Signal Close Action (33 page)

Herrick had visited
Lysander
several times, without being invited, to discover what Farquhar intended to do. As always, he was met by a blank wall, a manner and attitude which rarely failed to rouse and confuse him. Farquhar was imperturbable. If he was troubled at Bolitho's absence, he was certainly hiding it very well.

His visits to his old ship had been made more painful by the obvious pleasure of those who had hurried to greet him. Leroux, and old Grubb, and Yeo, the boatswain. In Gilchrist he had seen the biggest change of all since Farquhar's taking command. Like a man on a razor's edge, someone who rarely found time to rest or be at ease, he was almost a stranger.

Quite unlike
Osiris's
first lieutenant, he thought bitterly. Lieutenant Cecil Outhwaite, a bland young man in his middle twenties, was very like a frog in appearance. Low forehead, wide mouth, and eyes which were very dark and limpid. He had a slight lisp, and went about his duties as if bored by the whole business. Outhwaite, like Farquhar, came of a powerful family, and why he ever became a sea officer was beyond Herrick completely.

But then the two ships were totally unlike each other also. Off watch in
Lysander,
the seamen had skylarked and found time to joke about their lot under all but the most harsh circumstances. In this ship there was no such feeling. Like Outhwaite, the sailors went about their work cat-footed, and when below were as silent as monks.

Herrick had tried to ease this unnerving tension aside, but as with
Osiris's
last captain, he was met at every level by an unbreachable wall. Farquhar had run the ship to the highest point of efficiency, cleanliness and appearance. For the people who made all that possible he had allowed nothing.

And yet some, especially Outhwaite, showed a ready respect for him. 'He don't tolerate fools, y'know.' The froglike face had watched him curiously. 'An' he's a damn quick temper for the scoundrels, too!'

The officer of the watch snapped, 'Ship rounding the point!' He saw Herrick and added harshly, 'Take the lookout's name for not reporting sooner!'

Herrick snatched a glass and hurried to the nettings. For a while longer the newcomer's topsails were riding lifelessly above a drifting curtain of haze, and then as her jib boom and beakhead thrust into view Herrick knew she was the sloop of war
Harebell.

He pounded one fist into the other, his eyes misting with strain.
At
last.
Her commander, Francis Inch, would do anything for Bolitho. And his little sloop was even better suited for looking for him.

'Ah, sir, I see you have sighted her.' Outhwaite joined him by the rail, his hat tilted rakishly over his eyes.

He was an odd bird, Herrick thought. He wore his dull brown hair in a queue so long that the end of it was level with his sword belt. When most sea officers followed the new army custom of wearing their hair shorter, Outhwaite apparently intended to retain his grip on the past.

'Harebell’

Herrick watched the sudden activity aboard
Lysander,
the signal flapping listlessly from her yards. Farquhar would want to know what was happening elsewhere, and as quickly as it took Inch's gig to cross the water.

'Harebell's
dro
pped her hook, sir.' Outh
waite showed only mild interest. 'She's too soon back from her mission to have visited England. So we'll not know how things are in London, eh?'

Herrick did not know what
things
in London were, nor did he care.

'I'm going below, Mr. Outhwaite. Call me the moment that
Lysander
signals for captains to repair aboard.' 'Aye, sir.'

Outhwaite smiled and touched his hat. He felt an unusual admiration for Captain Herrick. Rather like his father did for a rustic gamekeeper or groom.
Reliable
but
quaint.
The way he was so obviously worried about the commodore's disappearance, for instance. Outhwaite could not imagine what sort of experiences and dangers they must have shared in the past to create such a bond. A bond which even Bolitho's action about a change of commands had not diminished.

He watched the boat pulling away from
Harebell
towards the flagship, Inch's gold-laced hat in the sternsheets. Somewhat different from Charles Farquhaf, he thought. He looked on one man's loss as an opening for his own gain. Outhwaite nodded.
As
it
should
be.

But for most of the afternoon, while Herrick sat or paced restlessly in Farquhar's beautifully equipped cabin, no signal came, nor any rumour of what
Harebell
had carried with her to Syracuse.

With a telescope he had examined the sloop more than once through the quarter gallery, and had seen the great scars of bared woodwork where the sea had done its best to hamper her, the patches in her loosely furled sails as evidence of Inch's determination to lose no time with his despatches.

He glared at the skylight as someone stamped overhead.
Damn
Farquhar
to
hell!
Even this moment he was unwilling to share with his fellow captains.

There was a sharp rap at the door and a midshipman stared in at him. 'Beg pardon, sir, but Mr. Outhwaite sends his respects and
-'

Herrick stood up. 'The flagship has signalled for me at last ?' He did not bother to hide his sarcasm.

'N-no, sir.' The midshipman stared at him warily. 'Captain Farquhar is corning to
us.'

Herrick snatched his hat. 'I will come up.'

He tried to imagine what was happening. Whatever it was had moved Farquhar to act swiftly at last.

Later, as the calls trilled and the marines banged their muskets to the present, Herrick watched Farquhar's handsome face for some indication. But there was nothing, beyond a slight smile at the corners of his mouth.

He snapped, 'Cabin.' And strode past Herrick with barely a glance at the assembled marines.

In the cabin he turned and faced Herrick.

'Harebell
has brought despatches from Gibraltar." He darted a glance around the cabin. 'Some wine would not come amiss.'

Herrick asked, "Then there is no news of the commodore ?'

Farquhar stared at him. 'Did I say there was ?' He shrugged. 'Really, Thomas, you are the most stubborn of men!'

'I thought perhaps that
Harebell
might have sighted
...'

'Commander Inch has brought news of more pressing matters.' He sounded irritated at Herrick's interruption. 'Admiral Lord St. Vincent has been kept fully informed. Those heavy guns which we captured must have convinced him. He has appointed Rear Admiral Sir Horatio Nelson to command a fleet which will be powerful and ready enough to enter the Mediterranean and seek out the French,
once
and
for
all?

Herrick looked away. It was good news of course, or should have been. Bolitho had been given the trust he needed to bring this plan into being. But now that an idea was fast becoming a reality, Bolitho was not here to share in the rewards he deserved.

Farquhar eyed him coldly. 'I have written my despatch for the admiral.
Harebell
will be making sail as soon as she has taken on water.'

Herrick faced him, his eyes filling with astonishment. 'But you will not release the sloop without sending her first to Malta?'

'You are wrong.'

'But
-but-'

Farquhar snapped, 'When you were flag captain you had your opportunity to put your ideals into operation. It is too late now for misgivings. So do not blame me, Captain Herrick. If anyone failed the commodore, it was
you
!
'

Herrick stared at the deck and at the bulkhead, seeing neither. It was true what Farquhar had said. All of it.

Farquhar added quietly, 'The squadron will remain here until we receive new orders. I have persuaded Mr. Manning that further "repairs" are vital to our survival.'

Herrick heard the words but their meaning did not reach him for several long seconds.

He exclaimed, 'But, you mustn't
ignore
all that the commodore has discovered. The prizes we've taken, the information we've gathered. It all points to Corfu.' He heard his voice pleading, but no longer cared. 'You can't just stay here and do nothing!'

Farquhar shrugged. 'Rumours. I cannot afford to squander the squadron to the points of the compass. When the first supporting ships arrive I intend
-'

Herrick stared at him, disgusted. 'You will be ready to meet them. To visit Nelson in person, is that it ?'

Farquhar frowned. 'Do not press me too far! I only came to you because I intend to give you back
Lysander.'

Herrick looked around the beautiful cabin. Far more suited to a flagship than
Lysander
could ever be.

Farquhar added,
'Harebell
brought other, less rousing news. My father, Sir Edward, died two days after I left England.'

Herrick could only stare at him, his mind clearing and sharpening the pain. Farquhar had everything now. There was no remorse on his face, no sense of loss.

He had the title at last, and all the land and property which went with it. And when Nelson came to the Mediterranean he would appoint a new commodore for this squadron. Sir Charles Farquhar. "He asked huskily, 'Have you told Captain Probyn yet ?'

'All in good time.' Farquhar was far away, his eyes reaching beyond Sicily and beyond again. 'Probyn behaves as if stupidity was a virtue. You should know that.' He walked to the stern windows. 'I have ordered my servant to bring my things across before dusk. You may transfer back to
Lysander
as soon as you receive my written appointment. That pleases you, surely ?'

'I've small room for pleasure at present,
Sir
Charles.' He watched for some reaction, but Farquhar had already accepted and grown into the title within hours of hearing the news. He looked away in case Farquhar should see his sudden anxiety.

'I
have a favour to ask. And I don't find it an easy task.' 'Well?'

‘I
believe that the commodore was right.' 'Perhaps. We shall see, one day.'

Herrick persisted, 'You could detach a ship. If you are remaining here under Sicilian protection, one ship less would aid the deception.'

'Continue.' Farquhar watched him calmly. 'And where would this
one
ship
be heading, might
I
ask?'

'You know that, too, Sir Charles. Corfu. To discover what the French are doing there.'

‘
I
see.'

Farquhar walked a few paces to the table and looked with distaste at Herrick's chart and the mass of scribbled calculations.

'Please.'
Herrick watched him desperately. 'I've never asked you for anything before.' He hesitated. 'I'm asking now.'

‘
Very well. Your orders would be such that you would act on your
own
initiative.'

‘
Thank you.'

Farquhar's eyebrows lifted. ‘
You thank me ? It is your own ruin you are demanding. Corfu is of no consequence. The big fight will be outside Toulon, or on the shores of Egypt.' He shook his head sadly. "When
I
was a midshipman in the
Phalarope,
and you her first lieutenant,
eventually,
I used to listen to the men talking about you. How you would always speak up for them.' He turned away.
'I
hope there will be someone to speak up for you when the time comes. But I doubt it.'

He became impatient and banged sharply on the door.
'Sentry!
Pass the word for the first lieutenant!'

Then he looked at Herrick again. 'Return to your precious
Lysander
now. Before I change my mind. I'll send you your orders at once.'

Herrick nodded. 'And if you get the chance, sir
..
.'

'Yes. I'll try to discover what happened to the commodore, although
-'
He did not finish it.