hoarsely, “They’re coming back.”
Gossage was standing in the shadows, drinking from a goblet which someone had brought for him. He looked tired and sick, yet unable to leave.
Hamett-Parker said flatly, “Marshal, do your duty.”
The Royal Marine officer picked up Herrick’s sword and after a small hesitation, laid it down again. It brought a great roar of gasps and excitement from the craning visitors. “The sword’s hilt was toward Herrick’s chair.”
“Bring in the accused.”
The footsteps halted abruptly beside Bolitho’s seat, and when he glanced round he saw Herrick, as white as a sheet, staring at the table as if he had been stricken by some terrible disease.
Cotgrave said, “Rear-Admiral Herrick, you are discharged. The charges brought against you are dropped. They cannot be recommitted.”
Herrick stared round until he saw Gossage, then he said tonelessly, “Damn you to hell, Gossage. God rot you.”
Gossage raised the goblet in salute and leaning on the orderly’s arm, allowed himself to be guided to another door.
Keen said, “I must see the members of the Court to their boats, Sir Richard.” He turned anxiously. “Wait for me, please.”
But Allday was here, massive and frowning, his hat beneath his arm.
Bolitho touched Keen’s sleeve and shook his head.
To Allday he said, “Take me ashore, old friend. It’s all over.” He looked back at Herrick and saw some officers around him, their faces beaming with congratulations.
He could not see Herrick’s expression. He was still holding the sword in his hands like a man who had been cheated, and betrayed.
5
THE HAND OF A LADY
BRYAN FERGUSON opened the doors of the big grey house and beamed with pleasure.
“Captain Adam, of all people! When I saw you ride in just now I thought, well, for a moment …” He shook his head admiringly. “What a pity John Allday is not here to see you!”
Captain Adam Bolitho walked into the great room, his eyes taking in everything, noticing small changes. The hand of a lady.
He said, “I hear he has been in Portsmouth, Bryan.”
“You know of the court martial, sir?”
Adam walked to the great fireplace and touched the family crest above it. Remembering. Remembering so many things. How, when only fourteen years old, he had walked all the way from Penzance where his mother had died, with a scrap of paper and the name of the one man who would take care of him. This home was like his own. Sir Richard Bolitho had made certain it would be his one day, just as he had given him the family name.
He remembered what Ferguson had asked him. “Aye, the whole fleet must know by now.” He changed the subject. “I saw my uncle’s carriage in the stable yard. Is he here yet?”
Ferguson shook his head. “He will be sailing from Falmouth soon, so he sent his flag lieutenant on ahead to attend to things. Yovell came with him.”
He watched Adam as he moved restlessly about the room. He had looked so like Bolitho when he had ridden in. But the young man with hair as black as his uncle’s was only 27 with the single epaulette of captain on his right shoulder.
Adam saw the look and smiled. “It will be a pair this year, Bryan, if all goes well. I shall be posted in the autumn.”
Ferguson approved. So like his beloved uncle, he had gained his first command at the age of twenty-two or three. Now he captained a fine new frigate named Anemone.
Adam said, “I am ordered to the Irish Sea. There is privateer activity in those waters. We might call a few of them to action.”
Ferguson asked, “Can you stay until tomorrow? Sir Richard should be here by then—he sent word by post-boy this morning. I can tell Mrs Ferguson to prepare one of your favourites if …” He saw Adam’s eyes widen suddenly with surprise, or even shock.
Zenoria stood in the curve of the stairway and looked at him for several seconds. “Why, Captain Bolitho!” She laughed; she had seemed a young girl again when she had been
Gossage was standing in the shadows, drinking from a goblet which someone had brought for him. He looked tired and sick, yet unable to leave.
Hamett-Parker said flatly, “Marshal, do your duty.”
The Royal Marine officer picked up Herrick’s sword and after a small hesitation, laid it down again. It brought a great roar of gasps and excitement from the craning visitors. “The sword’s hilt was toward Herrick’s chair.”
“Bring in the accused.”
The footsteps halted abruptly beside Bolitho’s seat, and when he glanced round he saw Herrick, as white as a sheet, staring at the table as if he had been stricken by some terrible disease.
Cotgrave said, “Rear-Admiral Herrick, you are discharged. The charges brought against you are dropped. They cannot be recommitted.”
Herrick stared round until he saw Gossage, then he said tonelessly, “Damn you to hell, Gossage. God rot you.”
Gossage raised the goblet in salute and leaning on the orderly’s arm, allowed himself to be guided to another door.
Keen said, “I must see the members of the Court to their boats, Sir Richard.” He turned anxiously. “Wait for me, please.”
But Allday was here, massive and frowning, his hat beneath his arm.
Bolitho touched Keen’s sleeve and shook his head.
To Allday he said, “Take me ashore, old friend. It’s all over.” He looked back at Herrick and saw some officers around him, their faces beaming with congratulations.
He could not see Herrick’s expression. He was still holding the sword in his hands like a man who had been cheated, and betrayed.
5
THE HAND OF A LADY
BRYAN FERGUSON opened the doors of the big grey house and beamed with pleasure.
“Captain Adam, of all people! When I saw you ride in just now I thought, well, for a moment …” He shook his head admiringly. “What a pity John Allday is not here to see you!”
Captain Adam Bolitho walked into the great room, his eyes taking in everything, noticing small changes. The hand of a lady.
He said, “I hear he has been in Portsmouth, Bryan.”
“You know of the court martial, sir?”
Adam walked to the great fireplace and touched the family crest above it. Remembering. Remembering so many things. How, when only fourteen years old, he had walked all the way from Penzance where his mother had died, with a scrap of paper and the name of the one man who would take care of him. This home was like his own. Sir Richard Bolitho had made certain it would be his one day, just as he had given him the family name.
He remembered what Ferguson had asked him. “Aye, the whole fleet must know by now.” He changed the subject. “I saw my uncle’s carriage in the stable yard. Is he here yet?”
Ferguson shook his head. “He will be sailing from Falmouth soon, so he sent his flag lieutenant on ahead to attend to things. Yovell came with him.”
He watched Adam as he moved restlessly about the room. He had looked so like Bolitho when he had ridden in. But the young man with hair as black as his uncle’s was only 27 with the single epaulette of captain on his right shoulder.
Adam saw the look and smiled. “It will be a pair this year, Bryan, if all goes well. I shall be posted in the autumn.”
Ferguson approved. So like his beloved uncle, he had gained his first command at the age of twenty-two or three. Now he captained a fine new frigate named Anemone.
Adam said, “I am ordered to the Irish Sea. There is privateer activity in those waters. We might call a few of them to action.”
Ferguson asked, “Can you stay until tomorrow? Sir Richard should be here by then—he sent word by post-boy this morning. I can tell Mrs Ferguson to prepare one of your favourites if …” He saw Adam’s eyes widen suddenly with surprise, or even shock.
Zenoria stood in the curve of the stairway and looked at him for several seconds. “Why, Captain Bolitho!” She laughed; she had seemed a young girl again when she had been
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