Alexander Kent - The Darkening Sea

She stared at him. "You intend to quit? To abandon the life you have always known?"

He smiled slowly, and afterwards she thought it had been like seeing the real man emerge. The one she had loved and almost lost, the man she shared with none other.

"I want to be with you, Catherine. It will be a new navy when the war ends, with younger officers like Adam to improve the sailor's lot." He smiled again. "Like Allday's song that day,

"to keep watch for the life of Poor Jack". Our men have earned that reward at least, a thousand times over."

Later they stood by the open doors, so that she could see the orchard and the hillside, with the rich display of roses she had planted for his return.

Bolitho said quietly, There is a moment in every sailor's life." He looked for the first time at the sea, its hard horizon like a steel blade. "I think brave Nelson knew it, even before he walked the deck that day off Cape Trafalgar." He turned and looked at her. "I am not ready, dear Kate. Fate alone will decide, not the Hamett-Parkers of this world."

They heard the clatter of a post-horse leaving the stableyafd, carrying his brief reply to the lords of Admiralty.

He smiled and held her waist more tightly. So be it then.

It took Bolitho and Catherine all of six days to make the long journey to London. Using their carriage, and with a regular change of horses, they could have done it in less. But the Admiralty had named no particular date for his interview and had merely suggested 'at your earliest convenience'. Flag rank had its privileges after all.

With Matthew the senior coachman up on the box and Allday at his side, they had drawn many stares and quite a few cheers from passers-by and farm workers as they had clattered along the cobbled streets of towns and villages, or churned up the dust of twisting lanes and the King's highway.

When they stopped at inns, either for the night or for some refreshment, it became common for people to crowd around them to wish them well, some timidly, others less so, as if they wanted to be part of the legend,

As expected, Allday had been adamant about not staying in Falmouth. "Suppose you gets ordered to a new command, Sir Richard? What would they think o' that?" Who they were he did not specify. "Vice-Admiral o' the Red, Knight of th' Bath no less, and yet he's without his coxswain! "

Bolitho had pointed out that Ozzard and Yovell would be remaining at Falmouth until the situation was more definite, and Allday had been as scornful as he dared. "A servant an' a quill-pusher! The likes o' them would never be missed! " But Catherine had told him that Allday needed to get away, if only to ponder on his new undertaking.

Sometimes Catherine slept, her head on his lap as trees and churches, fields and farms rolled past. Once she clutched his arm, her eyes suddenly wide but seeing nothing, as she lived through a bad dream or worse.

While she slept, Bolitho considered what might await him. Perhaps there would be no familiar faces this time; no ships the names of which conjured up violent memories, or friends lost now forever.

Perhaps he might be sent to hoist his flag in the Mediterranean and so relieve Vice-Admiral Lord Collingwood, Nelson's dearest friend and his second-in-command at Trafalgar. It was well-known that Collingwood was a sick man, some said already on the threshold of death. He had not spared himself, nor had he been spared by the Admiralty, and he had been at sea almost continuously since the battle when Nelson had fallen, to be mourned by the whole country. Collingwood had even overcome his pride enough to plead to be released from command in the Mediterranean, but Bolitho had heard nothing of their lordships' response.

He thought of Catherine's suggestion concerning duty ashore and was almost surprised that he did not regret his decision to quit the sea, nor that he had shared his determination with her. The sea would always be there, and there would always be wars: the Bolitho family had shown their mettle in enough of them in the past, and there was no reason why greed and the search for power should not continue.

He stroked her hair and her neck until she stirred slightly in her sleep, recalling the love they had shared, even on the endless journey from Cornwall. Beaming landlords, curtsying maids, waving customers: it had all blurred together now. Only the nights were real. Their need for one another, and other nights when they had merely lain close, in silence, or shared the cool of an evening at some window in a sleeping village, or a town where wheels rattled through the night and a church clock kept a count of the hours.

Once, when he had confessed how much he was dreading leaving her, she had faced him in the darkness, her long hair loose about her bare shoulders.

"I love you, Richard, more than life itself, for without you there is no life. But after what we endured in Golden Plover we can always be together. Wherever you are I shall be with you, and when you need me I will hear your voice." She had taken his face in her hands and had said, "You are so many things to me, dearest of men. You are my hand in yours; you are one so unsure sometimes that you cannot see the love others hold for you. You are my lover as I am your mistress, or whatever they choose to call me. And you are also a friend, one I can turn to without fear of rebuff. I would not have you change, nor would I try to change you. But if others attempt to harm you or to force us apart, then…"

He had held her very close and had murmured into her hair, "Then my tiger will show her claws! "

It was dusk when they finally approached the Thames, not far from the tavern where Bolitho had met secretly with Herrick before his court-martial to ask if he might act in his defence. Herrick's refusal had been like a door slammed in his face. Last year, and yet it seemed so long ago. Over the great bridge with the gleam of black water below where ships lay moored like shadows, yards crossed and sails tightly furled, waiting for the next tide perhaps, when they would quit the Pool of London and spread their wings for the open sea and maybe the vast oceans beyond. The lifeblood of commerce and survival, envied and hated by others in equal proportions. The navy was stretched to the limit and could barely maintain the blockade of the enemy's ports and the convoy of vital shipping, but every master down there in those drowsing vessels would expect their protection, and it was right they should have it.

There were a few lights at the water's edge, wherry men plying for hire as they would throughout the night. Young bloods coming and going from their gambling and their women, and across the river to the pleasure gardens where Catherine had taken him to show him part of her London, of which he knew so little.

Eventually the river ran closer to the road and the horses trotted into the tree-lined street called Cheyne Walk.

Bolitho climbed down, stiff from so many miles, glad there were no curious onlookers this time. Her tall, narrow house with its iron balcony and the room which faced the river had become their other haven. Here people minded their own affairs, and showed no surprise at those who owned or rented such property. General or pauper, artist or mistress, there was privacy here for all.

Sophie, Catherine's half-Spanish maid, had been sent on a day ahead, and had prepared the place and the housekeeper for their arrival.

Allday helped Catherine down from the carriage and said quietly, "Don't you fret for me, m'lady. I'm just thinking it all out."

She smiled at him. "I never doubted it." She turned away. "And that's no error either! "

Bolitho touched his arm. "Strike now, old friend, the battle's already lost! "

Later they stood on the small iron balcony and watched night closing over the city. The glass doors were wide open so that the air from the river was quite cool, but the housekeeper had with the best intentions lit fires in every hearth to drive out the damp in the unused rooms. Catherine shivered as he put his arm around her and kissed one bare shoulder. Together they watched two lurching soldiers, probably officers from the barracks, as they made their way unsteadily back to their quarters. A flower girl was going past, a huge empty basket on her shoulder. It was likely she would be up and about to gather her wares long before sun-up.