Alexander Kent - Stand into Danger

Palliser asked, “Do you still intend to despatch the schooner to Antigua, sir?”

Dumaresq regarded him thoughtfully. “Your schooner, you mean?” He moved to the windows and stared at the dying sun reflected from the water. Like red gold. “Yes, I am afraid it is another prize I must take from you.”

Bolitho watched, his mind strangely alert in spite of the strain, the bitter memories of the day. He recognized the bond between captain and first lieutenant as if it were something solid and visible.

Dumaresq added, “If San Augustin is little damaged we must fight her as soon as we can. When Garrick’s lookouts see the schooner standing away he will know that time is running out, that I have sent for aid.” He nodded grimly. “He will come out tomorrow. That is my belief.”

Palliser persisted, “He will be supported by the other schooners, maybe two survived the fires.”

“I know. Better that than wait for Garrick to sail against us with a completely overhauled ship. I’d ask for better terms, but few captains get the chance to choose.”

Bolitho thought of the men who had been sent over to the schooner. All but a few were wounded, and yet there had been something defiant about them, something which had raised a cheer from Destiny’s gangways and rigging.

For reasons of his own, Dumaresq had sent Yeames, master’s mate, in command of the prize. It must have been a hard blow for Slade.

Bolitho had been moved when Yeames had approached him before the last boatload had been ferried across. He had always liked the master’s mate, but had thought little beyond that.

Yeames had held out his hand. “You’ll win tomorrow, sir, I’ve no doubt o’ that. But mebbee we’ll not meet again. In case we do, I’ll want you to remember me, as I’d be proud to serve you when you gets your command.”

He had gone away, leaving Bolitho confused and proud. Dumaresq’s resonant voice broke through his thoughts. “We shall clear for action at dawn tomorrow. I shall speak with the people before we close the enemy, but to you especially I give my thanks.”

Macmillan hovered by the screen door until he caught the captain’s eye.

“Mr Timbrell’s respects, sir, an’ will you want to darken ship?”

Dumaresq shook his big head slowly. “Not this time. I want Garrick to see us. To know we are here. His one weakness, apart from greed, is anger. I intend that he shall grow angrier before morning!”

Macmillan opened the door, and gratefully the lieutenants and midshipmen made to withdraw.

Only Palliser remained, and Bolitho guessed he would share the more technical details with the captain without their interruption.

With the door shut once more, Dumaresq turned to his first lieutenant and gestured to a chair.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?”

Palliser sat and thrust out his long legs. For a moment more he kneaded his eyes with his knuckles and then said, “You were right about Egmont, sir. Even after you put him aboard a vessel outwardbound from Basseterre he tried to warn Garrick, or to reason with him. We’ll probably never know. He obviously transferred to a smaller, faster vessel and took the northerly route through the islands to reach here before us. Whatever happened, his words were lost on Garrick.”

He delved into his pocket and withdrew the gold necklace with its double-headed bird and gleaming ruby tails.

“Garrick had them butchered. I took this from one of our prisoners. The seamen I told you about explained the rest to me.”

Dumaresq picked up the heavy necklace and examined it sadly.

“ Murray, he saw it?”

Palliser nodded. “He was wounded. I sent him in the schooner before he could speak with Mr Bolitho.”

Dumaresq walked to the windows again and watched the little schooner turning stern on, her sails as gold as the necklace in his hand.

“That was thoughtful. For what he has said and done, Murray will be discharged when he reaches England. I doubt if his path will ever cross with Mr Bolitho’s again.”

He shrugged. “If it does, the pain will be easier to bear by then.”

“You’ll not tell him, sir? Not let him know that she is dead?”

Dumaresq watched the shadows reaching across the heaving water to cover the schooner’s hull.

“He’ll not hear it from me. Tomorrow we must fight, and I need every officer and man to give all he has. Richard Bolitho has proved himself to be a good lieutenant. If he survives tomorrow, he’ll be an even better one.” Dumaresq raised one of the windows and without further hesitation tossed the necklace into Destiny’s wake. “I’ll leave him with his dream. It’s the very least I can do for him.”

In the wardroom Bolitho sat in a chair, his arms hanging at his sides as the resistance ran out of him like fine sand from a glass. Rhodes sat opposite him, staring at an empty goblet without recognition.

There was still tomorrow. Like the horizon, they never reached it.

Bulkley entered and sat down heavily between them. “I have just been dealing with our stubborn marine.”

Bolitho nodded dully. Colpoys had insisted on staying aboard with his men. Bandaged and strapped up so that he could use only one arm, he had barely the strength to stay on his feet.

Palliser came through the door and tossed his hat on to a gun. For a moment he looked at it, probably seeing it tomorrow with this place stripped bare, the screens gone, the little personal touches shut away from the smoke and fire of battle.

Then he said crisply, “Your watch, I believe, Mr Rhodes? The master cannot be expected to do everything, you know!”

Rhodes lurched to his feet and grinned. “Aye, aye, sir.” Like a man walking in his sleep he left the wardroom.

Bolitho barely heard them. He was thinking of her, using her memory to shield his mind from the sights and deeds of that day.

Then he stood up abruptly and excused himself from the others as he went to the privacy of his cabin. He did not want them to see his dismay. When he had tried to see her face there had been only a blurred image, nothing more.

Bulkley pushed a bottle across the table. “Was it bad?”

Palliser considered it. “It’ll be worse yet.” But he was thinking of the jewelled necklace. On the sea-bed astern now. A private burial.

The surgeon added, “I’m glad about Murray. It’s a small thing in all this misery, but it’s good to know he’s clear of blame.”

Palliser looked away. “I’m going to do my rounds and turn in for a few hours.”

Bulkley sighed. “Likewise. I’d better request to borrow Spillane from clerk’s duties. I shall be short-handed, too.”

Palliser paused in the doorway and regarded him emptily. “You’d best hurry then. He’ll maybe hang tomorrow. Just to stoke Garrick’s anger further. He was his spy. Murray saw him searching old Lockyer’s body at Funchal when it was brought aboard.” Weariness was slurring Palliser’s words. “Spillane guessed, and tried to incriminate him over Jury’s watch. To drive a wedge be-tween fo’c’sle and quarterdeck. It’s been done before.” With sudden bitterness he added, “He’s as much a murderer as Garrick.”

He strode from the wardroom without another word, and when Bulkley turned his head he saw the first lieutenant’s hat was still lying on the gun.

Whatever happened tomorrow, nothing would ever be the same again, he thought, and the realization saddened him greatly.

When darkness finally shut out the horizon and the flattened hill above Fougeaux Island had disappeared, Destiny’s lights still shone on the water like watchful eyes.

OVERNIGHT Fougeaux Island seemed to have shrunk in size, so that when the first faint light filtered down from the horizon it looked little more than a sand-bar across Destiny’s starboard bow.