Darkening Sea Read Free Page B

for re-employment or a command, he had almost begged.
    I am a frigate captain . . .
    The admiral’s cold answer, “ Were a frigate captain, Bolitho,” had wounded him for a long, long time.
    He smiled, the strain dropping away from his face. Instead of a frigate they had given him Hyperion. “The Old Hyperion,” about which they still yarned and even sang in the taverns and wherever sailors gathered.
    He heard voices and thought he could smell coffee. That would be his mole-like servant Ozzard. Ozzard never seemed surprised by anything, although it was hard to read the man’s thoughts. Was he glad to be going home? Or did he even care?
    He stepped on to the wet planking and glanced at the dark figures around him. The midshipman-of-the-watch was already whispering to the sailing-master that their illustrious passenger was up and about.
    Adam stood with Peter Sargeant, his senior lieutenant. Sargeant was probably already ear-marked for his own command, Bolitho thought. Adam would miss him if that happened.
    Ozzard moved from the shadows with his coffee pot and presented him with a steaming mug. “All fresh, Sir Richard, but almost the end of it.”
    Adam crossed to his side, his dark hair ruffling in the damp wind.
    â€œRosemullion Head on the larboard bow, Sir Richard.” The formality was not lost on either of them. “Mr Partridge assures me we shall be off Pendennis Point by four bells of the forenoon watch.”
    Bolitho nodded and sipped the scalding coffee, recalling the shop to which Catherine had taken him in London’s St James’s Street. She had bought fine coffee and good wines, cheeses, and other small luxuries he would never have troubled about. He watched the sunlight breaking across the rocky coast and the rolling green hills beyond. Home.
    â€œThat was a fast passage, Captain. A pity you cannot take time to come to the house.”
    Adam did not look at him. “I’ll cherish that in my mind, sir.”
    The first lieutenant touched his hat. “I shall hoist our number when we are within range, sir.” He was speaking to his captain, but Bolitho knew it was directed at himself.
    He said quietly, “I think she will already know, Mr Sargeant.”
    He saw Allday’s powerful shape by one of the gangways. As if he could feel his gaze like something physical the big coxswain turned and glanced up at him, his tanned face breaking into a lazy grin.
    We are here, old friend. Like all those other times. Still together.
    â€œStand by to wear ship! Man the braces! Hands aloft an’ loose t’gallants!”
    Bolitho stood by the rail. Anemone would make a perfect picture as she altered course.
    For a perfect landfall.
    Captain Adam Bolitho stood at the weather side of the quarter-deck, arms folded, content to leave the final approach to his first lieutenant. He watched the crouching walls and tower of Pen-dennis Castle as it seemed to swing very slowly through the black criss-cross of tarred rigging as if snared in a net.
    Many glasses would be trained from the old castle, which with the fort and battery on the opposite headland had guarded the harbour entrance for centuries. Beyond Pendennis and hidden in the green hillside was the old grey Bolitho house with all its memories, of its sons who had left this very port never to return.
    He tried not to think of the night when Zenoria had found him drinking brandy, his eyes burning with tears for his uncle who had been reported lost in the transport Golden Plover. Was that only last year?
    Bolitho had told him Zenoria was with child. He had dared not consider that it might be his. Only Catherine had been near to discovering the truth, and Bolitho’s concern for Adam himself had almost made him confess what he had done. But if he feared the consequences, Adam feared what the truth might do to his uncle far more.
    He saw Allday’s massive bulk by the larboard guns, lost in his own thoughts;