Second to None (31 page)

Napier said quietly, ‘I – I thought I should call you, sir.' He swallowed, perhaps already regretting that he was here. ‘The lady –'

‘Lady Bazeley? What's happened?' His mind was suddenly quite clear. ‘Easy, now. Tell me – take your time.'

The boy stared at him in the swaying light. ‘I heard somethin', sir. I was in the pantry, like you told me.' He stared out into the poop's inner darkness. ‘She were out there, sir. I tried to help, but she wouldn't move. She was sick, sir.'

Adam snatched his boat cloak and said, ‘Show me.'

Once outside the chart room the sound of sea and banging canvas was almost deafening. The deck was streaming with water, shipped each time
Unrivalled
ploughed into the heavy swell.

‘Here, sir!' His voice was full of relief, that he had told his captain, that she was still where he had left her.

She was below the quarterdeck ladder on the leeward side of the upper deck; seamen on watch could have passed without seeing her. She could have fallen against one of the tethered eighteen-pounders, broken a rib or her skull. It happened even to experienced sailors.

Adam crouched under the ladder and gathered her into a sitting position. She felt very light in his arms, her hair hiding her face, her feet pale in the darkness. She was wet to the skin and her body was like ice.

‘Cloak,
here
!' He held her again, feeling her shivering, with cold or nausea, it could be either.

He dragged the cloak round her shoulders, wrapping it with great care as more spray rattled against the ladder and drenched his shirt. He felt her body contract in another spasm and saw Napier with a sand bucket under the ladder.

‘Easy, easy!' He did not realise he had spoken aloud. ‘I'll bring some help.'

She seemed to understand then what he had said. Who he was. She tried to turn, to struggle round, one hand pushing the hair from her face. As he restrained her he felt the coldness of her skin. She was naked under the dripping gown.

She gasped, ‘No.' But when he pulled away she shook her head and said, ‘No! Don't go.'

He said, ‘Get someone, fast!' But Napier had already disappeared.

Slowly and carefully, he began to drag the girl from beneath the ladder. At any second now someone would come, perhaps call Massie, who was in charge of the watch. And then Bazeley.

She lolled against him and he felt her grip his hand, pulling it against her, across her. She would remember none of it. The rest did not matter.

He felt someone kneel beside him, caught the rich tang of rum. It was Jago, the boy Napier hovering behind him like a nervous ghost.

Jago said between his teeth, ‘Trouble, sir?' He did not wait for or seem to expect a reply. ‘All women is trouble!'

They guided and half-carried her into the poop again, the sounds becoming muffled, insignificant.

The wardroom door was closed, and there was no sentry at the cabin screen. Jago muttered, ‘Just to be on the safe side, sir.'

They found the woman Hilda in a state of anxiety and disbelief.

Adam said, ‘Dry her, and get her body warm again. D' you know what to do?'

She took the girl in her arms and led her to the couch which had been prepared in the sleeping cabin. There was no sign of Bazeley, nor were his clothes anywhere to be seen.

She said, ‘Too much wine. I tried to warn her.' She combed the wet hair from the girl's face with her fingers. ‘You should go now. I can manage.' She called after them, ‘Thank you, Captain!'

Outside, it was as if nothing had happened. The sentry had reappeared at the screen, but stood aside as they passed. A ship's boy was climbing the companion ladder, carrying a tarpaulin coat for one of the watchkeepers.

Adam stared at the deckhead, measuring the sounds of rigging and canvas. They would have to take in a reef if the wind did not cease.

‘In for a squall.' He had spoken aloud, unconsciously.

Jago thought of the girl sprawled on the couch, the gown plastered to her body, hiding nothing.

Half to himself, he murmured, ‘It'll be a bloody hurricane if this little lot gets out!'

Adam reached the chart room and paused. ‘Thank you.' But Jago was already melting into the darkness.

He closed the door and stared at the chart, and then down at his shirt and breeches, dark with spray and probably vomit, still feeling the fingers, cold on his wrist where she had pressed his hand against her. She would not remember. And if she did, her shame and disgust would soon change to affront and worse.

He heard footsteps clattering on a ladder: the midshipman of the watch coming to tell his captain that the wind was rising, or it had veered, or it was lessening.
And I shall deal with it
.

He sat on the mattress and waited. But this time the footsteps scurried past.

He lay back and stared at the lantern. And just as they had left the great cabin he had heard the woman Hilda speaking quietly, firmly.

Lifeline or death wish, it no longer seemed to matter.

Her name was Rozanne.

Tomorrow, today, it would be all through the ship. And yet, he knew it would not.

A dream then, soon over, and best forgotten.

When Galbraith came aft to relieve the middle watch, he found his captain fast asleep.

The echoes of the gun salute rolled across the crowded harbour
like dying thunder, the smoke barely moving while
Unrivalled
crept to her allotted anchorage preceded by the guardboat, and let go.

Adam Bolitho tugged at his shirt beneath the heavy dress coat and watched the pale buildings of Malta's shoreline shimmering in haze like a mirage. How different from the brusque and fickle winds on their passage from the Rock, and the exhilaration of changing tack in time to outwit every trick.

And then, almost becalmed, they had crawled the last miles to this anchorage, with courses and topsails all but flat against the rigging.

The guardboat was pulling for the shore now, to warn Bethune of his visitors, he thought. Bethune was welcome to this part of it.

He walked to the opposite side of the quarterdeck and saw a few traders already idling nearby, holding up their wares, probably the very same oddments they had offered
Unrivalled
on her first visit here.

Chests and baggage were already being hauled on deck, and cargo nets were laid out in readiness to lower them into the boats. Partridge and his men were swarming around the boat-tier, doubtless speculating on their chances of getting ashore, being free from routine and discipline, perhaps to lose themselves in some of the island's more dubious attractions.

He saw the cabin skylight open and remain so. Lady Bazeley would soon be leaving. He could see it now as it was, in its true perspective, as he might assess the evidence of some offender brought before him for sentence. He had scarcely seen her since that first night. She had been on deck once or twice, but always with the woman Hilda, and once the surgeon, for company.

She had remained for the most part in the great cabin, and had had all her meals sent there. Napier confided that very little had been eaten.

Their eyes had met only once, when he had been standing by the foremast discussing some final repairs with Blane, the carpenter. She had seemed about to raise her hand to him, but had used it instead to adjust the brim of her hat.

Bazeley had spoken to him hardly at all, and then only on matters relating to their progress, the ship's time of arrival,
and aspects of her routine. He had made no mention at all of his wife's behaviour, or her illness. Galbraith had solved one mystery. Bazeley had been drinking with some of his companions in the warrant officers' mess when she had left the cabin in her night attire, apparently the worse for drink.

Whenever Bazeley did mention her it was as though he were speaking of a possession. Like the hand on her shoulder that night at the table, it was deliberate. He could not imagine Bazeley doing anything on a whim.

He moved into a patch of shade, angry at himself. Like some moonstruck midshipman . . . It was unlikely that they would ever meet again, and it was just as well. He had been mad even to think about it. And it was dangerous.

Bellairs called, ‘They're about to leave, I think, sir.'

Adam watched her stepping through the companion hatch; she even did that gracefully, in spite of her gown. For a moment she stood alone by the untended wheel, looking around, at the men working on deck and up in the yards, and then towards the land, veiled in its dusty heat. And then, finally, at him.

Adam crossed the deck and removed his hat. ‘I hope you are feeling well, m' lady?'

He saw her eyes flash. Then she said, ‘Better. Much better. Thank you, Captain.'

He relaxed a little. Either she did not remember, or she wanted only to forget.

She said, ‘So this is Malta. A place worth fighting and dying for, I'm told.' There was no contempt or sarcasm; if anything, it was resignation.

‘Shall you be here long, m' lady?' A voice seemed to warn him.
Stop now
.

‘Who can tell?' She looked at him directly, her eyes changing again. Like the sea, he thought. ‘And you, Captain? Some other port, perhaps? Some new adventure?' She tossed her head, impatient with the game. ‘Some adoring woman?'

Galbraith called, ‘Sir Lewis insists that our boats will not be required, sir.'

Adam stared at the shore, and saw several boats pulling smartly towards them. Bazeley was obviously a man of influence. Even Vice-Admiral Bethune was apparently eager to make his acquaintance.

Galbraith strode away to rearrange his preparations for the passengers' departure, and Adam said, almost to himself, ‘I have learned that gratitude in a woman can be harmful. To
her,
m' lady.' He saw the sudden uncertainty on her face. ‘I had hoped to escort you ashore.' He smiled. ‘Another time, maybe.'

Bazeley was here now, calling over his shoulder to one man, beckoning impatiently to another.

He said, ‘We take our leave, Captain. Perhaps one day –' And swung round again. ‘Be careful with that, you clumsy oaf!'

It was then that she thrust out her hand, and said softly, ‘Thank you, Captain Bolitho. You will know what for. It is something we will share with no one.'

He kissed her hand, feeling her eyes on him, and imagining that her fingers closed very slightly around his own.

A bosun's chair was already rigged, and she allowed herself to be settled in it, her gown protected from grease and tar by a canvas apron.

‘Hoist away, ‘
andsomely
!'

Every unemployed hand turned to watch as she was hoisted and then guyed out with great care to be lowered into a waiting boat. Bethune had even sent his flag lieutenant to assist.

Bazeley glanced around, patting his pockets as if to be sure he had left nothing personal below.

Adam thought of the mattresses and bedding strewn across the sleeping cabin. Where they had lain together. Where Bazeley had taken and used her like a plaything.

Bazeley said, ‘Good sailing, Captain.' He glanced briefly at his wife in the boat alongside. ‘I was told you were reckless.' He held up one hand. ‘You get results, that's all important in my view!' Then he laughed, and Adam saw her look up, shading her eyes. ‘But you know caution when you see it, eh? And that's no bad thing, either!'

Adam watched the boat bearing off, and said, ‘I shall be going ashore in one hour, Mr Galbraith.' He sensed the unspoken question, and added flatly, ‘To see the admiral. Perhaps we may be given something useful to do!'

Galbraith watched him walk to the companion way before picking up the duty midshipman's telescope.

Sunlight on her cream-coloured gown, a scarlet ribbon on
her wide-brimmed hat which matched the other one in her hair. All compressed into one small, silent picture. There could be nothing between them. How could there be? But today, she had dressed with obvious care, and he had seen her expression when the captain had pressed his lips to her hand.

Wynter had told him what he knew of Sir Lewis Bazeley. A man who had forced himself to the top, offering and no doubt receiving favours on the way. People less accustomed to deception might describe them as bribes, but one thing was certain: he would be a ruthless man to cross. Galbraith had lost his own command because of another's malignant influence and dislike.
Unrivalled
was his only chance of obtaining another.

He smiled grimly. And yet, all he could feel for Adam Bolitho was envy.

Below in the great cabin, Adam looked around; the place was suddenly spacious and bare again, the quarter gallery open as if to clear away the last vestige of their presence here. The bedding had vanished, his own cot was in its place. No wonder she had played with him, when all the time . . .

He saw his boat cloak hanging from the deckhead, where it was never kept. He took it down and folded the collar. The entire garment had been sponged and cleaned, the stains from that night gone completely. He felt inside the deep pocket, although he did not know why.

It was a small, sealed paper. He carried it to the quarter gallery and opened it.

There was no note. But there was a lock of her hair, tied with a piece of scarlet ribbon.

VICE-ADMIRAL SIR GRAHAM BETHUNE
pushed some of the unopened despatches to one side and got up from the ornate desk.

‘Deal with these, Grimes. My head is too full for much more at present.'

He felt the clerk's eyes following him to the window, which looked across the small, sun-drenched courtyard.

The day had started badly with the guardboat's officer reporting that
Unrivalled
's arrival meant more than simply the delivery of despatches or letters – there were visitors to accommodate and entertain. Bethune felt the same resentment returning as he heard a woman's voice, and saw the gleam of colour from the opposite balcony. His flag lieutenant had insisted that that particular room was the obvious choice for guests who had come with the full blessing of the government and the lords of the Admiralty. He could hear Bazeley's voice too, loud, demanding, authoritative. Full of himself.