! Except when he slept, and the stark, flaming nightmare came back. He had not served in Audacity long enough to know many of her people, but, as always, her captain stood out.
Twenty-eight years old, 'the same age as my ship', he had said.
A good officer, with a quick eye for efficiency or otherwise, but never preoccupied or too superior to offer advice or solve some problem. They had died together.
And now Captain Bolitho was going to the church with the girl with the long dark hair. Beautiful… He could not have put it into words, or told any one. That first night in the room, she had come to him, soothed him as she might have calmed a child, driving away the shame he had felt as he had awakened screaming from a ship exploding, masts falling in flames like broken wings.
She had whispered, 'I understand. 'And backed away, her last words lingering. 'I understand. Our secret.'
Napier had been there when the captain had arrived home, had stood and watched with all the others and seen him reach out for her. She had looked directly at the midshipman.
Perhaps in some strange way, they had helped one another. Our secret.
Jago was saying, 'You'll have to look yer best, see. There's to be some sort of Up Spirits for all hands tonight.'
Jago never used his name, and had only called him 'mister' in front of others on the long passage from Antigua to Plymouth. Was the barrier, the old resentment, still lying in wait? 'What will you do?'
He shrugged. 'Oh, me an' old Dan Yovell will likely have a glass or two. Mrs. Ferguson, 'a slight hesitation, 'Grace'll serve up somethin 'extra grand just for us.'
It needed no words. They had only met Bryan Ferguson a few times, in welcome or farewell. Always here. He thought of Audacity's captain, and the others he had seen put over the side. At least Grace had been with her man almost to the very end.
In his mind he saw the girl with the long dark hair. She would be a sailor's wife. Would she be comparing their lives? He heard Yoveil's voice and that of some one else, and a horse being led across the cobbles.
The door banged open, the air bitter.
The newcomer was tall, erect, authoritative. Napier recalled seeing him once or twice before. Not young, but one who took care of his appearance.
'God, it's like a bakehouse in here! 'He laughed. 'Sorry to disturb you!'
Yovell closed the door quietly and padded to the desk. 'This is Mr. Flinders, from the Roxby estate. We lend one another a hand from time to time. 'He frowned slightly, allowing the gold spectacles to drop on to his nose. 'This shouldn't take long.'
Flinders glanced at the hair clippings around the chair.
'Not very ship-shape, I'd say! 'He laughed again, too loudly.
'Don't this lad have work to do?'
Yovell opened his mouth but said nothing as Jago reached over to pick up the jacket, and held it across Napier's shoulders.
'Why don't you ask him?'
Flinders stared at Jago and then at the white patches.
'Of courseЦ sir. I was forgettingЦ so much on my mind at present. 'Like magic, Napier thought; the strong teeth, the grin, was back.
Yovell pursed his lips.
'I have the details of the slate delivery. We can save money, by my estimation.'
Flinders bobbed his head. 'Course. Good thinking. There are bound to be changes on both estates. I shall always be on hand to help if I'm needed.'
He looked at Jago. 'You're Captain Bolitho's man, right?'
Jago seemed to relax.
'His cox'n. Right?'
Flinders peered out of the window as a horse was led back across the stable yard.
'I must go, er, Daniel. Thought I should come by. You'll need all the help you can get with a new lady in the house. 'He ducked his head to Napier. 'And good day to you, young sir.'
He turned his back on Jago and strode out of the office.
Jago breathed out slowly.
'Wouldn't trust that one within half a cable of a woman I cared about! 'He shook his head at Yovell as if he might dispute it. 'Ashore or afloat. His sort's always the same when women are on hand. Like a rat up a pump!'
Yovell looked meaningly at Napier and made a point of shuffling his papers.
'You've made an enemy of that one, Luke. But you already know that.'
Jago touched the midshipman's jacket again.
'Let's go an' test that leg o 'yours. We need some fresh air anyways after that little lot!'
Napier looked back from the door and found Yoveil's eyes on him, a fresh quill neatly grasped in his teeth, outwardly shocked by Jago's crude comment. Disapproving.
But he winked.
They stood side by side, very aware of the silence, the only sound their steps in the aisle as they walked from the main doorway. The sky had cleared during the morning, right across the bay. So bright that here in the chill of the parish church of King Charles the Martyr it took time to distinguish shadow from substance. Light filtered from the arched windows and reflected on the ranks of pews, and burnished the great cross and candlesticks on the high altar.
In one of the chapels faded banners and flags were on display, mementoes of old ships and the men who had fought them. Lowenna had told him of the time she had been here with Nancy and by chance they had met Thomas Herrick, his uncle's oldest friend. What twist of fate had brought them together?
