Alexander Kent - Heart of Oak

He had never known such a welcome. They had even given him his own room, which looked out across fields. You "we seen quite enough of the sea for a while, my lad! Except when he slept, and the stark, flaming nightmare came back. He had not served in Audacity long enough to know many of her people, but, as always, her captain stood out.

Twenty-eight years old, "the same age as my ship', he had said.

A good officer, with a quick eye for efficiency or otherwise, but never preoccupied or too superior to offer advice or solve some problem. They had died together.

And now Captain Bolitho was going to the church with the girl with the long dark hair. Beautiful… He could not have put it into words, or told any one. That first night in the room, she had come to him, soothed him as she might have calmed a child, driving away the shame he had felt as he had awakened screaming from a ship exploding, masts falling in flames like broken wings.

She had whispered, "I understand. "And backed away, her last words lingering. "I understand. Our secret."

Napier had been there when the captain had arrived home, had stood and watched with all the others and seen him reach out for her. She had looked directly at the midshipman.

Perhaps in some strange way, they had helped one another. Our secret.

Jago was saying, "You'll have to look yer best, see. There's to be some sort of Up Spirits for all hands tonight."

Jago never used his name, and had only called him "mister" in front of others on the long passage from Antigua to Plymouth. Was the barrier, the old resentment, still lying in wait? "What will you do?"

He shrugged. "Oh, me an' old Dan Yovell will likely have a glass or two. Mrs. Ferguson, "a slight hesitation, "Grace'll serve up somethin "extra grand just for us."

It needed no words. They had only met Bryan Ferguson a few times, in welcome or farewell. Always here. He thought of Audacity's captain, and the others he had seen put over the side. At least Grace had been with her man almost to the very end.

In his mind he saw the girl with the long dark hair. She would be a sailor's wife. Would she be comparing their lives? He heard Yoveil's voice and that of some one else, and a horse being led across the cobbles.

The door banged open, the air bitter.

The newcomer was tall, erect, authoritative. Napier recalled seeing him once or twice before. Not young, but one who took care of his appearance.

"God, it's like a bakehouse in here! "He laughed. "Sorry to disturb you!"

Yovell closed the door quietly and padded to the desk. "This is Mr. Flinders, from the Roxby estate. We lend one another a hand from time to time. "He frowned slightly, allowing the gold spectacles to drop on to his nose. "This shouldn't take long."

Flinders glanced at the hair clippings around the chair.

"Not very ship-shape, I'd say! "He laughed again, too loudly.

"Don't this lad have work to do?"

Yovell opened his mouth but said nothing as Jago reached over to pick up the jacket, and held it across Napier's shoulders.

"Why don't you ask him?"

Flinders stared at Jago and then at the white patches.

"Of courseЦ sir. I was forgettingЦ so much on my mind at present. "Like magic, Napier thought; the strong teeth, the grin, was back.

Yovell pursed his lips.

"I have the details of the slate delivery. We can save money, by my estimation."

Flinders bobbed his head. "Course. Good thinking. There are bound to be changes on both estates. I shall always be on hand to help if I'm needed."

He looked at Jago. "You're Captain Bolitho's man, right?"

Jago seemed to relax.

"His cox'n. Right?"

Flinders peered out of the window as a horse was led back across the stable yard.

"I must go, er, Daniel. Thought I should come by. You'll need all the help you can get with a new lady in the house. "He ducked his head to Napier. "And good day to you, young sir."

He turned his back on Jago and strode out of the office.

Jago breathed out slowly.

"Wouldn't trust that one within half a cable of a woman I cared about! "He shook his head at Yovell as if he might dispute it. "Ashore or afloat. His sort's always the same when women are on hand. Like a rat up a pump!"

Yovell looked meaningly at Napier and made a point of shuffling his papers.

"You've made an enemy of that one, Luke. But you already know that."

Jago touched the midshipman's jacket again.

"Let's go an' test that leg o "yours. We need some fresh air anyways after that little lot!"

Napier looked back from the door and found Yoveil's eyes on him, a fresh quill neatly grasped in his teeth, outwardly shocked by Jago's crude comment. Disapproving.

But he winked.

They stood side by side, very aware of the silence, the only sound their steps in the aisle as they walked from the main doorway. The sky had cleared during the morning, right across the bay. So bright that here in the chill of the parish church of King Charles the Martyr it took time to distinguish shadow from substance. Light filtered from the arched windows and reflected on the ranks of pews, and burnished the great cross and candlesticks on the high altar.

In one of the chapels faded banners and flags were on display, mementoes of old ships and the men who had fought them. Lowenna had told him of the time she had been here with Nancy and by chance they had met Thomas Herrick, his uncle's oldest friend. What twist of fate had brought them together?

And the pew where Lowenna had been sitting on that other day, their hands daring to touch, with no one to warn or discourage. When they had driven back to the old house, and his recall to duty had been waiting.

And the day when this same church had been packed to overflowing, to remember and to mourn Falmouth's most famous son, Sir Richard Bolitho. The flags had been dipped, while out at her anchorage the frigate Unrivalled… my ship… had fired a salute. Catherine had been beside him.

Adam touched her hand and felt her pull off the glove, her fingers warm and responsive. No words. Because they had been together so little, some would say. Or maybe there were none adequate for this moment.

Then he turned and looked at her, her hair catching the colours of the light from the stained glass, her dark eyes still in shadow. He heard the rustle of paper, a muffled cough. This great church, so much a part of Falmouth, was never empty.

Just a few anonymous shapes, bowed heads seeking some peace, or respite from everyday events. From life itself.

She was dressed in pale grey today, a soft, loose gown, reminding him of their first meeting. Doubt, uncertainty; perhaps they had both been afraid.

He said, "I love you, Lowenna."

Her fingers moved in his. "Are we truly here?"

Only a whisper, but one of the bowed heads lifted and cleared its throat.

"So much I want to say…"

Somewhere overhead, in another world, a clock began to chime.

Suppose something goes wrong? She might still change her mind.

They had scarcely been alone together. So many things to be done, and for the sake of appearances, as Nancy had said. She had made light of it, but she meant it.

Lowenna would be thinking about it, with so many reminders of the past on every hand. Famous names, great events, proud as well as tragic, but always the inevitable sadness.

He thought of all the ships he had known. Each one had taken a part of him, and remained a part of him. What would she have? Glances, rumours? Like a cutlass on the stone, every version of the story would sharpen with retelling. He reached out and held her shoulders, so that they faced each other. He felt resistance, uncertainty, but before he could speak she whispered, "Take me, Adam. I don't care.

They both turned as the voice boomed out of nowhere, like an echo.