He tightened his grip on his glass. Much of his prize money had gone into buying back land which his father had sold to pay Hugh's debts. But nothing could buy back his honour. It was fortunate that Hugh had died. If they had ever met again Bolitho imagined he might kill him for what he had done.

'More claret?' Winslade seemed absorbed with his own thoughts. 'I'm sending you to Madras. There you will report to…, well, it will be in your final orders. No sense in idle gossip.' He added, 'Just in case you cannot get your ship manned, eh?'

'I'll get them, sir. If I have to go to Cornwall.'

'I hope that will not be necessary.'

Winslade changed tack again. 'During the American campaign you probably noticed that there was little co-operation between military and civilian government. The forces on the ground fought the battles and confided in neither. That must not happen again. The task I am giving you would be better handled by a squadron, with an admiral's flag for good measure. But it would invite attention, and that Parliament will not tolerate in this uneasy peace.'

He asked suddenly, 'Where are you staying in London?'

'The George at Southwark.'

'I will give you an address. A friend's residence in St. James's Square.' He smiled at Bolitho's grave features. 'Come, don't look so gloomy. It is time you made your way in affairs and put the line of battle behind you. Your mission may bring you to eyes other than those of jaded flag officers. Get to know people. It can do nothing but good. I will send a courier with instructions for your first lieutenant.' He darted him a quick glance. 'Herrick, I gather. From your last ship.'

'Yes, Sir.' It sounded like 'of course'. There had never been any doubt whom he would ask for if he got another ship.