"Alexander Kent - Bolitho 20 Darkening Sea Txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kent Alexander)

An old farmer sat beside the empty fireplace with his tankard of ale, and a pipe which appeared to have gone out some time ago; a sheep dog lay by the man's chair, only his eyes moving as Allday closed the door behind him. Two well-dressed merchants looked up with sudden alarm at the sight of the blue jacket and buttons, probably imagining he was part of a press gang making a last-minute search for recruits. It was not so common now for innocent traders to be snatched up by the press in their never-ending hunt for men to feed the demands of the fleet: Allday had even heard of a young groom who had been taken from his bride's arms as he had been leaving the church door. Ferguson had been right; most of the local people must be at the St. John's celebrations elsewhere. These men were probably on their way to the Falmouth stock sale, and would lodge here overnight.

Everything shone like an individual welcome. A smell of flowers, a table of fine cheeses and the sturdy pints of ale balanced on their trestles completed the picture every countryman cherished when far away from home, the men of the blockading squadrons or in the fast frigates like Anemone, who might not set foot ashore for months, or even years.

"And what'll your pleasure be?"

Allday swung round and saw a tall, level-eyed man wearing a green apron watching him from beyond the ale barrels. No doubt he thought him to be a member of the hated press. They were rarely welcome at any inn, where custom would soon become scarce if they visited regularly. There was something vaguely familiar about the man, but all Allday could feel was disappointment, a sense of loss. He was being stupid. He should have known. Perhaps even the secretive Ozzard had been trying to save him from the hurt of it.

"There's some good ale from Truro. Fetched it myself." The man folded his arms and Allday saw the vivid tattoo: crossed flags and the number '31st'. The pain went deeper. Not even a sailor, then.

Almost to himself he said, The Thirty-First Foot, the Old Huntingdonshires."

The man stared at him. "Fancy you knowing that."

He made to move around the barrels, and Allday heard the thud of a wooden leg.

He reached out and clasped Allday's hand in his, his face completely changed.

"I'm a fool I should have guessed! You're John Allday, the one who saved my sister from those bloody hounds."

Allday studied him. Sister. Of course, he should have seen it. The same eyes.

He was saying, "My name's John too. One-time butcher in the old Thirty-First, 'til I lost this."

Allday watched the memories flooding across his face. Like Bryan Ferguson and all the other poor Jacks he had seen in every port, and the others he had watched go over the side, stitched up in their hammocks like so much rubbish.

"There's a cottage here, so when she wrote an' asked me..." He turned and said quietly, "An' here she be, God bless her!"

"Welcome back, John Allday." She was looking very neat and pretty in a new dress, her hair set carefully above her ears.

He said awkwardly, "You're a real picture er, Unis."

She was still watching him. "I dressed like this for you when I heard Sir Richard was back home. I'd never have spoken to you again if..."

Then she ran across the floor and hugged him until he was breathless, although she barely came up to his shoulder. Beyond her he could see the same little parlour, and the model of the old Hyperion he had given her.

Two more travellers came in, and she took Allday's arm and guided him into the parlour. Her brother, the other John, grinned and shut the door behind them.

She almost pushed him into a chair and said, "I want to hear all about you, what you've been doing. I've got some good tobacco for your pipe one of the revenue officers brought it for me. I thought better than to ask where he got it." She knelt down and looked at him searchingly. "I've been so worried about you. The war comes ashore here with every packet ship. I prayed for you, you see..."

He was shocked to see the tears drop on to her breast, which the footpads had tried to uncover that day.

He said, "When I came in just now, I thought you was tired o' waiting."

She sniffed and wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. "And I wanted to look so right for you!" She smiled. "You thought my brother was something more than that, did you?"

Then she said in a quiet, firm tone, "I never questioned that Jonas was a sailor, nor will I you. Just say you'll come back to me an' none other."

She moved quickly before Allday could reply and reappeared with a tankard of rum, which she put into his hands, her own around them like small paws.