Free With All Despatch by Alexander Kent Page A

shall sup later.” It was an order.
    They drank in silence and Bolitho saw the windows changing to dusky pink as the evening closed in.
    Hoblyn watched the youth refilling the goblets.
    â€œYou’ve been luckier than most, Bolitho. Two ships since that bloody war, whereas—” He did not finish it but stared instead at the large painting.
    Bolitho knew then it was his last battle. When he had lost his Leonidas and had been so cruelly disfigured.
    Hoblyn added, “I heard about your, er—misfortunes in the Great South Sea.” His eyes did not even blink. “I’m told she was an admirable woman. I am sorry.”
    Bolitho tried to remain calm. “About this appointment—”
    Hoblyn’s disfigured hand rose and fell very lightly. “In good time.”
    He said abruptly, “So this is how they use us, eh? Are we relics now, the pair of us?” He did not expect or wait for an answer. “I am bitter sometimes, and then I think of those who have nothing after giving their all.”
    Bolitho waited. Hoblyn needed to talk.
    â€œIt’s a hopeless task if you let it be so, Bolitho. Our betters bleat and protest about the Trade, while they filch all they can get from it. Their Lordships demand more men for a fleet they themselves allowed to rot while they flung those same sailors on the beach to starve! Damn them, I say! And you can be sure that when war comes, as come it must, I shall be cast aside to provide a nice posting for some admiral’s cousin!” He waited until his goblet was refilled. “But I love this country which treats her sons so badly. You know the French as well as I—do you see them stopping now?” He gave a harsh laugh. “And when they come we shall have to pray that those murderous scum have lopped off the heads of all their best sea-officers. I see no chance for us otherwise.”
    Bolitho tried to remember how many times the youth had refilled his goblet. The claret and the heat from the fire were making his mind blur.
    He said, “I have to speak about the Loyal Chieftain, sir.”
    Hoblyn held his head to a painful angle. “Delaval? I know what happened, and about the man who was killed too.” He leaned forward so that his fine shirt frothed around the lapels of his coat. A far cry from the tattered veteran Bolitho had seen years ago on his way to the Admiralty.
    Hoblyn dropped his voice to a husky growl. “Someone burned down the man’s cottage while you were at sea—I’ll lay odds you didn’t know that! And his wife and children have vanished into thin air!” He slumped back again, and Bolitho saw sweat on his face.
    â€œMurdered?” One word, and it seemed to bring a chill to the overheated room.
    â€œWe shall probably never know.” He reached out to grasp his goblet but accidentally knocked it over so that the claret ran across the desk like blood.
    Hoblyn sighed. “Damn them all.” He watched his footman as he deftly mopped up the wine and replaced the goblet with a clean one.
    â€œBut life can have its compensations—”
    Just for a brief instant it was there. The merest flicker of an exchange between them. The youth did not smile and yet there was an understanding strong enough to feel.
    Hoblyn said offhandedly, “You have Snapdragon in Chatham dockyard?”
    Bolitho shook himself. Maybe he was mistaken. He glanced quickly at the footman’s pale eyes. They were quite empty.
    â€œYes, sir. I thought it best—”
    â€œGood thinking. There’ll not be much time later on. Our lords and masters want results. We shall give them a few.” He smiled for the first time. “Thought I was going to bite your head off, did ye? God damn it, Bolitho, you’re what I need, not some knothead who’s never heard a shot fired in bloody earnest!”
    Bolitho pressed his shoulders against the chairback. There was something unnerving about