She touched his shoulder again. "You'll never change. I'd not want you to. I'd know you were pretending, putting up with it, just for me an' Kate. She's taken a real shine to you since you got back."

She turned away, remembering the surprise and hurt he had shown when the child had gone to her brother John, as if he, her own father, was a stranger. It took time. But now he would be going away again. And she must face it.

She thought of Lady Catherine, that day when she had seen her waiting on the harbour quay at Falmouth, watching the little fleet schooner Pickle picking up her moorings, Bolitho coming home. And her own man had been with him, as always. Catherine, so brave, so defiant in the face of all the scandal and the cruel gossip. She would take it badly.

There were voices in the yard, and she said brightly, "The fish man. I asked him to stop by." She wiped her hands on her apron. "I'll deal with him."

Alone again with Allday, Ferguson said, "She's a marvel, John."

"I knows it." He looked around as if he were searching for something. "I'll go and put up some ale. It'll not take a minute. You sit there and finish your wet. I needs to think awhile."

Ferguson sighed. Next thing, Allday would be up at the house on some pretext or other, just to speak with Sir Richard, to tell him he would be ready.

He looked round, startled by a thud and something like a cough. He went quickly into the adjoining room, a cool place where the casks were stowed, ready to be tapped and moved to their trestles. One cask, a four-and-a-half- gallon pin, was lying against the wall. Allday sat with his back to it, his hands to his chest, his breathing loud and uneven, like a man dragged from the sea.

Ferguson knelt and put his arm around him.