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

John Allday was wearing his best blue jacket with the special gilt buttons Bolitho had given him. Each button bore the Bolitho crest, and Allday had been bursting with pride at the gesture: one of the family, as he had described himself many times.

Ferguson watched his friend's uncertainty, a nervousness he had not seen in Allday since he had first visited the Stag after saving the life of the woman who now owned it: Unis Polin, the comely widow of a master's mate in the old Hyperion. She had been attacked by two footpads even as she had driven her few belongings down to this very place.

Ferguson considered it. With his face tanned like leather, and in his fine blue coat and nankeen breeches, to most people Allday would seem the perfect example of Jack Tar, the sure shield against the French or any other enemy who dared to come against His Britannic Majesty's navy. He had seen and done almost everything. To a privileged few he was also known as more than just Vice-Admiral Sir Richard Bolitho's coxswain. He was his true friend. For some it was hard to picture one without the other.

But on this evening it was difficult for Ferguson to see him as that same confident man. He ventured, "Losing your nerve, John?"

Allday licked his lips. "To you an' none other I'll confess that I'm all aback. I've thought of the moment and of her, right enough. When Anemone showed her copper as we tacked past Rosemullion Head yonder, my head was packed so full of notions I could barely see straight. But now..."

"Afraid of making a fool of yourself?"

"Something like that. Tom Ozzard thinks as much."

Ferguson shook his head. "Oh, him! What does he know about women?"

Allday glanced at him. "Not too sure o' that either."

Ferguson laid his hand on Allday's arm. It felt like a piece of timber.

"She's a fine woman. Just what you need when you settle down. This damned war can't last much longer."

"What about Sir Richard?"

Ferguson looked at the darkening river. So that was it. He had guessed as much. The old dog worried about his master. As ever.

Allday took his silence for doubt. "I'd not leave him. You knows that!"

Ferguson shook the reins very gently and the pony started down the slope. "You dropped anchor only yesterday, and you've been like a bear with a sore head ever since. You couldn't think of anything else." He smiled. "So let's go and see, eh?"

It was St. John's Eve, the twenty-third of the month, a feast that dated from pagan times although it was bound up with Christian traditions. Old folk could remember when the celebration was held after sunset and marked by a chain of bonfires right across the county. The fires were blessed with wild flowers and herbs and when all was well alight young couples would often jump hand-in-hand through the flames to ensure good luck, and the blessing was spoken in the old Cornish tongue. A good deal of eating and drinking had accompanied the ceremony, and some doubters maintained that witchcraft rather than religion was paramount.

But this evening was quiet, although they had seen one fire beyond the hamlet, where some farmer or landowner was celebrating with his workers. The chain of bonfires had ceased when the King of France's head had been hacked from his shoulders and the Terror had ripped through that country like a fast fuse. If anyone was indiscreet enough to start up the old custom again here every countryman and the local militia would be drummed to arms, because such a chain of fires would cry invasion.

Ferguson played with the reins. It was almost time. He had to discover something. He had heard all about Allday's old chest wound cutting him down as surely as any enemy ball when he had rescued the woman from the two robbers. Allday could cross blades with anybody, and was like a lion just so long as the wound held its peace. But it was a long walk from the inn to the Bolitho house at Falmouth. A dark track: anything might happen.

He asked bluntly, "If she takes kindly to you, John what I mean is..."

Surprisingly Allday grinned. "I'm not staying the night, if that's what you think. It would damage her name hereabouts. She'll still be a foreigner to most."

Ferguson exclaimed with relief. "From Devon, you mean!" He looked at him gravely as they turned into the yard. "I've got to go over and visit old Josiah the mason. He was injured on our land a few days back, so her ladyship bid me take some things to cheer his hours away."

Allday chuckled. "Rum, is it?" He became serious again. "By God, you should have seen Lady Catherine when we were in that bloody longboat, Bryan." He shook his shaggy head. "But for her, I don't reckon we'd have come through it alive."

The little trap swayed over as Allday climbed down. "I'll see you when you returns, then." He was still standing staring at the inn door when Ferguson guided the trap on to the road again.

Allday took the heavy iron handle as if he was about to release some raging beast and pushed open the door.

His immediate impression was that it had changed since his last visit. The woman's hand, perhaps?