Read Online Darkening Sea by Alexander Kent - Free Book Online Page B

Lucius Broughton, the fool you so bluntly described, died doing his duty in the penal settlements of New South Wales.” His pale eyes did not blink as he added, “His position will, I am certain, be ably filled by your friend, Rear-Admiral Herrick.”
    Bolitho turned on his heel and flung open the doors, almost colliding with the hovering lieutenant.
    Hamett-Parker had got deep under his skin, out of malice or for some other purpose, he did not know or care. What did he want? He had been careful not to mention Catherine, or “the scandal” as he would no doubt call it.
    He hurried down the stairs, his mind reeling with ideas and memories. Just the mention of the Euryalus: Thelwall coughing out his life, Broughton watching the terrible flogging unmoved. But most of all, Catherine. He had commanded Euryalus when he had first met her. She had been aboard the merchantman Navarra; her husband had been killed by Barbary pirates, and she had cursed Bolitho for causing his death.
    â€œWould the nice sea officer like a ride in comfort?”
    He spun round, half-blinded by the sunlight, and saw her watching him from the carriage window. She was smiling, but her fine dark eyes were all concern.
    â€œHow did you know?”
    She took his wrist as he climbed into the carriage, and replied quietly, “I always know.”
    Admiral Sir James Hamett-Parker held the curtain aside and looked down as the woman aided Bolitho into the elegant carriage.
    â€œSo that is the notorious Lady Catherine.”
    Sir Paul Sillitoe, who had just entered by another door, smiled at the admiral’s back. “Never underestimate that lady, Sir James, and do not make her an enemy.” He walked casually to the littered table and added coolly, “Or you will make one of me. Be assured of it, sir!”
    Bolitho sat on a bench in the shade of a solitary tree in the neat little garden behind the house. It was peaceful here, and the clatter of iron-shod wheels and the regular passing of horses were muffled, as if far away. Behind the rear wall were the mews for this row of houses, for horses and a limited number of carriages.
    He watched Catherine cutting roses and wondered if she were still missing Falmouth and what must seem the unlimited space of the house there, compared to this small town-house. Her gown was low-cut so that she could feel the benefit of the sun directly overhead, and the darker line on her shoulder where she had been so cruelly burned in the open boat was still visible.
    It had been three days since his interview with Hamett-Parker and the uncertainty, the waiting, had unsettled him.
    She looked at him and her expression was troubled. “Is there no way we can learn what is happening, Richard? I know what you are thinking.”
    He stood up and crossed to her side. “I am bad company, dear Kate. I want to be with you and have no senseless burden hanging above me!”
    A breeze turned over the pages of The Times and blew it on to the grass. There was more news of enemy attacks on shipping heading for home around the Cape of Good Hope. Each vessel had been sailing independently and without escort. It seemed likely that that had been what Hamett-Parker had been hinting at. Suppose he were ordered back to Cape Town, Golden Plover ’s original destination when mutiny and shipwreck had erupted like a sudden storm? Were the marauding ships which had carried out these attacks French naval vessels or privateers? Whatever they were, they must be based somewhere.
    She touched his face. “You are worrying again. You hate this inaction, don’t you?” She moved her hand across his mouth. “Do not protest, Richard. I know you so well!”
    They heard the street bell jangle through the open door and Sophie’s merry laugh as she spoke to someone.
    Catherine said, “She is seventeen now, Richard. A good catch for the right man.”
    â€œYou treat her more like a daughter than a