Free Cross of St George by Alexander Kent

”
    She closed her fingers on his arm, either ignoring or not caring for the consequences.
    â€œThat was your admiral’s wife, Lady Bolitho. Did you not know?”
    Avery shook his head. “This is not my world.” He glanced at the door. “I have things to attend to, my lady. I did not mean to disturb you. That was not my intention.” He saw the sudden doubt in her eyes.
    â€œDo you have a carriage?”
    â€œI can easily obtain one. I am going to Chelsea.”
    Somebody called out to her but she did not appear to hear. She said, “My carriage can take you there, and in more comfort.” She gripped his arm more tightly. “Please.” No further pretence. “Please stay.”
    â€œI think we owe Lady Mildmay a debt of gratitude for her charming hospitality, and the dedication with which she has always carried out her work on behalf of those less fortunate.”
    She bowed low, her smile confident. The shadow between her breasts made a lie of her composure.
    As she straightened again, she looked directly into his eyes. “George … please, go tomorrow.”
    It was madness. But there was the other madness, which they had all shared, the thunder of the great guns, the screams and the horror of battle. How could he explain, how extricate himself from this? But she had already vanished among the remaining guests.
    Avery made his way through the house until he found the garden, which was already in twilight.
    Madness, then. So be it.
    The carriage had stopped at the crest of a slight rise, the horses stamping on the rough road, untroubled by the keen morning air.
    Bolitho turned toward her, holding her hand beneath her heavy cloak, wondering how time could pass so swiftly and without mercy.
    â€œWe are almost there, Kate.”
    â€œI know. I remember.”
    They could have driven all the way from Falmouth without stopping, but had stayed the night at an inn outside Liskeard. Bolitho had been very aware of the danger of missing his ship because of a late arrival, or some accident on the road: that the tide waited for no man had been impressed upon him since he had first gone to sea at the age of twelve, or perhaps even earlier, as a child listening to his father and the local men who lived on and from the sea. Nor would he have Catherine travelling so far without some brief respite.
    They had left the Turk’s Head early; neither of them wanted breakfast. Even in such a small place there had been no escape from his own notoriety. People had been waiting outside the inn, and had waved and called to them, wishing them luck and happiness. Catherine had responded as she always did, although their kindness must have broken her heart. It was not next week or the week after. It was today.
    The other members of his “little crew” would already be aboard: Avery, more withdrawn than usual after his sojourn in London; Yovell with his books and his Bible, untroubled as always; Ozzard, who gave nothing away; and, of course, Allday. Allday was genuinely sorry to be leaving his wife and child, but there was something more to it, pride, or a certain satisfaction because he was still needed, and had returned to what he considered his proper role in life.
    He had talked with Catherine throughout the night. The ship, Royal Enterprise, was a fleet transport, faster than most merchant vessels, and used to carrying important passengers to any destination so ordered by Their Lordships. The voyage should take three weeks to a month, weather permitting: the masters of such transports were highly experienced, making the best use of prevailing winds for an untroubled passage. So there might be a hint of early spring in Cornwall by the time he rehoisted his flag above Indomitable in Halifax.
    At least he would have James Tyacke, as well as Adam and Keen to sustain him. What would she have?
    He had told her about Belinda and her need for more money. Catherine had known, or