Alexander Kent - Stand into Danger

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.