Free Honour This Day by Alexander Kent Page A

of fire, and which gave the impression that the place was moving like a ship.
    It was evening outside, but unlike the previous ones the darkness was alive with sounds, the creak and slap of palm fronds, the uneasy ripple of wavelets beneath the crude slipway upon which the water-lighter had been prepared for its passage south. The boatshed had been a hive of activity, with shipwrights and sailors working against time to rig extra bilge pumps and fit iron crutches along the bulwarks so that it could be manhandled by long sweeps when required.
    Bolitho felt the loose sand in his shoes from his walk along the foreshore while he went over his plans for the hundredth time. Jenour had kept him close company, but had respected his need to be alone, at least with his thoughts.
    Bolitho listened to the lap of water, the gentle moan of wind through the weather-worn roof. They had prayed for wind; now it might rise and turn against them. If the lighter was swamped before it could reach the rendezvous he must decide what to do. He would either have to send Thor inshore unsupported, or call off the attack. He thought of Somervell’s eyes, of the doubt he had seen there. No, he would not back down from the attack; it was pointless to consider alternatives.
    He glanced around at the black, inert shadows. Skeletons of old boats, frames of others yet to be completed. The smells of paint, tar and cordage. It was strange that it never failed to excite him even after all the years at sea.
    Bolitho could recall the sheds at Falmouth, where he and his brother, Hugh, and sometimes his sisters had explored all the secret places, and had imagined themselves to be pirates and princesses in distress. He felt a stab in his heart as he pictured his child, Elizabeth. How she had plucked at his epaulettes and buttons when he had first seen her, had picked her up so awkwardly.
    Instead of drawing him and Belinda closer, the child had done the opposite. One of their disputes had been over Belinda’s announcement that she wanted her daughter to have a governess and a proper nurse to care for her. That, and the proposed move to London, had sparked it off.
    She had exclaimed on one occasion, “Because you were raised in Falmouth with other village children, you cannot expect me to refuse Elizabeth the chance to better herself, to take proper advantage of your achievements.”
    It had been a difficult birth, while Bolitho had been away at sea. The doctor had warned Belinda against having another child, and a coldness had formed between them which Bolitho found hard to accept and understand.
    She had said sharply on another occasion, “I told you from the beginning, I am not Cheney. Had we not looked so much alike I fear you would have turned elsewhere!”
    Bolitho had wanted to break down the barrier, take her to him and pour out his anguish. To tell her more of the damage to his eye, admit what it might mean.
    Instead he had met her in London, and there had been an unreal, bitter hostility which both of them would regret.
    Bolitho touched his buttons and thought of Elizabeth again. She was just sixteen months old. He stared around with sudden desperation. Would she never play in boatsheds like this one? Romp on the sand and come home filthy to be scolded and loved? He sighed, and Jenour responded immediately. “ Thor should be well on her way, Sir Richard.”
    Bolitho nodded. The bomb-vessel had sailed the previous night. God alone knew if spies had already gleaned news of her proposed employment. Bolitho had made certain that rumours had been circulated that Thor was taking the lighter in tow to St Christopher’s, and even Glassport had put aside his resentment to provide some deck cargo with the senior officer’s name and destination plainly marked.
    Anyway, it was too late now. Perhaps it had been so when he had insisted on sailing in advance of his new squadron, to deal with the King’s need for gold in his own way.