Honour This Day

12. The One-Legged Man

Admiral Sir Owen Godschale watched while his servant carried a decanter of claret to a small table and then withdrew. Outside the tall windows the sun was shining, the air hot and dusty, remote like the muffled sounds of countless carriage wheels.

Bolitho took time to sip the claret, surprised that the Admiralty could still make him ill-at-ease and on the defensive. Everything had changed for him; it should be obvious, he thought. He and Adam had been ushered into a small, comfortably furnished library, something quite different from the large reception room he had seen earlier. It had been crowded with sea-officers, mostly captains, or so it had appeared. Restlessly waiting to meet a senior officer or his lackey, to ask favours, to plead for commands, new ships, almost anything. As I once was, he had thought. He still could not get used to the immediate respect, the servility of the Admiralty's servants and guardians.

The admiral was a handsome, powerfully built man who had distinguished himself in the American Revolution. A contemporary of Bolitho's, they had in fact been posted on the same day. There was little to show of that youthful and daring frigate captain now, Bolitho thought. Godschale looked comfortably sleek, his hands and features pale as if he had not been at sea for years.

He had not held this high appointment for very long. It seemed likely he would discourage anything controversial which might delay or damage his plans to enter the House of Lords.

Godschale was saying, 'It warms the heart to read of your exploits, Sir Richard. We in Admiralty too often feel cut adrift from the actual deeds which we can only plan, and which with God's guidance, can be brought to a victorious fruition.'

Bolitho relaxed slightly. He thought of Nelson's wry comment on wars fought with words and paper. Across the room, his eyes alert, Adam sat with an untouched glass by his side. Was it a courtesy, or part of a plot to include him in this meeting?

Godschale warmed to his theme. The treasure-ship was one such reward, although….' his voice dragged over the word. 'There are some who might suggest you took too much upon yourself. Your task is to lead and to offer the encouragement of your experience, but that is in the past. We have to think of the future.'

Bolitho asked, 'Why was I brought here, Sir Owen?'

The admiral smiled and toyed with his empty glass. 'To put you in the position of knowing what is happening in Europe, and to reward you for your gallant action. I believe it is His Majesty's pleasure to offer you the honorary rank of Lieutenant Colonel in the Royal Marines.'

Bolitho looked at his hands. When was Godschale getting to the point? An honorary appointment to the Royal Marines was only useful if you were faced by a confrontation between Army and Navy in some difficult campaign. It was an honour, of course, but it hardly warranted bringing him away from his squadron.

Godschale said, 'We believe that the French are gathering their fleet in several different areas. Your transfer to the flag at Malta will enable you to disperse your squadron to best advantage.'

The French are said to be at Martinique, Sir Owen. Nelson declares -'

The admiral showed his teeth like a gentle fox. 'Nelson is not above being wrong, Sir Richard. He may be the country's darling; he is not immune to false judgement.'

The admiral included Adam for the first time. 'I am able to tell your nephew, and it is my honour so to do, that he is appointed captain from the first of June.' He smiled, pleased with himself. The Glorious First of June, eh, Commander?"

Adam stared at him, then at Bolitho. 'Why, I thank you, Sir Owen!'

The admiral wagged his finger. 'You have more than earned your promotion. If you continue as you have I see no reason for your advancement to falter, eh?'

Bolitho saw the mixed emotions on Adam's sunburned features. Promotion. Every young officer's hope and dream. Three years more and he could be a post-captain. But was it a just reward, or a bribe? With the rank would come a different command, maybe even a frigate, what he had always talked about; as his uncle had once been, his father too, except that Hugh had fought on the wrong side.

Godschale turned to Bolitho. 'It is good to be here with you today, Sir Richard. A long, long climb since the Saintes in eighty-two. I wonder if many people realise how hard it is, how easy to fall from grace, sometimes through no fault of ours, eh?'

He must have seen the coldness in Bolitho's eyes and hurried on, 'Before you quit London and return to Gibraltar, you must dine with me.' He glanced only briefly at Adam. 'You too, of course. Wives, a few friends, that kind of affair. It does no harm at all.'

It was not really a request, Bolitho thought. It was an order.

'I am not certain that Lady Belinda is still in London. I have not had the time yet to -'

Godschale looked meaningly at a gilded clock. 'Quite so. You are a busy man. But never fear, my wife saw her just a day back. They are good company for one another while you and I deal with the dirtier matters of war!' He chuckled. 'Settled then.'

Bolitho stood up. He would have to see her anyway, but why no word from or about Catherine? He had gone alone to her house against Adam's wishes, but had got no further than the entrance. An imposing footman had assured him that his visit would be noted, but Viscount Somervell had left the country again on the King's service, and her ladyship was most likely with him.

He knew a lot more than he was saying. And so did Godschale. Even the cheap comment to Adam had an edge to it. The promotion was his right; he had won it without favour and against all prejudice.

Outside the Admiralty building the air seemed cleaner, and Bolitho said, 'What did you make of that?'

Adam shrugged. 'I am not that much of a fool that I could not recognise a threat, Uncle.' His chin lifted again. 'What do you want me to do?'

'You may become involved, Adam.'

He grinned, the strain dropping away like an unwanted mask. 'I am involved, sir!'

'Very well. I shall go to the house I mentioned.' He smiled at a memory. 'Browne, once my flag lieutenant, placed it at my disposal whenever I needed it.' Browne with an 'e'. Since the death of his father, he had succeeded to the title and had taken his place well ahead of Godschale in the House of Lords.

Adam nodded. 'I will put the word about.' He glanced at the imposing buildings and richly dressed passers-by. 'Though this is not some seaport. A man could be lost forever here.'

He glanced at him thoughtfully, 'Are you quite sure, Uncle? Maybe she has gone, thinking it best for you,' he faltered, 'as it might well be. She sounds like a most honourable lady.'

'I am sure, Adam, and thank you for that. I know not where Valentine Keen is at present, and there is no time to reach him by letter. I have days, not weeks.'

He must have displayed his anxiety, and Adam said, 'Rest easy, Uncle. You have many friends.'

They fell into step and walked into the sunshine. There were some people watching the passing carriages and one turned as the two officers appeared.

He called, 'Look, lads, 'tis 'im!' He waved a battered hat. 'God bless you, Dick! Give the Frogs another drubbin'!'

Someone gave a cheer and shouted, 'Don't you listen to them other buggers!'

Bolitho smiled, although his heart felt like breaking.

Then he said quietly, 'Yes, I do have friends after all.'

True to the promise of his one-time flag lieutenant, Bolitho was warmly received at the house in Arlington Street. The master was away in the North of England, the housekeeper explained, but she had her instructions, and conducted them to a suite of pleasant rooms on the first floor. Adam left almost at once to see friends who might be able to shed some light on Catherine's disappearance; for Bolitho was now convinced that she had vanished. He dreaded that Adam might be right, that she had gone away with Somervell for appearance's sake, to save their reputations.

On the first morning Bolitho left the house. He had an immediate clash with Allday, who protested at being left behind.

Bolitho had insisted. 'This is not the quarterdeck with some Frenchie about to board us, old friend!'

Allday had glared out at the busy street. 'The more I'm in London, the less I trust th' place!'

Bolitho had said, 'I need you here. In case someone comes. The housekeeper might turn him away otherwise.'

Or her, Allday thought darkly.

It was not a long walk to the quiet square of which Belinda had written in her letter.

He paused to look at some children who were playing in the grassy centre of the square, their nursemaids standing nearby; gossiping about their respective families, he thought.

One of the little girls might be Elizabeth. It brought him all aback to realise that she must have changed a lot since he had last seen her. She would be three soon. He saw two of the nursemaids curtsy to him, and touched his hat in reply.

Another sailor home from the sea. It seemed ironic now. How would he conduct the next moments in his life?

The house was tall and elegant, like many which had been built in His Majesty's reign. Wide steps flanked by ornate iron railings, with three stories above to match the houses on either side. A servant opened the door and stared at him for several seconds. Then she bobbed in a deep curtsy, and, stammering apologies, took his hat and showed him into a pillared hall with a blue and gilt-leafed ceiling.

'This way,.sir!'

She opened a pair of doors, and stood aside while he walked into an equally fine drawing-room. The furniture looked foreign to him, and the curtains and matching carpets were, he guessed, newly made. He thought of the rambling grey house in Falmouth. Compared with this it was like a farm.

He caught sight of himself in a tall, gilded mirror, and automatically straightened his shoulders. His face looked deeply tanned above his spotless waistcoat and breeches, but the uniform made him look like someone he did not know.

Bolitho tried to relax, to' pitch his ear to the muted sounds above him in the house. Another world.

The doors opened suddenly and she walked quickly into the room. She was dressed in dark blue which almost matched his own coat, and her hair was piled high to show her small ears and the jewellery around her neck. She looked very composed, defiant.

He said, 'I sent a note. I hope this is convenient?'

She did not take her eyes from him; she was examining him as if to seek some injury or disfigurement, or that he had changed in another way.

'I think it absurd that you should be staying in somebody else's house.'

Bolitho shrugged. 'It seemed be^r-t until -'

'Until you saw how I would behave to you, is that it?'

They faced each other, more like strangers than husband and wife.

He replied, 'I tried to explain in my letter -'

She waved him down. 'My cousin is here. He begged me to forgive your foolishness, for all our sakes. I have been much embarrassed by your reckless affair. You are a senior officer of repute, yet you behave like some foul-mouthed seaman with his doxy on the waterfront!'

Bolitho looked around the room; his heart, like his voice, was heavy.

'Some of those foul-mouthed sailors are dying at this very moment to protect houses like this.'

She smiled briefly, as if she had discovered what she had been seeking. 'Tut, Richard! Your share of prize money from the Spanish galleon will more than cover it, so do not lose the issue in hypocrisy!'

Bolitho said flatly, 'It is not an affair.'

'I see.' She moved to a window and touched a long curtain. 'Then where is this woman you seem to have lost your mind to?" She swung round, her eyes angry. 'I shall tell you! She is with her husband Viscount Somervell, who is apparently more willing to forgive and forget than I!'

'You saw him?'

She tossed her head, her fingers stroking the curtain more quickly to reveal her agitation.

'Of course. We were both very concerned. It was humiliating and degrading,'

'I regret that.'

'But not what you did?'

'That is unfair.' He watched her, amazed that his voice was calm when his whole being was in turmoil. 'But not unexpected.'

She looked past him at the room. 'This belonged to the Duke of Richmond. It is a fine house. Suitable for us. For you.'

Bolitho heard a sound and saw a small child being led past the doors. He knew it was Elizabeth despite her disguise of frothy lace and pale blue silk.

She turned just once, hanging to the hand of her nursemaid. She stared at him without recognition and then walked on.

Bolitho said, 'She knew me not.'

'What did you expect?' Then her voice softened. 'It can and must change. Given time -'

He looked at her, hiding his despair. 'Live here? Give up the sea when our very country is in peril? What is this madness, when people cannot see the danger?'

'You can still serve, Richard. Sir Owen Godschale commands the greatest respect both at Court and in Parliament.'

Bolitho rested his hands on the cool marble mantel. 'I cannot do it.'

She watched him in the mirror. 'Then at least escort me to Sir Owen's reception and dinner. I understand we shall receive notice of it this day.' She hesitated for the first time. 'So that people can see the emptiness of the gossip. She has gone, Richard. Have no doubt of that. Maybe it was an honest reaction, or perhaps she saw where her best fortune lies.' She smiled as he turned hotly towards her. 'Believe what you will. I am thinking of you now. After all, I do have the right?

Bolitho said quietly, 'I shall stay at the other house until tomorrow. I have to think.'

She nodded, her eyes very clear. 'I understand. I know your moods. Tomorrow we shall begin again. I shall forgive, while you must try to forget. Do not damage your family name because of a momentary infatuation. We parted badly, so I must carry some of the blame.'

She walked beside him to the entrance hall. At no time had they touched, let alone embraced.

She asked, 'Is everything well with you? I did hear that you had been ill.'

He took his hat from the gaping servant. 'I am well enough, thank you.'

Then he turned and walked out into the square as the door closed behind him.

How could he go to the reception and act as if nothing had happened? If he never saw Catherine again, he would never forget her and what she had done for him.

Almost out loud he said, 'I cannot believe she would run away!' The words were torn from him, and he did not even notice two people turn to stare after him.

Allday greeted him warily. 'No news, Sir Richard."

Bolitho threw himself into a chair. 'Fetch me a glass of something, will you?'

'Some nice cool hock?'

Allday watched worriedly as Bolitho replied, 'No. Brandy this time.'

He drank two glasses before its warmth steadied his mind.

'In God's name, I am in hell.'

Allday refilled the glass. It was likely the best thing to make him forget.

He stared round the room. Get back to the sea. That he could understand.

Bolitho's head lolled and the empty glass fell unheeded on the carpet.

The dream was sudden and violent. Catherine pulling at him, her breasts bared as she was dragged away from him, her screams probing at his brain like hot irons.

He awoke with a start and saw Allday release his arm, his face full of concern.

Bolitho gasped, 'I – I'm sorry! It was a nightmare -' He stared round; the room was darker. 'How long have I been here?'

Allday watched him grimly. That don't matter now, beggin' yer pardon.' He jabbed his thumb at the door. 'There's someone here to see you. Wouldn't talk to no one else.'

Bolitho's aching mind cleared. 'What about?' He shook his head. 'No matter, fetch him in.'

He got to his feet and stared at his reflection in the window. I am losing my sanity.

Allday pouted. 'Might be a beggar.'

'Fetch him.'

He heard Allday's familiar tread, and a strange clumping step which reminded him of an old friend he had lost contact with. But the man who was ushered in by Allday was nobody he recognised, nor was his rough uniform familiar.

The visitor removed his outdated tricorn hat to reveal untidy greying hair. He was badly stooped, and Bolitho guessed it was because of his crude wooden leg.

He asked, 'Can I help you? I am -'

The man peered at him and nodded firmly. 'I knows 'oo you are, zur.'

He had a faint West Country accent, and the fashion in which he touched his forehead marked him as an old sailor.

But the uniform with its plain brass buttons was like nothing Bolitho had ever seen.

He said, 'Will you be seated?' He gestured to Allday. 'A glass for – what may I call you?'

The man balanced awkwardly on a chair and nodded again very slowly. 'You won't recall, zur. But me name's Vanzell -'

Allday exclaimed, 'Bless you, so it is!' He stared at the one-legged man and added, 'Gun-captain in th' Phalarope.'

Bolitho gripped the back of a chair to contain his racing thoughts. All those years, and yet he could not understand why he had not recognised the man called Vanzell. A Devonian like Yovell. It was over twenty years back, when he had been a boy-captain like Adam would soon be.

The Saintes Godschale had dismissed as a sentimental memory. It was not like that to Bolitho. The shattered line of battle, the roar of cannon fire while men fell and died, including his first coxswain, Stockdale, who had fallen protecting him. He glanced at Allday, seeing the same memory on his rugged features. He had been there too, as a pressed man, but one who was still with him as a faithful friend.

Vanzell watched their recognition with satisfaction. Then he said, 'I never forget, y'see. 'Ow you helped me an' th' wife when I was cast ashore after losin' me pin to a Froggie ball. You saved us, an' that's a fact, zur.' He put down the glass and stared at him with sudden determination.

'I 'card you was in London, zur. So I come meself. To try an' repay what you did for me an' th' wife, God rest her soul. There's only me now, but I'll not forget what 'appened after them bastards raked our decks that day.'

Bolitho sat down and faced him. 'What are you doing now?' He tried to conceal the anxiety and urgency in his bearing. This man, this tattered memory from the past, was frightened. For some reason it had cost a lot for him to come.

Vanzell said, 'It will lose me me job, zur.' He was thinking aloud. 'They all knows I once served under you. They'll not forgive me, not never.'

He made up his mind and studied Bolitho searchingly. 'I'm a watchman, zur, it was all I could get. They've no time for half-timbered Jacks no more.' His hand shook as he took another glass from Allday. Then he added huskily. 'I'm at th' Waites, zur.'

'What is that?'

Allday said sharply, 'It's a prison.'

Vanzell downed the glass in one gulp. 'They got 'er there. I know, 'cause I saw 'er, an' I 'card what the others was sayin' about you both.'

Bolitho could feel the blood rushing through his brain.

In a prison. It was impossible. But he knew it was true.

The man was saying to Allday, 'It's a filthy place full o' scum. Debtors an' lunatics, a bedlam you'd not believe.'

Allday glanced tightly at Bolitho. 'Oh, yes I would, matey.'

Bolitho said, 'Tell the housekeeper I shall need a carriage at once. Do you know where this place is?' Allday shook his head.

Vanzell said, 'I – I'll show 'ee, zur, one movement. He raised a key in his shaking hands.

'Please, be careful? He was almost in tears.

Bolitho caught his breath as they walked into a dimly lit corridor. There was straw scattered on the flagstones, and one of the walls was dripping wet. The stench was foul. Dirt, poverty and despair. They stopped outside the last door and the little governor said in a whisper, 'In God's name I had naught to do with it! She was given in my charge until a debt was paid. But if you are certain that -'

Bolitho did not hear him. He stared in through a small window which was heavily barred, each one worn smooth by a thousand desperate fingers.

A lantern shone through a thick glass port, like those used in a ship's hanging magazine. It was a scene from hell.

An old woman was leaning against one wall, rocking from side to side, a tendril of spittle hanging from her mouth as she crooned some forgotten tune to herself. She was filthy, and her ragged clothes were deeply soiled.

On the opposite side Catherine sat on a small wooden bench, her legs apart, her hands clasped between her knees. Her gown was torn, like the day she had come aboard Hyperion, and he saw that her feet were shoeless. Her long hair, uncombed, hung across her partly bared shoulders, hiding her face completely.

She did not move or look up as the key grated in the lock and Bolitho thrust open the door.

Then she whispered very quietly, 'If you come near me, I shall kill you.'

He held out his arms and said, 'Kate. Don't be frightened. Come to me.'

She raised her head and brushed the hair from her eyes with the back of her hand.

Still she did not move or appear to recognise him, and for a moment Bolitho imagined that she had been driven mad by these terrible circumstances.

Then she stood up and stepped a few paces unsteadily towards him.

'Is it you? Really you?' Then she shook her head and exclaimed, 'Don't touch me! I am unclean -'

Bolitho gripped her shoulders and pulled her against him, feeling her protest give way to sobs which were torn from each awful memory. He felt her skin through the back of the gown; she wore nothing else beneath it. Her body was like ice despite the foul, unmoving air. He covered her with his cloak, so that only her face and her bare feet showed in the flickering lanterns.

She saw the governor in the doorway and Bolitho felt her whole body stiffen away from him.

Bolitho said, 'Remove your hat in the presence of my lady, sirl' He found no pleasure in the man's fear. 'Or by God I'll call you out here and now!'

The man shrank away, his hat almost brushing the filthy floor.

Bolitho guided her along the corridor, while some of the inmates watched through their cell doors, their hands gripping the bars like claws. But nobody cried out this rime.

'Your shoes, Kate?'

She pressed herself against his side as if the cloak would protect her from everything.

'I sold all I had for food.' She raised her head and studied him. 'I have walked barefoot before.' Her sudden courage made her look fragile. 'Are we really leaving now?'

They reached the heavy gate and she saw the carriage, with the two stamping horses.

She said, 'I will be strong. For you, dear Richard, I -' She saw the shadowy figure inside the coach and asked quickly, 'Who is that?'

Bolitho held her until she was calm again.

He said, 'Just a friend who knew when he was needed.'