Bolitho watched him for several seconds. This boy could never betray anyone. He was the one who had been wronged. Again he had the pressing feeling that he wanted to do something about it and without more delay. The wound in his shoulder was a warning. The next time might be final.

He said clumsily, “There is a lawyer in Falmouth named Quince.” He hesitated, trying to make his voice sound matter-of-fact. “When we return home I would like you to come with me and see him.”

Pascoe pushed the plate away and wiped his mouth. “Why, Uncle?”

Why? How could so great a question be crammed into one tiny word?

He stood up and walked along the swaying deck towards the windows. Below he could see the frothing wake gleaming like snow in the light of a stern lantern and imagined he could see Valorous following at a discreet distance through the darkness. In the thick glass he saw Pascoe’s reflection as he sat at the table, his chin in his hands. Like a child for these moments of privacy and value which might soon pass.

He said, “I want to be sure that you have the house and property when I am dead, Adam.” He heard the boy gasp and cursed himself for the crudity of his words. “I know that with luck I will be bothering you for years to come.” He turned and smiled at him. “However, I want to be certain about this thing!”

Pascoe made to rise but Bolitho crossed to the table and laid one hand on his shoulder.

“It would have been yours one day had life been kinder. I intend to see that right is not ignored by others.” He hurried on, unable to stop himself “You do not bear our family name, but you are as much a part of it and of me as would otherwise be possible.” He squeezed his shoulder, seeing the boy wipe his eyes with his hand. “Now away with you to your watch. I’ll not have my officers saying behind my back that I show favour to some upstart nephew!”

Pascoe stood up very slowly and then said quietly, “Captain Herrick was right about you.” He walked from the table, his face hidden until he turned again by the door. “He said you were the finest man he ever met. He also said . . .” But he could not finish it and almost ran from the cabin.

Bolitho walked to the stern windows and stared unseeingly at the leaping spray. He felt at peace for the first time since . . . he could not remember when that had been. Perhaps at last he would be able to help the boy. To right some of the wrong which had been done to him. At least he had been spared meeting with Draffen. To hear his hints about Hugh’s implication with slavery would turn the knife in his heart yet again and might damage him to an extent beyond repair.