Honour This Day (17 page)

On the other side of the pantry door Ozzard withdrew his ear from the shutter and nodded very slowly.

He was suddenly grateful he had discovered the fan.

Bolitho barely noticed anything as he strode through the shadows to leave the harbour behind him. Only once he paused to regain his breath, and to try and test his feelings and the depth of his actions. He watched the anchored ships, their open gun-ports glittering across the even swell, the heavier, darker shape of the captured
Ciudad de Sevilla.
What would become of her? Would she be commandeered or sold to some wealthy merchant company, or even offered in trade to the Spaniards in an attempt to recover
Consort?
The latter was unlikely. The Dons would be humiliated enough at losing the treasure-ship and having another destroyed under their own fortress without adding to it.

When he arrived at the white walls of the house he paused again, conscious of his heart against his ribs, of the realisation that he had no plan in mind. Perhaps she would not even see him?

He walked up the carriage-drive and entered the main door, which was open to tempt any sea-breeze into the house. A sleeping servant, curled in a tall wicker chair by the entrance, did not even stir as Bolitho passed.

He stood in the pillared hall, staring at the shadows, some heavy tapestry glowing in the light from two candelabra. It was very still, and there seemed to be no air at all.

Bolitho saw a handbell on a carved chest by another door and played with the idea of ringing it. In that last fight aboard the treasure-ship, death had been a close companion, but it was no stranger to him. He had felt no fear at all, not even afterwards. He gripped his sword tightly. Where was that courage now that he really needed it?

Maybe Glassport had been mistaken and she had gone from here, overland this time to St John's. She had friends there. He recalled Jenour's anxiety, Allday's watchful silence as the barge had carried him to the jetty. Some Royal Marines on picket duty had scrambled into a semblance of attention as they realised that the vice-admiral had come ashore without a word of warning.

Allday had said, “I shall wait, Sir Richard.”

“No. I can call for a boat when I need one.”

Allday had watched him leave. Bolitho wondered what he thought about it. Probably much the same as Jenour.

“Who is that?”

Bolitho turned and saw her on the curved stairway, framed against another dark tapestry. She wore a loose, pale gown, and was standing very still, a hand on the rail, the other concealed in the gown.

Then she exclaimed, “You! I—I did not know—”

She made no move to come down and Bolitho walked slowly up the stairway towards her.

He said, “I have just heard. I believed you gone.” He paused with one foot on the next step, afraid she would turn away. “The Indiaman sailed without you.” He was careful not to mention Somervell by name. “I could not bear to think of you here. Alone.”

She turned and he realised that she was holding a pistol.

He said, “Give it to me.” He moved closer and held out his hand. “Please, Kate.”

He took it from her fingers and realised it was cocked, ready to fire. He said quietly, “You are safe now.”

She said, “Come to the drawing room.” She might have shivered. “There is more light.”

Bolitho followed her and waited for her to close the door behind them. It was a pleasant enough room, although nothing looked personal; it was occupied too often by visitors, strangers.

Bolitho laid the pistol on a table and watched her draw shutters across the window, where some moths were tapping against the glass, seeking the light.

She did not look at him. “Sit there, Richard.” She shook her head vaguely. “I was resting. I must do something to my hair.” Then she did turn to study him, a lingering, searching glance, as if she was seeking an answer to some unspoken question.

She said, “I knew he would not wait. He took his mission very seriously. Put it above all else. It was my fault. I knew the matter was so dear to him, so urgent once you had made the plan into reality. I should not have gone in the schooner.” She repeated slowly, “I knew he would not wait.”

“Why did you do it?”

She looked away and he saw her hand touch the handle on the other door, which was in deep shadow, away from the lights.

She replied, “I felt like it.”

“You might have been killed, and then—”

She swung round, only her eyes flashing in the shadows. “And
then?
”

She tossed her head with something like anger. “Did you ask yourself that question too when you went after the
Ciudad de Sevilla?
” The ship's name seemed to intrude like a person. It had rolled so easily off her tongue, a cruel reminder that she had been married to a Spaniard. She continued, “Someone of
your
value and rank, you of all people must have realised that you were taking a terrible risk? You knew that, I can see it on your face—must have known that any junior captain could have been sent, just as you once seized the ship I was aboard, when I first laid eyes on you!”

Bolitho was on his feet and for several seconds they stared at each other, both hurt and vulnerable because of it.

She said abruptly, “Do not leave.” Then she vanished through the other door although Bolitho did not even see it open and close.

What had he expected?
He was a fool, and looking a worse one. He had harmed her enough, too much.

Her voice came from beyond. “I have put down my hair.” She waited until he faced the door. “It is not quite right yet. Yesterday and today I walked along the foreshore. The salt air is cruel to vain women.”

Bolitho watched the long, pale gown. In the deep shadows she appeared to be floating like a ghost.

She said, “You once gave me a ribbon for it, remember? I have tied it around my hair.” She shook her head so that one shoulder vanished in shadow, which Bolitho knew was her long dark hair.

“Do you see it, or had you forgotten that?”

He replied quietly. “Never. You liked green so much. I had to get it for you—” He broke off as she put out her arms and ran towards him. It seemed to happen in a second. One moment she was there, pale against the other door, and the next she was pressed against him, her voice muffled while she clutched his shoulders as if to control her sudden despair.

She exclaimed, “Look at me! In God's name, Richard, I
lied
to you, don't you see?”

Bolitho took her in his arms and pressed his cheek into her hair. It was not the ribbon he had bought in London from the old lady selling lace. This one was bright blue.

She ran her hand up to his neck and then laid it against his face. When she raised her eyes he saw that they were filled with emotion, pity.

She whispered, “I didn't
know,
Richard. Then, before you sailed with the convoy, I—I heard something about it—how you—” She held his face between her hands now. “Oh, dearest of men, I had to be sure, to know!”

Bolitho pulled her closer so that he could hide his face above her shoulder. It must have been Allday. Only he would take the risk.

He heard her whisper, “How bad is it?”

He said, “I have grown used to it. Just sometimes it fails me. Like the moment you stood there in the shadows.” He tried to smile. “I was never able to outwit you.”

She leaned back in his arms and studied him. “And the time you came to the reception here, when you almost fell on the stair. I should have known, ought to have understood!”

He watched the emotions crossing her face. She was tall and he was very aware of her nearness, of the trick which had misfired.

He said, “I will leave if you wish.”

She slipped her hand through his arm. She was thinking aloud as they walked around the room, like lovers in a quiet park.

“There are people who must be able to help.”

He pressed her wrist to his side. “They say not.”

She turned him towards her. “We will
go on trying.
There is always hope.”

Bolitho said, “To know that you care so much means everything.” He half-expected her to stop him but she remained quite still, her hands in his, so that their linked shadows appeared to be dancing across the walls.

“Now that we are together I never want to lose you. It must sound like madness, the babbling of some besotted youth.” The words were flooding out of him and she seemed to know how he needed to speak. “I thought my life was in ruins, and knew that I had done a terrible harm to yours.” Then she made to speak but he shook her hands in his. “No, it is all true. I was in love with a ghost. The realisation ripped me apart. Someone suggested I had a death-wish.”

She nodded slowly. “I can guess who that was.” She met his gaze steadily, without fear. “Do you really understand what you are saying, Richard? How high the stakes may be?”

He nodded. “Even greater for you, Kate. I remember what you said about Nelson's infatuation.”

She smiled for the first time. “To be called a whore is one thing; to be one is something very different.”

He gripped her hands even tighter. “There are so many things—”

She twisted from his grip. “They must wait.” Her eyes were very bright. “We cannot.”

He said quietly, “Call me what you did just now.”

“Dearest of men?” She pulled the ribbon from her hair and shook it loose across her shoulder. “Whatever I have been or done, Richard, you have always been that to me.” She looked at him searchingly. “Do you want me?”

He reached for her but she stepped away. “You have answered me.” She gestured towards the other door. “I need just a moment,
alone.
”

Without her the room seemed alien and hostile. Bolitho removed his coat and sword, and as an afterthought slid the latch on the door. His glance fell on the pistol and he uncocked it, seeing her face when she had discovered him. Knowing that she would have fired at the first hint of danger.

Then he walked to the door and opened it, the shadows and the fears forgotten as he saw her sitting on the bed, her hair shining in the candlelight.

She smiled at him, her knees drawn up to her chin like a child.

“So the proud vice-admiral has gone, and my daring captain has come in his place.”

Bolitho sat beside her, and then eased her shoulders down onto the bed.

She wore a long robe of ivory silk, tied beneath her throat by a thin ribbon. She watched him, his eyes as they explored her body, remembering perhaps how it had once been.

Then she took his hand and pulled it to her breast, tightening his fingers until he thought he must hurt her.

She whispered, “Take me, Richard.” Then she shook her head very slowly. “I know what you fear now, but I tell you, it is not out of pity, it is from the love I have never given to another man.”

She thrust her hands out on either side like one crucified and watched as he untied the ribbon and began to remove the robe.

Bolitho could feel the blood rushing through his brain; while he too felt momentarily like an onlooker as he bared her breasts and her arms until she was naked to the waist.

He gasped, “Who did this to you?”

Her right shoulder was cruelly discoloured, one of the worst bruises he had ever seen.

But she reached up with one hand and dragged his mouth down to hers, her breathing as wild as his own.

She whispered, “A Brown Bess has a fearsome kick, like a mule!”

She must have been firing a musket when the pirates had attacked the schooner. Like the pistol.

The kiss was endless. It was like sharing everything in a moment. Clinging to it, never wanting it to finish, but unable to hold on for a minute longer.

He heard her cry out as he threw the robe on the floor, saw her fists clench as he touched her, then covered her in his hand as if to prolong the need they had for each other.