Alexander Kent: Passage to Mutiny

Except that nobody had really thought he would be able to leave his bed again. Nobody but Allday, that is.

But as the months dragged past, days and weeks of emptiness and nausea, he realized he was gaining new strength. He was able to ask about people, of what was happening in the world outside his bedroom.

At the first hint of better weather he took a few short walks, using Allday like a prop for most of the time.

And he had a visitor. Captain William Tremayne of the brig Pigeon came to the house within an hour of dropping anchor in Carrick Roads. It was like rolling back the months. Bolitho sat in a high-backed chair by the window, while Tremayne sat nearby, a goblet of wine in his big fist.

Pigeon had come home with despatches. Tremayne had brought it all back. The islands, the swaying palms and laughing girls. It seemed that Hardacre had been given permanent control of the Levu Islands as government agent. There had not been much choice in the matter, for Raymond had been found dead, apparently by his own hand.

The most unexpected news had been about Yves Genin, seized with the rest when Tempest had won her bloody battle against the Narval. Although the frigate had been handed over to a prize court, Genin had been allowed to return to France. More because he was an embarrassment than as a mark of goodwill towards the

Revolutionary Government. Genin, who had done so much to pave the way for rebellion, was rewarded by a quick end on the guillotine. The new government took the view that a man who could plan a major uprising might well do it a second time.

And on this particular day Bolitho was standing by the open window, watching the various hues of green, the rippling fields which ran down the hillside towards the sea.

He thought a lot about Tempest and wondered where she was. He had heard she had been at Plymouth completing a refit and preparing to commission with a new company. His one wish was that he could have been with her before she had paid off. A few of the old hands were still aboard, and her captain should be grateful to have them. Lakey, the taciturn sailing master, Toby, the carpenter, Jury, the boatswain, and a few more beside.

The rest had scattered to the needs of a growing fleet, to ships which would be desperately needed again when the clouds of war eventually broke across the Channel. Even little Romney had found another ship, and Bolitho hoped he would be luckier this time. Keen, Swift, so many he had grown to know, were beginning all over again.

He sighed. And Thomas Herrick? He had not heard where he was, other than at sea.

He heard the clock chime above the Falmouth church of Charles the Martyr, and took his watch from his pocket and examined it slowly in the warm sunlight.

Behind him Allday opened the door, a bottle of wine balanced on a tray.

He stood very still, seeing it all. Bolitho’s silhouette against the sunlight, and the watch, her watch, in his hand. It needed no words to describe what Bolitho was thinking. Remembering.

Bolitho turned and saw him. He smiled and thrust the watch into his pocket.

“I thought we might take a longer walk today. There’s a frigate coming into the Roads. We can carry a telescope along with us, eh?”

Allday replied doubtfully, “We’ll see, Captain. It’s a fair way to the old battery on the headland. No sense in tiring yourself.”

Bolitho eyed him fondly. “Thank you for that. And so much more.”

“My pleasure, Captain.” Allday looked towards the sea. “It will need time. But we’ll walk a deck again, and that’s no error!” He grinned and added, “Come then, I’ll fetch your coat and a telescope.”

Bolitho walked slowly to the door and let his gaze linger on the room. She would have been happy here.

Then he said, “Lively now, and we’ll take some ale on the way back.”

The battle was won.