Bolitho said quietly, “You must never ask that. I’ve learned, and I’m still learning. The ship comes first. Now, let’s be about it, otherwise the lord and master will have harsh words for all of us.”
Startled, he looked at the sword he still grasped in his hand.
Perhaps Rhodes had answered Jury’s question for him?
epilogue
BOLITHO tugged his hat down over his eyes and looked up at the great grey house. There was a squall blowing up the Channel, and the rain which stung his cheeks felt like ice. All the months, all the waiting, and now he was home again. It had been a long, hard journey from Plymouth after Destiny had dropped anchor. The roads were deeply rutted, and there had been so much mud thrown up on the coach windows Bolitho had found it difficult to recognize places which he had known since boyhood.
And now that he was back again he felt a sense of unreality, and, for some reason he could not determine, one of loss.
The house was unchanged, just as it had looked when he had last seen it, almost a year ago.
Stockdale, who had driven with him from Plymouth, shifted his feet uncertainly.
“Are you sure it’s all right fer me to be ’ere, sir?”
Bolitho looked at him. It had been Dumaresq’s last gesture before he had left the ship, before Destiny had been put into the hands of the dockyard for repair and a well-deserved overhaul.
“Take Stockdale. You’ll be getting another ship soon. Keep him with you. A useful fellow.”
Bolitho said quietly, “You’re welcome here. You’ll see.”
He climbed up the worn stone steps and saw the double-doors swing inwards to greet him. Bolitho was not surprised, he had felt in the last few moments that the whole house had been silently watching him.
But it was not old Mrs Tremayne the housekeeper but a young maidservant he did not recognize.
She curtsied and blushed. “Welcome, zur.” Almost in the same breath she added, “Cap’n James is waitin’ for you, zur.”
Bolitho stamped the mud from his shoes and gave the girl his hat and boat-cloak.
He strode through the panelled hall and stepped into the big room he knew so well. There was the fire, blazing brightly as if to hold the winter at bay, gleaming pewter, the filtered smells from the kitchen, security.
Captain James Bolitho moved from the fire and put his hand on his son’s shoulder.
“My God, Richard, I saw you last as a scrawny midshipman. You’ve come home a man!”
Bolitho was shocked by his father’s appearance. He had steeled himself against the loss of an arm, but his father had changed beyond belief. His hair was grey and his eyes were sunken. Because of his sewn-up sleeve he was holding himself awkwardly, something Bolitho had seen other crippled sailors do, fearful of having someone brush against the place where a limb had been.
“Sit down, my boy.” He watched Bolitho fixedly, as if afraid of missing something. “That’s a terrible scar you have there. I must hear all about it.” But there was no enthusiasm in his voice. “Who was that giant I saw you arrive with?”
Bolitho gripped the arms of his chair. “A man called Stockdale.”
He was suddenly aware of the quiet, the deadly, clinging silence.
He asked, “Tell me, Father. Is something wrong?”
His father walked to a window and stared unseeingly through the sleet-washed glass.
“There have been letters, of course. They’ll catch up with you one day.” He turned heavily. “Your mother died a month ago, Richard.”
Bolitho stared at him, unable to move, unwilling to accept it.
“Died?”
“She had a short illness. A fever of sorts. We did all we could.”
Bolitho said quietly, “I think I knew. Just now. Outside the house. She always gave the place light.”
Dead. He had been planning what he was going to tell her, how he would have quietened her concern over his scar.
His father said distantly, “Your ship was reported some days back.”
“Yes. Then fog came down. We had to anchor.”
He thought suddenly of the faces he had left, how much he needed them at this moment. Dumaresq, who had gone to the Admiralty to explain the loss of the treasure, or to be congratulated for depriving a potential enemy of it. Palliser, who had got his command of a brig at Spithead. Young Jury, with a break in his voice when they had shaken hands for the last time.
“I heard of some of your exploits. It sounds as if Dumaresq made quite a name for himself. I hope the Admiralty see it that way. Your brother is away with the fleet.”
Bolitho tried to contain his emotion. Words, just words. He had known his father would be like this. Pride. It was always a question of pride with him, first and foremost.
“Is Nancy at home?”
His father looked at him distantly. “You won’t know that either. Your sister married the squire’s son, young Lewis Roxby. Your mother said it was on the rebound after that other wretched business.” He sighed. “So there it is.”
Bolitho leaned back against the chair, pressing his shoulders against the carved oak to control his sorrow.
His father had lost the sea. Now he was alone, too. This great house which looked across the slopes of Pendennis Castle or out across the busy comings and goings of Carrick Roads. Each a constant reminder of what he had lost, of what had been taken from him.
He said gently, “Destiny has paid off, Father. I can stay.”
It was as if he had shouted some terrible oath. Captain James strode from the window and stood looking down at him.
“I never want to hear that! You are my son and a King’s officer. For generations we’ve left this house, and some have never come back. There’s war in the air, and we’ll need all our sons.” He paused and added softly, “A messenger came here just two days back. An appointment already.”
Bolitho stood up and moved about the room, touching familiar things without feeling them.
His father added, “She’s the Trojan, eighty guns. There’s going to be a war right enough if they’re recommissioning her.”
“I see.”
Not a lithe frigate, but another great ship of the line. A new world to explore and master. Perhaps it was just as well. Something to fill his mind, to keep him busy until he could accept all which had happened.
“Now I think we should take a glass together, Richard. Ring for the girl. You must tell me all about it. The ship, her people, everything. Leave nothing out. It’s all I have now. Memories.”
Bolitho said, “Well, Father, it was a year ago when I joined Destiny at Plymouth under Captain Dumaresq…”
When the young maidservant entered with the glasses and wine from the cellar, she saw the gray-headed Captain James sitting opposite his youngest son. They were talking about ships and foreign parts. There was no sign of grief or despair in their reunion.
But she did not understand. It was all a question of pride.
