Stand into Danger

11. Secrets

THE DAYS which immediately followed Bolitho’s return to the living were like parts of a dream. From the age of twelve, since he had first gone to sea as a midshipman, he had been used to the constant demands of a ship. Night or day, at any hour and under all conditions he had been ready to run with the others to whatever duty was ordered, and had been under no illusions as to the consequences if he failed to obey.

But as Destiny sailed slowly northwards through the Caribbean he was forced to accept his inactivity, to remain still and listen to the familiar sounds beyond the cabin or above his head.

The dream was made more than bearable by the presence of Aurora. Even the terrible pain which struck suddenly and without mercy she somehow held at bay, just as she saw through his pitiful attempts to hide it from her.

She would hold his hand or wipe his brow with a damp cloth. Sometimes when the agony probed his skull like a branding iron she put her arm beneath his shoulders and pressed her face to his chest, murmuring secret words into his body as if to still the torment.

He watched her whenever she was in a position where he could see her. While his strength held he described the shipboard sounds, the names of the sailors he knew, and how they worked together to make the ship a living thing.

He told her of his home in Falmouth, of his brother and sisters and the long Bolitho ancestry which was part of the sea itself.

She was always careful not to excite him with questions, and allowed him to talk as long as he felt like it. She fed him, but in such a fashion that he did not feel humiliated or like a helpless child.

Only when the matter of shaving arose was she unable to keep a straight face.

“But, dear Richard, you do not seem to need a shave!”

Bolitho flushed, knowing it was true, as he usually shaved but once a week.

She said, “I will do it for you.”

She used the razor with great care, watching each stroke, and occasionally glancing through the stern windows to see if the ship was on even keel.

Bolitho tried to relax, glad that she imagined his tenseness was out of fear of the razor. In fact, he was more than aware of her nearness, the pressure of her breast as she leaned over him, the exciting touch on his face and throat.

“There.” She stood back and studied him approvingly. “You look very…” she hunted through her vocabulary “… distinguished.”

Bolitho asked, “Could I see, please?” He saw the uncertainty. “Please.”

She took a mirror from the cabin chest and said, “You are strong. You will get over it.”

Bolitho stared at the face in the mirror. It was that of a stranger. The surgeon had sheared away his hair from the right temple, and the whole of his forehead from eyebrow to where the hair remained was black and purple with savage bruising. Bulkley had appeared content when he had removed the dressing and bandages, but to Bolitho’s eyes the length and depth of the scar, made more horrific by the black criss-cross of the surgeon’s stitches, was repellent.

He said quietly, “It must sicken you.”

She removed the mirror and said, “I am proud of you. Nothing could spoil you in my heart. I have stayed with you from that first moment when you were carried here. Have watched over you, so that I know your body like my own.” She met his gaze proudly. “That scar will remain, but it is one of honour, not of shame!”

Later she left his side in answer to a summons from Dumaresq.

The cabin servant, Macmillan, told Bolitho that Destiny was due to sight St Christopher’s on the following day, so it seemed likely that the captain was about to clarify Egmont’s statement and make certain he would stand by it.

The hunt for the missing bullion, or whatever form it had taken since Garrick’s seizure of it, seemed of no importance to Bolitho. He had had plenty of time to think about his future as he sweated in pain or had found recovery in her arms. Perhaps too much time.

The idea of her stepping ashore, to rejoin her husband in whatever new enterprise he dictated, and not to see her ever again, was unbearable.

To mark the progress of his recovery he had several visitors. Rhodes, beaming with pleasure to see him again, unabashed as ever as he said, “Makes you look like a real terror, Richard. That’ll get the doxies jumping when we reach port!” He was careful not to mention Aurora.

Palliser came too and made as close as he knew how to an apology.

“If I had sent a marine picket as Colpoys suggested, none of it would have happened.” He shrugged and glanced round the cabin, at the female attire draped near the windows after being washed by the maid. “But it apparently has its brighter aspects.”

Bulkley and Dumaresq’s clerk supervised the first walk away from the cabin. Bolitho felt the ship responding beneath his bare feet, but knew his weakness, the dizziness which never seemed far away, no matter how hard he tried to conceal it.

He cursed Spillane and his medical knowledge when he said, “Might be a severe fracture there, sir?”

Bulkley replied gruffly, “Nonsense. But still, it’s early days.”

Bolitho had expected to die, but with recovery apparently within his grasp it seemed unthinkable there was yet another course he might have to take. To be sent home in the next available ship, to be removed from the Navy List and not even retained on half-pay to give some hope of re-employment.

He wished he could have thanked Stockdale, but even his influence had so far failed to get him past the sentry at the door.

All the midshipmen, with the noticeable exception of Cowdroy, had been to visit him, and had stared at his terrible scar with a mixture of awe and commiseration. Jury had been quite unable to hide his admiration and had exclaimed, “To think that I cried like a baby over my pin-prick!”

It was late evening before she returned to the cabin, and he sensed the change in her, the listless way she arranged his pillow and made certain his water-jug was filled.

She said quietly, “I shall leave tomorrow, Richard. My husband has signed his name to the documents. It is done. Your captain has sworn that he will leave us to go as we please once he has seen the governor of St Christopher’s. After that, I do not know.”

Bolitho gripped her hand and tried not to think of Dumaresq’s other promise to the Heloise’s master before he had died. Had died from Bolitho’s own blade.

He said, “I may have to leave the ship, too.”

She seemed to forget her own troubles and leaned over him anxiously.

“What is this? Who said you must go?”

He reached up carefully and touched her hair. Like silk. Warm, beautiful silk.

“It doesn’t matter now, Aurora.”

She traced a pattern on his shoulder with her finger.

“How can you say that? Of course it matters. The sea is your world. You have seen and done much, but all your life still lies before you.”

Bolitho felt her hair touch his skin and shivered.

He said firmly, “I shall quit the Navy. I have made up my mind.”

“After all you have told me of your family tradition, you would throw it all away?”

“For you, yes, I will.”

She shook her head, the long black hair clinging to him as she protested, “You must not speak like this!”

“My brother is my father’s favourite, and always has been.” It was strange that in moment of crisis he could say it without bitterness or remorse, even knowing it was the truth. “He can uphold the tradition. It is you I want, you I love.”

He said it so fiercely that she was obviously moved.

Bolitho saw her hand rest on her breast, a pulse beating in her throat which made her outward composure a lie.

“It is madness! I know all about you, but of me you know nothing. What sort of life would you have, watching me grow older while you yearn for the ships, for the chances you threw away?” She placed her hand on his forehead. “It is like a fever, Richard. Fight it, or it will destroy both of us!”

Bolitho turned his face away, his eyes pricking as he said, “I could make you happy, Aurora!”

She stroked his arm, soothing his despair. “I never doubted it. But there is more to life than that, believe me.” She backed away, her body moving in time with the ship’s gentle roll. “I told you earlier. I could love you. For the past days and nights I have watched you, touched you. My thoughts were wicked, my longing greater than I would dare admit.” She shook her head. “Please, do not look at me like that. Perhaps, after all, the voyage took too long, and tomorrow comes too late. I no longer know anything.”

She turned, her face in shadow as she was framed against the salt-stained windows.

“I shall never forget you, Richard, and I will probably damn myself for turning your offer aside. But I am asking for your help. I cannot do it alone.”

Macmillan brought the evening meal and said, “Beg pardon, ma’am, but the cap’n an’ ’is officers send their respects, an’ will you dine with them tonight? It bein’ the last time, so to speak.”

Macmillan was really too old for his work, and served his captain in the same fashion as a respected family retainer. He was totally unaware of the tension, the huskiness in her voice as she replied, “I will be honoured.”

Nor did he see the despair on the lieutenant’s face as he watched her walk into the screened-off part of the cabin where her maid spent most of the day.

She paused. “The lieutenant is stronger now. He will manage.” She turned away, her words muffled. “On his own.”

With Bulkley’s supporting hand at his elbow, Bolitho ventured on to the quarterdeck and looked along the ship’s length towards the land.

It was very hot, and the scorching noon sun made him realize just how weak he still was. Seeing the bare-backed seamen bustling about the upper deck, others straddled along the yards as they shortened sail for the final approach, he felt lost, out of things in a way he had not known before.

Bulkley said, “I have been to St Christopher’s previously.” He pointed towards the nearest headland with its writhing line of white surf. “Bluff Point. Beyond it lies Basseterre and the main anchorage.

There will be King’s ships a’plenty, I’ve no doubt. Some forgotten flag-officer who’ll be anxious to tell our captain what to do.”

Some marines marched past, panting loudly in the red coats and heavy equipment.

Bolitho gripped the nettings and watched the land. A small island, but an important link in Britain ’s chain of command. At another time he would have been excited at a first visit. But now as he stared at the nodding palms, the occasional glimpse of native boats, he could only see what it represented. Here they would part. Whatever his own fate might be, here it was ended between them. He knew from the way Rhodes and the others avoided the subject that they were probably thinking he should be thankful. To have lived through that murderous attack and then be nursed by so beautiful a woman should be enough for any man. But it was not.

Dumaresq came on deck and glanced briefly at the compass and at the set of the sails.

Gulliver touched his hat. “Nor’-nor’-east, sir. Steady as she goes.”

“Good. Prepare a salute, Mr Palliser. We shall be up to Fort Londonderry within the hour.”

He saw Bolitho and held up his hand. “Stay if you wish.” He crossed the deck to join him, his glance taking in Bolitho’s eyes, dulled by pain, the horrible scar laid bare for all to see. He said, “You will live. Be thankful.”

He beckoned the midshipman of the watch. “Get aloft with you, Mr Lovelace, and spy out Fleet Anchorage. Count the ships, and report to me as soon as you are satisfied.” He watched the youth swarm up the ratlines and said, “Like the rest of our young gentlemen, he has grown up on this voyage.” He glanced at Bolitho. “That applies more to you than anyone.”

Bolitho said, “Ifeel a hundred, sir.”

“I expect so.” Dumaresq grinned. “When you get your own command you will remember the pitfalls, I hope, but I doubt if you will pity your young lieutenants any more than I do.”

The captain turned aft, and Bolitho saw his eyes light up with interest. Without looking he knew she had come on deck to see the island. How would she see it? As a temporary refuge or a prison?

Egmont seemed unchanged by his ordeal. He walked to the side and remarked, “This place has altered little.”

Dumaresq kept his voice matter of fact. “Garrick will be here, you are certain?”

“As sure as anyone can be.” He saw Bolitho and nodded curtly. “I see you are recovered, Lieutenant.”

Bolitho forced a smile. “Thank you, sir, yes. I ache, but I am in one piece.”

She joined her husband and said steadily, “We both thank you, Lieutenant. You saved our lives. We cannot repay that.”

Dumaresq watched each in turn, like a hunter. “It is our purpose. But some duties are more rewarding than others.” He turned away. “To see Garrick taken is all I ask, damn him. Too many have died because of his greed, too many widows are left by his ambitions.”

Palliser cupped his hands. “Take in the forecourse.”

Dumaresq’s calm was slipping as he snapped, “God damn his eyes, Mr Palliser, what is Lovelace doing up there?”

Palliser peered up at the mainmast cross-trees where Midshipman Lovelace sat precariously balanced like a monkey on a stick.

Egmont forgot Bolitho and his wife as he picked upon the captain’s changed mood.

“What is worrying you?”

Dumaresq clasped and unclasped his strong fingers across the tails of his coat.

“I am not worried, sir. Merely interested.”

Midshipman Lovelace came sliding down a backstay and landed on the deck with a thud. He swallowed hard, visibly shrinking under their combined stares.

Dumaresq asked mildly, “Must we wait, Mr Lovelace? Or is it something so stupendous you cannot bear to call it from the masthead?”

Lovelace stammered, “B-but, sir, you told me to c-count the vessels yonder?” He tried again. “There is only one man-o’-war, sir, a large frigate.”

Dumaresq took a few paces back and forth to clear his thoughts. “One, y’say?” He looked at Palliser. “The squadron must have been called elsewhere. East to Antigua to reinforce the admiral perhaps.”

Palliser said, “There may be a senior officer here, sir. In the frigate maybe.” He kept his face immobile. Dumaresq would not take kindly to being outranked by another captain.

Bolitho did not care. He moved closer to the quarterdeck rail and saw her put her hand on it.

Dumaresq shouted, “Where is that damned quill-pusher? Send for Spillane at once!”

To Egmont he said, “I must discuss a few trivial matters before we anchor. Please come with me.”

Bolitho stood beside her and briefly touched her hand with his. He felt her tense, as if she shared his pain, and said quietly, “My love. I am in hell.”

She did not turn to look at him but said, “You promised to help me. Please, I will shame us both if you continue.” Then she did look at him, her eyes steady but just too bright as she said, “It is all wasted if you are to be unhappy and your life spoiled because of something we both value.”

Palliser yelled, “Mr Vallance! Stand by to fire the salute!”

Men ran to their stations while the ship, indifferent to all of them, continued into the bay.

Bolitho took her arm and guided her to the companionway. “There will be a lot of smoke and dust directly. You had best go below until we are closer inshore.” How was it possible to speak so calmly on unimportant matters? He added, “I must talk with you again.”

But she had already gone down into the shadows.

Bolitho walked forward again and saw Stockdale watching from the starboard gangway. His gun was not required for the salute, but he was showing his usual interest.

Bolitho said, “It seems I am at a loss when it comes to finding the right words, Stockdale. How can I thank you for what you did? If I offered you reward, I suspect you would be insulted. But words are nothing for what I feel.”

Stockdale smiled. “You bein’ ’ere for us all to see is enough. One day you’ll be a captain, sir, an’ grateful I’ll be. You’ll be needin’ a good cox’n then.” He nodded towards Johns, the captain’s own coxswain, smart and aloof in his gilt-buttoned jacket and striped trousers. “Like old Dick yonder. A man o’ leisure!” It seemed to amuse him greatly, but the rest of his words were lost in the controlled crash of gun-fire.

Palliser waited for the fort by the anchorage to reply and then said, “Mr Lovelace was right about the frigate.” He lowered the telescope and glanced grimly at Bolitho. “But he failed to note that she is wearing Spanish colours. I doubt that the captain will be greatly amused!”

Bulkley said anxiously, “I think you should rest. You have been on deck for hours. What are you trying to do, kill yourself?”

Bolitho watched the clustered buildings around the anchorage, the two forts, each well placed at either side like squat sentinels.

“I’m sorry. I was thinking only of myself.” He reached up and gingerly touched the scar. Perhaps it would be completely healed, or partially covered by his hair before he saw his mother again. What with her husband returning home with one arm, and now a disfigured son, she would have more than enough to face up to.

He said, “You did so much for me, too.”

“Too?” The surgeon’s eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “I think I understand.”

“Mr Bolitho!” Palliser appeared through the companionway. “Are you fit enough to go ashore?”

“I must protest!” Bulkley pushed forward. “He is barely able to stand up!”

Palliser stood facing them, his hands on his hips. Ever since the anchor had been dropped and the boats put down alongside, he had been called from one crisis to another, but mostly down to the great cabin. Dumaresq was extremely angry, if the loudness of his voice was anything to go by, and Palliser was in no mood for argument.

“Let him decide, dammit!” He looked at Bolitho. “I am shorthanded, but for some reason the captain requires you to go ashore with him. Remember our first meeting? I need every officer and man working in my ship. No matter how you feel, you keep going. Until you drop, or are incapable of movement, you are still one of my lieutenants, is that plain?”

Bolitho nodded, somehow glad of Palliser’s temper. “I’m ready.”

“Good. Then get changed.” As an afterthought he said, “You may carry your hat.”

Bulkley watched him stride away and exploded angrily, “He is beyond understanding! By God, Richard, if you feel unsteady I will demand that you stay aboard! Young Stephen can take your place.”

Bolitho made to shake his head but winced as the pain stabbed back at him.

“I shall be all right. But thank you.” He walked to the companionway adding, “I suspect there is some special reason for taking me with him.”

Bulkley nodded. “You are getting to know our captain very well, Richard. He never acts without a purpose, never offers a guinea which will not profit him two!”

He sighed. “But the thought of leaving his service is worse than tolerating his insults. Life would seem very dull after Dumaresq’s command!”

It was almost evening by the time Dumaresq decided to go ashore. He had sent Colpoys with a letter of introduction to the governor’s house, but when the marine returned he had told him that there was only the acting-governor in residence.

Dumaresq had commented sharply, “Not another Rio, I trust?”

Now, in the captain’s gig, with a hint of cooler air to make the journey bearable, Dumaresq sat as before, with both hands gripped around his sword, his eyes fixed on the land.

Bolitho sat beside him, his determination to withstand the pain and the recurring dizziness making him break out in a sweat. He concentrated on the anchored vessels and the comings and goings of Destiny’s boats as they ferried the sick and wounded ashore and returned already loaded with stores for the purser.

Dumaresq said suddenly, “A mite to starboard, Johns.”

The coxswain did not even blink but moved the tiller accordingly. From one corner of his mouth he muttered, “You’ll get a good look at ’er presently, sir.”

Dumaresq nudged Bolitho sharply with an elbow. “He’s a rascal, eh? Knows my mind better than I!”

Bolitho watched the anchored Spaniard as she towered above them. She was more like a cut-down fourth-rate than a frigate, he thought. Old, with elaborately carved and gilded gingerbread around her stern and cabin windows, but well-maintained, with an appearance of efficiency which was rare in a Spanish ship.

Dumaresq was thinking the same and murmured, “The San Augustin. She’s no local relic from La Guaira or Porto Bello. Cadiz or Algeciras is my guess.”

“Will that make a difference, sir?”

Dumaresq turned on him angrily, and just as swiftly let his temper subside.

“I am bad company. After what you have suffered under my command, I can spare you civility at least.” He watched the other vessel with professional interest, as Stockdale had studied the other gun crews. “Forty-four guns at least.” He seemed to recall Bolitho’s question. “It might. Weeks and months ago there was a secret. The Dons suspected there was evidence available as to the Asturias ’s lost treasure. Now it seems they have more than mere suspicions. San Augustin is here to mime Destiny’s role and to prevent His Most Catholic Majesty’s displeasure if we do not share our confidences.” He gave a grim smile. “We shall see about that. I have no doubt that a dozen telescopes are watching us, so look no more. Let them worry about us.”

Dumaresq noticed that the landing-place was only fifty yards away and said, “I brought you with me so that the governor would see your scar. It is better proof than anything else that we are working for our masters in Admiralty. Nobody here need know you gained so distinguished a wound whilst seeking water for our thirsty people!”

A small group was waiting for the boat to manoeuvre to the landing-place, some red uniforms amongst them. It was always the same. News from England. Word from the country which had sent them this far, anything which might maintain their precious contact.

Bolitho asked, “Will the Egmonts be allowed to go, sir?” He lifted his chin, surprised at his own impudence as Dumaresq’s gaze fastened on him. “I should like to know, sir.”

Dumaresq studied him gravely for several seconds. “It is important to you, I can see that.” He untangled the sword from between his legs in readiness for climbing ashore. Then he said bluntly, “She is a very desirable woman, I’ll not argue.” He stood up and straightened his hat with elaborate care. “You need not gape like that. I’m neither completely blind nor insensitive, you know. If I’m anything, it’s most likely envious.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Now, let’s deal with the acting-governor of this seat of empire, Sir Jason Fitzpatrick, and afterwards I may consider your problem!”

Grasping his hat in one hand, and supporting his sword in the other, Bolitho followed the captain out of the boat. Dumaresq’s casual acceptance of his feelings for another man’s wife had completely taken the wind from his sails. No wonder the surgeon could not face the prospect of a quieter and more predictable master.

A youthful captain from the garrison touched his hat and then exclaimed, “My God, gentlemen, that is a bad wound!”

Dumaresq glanced at Bolitho’s discomfort and might even have winked.

“The price of duty.” He gave a solemn sigh. “It makes itself felt in many ways.”