Stand Into Danger (14 page)

“Aurora.” He started, realizing he had spoken her name aloud.

But he need not have bothered, his companions were already fast asleep.

She was twisting in his arms, laughing and provoking him as he tried to hold her, to feel the touch of her bare shoulder against his lips.

Bolitho awoke gasping in his cot, his head throbbing wildly as he blinked at the lantern above his face.

It was Yeames, master's mate, his eyes curious as he watched the lieutenant's confusion, his reluctance to let go of a dream.

Bolitho asked, “What time is it?”

Yeames grinned unsympathetically. “Dawn, sir. The 'ands is just turnin' to to 'olystone and scrub down.” He added as an afterthought, “The cap'n wants you.”

Bolitho rolled out of his cot and kept his feet well apart on the deck for fear of falling. The brief respite on Egmont's cool terrace had gone, and his head felt as if it contained a busy anvil, while his throat tasted vile.

Dawn, Yeames had said. He had not been in his cot for more than two hours.

In the next cabin he heard Rhodes groaning as if in agony, and then yelping in protest as an unknown seaman dropped something heavy on the quarterdeck overhead.

Yeames prompted, “Better 'urry, sir.”

Bolitho tugged on his breeches and groped for his shirt which had been tossed in one corner of the tiny space. “Trouble?”

Yeames shrugged. “Depends wot you mean by trouble, sir.”

To him Bolitho was still a stranger and an unknown quantity. To share what he knew, merely because Bolitho was worried, would be stupid.

Bolitho found his hat, and tugging on his coat he hurried through the wardroom and blundered aft towards the cabin.

The sentry called, “Third lieutenant,
sir!
” and Macmillan, the captain's servant, opened the screen door as if he had been waiting behind it.

Bolitho stepped through into the after cabin and saw Dumaresq by the stern windows. His hair was awry, and he looked as if he had not found time to undress after his return from Egmont's house. In a corner by the quarter windows, Spillane, the newly appointed clerk, was scratching away with his pen, trying to show no concern at being called at such an early hour. The other two present were Gulliver, the master, and Midshipman Jury.

Dumaresq glared at Bolitho. “You should have come immediately! I do not expect my officers to dress as if they are going to a ball when I need them!”

Bolitho glanced down at his crumpled shirt and twisted stockings. Also, with his hat clamped beneath one arm, his hair was falling over his face, just as it had been on the pillow. Hardly suitable for a ball.

Dumaresq said, “During my absence ashore, your seaman Murray escaped. He was not in his cell, but being taken to the sick-bay because he had complained about a severe pain in his stomach.” He turned his wrath on the master. “God damn it, Mr Gulliver, it was obvious what he was doing!”

Gulliver licked his lips. “I was in charge of the ship, sir. It was my responsibility. I saw no cause for Murray to suffer, an' the man not yet found guilty as charged.”

Midshipman Jury said, “The message was brought aft to me, sir. It was my fault.”

Dumaresq replied tersely, “Speak when you are addressed. It was not your fault, because midshipmen do not
have
responsibility. Neither do they possess the wit or the brains to be in a position to say what this or that man shall do!” His eyes trained round on Gulliver again. “Tell Mr Bolitho the rest.”

Gulliver said harshly, “The ship's corporal was escorting him when Murray pushed him down. He was outboard and swimming for the shore before the alarm was raised.” He looked downcast and humiliated at having to repeat his explanation for a junior lieutenant's benefit.

Dumaresq said, “So there it is. Your trust in that man was wasted. He escaped a flogging, but when he is taken he will hang.” He glanced at Spillane. “Note it in the log. Run.”

Bolitho looked at Jury's dismay. There were only three ways for a man to quit the Navy, and they were noted as R, D, or DD,
Run
implied desertion, D stood for discharged. Murray's next entry would be the last.
Discharged—Dead.

And all because of a watch. And yet, in spite of the disappointment over his trust in Murray, Bolitho was strangely relieved at what had happened. The punishment for a man he had known and liked, who had saved Jury's life, was no longer a threat. And its aftermath of suspicion and bitterness had been averted.

Dumaresq said slowly, “So be it. Mr Bolitho, you will remain. The others may carry on.”

Macmillan closed the door behind Jury and Gulliver. The master's shoulders were stiff with resentment.

Dumaresq asked, “Hard, you are thinking? But it may prevent weakness later on.”

He calmed as only he could, the rage falling away without apparent effort.

“I am glad you carried yourself well last night, Mr Bolitho. I hope you kept your eyes and ears open?”

The sentry's musket thumped on the deck again. “First lieutenant,
sir!
”

Bolitho watched as Palliser entered the cabin, his routine list of work for the day beneath his arm. He looked gaunter than usual as he said, “The water lighters may come out to us today, sir, so I shall tell Mr Timbrell to be prepared. Two men are to see you for promotion, and there is the question of punishment for the ship's corporal for negligence and allowing Murray to desert.”

His eyes moved to Bolitho and he gave a curt nod.

Bolitho wondered if it was mere chance that Palliser always seemed to be nearby whenever he was with the captain.

“Very well, Mr Palliser, though I'll believe those water lighters when I see them.” He looked at Bolitho. “Go and put your appearance to rights and take yourself ashore. Mr Egmont has a letter for me, I believe.” He gave a wry smile. “Do not dally too long, although I know there are many distractions in Rio.”

Bolitho felt his face going hot. “Aye, sir. I'll leave directly.”

He hurried from the cabin and heard Dumaresq say, “Young devil!” But there was no malice in his voice.

Twenty minutes later Bolitho was sitting in the jolly-boat being pulled ashore. He saw that Stockdale was acting as the boat's coxswain, but did not question him on this. Stockdale seemed to make friends easily, although his fearsome appearance might also have something to do with his apparent freedom of movement.

Stockdale called hoarsely, “Easy all!”

The oars rose dripping in the rowlocks, and Bolitho realized that the jolly-boat was losing way in order not to be run down by another vessel. She was a brig, a sturdy, well-used vessel with patched canvas and many a scrape on her hull to mark encounters with sea and weather.

She had already spread her topsails, and there were men sliding down backstays to the deck to set the forecourse before she cleared the rest of the anchored vessels nearby.

She moved slowly between
Destiny
's jolly-boat and some incoming fishermen, her shadow falling across the watching oarsmen as they rested on their looms and waited to proceed.

Bolitho read her name across the counter,
Rosario
. One of hundreds of such craft which daily risked storm and other dangers to trade and to extend the outposts of a growing empire.

Stockdale growled, “Give way all!”

Bolitho was about to turn his attention to the shore when he saw a movement at the stern windows above the name
Rosario.
For an instant he imagined he was mistaken. But he was not. The same black hair and oval face. She was too far off for him to see the violet of her eyes, but he saw her looking towards him before the brig changed tack and the sunlight made the windows into a fiery mirror.

He was heavy-hearted when he reached the house with the age-old wall around it. Egmont's steward told him coolly that his master had departed, his wife, too. He did not know their destination.

Bolitho returned to the ship and reported to Dumaresq, expecting a further eruption of fury at this latest set-back.

Palliser was with him as Bolitho blurted out what he had discovered, although he did not mention he had seen Egmont's wife in the
Rosario.

He did not need to. Dumaresq said, “The only vessel to leave here was the brig. He must be aboard. Once a damned traitor always a traitor. Well, he'll not escape this time, by God no!”

Palliser said gravely, “So this was the reason for the delay, sir. No fresh water, no audience with the Viceroy. They had us over a gate.” He sounded suddenly bitter. “We can't move, and they know it!”

Surprisingly, Dumaresq gave a great grin. Then he shouted, “Macmillan, I want a shave and a bath! Spillane, prepare to write some orders for Mr Palliser.” He walked to the stern windows and leaned on the sill, his massive head lowered towards the rudder. “Select some prime seamen, Mr Palliser, and transfer to the
Heloise.
Do not rouse the guard-boat's attention with too much fuss, so take no marines. Weigh and chase that damned brig, and don't lose her.”

Bolitho watched the change in the man. It explained why Dumaresq had stopped Slade from entering the protected anchorage. He had anticipated something like this and had a trick to play, as always.

Palliser's mind was already busy. “And you, sir?”

Dumaresq watched his servant as he prepared a bowl and razor by his favourite chair.

“Water or no water, Mr Palliser, I shall weigh tonight and come after you.”

Palliser eyed him doubtfully. “The battery might open fire, sir.”

“In daylight maybe. But there is a lot of so-called honour at stake here. I intend to test it.” He turned away, dismissing them, but added, “Take the third lieutenant. I shall require Rhodes, even if his head is still falling apart from his drinking, to assume your duties here.”

At any other time Bolitho would have welcomed the offer gladly. But he had seen the look in Palliser's eyes, and remembered the face at the brig's cabin windows. She would despise him after this. Like the dream, it was over.

7
T
HE CHASE

LIEUTENANT Charles Palliser strode to the
Heloise
's compass box and then consulted the masthead pendant.

To confirm his fears, Slade, the acting-master, said dourly, “The wind's backed a piece, but it's also falling away.”

Bolitho watched Palliser's reactions and compared him with Dumaresq. The captain was in Rio aboard
Destiny,
outwardly dealing with the ship's affairs, even to the extent of seeing two seamen who had been put up for promotion. Fresh water, the prospect of a summons from the Portuguese Viceroy, it would mean nothing to most of the frigate's company. But Bolitho knew what was really uppermost in Dumaresq's thoughts: Egmont's refusal to yield and his sudden departure in the brig
Rosario.
Without Egmont, Dumaresq would have little choice but to seek higher naval authority for instructions, and in that time the scent would go cold.

Slade had said that the brig had been steering north-northeast as she had cleared the roadstead. Egmont was heading along the coast, probably all the way to the Caribbean. In a small trading vessel like that it would be extremely uncomfortable for his lovely wife.

Palliser crossed to his side. On the brigantine's confined deck he looked like a giant, but unusually content, Bolitho thought. Palliser was free of his captain's word, could act as he pleased. Always provided he did not lose the
Rosario.
And with the wind dropping fast, that was a possibility.

He said, “They'll not be expecting a chase. That is all we have on our side.”

He glanced up, irritated, as the forecourse boomed and flapped, empty of wind and allowing the heat to seek out the men on deck.

“Damn!”
Then he said, “Mr Slade says the brig will stay inshore. Unless the wind shifts, I accept that. We shall continue as we are. Change the lookouts as you think fit, and have the weapons which are still aboard this vessel inspected.” He clasped his hands behind him. “Don't work the people too hard.” He saw the surprise on Bolitho's face and gave a thin smile. “They will have to take to the oars shortly. I intend to warp
Heloise
with the boats. They'll need all their muscle for that!”

Bolitho touched his hat and walked forward. He should have guessed. But he had to confess admiration for Palliser's preparations. He thought of everything.

He saw Jury and Midshipman Ingrave waiting for him by the foremast. Jury looked tense but Ingrave, who was a year older, could barely conceal his delight at being freed from his task of acting-clerk for the captain.

Beyond them were other familiar faces amongst the hastily selected hands. Josh Little, gunner's mate, his stomach hanging over his cutlass-belt. Ellis Pearse, boatswain's mate, a bushy-browed man who had shown the same satisfaction as Bolitho that Murray had deserted. Pearse would have been the man to flog him, and he had always liked Murray. And of course, there was Stockdale, his thick arms folded over his chest as he surveyed the brigantine's deck, remembering perhaps that fierce, desperate struggle when Bolitho had fought hand to hand with the vessel's master.

Dutchy Vorbink, foretopman, who had left the East India Company and exchanged their ordered and well-paid life for that of a man-of-war. He spoke little English, unless he wanted to, so nobody had discovered his true reason for volunteering.

There were faces which had now become people to Bolitho. Some coarse and brutalized, others who would brawl with the best of them but were equally quick to put right a wrong for a less outspoken messmate.

Bolitho said, “Mr Spillane, examine the arms chest and make a list of weapons. Little, you had better go through the magazine.” He looked around at the few swivel guns, two of which had been sent across from
Destiny.
“Hardly enough to start a war.”

It brought a few grins and chuckles, and Stockdale muttered, “There's still some prisoners battened below, sir.”

Bolitho looked at Little. He had forgotten about the
Heloise
's original company. Those not killed or wounded had been detained here. Safe enough, but in the event of trouble they would have to be watched.

Little showed his uneven teeth. “All taken care of, sir. I got Olsson on guard. They'd be too scared to challenge 'im!”

Bolitho agreed. Olsson was a Swede and was said to be half mad. It shone from his eyes which were like washed-out blue glass. A good seaman who could reef and steer and turn his hand to anything, but when they had boarded this same brigantine Bolitho had chilled to Olsson's crazy screams as he had cleaved his way through his opponents.

He forced a grin. “I'd think twice myself.”

Pearse groaned as the sails shivered and then flapped dully against rigging and spars.

“There goes the bloody wind.”

Bolitho crossed to the bulwark and leaned out over the blue water. He saw the wind's ripple on the surface moving away far ahead of the bows like a great shoal of fish. The brigantine lifted and sighed in the swell, blocks and sails clattering in protest as the power went with the wind.

“Man your boats!” Palliser was watching from beside the helmsmen.

Bare feet padded over the hot deck seams as the first crews went away in the quarter-boat, as well as
Destiny
's cutter which they had kept in tow beneath the counter.

It took far too long to lay out the towing warps and pass them to the boats. Then with each boat angled away on either bow the painful, dreary business began.

They could not hope to make any speed, but it would prevent the vessel from drifting completely out of command, and when the wind came they would be ready.

Bolitho stood above the larboard anchor and watched the tow-lines tautening and then sagging beneath the glittering water as the oarsmen threw their weight into play.

Little shook his head. “Mr Jury's no 'and for this, sir. 'E'll need to use 'is starter on that lot.”

Bolitho could see the difference between the two towing boats. Jury's was yawing badly, and a couple of the oars were barely cutting beneath the surface. The other boat, with Midshipman Ingrave in charge, was making better progress, and Bolitho knew why. Ingrave was not a bully, but he was well aware of his superiors watching from the brigantine, and was using a rope's end on some of his men to make them work harder at the oars.

Bolitho walked aft and said to Palliser, “I'll change the crews in an hour, sir.”

“Good.” Palliser was watching the sails and then the compass. “She's got steerage-way at least. Few thanks to the larboard boat.”

Bolitho said nothing. He knew only too well what it was like as a midshipman to be suddenly thrown into an unpopular job. But Palliser did not press the point, which was something. Bolitho thought of his own sudden acceptance of his new role. He had not asked Palliser about changing the boats' crews, he had told him, and the first lieutenant had accepted without question. Palliser was as wily as Dumaresq. In their very different ways they were able to draw out exactly what they required from their subordinates.

He glanced at Slade, who was shading his eyes to peer at the sky. A man who wanted promotion above all else. Dumaresq used that too, to extract the best from the intolerant master's mate, which in turn would aid him when his chance of advancement finally came. Even Palliser had his mind set on his own command, and this temporary duty in charge of
Heloise
would stand very well on his record.

All through the day the relentless boat-pulling went on, while not even a faint breeze came to revive the sails. They hung from the yards, limp and useless, like the men who tumbled aboard from the boats as soon as they were relieved. Too exhausted to do much more than gulp down a double ration of wine which Slade had broached from the hold, they fell about like dead men.

In the cabin aft, tiny as it was, but adequate when compared with the rest of the space between decks, the relieved midshipmen and their lieutenants tried to find escape from the heat and the dangerous need to drink and keep on drinking.

With Palliser asleep and Slade on watch, Bolitho sat at the small table, his head lolling as he tried to keep his mind awake. Opposite him, his lips cracked from the sun's glare, Jury rested his head on his hands and looked into space.

Ingrave was away with the boats again, but even his keenness was flagging badly.

Bolitho asked, “How do you feel?”

Jury smiled painfully, “Dreadful, sir.” He tried to straighten his back and plucked his sodden shirt away from his skin.

Bolitho pushed a bottle towards him. “Drink this.” He saw the youth hesitate and insisted, “I'll stand your trick in the boats if you like. It's better than sitting here and waiting.”

Jury poured a cup of wine and said, “No, sir, but thank you. I'll go when I'm called.”

Bolitho smiled. He had toyed with the idea of telling Stockdale to go with the midshipman. One sight of him would put a stopper on any slackness or insubordination. But Jury was right. To make it easy for him when he most needed confidence and experience would only lay a snare for later on.

“I—I was thinking, sir.” He looked across guardedly. “About Murray. D'you think he'll be all right?”

Bolitho thought about it. Even that was an effort. “Maybe. Provided he stays away from the sea. I've known men who have quit the Navy to return and find security under a different name in the service they had originally reviled. But that can be dangerous. The Navy is a family. There is always a familiar face and a memory to match it.”

He thought of Dumaresq and Egmont. Each linked by Dumaresq's dead father, just as he was now involved with whatever they might attempt.

Jury said, “I often think about him. Of what happened on deck.” He glanced up at the low beams as if expecting to hear the ring of steel, the desperate shuffle of men circling each other for a kill. Then he looked at Bolitho and added, “I'm sorry. I was told to put it from my mind.”

A call shrilled and a voice yelled, “Away boats' crews! Lively there!”

Jury stood up, his fair hair brushing the deckhead.

Bolitho said quietly, “I was told much the same when I joined the
Destiny.
Like you, I still have the same difficulty.”

He remained at the table, listening to the thump of boats alongside, the clatter of oars as the crews changed around yet again.

The door opened and bent double like a crippled sailor Palliser groped his way to a chair and thankfully sat down. He too listened to the boats thrashing away from the hull, the sluggish response from the tiller-head as the brigantine submitted to the tow.

Then he said flatly, “I'm going to lose that devil. After getting this far, it's all been cut from under me.”

Bolitho could feel the disappointment like a physical thing, and the fact Palliser had made no effort to hide his despair was strangely sad.

He pushed the bottle and cup across the table. “Why not take a glass, sir.”

Palliser looked up from his thoughts, his eyes flashing. Then he smiled wearily and took the cup.

“Why not, Richard?” He slopped the wine carelessly over the rim. “Why not indeed?”

While the sun moved towards the opposite horizon, the two lieutenants sat in silence, occasionally taking a sip of the wine which by now was as warm as milk.

Then Bolitho dragged out his watch and said, “One more hour with the boats and then we shall secure for the night, sir?”

Palliser had been in deep thought and took several seconds to reply.

He said, “Yes. There's nothing else we
can
do.”

Bolitho was stunned by the change in him, but knew if he tried to cheer him up the truce would be shattered.

Feet shuffled through the main-deck and Little's great face squinted in at them.

“Beg pardon, sir, but Mr Slade sends 'is respects and says 'e can 'ear gunfire to the north'rd!”

An empty bottle rolled across the deck at the lieutenants' feet and clinked against the side as the cabin suddenly tilted.

Palliser stared at the bottle. He was still seated, but his head was touching a beam without difficulty.

He exclaimed, “
The wind!
The damned, wonderful wind!” He clawed his way to the door. “Not a moment too soon!”

Bolitho felt the hull give a shiver, as if it was awakening from a deep sleep. Then with a bound he hurried after the lanky Palliser, sobbing with pain as his skull came in contact with a ring-bolt.

On deck the men were staring around with disbelief as the big forecourse filled and boomed noisily from its yard.

Palliser yelled, “Recall the boats! Stand by to come about!” He was peering at the compass and then up at the masthead pendant, just visible against the early stars.

Slade said, “Wind's shifted, sir, veered a little, sou'-west.” Palliser rubbed his chin. “Gunfire, you say?”