“Thank you, sir.”

Beauchamp had not heard him. “Get as many of your ships to sea as soon as possible. I have written instructions that you are to assume overall command of the blockading squadron off Belle Ile. Further vessels will be obtained for your convenience just as soon as my despatches are delivered to the port admirals.” He had fixed Bolitho with an unwinking stare. “I need you at sea. In Biscay. I know I am asking everything, but then, I have given all I have to offer.”

The picture of the high-ceilinged room at the Admiralty, the view from the windows of bright carriages, colourful gowns and scarlet uniforms seemed to blur as Bolitho’s mind came back to the cabin in Benbow.

He said, “Admiral Sir George Beauchamp is ordering me to sea, Thomas. No arguments, minimum delays. Unfinished repairs, short-handed, outstanding powder and shot, I shall need to know everything to the last detail. I suggest a conference of all the captains, and I shall draft a letter to Captain Inch which must be sent immediately by courier to his ship at Chatham.”

Herrick stared at him. “It sounds urgent, sir.”

“I-I am not sure.” Bolitho recalled Beauchamp’s words. I need you at sea. He looked at Herrick’s troubled face. “I am sorry to burst into your new happiness like this.” He shrugged. “And to Biscay of all places.”

Herrick asked gently, “When you went back to Falmouth, sir…”

Bolitho looked through the stern windows and watched a local bumboat edging towards the Benbow’s counter. Food and drink to be examined and bartered for. The small luxuries in a sailor’s life.

He replied, “The house was empty. It was as much my fault as anyone’s. Belinda had gone away with my sister and her husband. My brother-in-law wanted to show her a newly purchased estate in Wales.”

He swung round, unable to conceal the bitterness, the despair.