Free In the King's Name by Alexander Kent Page A

into the shadow of the mast, knowing Turpin was watching him. He broke the seal. Not a letter but a card, undated. He had never seen her handwriting, so how could he have known it was from her?
    I saw you anchor this morning. Welcome back
.
    Visit us if you can
.
    Lowenna.
    He walked back across the deck and gazed at the houses and the church tower.
    She must have heard from someone, maybe the coastguard, that
Merlin
was arriving in Falmouth today and had made a visit to the headland, or here to the waterfront to watch them anchor. She might even be over there now. He felt for the card again. She was just being courteous, and was probably always surrounded by friends.
    Troubridge replaced the card in its torn envelope and slid it into his pocket.
    Visit us
. What else could she have said? If she only knew …
    â€œEverything all right, sir?”
    He waved and said something insignificant and Turpin turned away to deal with a supply boat which was about to come alongside.
    What he had hoped for, even dreamed about; and apparently she had thought about him, too. They were good friends, for all sorts of reasons … Troubridge recalled exactly when he had wanted to tell her that he would always be ready to come to her, if she were ever in need. In the church that day before the ceremony. He had got no further than
if ever
… and she had touched his lips with her fingers, scented with autumnal flowers.
I know, and I thank you, Francis
.
    He had never forgotten the time he and Adam Bolitho had broken down the door of a studio and found Lowenna standing over the man who had tried to rape her, the gown ripped from her shoulders, a brass candlestick poised over him.
I would have killed him!
And he had felt his own finger on the trigger of the pistol he was carrying.
    He touched the card in his pocket. Like hearing her voice.
    Turpin had rejoined him. “Can I do anything, sir?”
    â€œI’ll need a boat in half an hour. I’m going ashore. Back before sunset. Send word to the revenue pier if you need me beforehand.”
    Turpin glanced around conspiratorially, as if someone might be listening. “Somethin’ wrong, sir?”
    Troubridge was staring after the mail boat, still pulling steadily toward the waterfront. “Something personal. I must leave a message. And thank you, Mathias, for your help.”
    Turpin’s leathery face revealed surprise as well as concern. At having been allowed to share something he sensed was private, and also at the casual use of his first name. Then his face broke into a grin. “Leave it with me, sir.” He gestured to a bosun’s mate and added quietly, “Watch your back, eh?”
    It was perhaps as close as they had ever been. But it was a beginning.
    He would go below and write a short note to have taken up to the big grey house. After the flagship,
Merlin
‘s cabin seemed small. But it was a refuge, and it was his. Turpin had probably used it himself while he was waiting for the new commanding officer, or hoping for his own promotion.
    Watch your back
. But the immediate enemy was guilt.
    Troubridge wedged his elbow against the seat as the vehicle lurched into another deep rut, hidden by one of the countless puddles left by heavy overnight rain.
    Everything seemed to have happened so quickly that his mind was still reluctant to cope. A message, in a strong scholarly hand which he guessed belonged to Dan Yovell, the Bolitho steward, whom he had met several times, had been brought out to
Merlin;
the boatman had departed without waiting for any response.
A carriage will be sent
. And despite the weather and the roads, it was waiting for him on time.
    Another face he remembered: Young Matthew, the coachman, who had driven them to the church that day. “Young” Matthew because his father, also Matthew, had been coachman at the estate before him. His father had died long since, but the nickname remained, although he was probably the oldest