To Glory We Steer by Alexander Kent

The packed humanity, and the varied aromas of tar and salt, of cooking and damp, all were alien here.
    It felt lonely, too. In his mind’s eye he could still picture his mother, young and vivacious as he remembered her. Again, he had been at sea when she had died of some brief but final illness. Now there was no companion for James Bolitho, and nobody to sit enraptured or amused by stories of the family’s past exploits.
    Bolitho glanced at the great clock. “My men will have found new people for the crew by now or not at all,” he said quietly. “It is a sad necessity that we have to get seamen like this.”
    His father’s face came alive from his inner thoughts. “I believe that their duty is more important than their passing comfort! Every week I have to sign deportation orders for the colonies, or hang useless thieves. Life in a King’s ship would have spared them the indignity of life ashore, would have saved them from petty greed and temptation!”
    Bolitho studied his father’s face and remembered himself as he had appeared in the mirror of the George Inn at Portsmouth. It was there in his father, as it was in the portraits along the walls. The same calm face and dark hair, the same slightly hooked nose. But his father had lost his old fire, and his hair was grey now, like that of a man much older.
    His father stood up and walked to the fire. Over his shoulder he said gruffly, “You have not yet heard about your brother?”
    Bolitho tensed. “No. I thought he was still at sea.”
    â€œAt sea?” The older man shook his head vaguely, “Of course, I kept it from you. I suppose I should have written to you, but in my heart I still hoped he might change his ways and nobody would have known about it.”
    Bolitho waited. His brother had always been the apple of his father’s eye. When last he had seen him he had been a lieutenant in the Channel Fleet, the next in line for this house and for the family inheritance. Bolitho had never felt particularly close to Hugh, but put it down to a natural family jealousy. Now, he was not so sure.
    â€œI had great hopes for Hugh.” His father was talking to the fire. To himself. “I am only glad his mother is not alive to know of what he became!”
    â€œIs there something I can do?” Bolitho watched the shoulders quiver as his father sought to control his voice.
    â€œNothing. Hugh is no longer in the Navy. He got into debt gambling. He always had an eye for the tables, as I think you know. But he got into deep trouble, and to end it all he fought a duel with a brother officer, and killed him!”
    Bolitho’s mind began to clear. That explained the few servants, and the fact that over half the land belonging to the house had been sold to a local farmer.
    â€œYou covered his debts then?” He kept his voice calm. “I have some prize-money if . . .”
    The other man held up his hand. “That is not necessary. It was my fault for being so blind. I was stupid about that boy. I must pay for my misjudgement!” He seemed to become more weary. “He deserted the Navy, turned his back on it, even knowing how his act would hurt me. Now he has gone.”
    Bolitho started. “Gone?”
    â€œHe went to America. I have not heard of him for two years, nor do I want to.” When he turned Bolitho saw the lie shining in his eyes. “Not content with bringing disgrace on the family name, he has done this thing. Betrayed his country!”
    Bolitho thought of the chaos and death at the disaster of Philadelphia and answered slowly, “He may have been prevented from returning by the rebellion.”
    â€œYou know your brother, Richard. Do you really think it likely? He always had to be right, to hold the winning cards. No, I cannot see him pining away in a prison camp!”
    The servant girl entered the room and bobbed in a clumsy curtsy. “Beggin’ pardon, zur.