As the door closed she faced the stairway. Yovell was standing there, anxiously polishing his small gold-rimmed spectacles.
She said aloud, as if Yovell were not even there, "If she tries to hurt him again, I will surely kill her."
Yovell watched her pass. Distress and anger could not diminish the beauty which turned so many heads. He thought of all the immediate obstacles. Herrick's court martial, the rumours he had gleaned about Captain Keen's marriage, and now this.
Perhaps it was as well they were all sailing for the Cape.
2. STRANGERS
EVEN THOUGH it was dark, the quiet and exclusive square was exactly as Bolitho had remembered. Tall, elegant houses, most of which seemed to have every window ablaze: light even reflected from the wet, bare trees where, within weeks, nursemaids would be wheeling their charges and loitering to gossip about their households.
The carriage pulled up on its brake and Bolitho saw Allday's features quite clearly as he leaned over in the glare of one of its lamps. Bolitho climbed down and stamped his feet to restore the circulation, giving himself time to compose his thoughts.
There was a mews at the end of the nearest houses where a brazier glowed in the damp air, almost hidden by the various grooms and coachmen who would wait, all night if required, for their lords and ladies to call for them from lavish supper parties or from the gambling rooms across the square. It was the other London, which Bolitho had grown to hate. Arrogant, thoughtless. Without pity. As different from Catherine's London as these mindless fops were from Bolitho's sailors.
"Wait nearby, Matthew." He glanced at Allday's massive shadow. "Stay with me, old friend."
Allday did not question him.
The door swung inwards even before the echo of the bell had died. A footman stood outlined against the chandeliers, his features invisible in shadow, like a wooden cut-out in some fashionable shop.