And the pew where Lowenna had been sitting on that other day, their hands daring to touch, with no one to warn or discourage. When they had driven back to the old house, and his recall to duty had been waiting.
And the day when this same church had been packed to overflowing, to remember and to mourn Falmouth's most famous son, Sir Richard Bolitho. The flags had been dipped, while out at her anchorage the frigate Unrivalled… my ship… had fired a salute. Catherine had been beside him.
Adam touched her hand and felt her pull off the glove, her fingers warm and responsive. No words. Because they had been together so little, some would say. Or maybe there were none adequate for this moment.
Then he turned and looked at her, her hair catching the colours of the light from the stained glass, her dark eyes still in shadow. He heard the rustle of paper, a muffled cough. This great church, so much a part of Falmouth, was never empty.
Just a few anonymous shapes, bowed heads seeking some peace, or respite from everyday events. From life itself.
She was dressed in pale grey today, a soft, loose gown, reminding him of their first meeting. Doubt, uncertainty; perhaps they had both been afraid.
He said, 'I love you, Lowenna.'
Her fingers moved in his. 'Are we truly here?'
Only a whisper, but one of the bowed heads lifted and cleared its throat.
'So much I want to say…'
Somewhere overhead, in another world, a clock began to chime.
Suppose something goes wrong? She might still change her mind.
They had scarcely been alone together. So many things to be done, and for the sake of appearances, as Nancy had said. She had made light of it, but she meant it.
Lowenna would be thinking about it, with so many reminders of the past on every hand. Famous names, great events, proud as well as tragic, but always the inevitable sadness.
He thought of all the ships he had known. Each one had taken a part of him, and remained a part of him. What would she have? Glances, rumours? Like a cutlass on the stone, every version of the story would sharpen with retelling. He reached out and held her shoulders, so that they faced each other. He felt resistance, uncertainty, but before he could speak she whispered, 'Take me, Adam. I don't care.
They both turned as the voice boomed out of nowhere, like an echo.
'Can you forgive me for keeping you waiting? Time is always at a premium when we most cherish it.'
A big man with bushy white eyebrows, who took their arms in his and turned them toward a door by the chapel, as if, Adam thought, they had been friends for years.
'So let us not waste it, shall we? We will sit a while, and we can consider our options, eh?'
He guided them into a small, spartan room, not unlike the cell at the Admiralty.
The senior curate was bluff, outspoken and forthright.
Nancy had warned him that he might be surprised.
This church had had the same rector for over twenty years, but to her knowledge he had never once visited Falmouth. A good and reliable curate was, however, always on hand.
He was saying, 'I have read your letter, Captain Bolitho, and Lady Roxby has kept me fully informed of the circumstances and your proposed marriage. A very good woman, never too busy to offer her assistance for the benefit of our parish.'
He leaned back in the chair, his fingers interlaced across his stomach. Outwardly unconcerned, but Adam sensed that he missed very little.
'The last commission was cut short. I am awaiting orders…'
One hand lifted slightly. 'Your recent exploits are well known. Many would suggest you might expect, even demand some release from duty. We are at peace now. But we must never allow ourselves to become complacent or unwary again.'
The massive eyebrows wrinkled. 'We in the Church must also stand to our guns, as it were, and be ready. 'He stared up at the arched ceiling and intoned, 'God and the Navy we adore When danger threatens, but not before.' 'And chuckled. 'I don't recall who said that, but it is still, sadly, true.'
He looked intently at Lowenna, and then at Adam.
'I cannot promise an early wedding, but I will do what I can.
This church is always open if you need help or comfort. I shall send word when we are able to confirm a date. 'He gestured to some small, velvet-covered books. 'We will join in prayer before you go.'
The bell was ringing somewhere overhead, and there were whispering voices outside the door, and echoes from the body of the church.
The curate held out his hand.
'A pleasure, Captain. I would have spoken to you before, at Sir Richard's memorial service, but my time was not my own.'
The handshake, like the smile, was genuine. How had he managed to remember, and mark him out? So long ago, and among so many people. He watched the big hands take Lowenna's.
'I hope we shall meet again very soon. Love is not always the most patient of messengers. 'He nodded. 'I knew Sir Gregory Montagu quite well. 'Adam saw her tense, her chin lifting slightly, as if she were suddenly on guard. 'Sometimes our views and concepts were at odds, but he was a man among men. Sorely missed.'
Adam heard her murmur something and wanted to interrupt, but when he saw her face he knew there was no need. She said quietly, 'He saved my life. Now I know why.'
They stood outside the little chapel and looked along the nave. Nothing had changed; only the sunlight had shifted.
They began to walk slowly down the aisle, toward the entrance, where Francis was waiting.
There would be people coming to the house this evening, some strangers, curious or with minds already biased. She gripped his arm. Her eyes were no longer in shadow, and she was smiling with a radiance he had not seen before.
She reached up to touch his face.
'Take me home, Adam. 'Three figures walked past, stepping aside to avoid them. They could have been invisible. 'Time is an obstacle. It is not an enemy.'
Francis had the carriage door open and watched them coming down the steps. It was going to be a long day, but he would tell his wife all about it when he got home, if she was still awake.
He was aware of some passers-by who had stopped to stare or smile. She looked so much the radiant bride.
Together.
3. A Name to Remember
Rear-Admiral Thomas Herrick walked slowly across the familiar entrance hall, and then hesitated as if to reassure himself. Somehow it was different from the picture he had fixed in his mind. A fire was burning brightly and to one side he saw a half-opened door. The library, shelved books rising from floor to ceiling. And beyond that, the curving staircase. The portraits.
He turned. 'I'm sorry, my dear. What did you say?'
He remembered the servant who had ushered him through the front door. A round, open face: a local girl with a poise that marked her as one of Grace Ferguson's assistants.
'Lady Roxby is not here, sir. 'She seemed to know the time, although he saw no clock. 'She'm due back directly. If you would care to sit a while, I can fetch you something.'
Herrick jammed his hat beneath his arm and saw her eyes rest on his pinned-up sleeve. It never failed; so why did he still resent it? 'A drink, perhaps? 'She shifted from one foot to the other.
'A dish of tea, maybe?'
He ventured, 'Some ginger beer? The last time I was here…'
Her smile widened immediately. 'You be easy, sir. I recollect when you last came. 'She gestured toward
