Colours Aloft! by Alexander Kent Read Free Book Online Page A

King’s ship a solitary woman could be seen as many things, not least bad luck. Landsmen might scoff at such beliefs. If they went to sea they would soon know differently.
    â€œSee the girl yourself, Val. Then tell me what you think. At Gibraltar we can shift her to the Philomela. From what you say, Latimer would certainly take his revenge otherwise.”
    Keen made to withdraw. He had meant to visit the girl and speak with the surgeon further about her. No matter what she had done in her young life, she did not deserve the agony and humiliation of a flogging.
    Bolitho waited for the door to close and then sat down again beneath the stern windows.
    Time and time again he kept thinking of Falmouth, of the sheer happiness of his home-coming, holding his new and only child Elizabeth in his arms, so awkwardly that Belinda had laughed at him.
    Bolitho had always understood how difficult it must be for any woman to cross the threshold of the Bolitho home. Too many shadows and memories, so much expected of a newcomer. And in Belinda’s case she had been replacing Cheney, or so it would seem to her.
    It had hit Bolitho hardest when he had discovered that Cheney’s portrait, the companion to the one she had had done of him, had been removed from the room where the two pictures once hung together. She with the headland behind her, her eyes like the sea, and he in his white-lapelled coat, as the captain she had loved so much. His portrait now hung with the others, alongside that of his father, Captain James.
    He had said nothing; he had not wanted to hurt her, but it still disturbed him. Like a betrayal.
    He kept telling himself that Belinda only wanted to help him, to make others appreciate his worth to the country.
    But Falmouth was his home, not London. He could almost hear the words so harsh in that quiet room.
    He sighed and turned his thoughts to Allday. He had probably felt the new atmosphere at Falmouth. It was impossible to guess what he made of it. Or maybe Allday had been so concerned with the discovery of his son that he had had no time for speculation.
    He pictured the two of them as they had stood here in the cabin. Allday, powerful, proud in his blue jacket with the prized gilt buttons, head cocked to listen and watch as Bolitho spoke with the young sailor, John Bankart.
    Bolitho could remember when Allday had been brought aboard his frigate Phalarope, a victim of the press-gang. It was twenty years ago although it did not seem possible. Ferguson, Bolitho’s steward now at Falmouth, had been dragged aboard with him. No wonder they had remained so close.
    Allday had been very like this young sailor. Clear-eyed, honestlooking, with a sort of defiance just below the surface. He had met with a recruiting party and signed on with little hesitation when he was around eighteen. He disliked farm life, and knew that as a volunteer he would get better treatment than pressed men in a King’s ship.
    His mother had never married. Allday had hinted uncomfortably that the farmer had often taken her to his bed, under the threat that otherwise he would get rid of her and her bastard son.
    It had touched a nerve for Bolitho. The memory of Adam’s arrival on board his ship after walking all the way from Penzance when his mother had died. It was too similar not to move him.
    Bankart had already proved himself a good seaman and could reef, splice and steer, equal to many his senior in age and service. As second coxswain he would have little contact with his admiral. His duties would be confined to maintaining the readiness and appearance of the barge, going on errands to ships and the shore, and helping Allday in any way that he could. It seemed a satisfactory solution for the present.
    He got up and walked into his sleeping compartment, then, after a slight hesitation, he opened a drawer and took out the beautiful oval miniature. The artist had caught her expression perfectly. Bolitho replaced it under his