Alexander Kent - Relentless Pursuit

Galbraith said, "No, sir," and saw the dark, restless eyes return to the old sword.

"After Penzance, where additional orders will be waiting for us, we shall proceed to Gibraltar." He attempted to smile. "Better weather, with good fortune!" But it eluded him.

Galbraith was suddenly tense. No routine orders; they were not rejoining the fleet or one of the local squadrons. He considered all the laid-up ships. What was left of them.

Adam said quietly, " Sierra Leone. I shall receive full instructions when their lordships believe me fit and ready to proceed."

Galbraith waited. Like a burning fuse: that day among the islands, the charges exploding in what might have been a suicide attack, a reckless and ambitious operation. He recalled once more what Cristie had told him. I'll roast in bell before I leave Galbraith to die in their hands!

Sierra Leone. To Galbraith and most other sea officers it meant the slave trade. He could dismiss that idea; Unrivalled was too big and powerful to he wasted on hit-and-miss antislavery patrols. Schooners and brigs were the usual choice.

He was surprised to find that he did not care. The ship, their ship, was to go into service again. They were fully repaired and supplied. And if they could get a few volunteers, they would be ready. A fighting ship once more.

"I would sail her single-handed, sir, just to get away from this graveyard!"

Adam smiled. It was far better to be like Galbraith. He was reminded suddenly of Keen, in that spacious house commanding the sea and the countryside in one unending panorama. Where he himself had walked with Keen's wife Zenoria, for so short a time before her tragic death.

Keen's second wife Gilia had been there this time, and had made him more than welcome, and her pleasure had matched only Keen's pride in the revelation that a child was expected in the spring.

It was obvious that Gilia had never told Valentine Keen what she knew of Adam's love for her predecessor, who had thrown herself from a clifftop after her son by Keen had died.

If Keen suspected, he hid it well. He had confined their conversations to Unrivalled's return to duty, and her performance against the renegade frigate Triton.

Only once, Adam had sensed something, as Keen had remarked on the "fine piece of work" when they had caught and destroyed the big ex-Dutchman. By rescuing Aranmore, the government had been saved the embarrassment of having to parley with the Dey of Algiers for the release of hostages. One glowing report of the chase and action had been sent by Sir Lewis Bazeley, one of the passengers and, it was said, a friend of the prime minister.

Keen's wife had commented, "Bazeley? He has a very pretty young wife, I believe," and Keen had said, "You carried them earlier to Malta, Adam."

An admiral's discretion, or was he still a friend? Once Sir Richard Bolitho's flag captain, and one of his midshipmen. Like me.

Galbraith probably knew or had guessed some of it.

He made up his mind. "I recommended you for a command again, Leigh."

"I did not know, sir."

Adam shrugged. "Someone might take notice." He glanced at the door as Napier opened it with one foot. He had even discarded the squeaky shoes for this special day. "I'll come to the wardroom in an hour."

Galbraith strode from the cabin, and gasped as his head banged against a deckhcad beam as if someone had shouted at him.

The captain needed every trained man that he could get. The second lieutenant was as yet an unknown force; Bellairs had scarcely settled into his rank. The most important officer in the ship to any captain under these circumstances was the first lieutenant, especially one so experienced.

Galbraith rubbed his head and grinned ruefully.

"But he'd have let me go if a ship was offered!"

The marine sentry's eyes moved briefly beneath the brim of his leather hat.

Officers talking aloud to themselves. And they had not even upanchored yet!

He relaxed again. It was something to tell the others.

Galbraith thrust his way into the wardroom and tossed his hat to a messman. They were all looking at him, while pretending to be disinterested.

I will never be of erect a command. He repeated it in his mind. But the envy was gone.

Vice-Admiral Valentine Keen pulled the heavy curtain aside and stared out at the restless waters of the Sound. The sea would be livelier beyond in this steady north-easterly, and it would still be light when Unrivalled cleared the anchorage and found her way into open water. fie thought of the growing ranks of paid-off ships and men. She would be better off at sea. Any sea.

Somewhere in this big house he had heard voices, laughter, people to be entertained, encouraged or held at hay, as circumstances dictated. There were still times when it was almost impossible to accept. He was the youngest vice-admiral since Nelson, with two captains, six lieutenants and a veritable army of clerks and servants to do his bidding, probably more if he raised the matter with the Admiralty.

But like the captain who was uppermost in his thoughts on this cold December afternoon, the final responsibility was his and his alone.

It was to be hoped that Unrivalled's visit to Penzance would bring a few more men forward to be signed on. Men who had possibly imagined that the only life worth living was outside the harsh and demanding world of a King's ship.

He thought of Sir Graham Bethune, who held the same rank as himself. They had both served as midshipmen under Sir Richard Bolitho. Keen had been promoted lieutenant aboard Bolitho's frigate Undine when they had set sail for India and a world unknown to him. Without question or hesitation, like the newly commissioned officer he had seen aboard Unrivalled. His mind fastened on the face and name. Bellairs. He should do well, if Adam Bolitho could put the pain behind him. He had much to live up to. He thought of Penzance, what it might mean to Adam. And much to live down.

The navy would have to change, adapt to this new, uneasy peace and brittle relationship with allies who had been enemies for so long. He felt the wind buffet the windows, but it was warm even in these huge rooms. Warm and safe…

He thought of the countless reports and accounts he had studied since he had become a flag officer. It was still impossible for him to remain uninvolved. Always he had felt himself to be a part of it, fleet action or ship-to-ship like Adam's fight with the renegade Triton. He had defied Rhodes ' orders, but success protected the brave. Sometimes. Admiral Rhodes' attempt to destroy the Dey's batteries had been a costly failure. The capture of hostages would have made future dealings with the Dey impossible.

A fresh attack was already being planned, by a fleet this time, and a horn fighter, Lord Exmouth, had already been selected to command it, if rumour was to be believed. But Rhodes would not forget. Like an evil web. Rhodes ' cousin had died in an asylum, driven mad by the syphilis which had destroyed his chance to be Sir Richard's flag captain in Frohish. er Keen frowned. It had all been buried. Rhodes had seen to that. But he would never forget.

And the admiral whose son had been it midshipman under Adam's first lieutenant during his first and only command… The youth had caused the death of a seaman, and Galbraith had put him ashore to await an enquiry. That too had been buried, and the midshipman appointed to another ship, forgotten. Except by his father. But Galbraith would never get another ship of his own now, unless some miracle happened. He recalled the intensity of Adam's eyes, his plea for Galbraith. As a captain, in these circumstances, would I have done it?

He heard a door open, the rustle of her gown against the furniture, and felt her hand on his arm. So much a part of it. And now there was the child to consider.