Darkening Sea by Alexander Kent Page B

raised his voice slightly. “Scolded me for sending you, Sir Richard, to yet another demanding appointment. I protested that we could send no other, there was none better or so qualified for the task. After the terrible experiences she shared after the loss of Golden Plover, I am certain that she would not disagree with me again.”
    Hamett-Parker swallowed his anger. “I will send orders to the Valkyrie. You and your staff can take passage in her as Trevenen will be the senior officer of our eventual flotilla. I shall let you know what I think will be required when and if . . .”
    Bolitho said, “If I am to command this enterprise against Baratte . . .” He saw two of them start with surprise. Did they really not know what was happening, and what to expect? “Then I will inform you, Sir James.”
    He bowed his head to the table and walked to the door. Sillitoe followed him as he knew he would.
    Outside the door Bolitho said, “I appear to have talked myself into something I would have wished to avoid.”
    â€œI meant what I said. The sailors respect you, and you have their hearts. They will know that you will not betray them merely to satisfy some crude craving for glory, nor will you sacrifice their lives for no good purpose.”
    He watched Bolitho’s profile, the arguments matched only by the sensitivity on his sunburned face.
    Sillitoe persisted, “If it can be done, you will do it. If not, we shall have to think again.” He added indifferently, “By which time the King will be raving mad and, more to the point, there may be those not afraid to mention it!”
    They paused by a tall window on the stairs. Sillitoe looked down and said, “How I envy you, Richard. For nothing else but her.”
    â€œIf anything happens to me . . .”
    Bolitho saw her shading her eyes to look at the window, almost as if she had heard his words.
    Sillitoe laughed. “Do not think such thoughts.” The mood left him and he said smoothly, “Now, the matter of your new flag lieutenant.”
    Bolitho barely heard him. “We are returning to Falmouth.” He shivered. “How I hate this place, where men’s minds are frozen in time.” He looked at him steadily. “Send him to me at Falmouth with a letter of introduction.”
    Sillitoe was watching him curiously. “Is that all? Then I will attend to it.”
    He gazed after Bolitho as he descended the stairs, and he thought he saw him stumble at one shadowed corner.
    He called down, “When you find Baratte again, do not hesitate. Kill him. ” Then he was gone.
    Later, Bolitho thought it had sounded like something personal.
    Bolitho stood by the open doors and looked across the garden to the orchard. The breeze from the sea that cooled his face filled the room behind him with the scent of roses.
    A few more days, and then he would retrace the way to Plymouth. He could feel Catherine watching him from beside the empty fireplace. She had tried to hide her own preparations for their parting: new shirts from London, another store of wine from the shop in St James’s Street, which had been sent directly to Plymouth. Ozzard had been packing chests, checking every item, his features giving nothing away. He was always like that now, Bolitho thought, ever since the old Hyperion had gone down. A man haunted by something, and yet in the open boat after the shipwreck he had been surprisingly strong, tending a dying man, rationing out their wretched portions of food and water, his eyes searching secretly for the remaining mutineer who had been hidden amongst them.
    â€œWhat about John Allday?”
    Bolitho turned towards her. It was as if she had been reading his thoughts.
    He said, “He’ll not stay ashore. So wedding, if wedding there is to be, must wait until we return.”
    â€œI’m glad. I shall feel you are safer with him close at hand.” Her dark eyes were full of