In the King`s Name

The shadow stopped moving, and Morgan opened the pantry door.

“Can I tempt you with something, sir? A glass, maybe?”

Adam shook his head, although he appeared more relaxed. “I expect the admiral is reading my report. Unless the officer of the guard dropped it overboard!”

Morgan sniffed and brushed some invisible dust off the small desk. More likely the admiral was still enjoying a lavish meal with his guests. Morgan had made a habit of studying the various officers he had served over the years and considered himself to be quite an expert at it. When he had been on the quarterdeck briefly this morning it had been a case in point. A new frigate was anchored in Onward‘s previous place, a fifth-rate of thirty-eight guns. So new, in fact, that she was not yet fully registered in the Navy List, described only as Portsmouth, building. Her name, Zealous, was shining in the early sunlight. He had heard Bolitho say, “A fine command for somebody. A lucky man, whoever he is!”

Julyan, the sailing master, was more outspoken, as usual. “Has a friendly hand on his shoulder, if you ask me!”

Morgan had seen the first lieutenant’s face at that moment, clearly recalling how close he might have come to being given command of Onward.

Adam walked to the centre of the cabin and glanced up at the partly opened skylight. He could smell fresh paint: one of the cutters was being freshened up after running aground during the landing, Drummond, the bosun, silencing a few audible grumbles with, “Keep you out of trouble for a bit longer, eh?”

So unlike New Haven. Here, the local boats pulled and paddled as close to the warships as they dared, displaying their wares and offering their services. In a couple of craft, each with the sternsheets protected by screens, there had been women, reclining and smiling.

Drummond had said, “You’ll get more than a smile if you take a run ashore with any of that lot!”

Adam had reached the stern windows again, and stared across the water toward the other frigate. To casual onlookers she might appear a twin of Onward. He could remember …

Morgan called, “The surgeon, sir!”

The sentry was holding the screen door wide open, and Adam could see members of a working party lingering and watching as Murray took the young woman’s hand to guide her over the coaming.

Murray said, “I was just told, sir,” and stood aside for her to enter the cabin. “Otherwise I would have waited.”

Adam held out his hands. “A boat has arrived for you. I sent word earlier.” He felt her hands close around his. They were warm now, but she was shivering. “It is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

She nodded slowly, the hair on her forehead parting to reveal the bruise. “It is for the best. My friends there will expect it. After that, I will have to make plans.”

He walked with her to the stern. “I am waiting to present myself to the admiral, otherwise I’d escort you in person.”

She gazed unblinkingly at the waterfront and the buildings shimmering in the heat. “I can see the parent mission from here. My father was once …” She did not finish it. “So, good-bye, Captain Bolitho. I will not forget you, or your men.”

Morgan stood by the screen door, blocking it, and muttering angrily to someone outside. Then he turned and said apologetically, “The lady’s boat is alongside, sir.” He peered around. “Is there anything I can do?”

She was about to say something, then her expression changed. “My bracelet! Your lieutenant found it and put it in the strongbox.” She unfastened her cuff and touched the bandage. “All my worldly goods.”

They walked away from the cabin, toward the shaft of sunlight streaming down the companion ladder.

Adam offered his arm but she said, “I can manage, Captain!” Then she twisted round toward him. “One day …”

The silence was intense, as if the ship was holding her breath.

She smiled. “I am ready.”

Drummond was here now, his silver call swinging from his neck. “Sorry, sir. Took me all aback!”

Adam was still not accustomed to him as bosun, but it was rare to see Drummond disconcerted by anything or any one.

They climbed into the light, where some of the senior hands had formed an impromptu guard of honour to the gangway, and a bosun’s chair had been rigged by the entry port. Somebody ran from the opposite side and slithered to a halt. It was Midshipman Hotham, a signal slate wedged beneath one arm. He could barely take his eyes from the girl in sailor’s garb.

“Signal from Flag, sir! Captain to repair on board.” He swallowed. “Shall I acknowledge, sir?”

Nobody moved, and Adam heard the newly arrived boat being warped closer alongside.

He took her arm and turned her toward the watching faces. He said quietly, “Let him wait.”

Someone had climbed up from the boat, and was holding out some sort of afternoon shawl and a wide-brimmed straw hat with ribbons. Claire spoke to him by name. As she tied the ribbons beneath her chin, she waved the shawl aside. “I feel more suited to this, thank you.” She was still smiling, but very close to breaking down.

Vicary, the purser, pushed some seamen aside and held out a small package. “From the strongbox, ma’am.” He smiled also, which was rare for him. “I was asked to make certain you received it.”

She said nothing, gazing past him toward the boat tier. Squire was standing there with his working party, all of whom were waiting simply to see her depart.

Adam knew it was as near as Squire would come, and that Murray was hovering watchfully, and yet it was as if they were alone together. She unwrapped the bracelet and held it as though for Squire to see, then she kissed it and put it inside her midshipman’s shirt.

Two seamen helped her climb into the bosun’s chair; others seized the tackle and waited for the order to hoist.

A voice yelled hoarsely, “Give ‘er a cheer, Onwards! We don’t want ‘er to go!”

The response was immediate and deafening. Even the cook and his helpers emerged from cover and were waving and shouting with the rest. Adam felt her gripping his arm, as if unable to break the final contact; her dark eyes were filling her face.

Across the water, men aboard the new frigate had manned the side to join in the farewell, although they could not have understood it.

She said, “I pray that if we meet again …” She could not continue, but pulled Adam’s hand to her mouth and kissed it. Then she waved at the upturned faces and tensed, holding tightly as Drummond shouted, “Easy, lads! Hoist away!”

Her shadow crossed the hammock nettings and dipped slowly over the side. Only then did Murray speak.

“A brave young woman. She wasn’t expecting a farewell like that. I shall join her now.” But he lingered, watching the men beginning to disperse, some still peering down at the boat with its insignia, a blue osprey, painted on either bow. Some of them had already seen it at the smouldering mission, amidst its grisly remains.

“I shall miss her, and that’s the truth.” Murray strode toward the entry port without looking back.

Vincent had climbed onto the gangway, and beyond him Adam could see the Royal Marine guard and side party already in position.

“When you are ready, sir.”

Morgan had brought the sword, and helped him to adjust it, his face troubled. Routine was taking over again, and most of the decks were clear. Adam glanced aft where Squire was now standing alone, looking toward the shore. Once, he raised his arm as if to wave, but let it fall back to his side. Her boat was well clear by now, and Adam saw Murray sitting beside her in the sternsheets. She did not turn her head.

He walked toward the entry port where Drummond and his mates were waiting, calls moistened and poised.

“Attention on the upper deck!”

Adam returned the salutes and raised his hat to the flag as he went down the side, where Jago had moored the gig without wasting a moment, always with one eye on the flagship.

“Busy day, Cap’n?”

“And not over yet.” But Adam’s eyes were still on the other boat, even as it disappeared beyond a clutter of moored barges.