Free Second to None by Alexander Kent Page B

thoughts. Sillitoe and his men had burst into the room, and he had held her, protected her while her attacker had been dragged away. It had been like a sudden calm after a terrible storm.
    She thought of Malta, her brief visit in an Indiaman, which had been on government business and bound for Naples. Sillitoe had arranged for her to be landed at Malta, even though she knew he would once have done anything to keep her from Richard, and he had made no attempt to gain any advantage either on the passage out or on the journey back to England. If anything, he had been withdrawn, perhaps at last understanding what it had cost her to leave the man she loved behind in Malta.
    Forever.
    She had seen him only twice since Richard’s death. He had offered his condolences, and assured her of his readiness to help in any way he could. As with the lawyer, Lafargue, he had understood immediately her concern for Adam. He had been correct in every way, and had made it his business to begin enquiries of his own.
    Catherine thought she understood men, had learned much out of necessity.
    But after Richard, how could she survive? Where would be the point?
    She recalled the exact moment when they had been reunited, at English Harbour over ten years ago. She had been married to Somervell, the King’s Inspector-General.
    Dazed and yet on guard because of the unexpectedness of the meeting, and the danger she had known it would offer. Telling him he needed love,
as the desert craves for rain
.
    Or was I speaking of myself? My own desires?
    And now he is dead.
    And tomorrow, another challenge. All those staring eyes. Not those of the men who had stood with him and had faced death a hundred times, or the women who had loved and welcomed them when they had returned home. Without limbs. Without sight. Without hope.
    No. They would be the faces and the eyes she had seen that evening at the celebration of Wellington’s victory. Rhodes, who had been championed as the new First Lord of the Admiralty. Richard’s wife, bowing to applause she would never earn or deserve. And the unsmiling wife of Graham Bethune. Unsmiling until the moment of insult, as if she had been a part of it. All enemies.
    She had turned her back on them. Had come here, half blind with anger and humiliation. She stood up quickly and stared at the bed.
And he was waiting for me
.
    Tomorrow, then.
The bells would toll, the drums echo through the empty streets. They would be remembering her Richard, her dearest of men, but they would be looking at her.
At me
.
    And what would they see? The woman who had inspired a hero? The woman who had endured a shipwreck, and fought the danger and misery so that they might all hope to life, when most of them had already accepted a lingering death. The woman who had loved him.
Loved him
.
    Or would they see only a whore?
    She faced the mirror again and unfastened her gown, so that it fell and was held until she released it and stood naked, the hair warm against her spine.
    As the desert craves for rain.
    She sat again and recovered the brush. She heard a step onthe stairs, quick and light. It would be Melwyn, her maid and companion. Cornish, from St Austell, a fair girl with an elusive, elfin prettiness. She was fifteen.
    She stared unwaveringly at the mirror. Fifteen.
As I was when I was with child. When my world began to change
. Richard had known of that; Sillitoe also knew.
    She heard a tap at the door and pulled the gown up to her shoulders. Melwyn entered the room and closed the door.
    â€˜You’ve not eaten, m’ lady.’ She stood her ground, quietly determined. ‘Tesn’t right. Cook thought . . .’
    She stood quite still as Catherine twisted round to look at her. Then she said simply, ‘You’m so beautiful, m’ lady. You must take more care. Tomorrow d’ be so important, and I can’t be with you. No room for servants . . .’
    Catherine clasped her round the shoulders