Darkening Sea Read Free Page A

written to him of the impending birth, and he had guessed that she had wanted Zenoria with her at Falmouth. What would become of the child, he wondered. The navy like his father? Keen’s record and success as both captain and natural leader would give any boy a good beginning.
    Or the law, or the City perhaps? Keen’s family came of far wealthier stock than the usual inhabitants of any midshipman’s berth in some overcrowded liner.
    Adam had not commented immediately. He had been listening to the slap of feet on deck, the sudden bawl of commands as the helm had gone over yet again.
    â€œIf I had to begin all over again, Uncle, I’d not ask for a finer tutor.”
    He had hesitated, just for an instant the thin, half-starved midshipman who had walked all the way from Penzance to search for his unknown uncle, with only Bolitho’s name scrawled on a piece of paper. “Nor a better friend . . .”
    Bolitho had intended to make light of it, but knew that this was far too important to the youthful captain who had been sitting across the table from him. It was something very private, like that other secret which was rarely out of Bolitho’s thoughts. They had shared so much, but the time to share that had not yet come.
    Then Adam had said quietly, “Captain Keen is a very lucky man.”
    Adam had insisted that the sleeping cabin should be for his guest, while he had been content to take his rest in the stern cabin. That caused Bolitho to recall another incident on this passage, which for the most part had been uneventful. On the day after the ship’s company had spread the lighter canvas for the final run in toward the Western Approaches he had found Adam sitting in the stern cabin at his table, an empty goblet in his fingers.
    Bolitho had seen his distress, the disgust he obviously felt for himself, and had asked, “What ails you, Adam? Tell me what you will—I shall do all I can.”
    Adam had looked up at him and replied, “It is my birthday today, Uncle.” He had said it in such a steady, level tone that only Bolitho would have known he had been drinking, and not merely the one goblet. It was something Adam would have punished any of his officers for. He loved this ship, the command he had always wanted.
    â€œI know.” Bolitho had sat down, afraid that the sight of his vice-admiral’s gold lace would drop a barrier between them.
    â€œI am 29 .” He had glanced around the cabin, his eyes suddenly wistful.
    â€œBeyond Anemone, I have nothing.” He had swung round as his cabin servant had entered. “What the hell do you want, man?”
    That too had been unusual, and it had helped to bring him to his senses.
    â€œI am sorry. That was unforgivable when you cannot answer me back for my intolerance.” The servant backed away, hurt and confused.
    Then there was another interruption, when the second lieutenant had entered and informed his captain that it was all but time to call both watches and change tack.
    Adam had acknowledged him with equal formality. “I shall come up directly, Mr Martin.” As the door had closed he had reached for his hat, and hesitated before adding, “On my birthday last year I was kissed by a lady.”
    Bolitho had asked, “Do I know her?”
    Adam had already been listening to the trill of calls, the stampede of feet across the deck. “I think not, Uncle. I don’t think anyone does.” Then he had gone.
    Bolitho made up his mind, and disdaining a boat-cloak he found his way to the quarterdeck.
    The smells, the creak of spars and timbers, the stress and strain of all the miles of standing and running rigging—it made him feel very young again. He seemed to hear the admiral’s response to his plea for a ship, any ship, when the war had broken out with Revolutionary France.
    Still weakened by the fever which had cut him down in the Great South Sea, and with every officer clamouring