beg for your advice, Captain Aubrey? Can you think of any man, any former shipmate of yours, perhaps, or. . . ? I should give him a free hand, and I should back him to the hilt.’
‘I should have to consider of it,’ said Jack.
‘Pray do, pray do,’ said Canning. No less than a dozen people came up to the buffet at once, and private conversation was at an end. Canning gave Jack his card, pencilling an address upon it, and said in a low tone, ‘I shall be here all the week. A word from you, at any time, and I shall be most grateful for a meeting.’
They parted - indeed they were driven apart - and Jack backed until he was brought up by the window. The offer had been as direct as it could be in decency, to a serving officer: he liked Canning, had rarely taken to any man with such immediate sympathy at first sight. He must be most uncommon rich to fit out a six or seven hundred ton letter-?of-?marque: a huge investment for a private man. Yet Jack’s reflection was one of wonder alone, not of doubt - there was not the least question of Canning’s honesty in his mind.
‘Come, Jack, come, come,’ said Lady Keith, tugging his arm. ‘Where are your manners? You are behaving like a bear.’
‘Dear Queenie,’ said he, with a great slow smile, ‘forgive me. I am bemused. Your friend Canning wants to make my fortune. He is your friend?’
‘Yes. His father taught me Hebrew - good evening, Miss Sibyl - such a very wealthy young man, so enterprising. He has a vast admiration for you.’
‘That shows a proper candour. Does he speak Hebrew, Queenie?’
‘Oh, just enough for his bar mitzvah, you know. He is about as much of a scholar as you are, Jack. He has many friends in the Prince of Wales’s set, but don’t let that put you off - he is not a flash cove. Come into the gallery.’
‘Bar mitzvah,’ said Jack, in a grave voice, following her into the crowded gallery; and there, momentarily framed by four men in black coats, he saw the familiar red face of Mrs Williams. She was sitting by the fireplace, looking hot and overdressed, and Cecilia sat next to her: for a moment he could not place them in this context; they belonged to another world and time, another reality. There was no empty place beside them, no vacant chair. As Lady Keith led him up to them she murmured something about Sophia; but her discretion swallowed up her meaning.
‘Have you come back to England, Captain Aubrey?’ said Mrs Williams, as he made his leg. ‘Well, well, upon my word.’
‘Where are your other girls?’ asked Lady Keith, glancing about.
‘I was obliged to leave them at home, your ladyship. Frankie has such a feverish cold, and Sophie has stayed to take care of her.’
‘She did not know you would be here,’ whispered Cecilia.
‘Jack,’ said Lady Keith, ‘I believe Lord Melville is throwing out a signal. He wants to speak with you.’
‘The First Lord?’ cried Mrs Williams, half rising in her seat and craning. ‘Where? Where? Which is he?’
‘The gentleman with the star,’ said Lady Keith.
‘Just a word, Aubrey,’ said Lord Melville, ‘and then I must be off. Can you come to see me tomorrow instead of next week? It does not throw you out? Good night to you, then - I am obliged to you, Lady Keith,’ he called, kissing his hand and waving it, ‘your must humble, devoted. .
Jack’s face and eyes, as he turned back to the ladies, had a fine glow, a hint of the rising sun. By the law of social metaphysics some of the great man’s star had rubbed off on him, as well as a little of young Canning’s easy opulence. He felt that he was in command of the situation, of any situation, in spite of the wolves outside the door: his calmness surprised him. What were his feelings beneath this strong bubbling cheerfulness? He could not make it out. So much had happened these last few days - his old cloak still smelt of powder - and indeed was still happening, that he could not make them out. Sometimes you receive a knock in action: it may be your death-? wound or just a scratch, a graze - you cannot tell at once. He gave up the attempt and turned his full attention to Mrs Williams, inwardly remarking that the Mrs Williams of Sussex and even of Bath was a different animal from the Mrs Williams in a great London drawing-?room; she looked provincial and dowdy; and so, it must be admitted, did Cecilia, with her fussy ornaments and frizzled hair - though indeed she was a good-?natured child. Mrs Williams was obscurely aware of this; she looked stupid, uncertain, and almost respectful, though he felt that resentment might not be far away. Having observed how affable Lord Melville was, very much the gentleman, she told Jack that they had read about his escape in the paper: she hoped his return meant
that everything was well with him: but how came he to be in India? She had understood he had withdrawn to the Continent in consequence of some. . . to the Continent.
‘So I did, ma’am. Maturin and I went to France, where that scoundrel Bonaparte very nearly laid us by the heels.’
‘But you came home in an Indiaman. I saw it in the papers - in The Times.’
‘Yes. She touched at Gibraltar.’
‘Ah. I see. So now the mystery is cleared up: I thought I should get to the bottom of it at last.’
‘How is dear Dr Maturin?’ asked Cecilia. ‘I hope to see him.’
‘Yes, how is the worthy Dr Maturin?’ said her mother.
‘He is very well, I thank you. He was in the far room some moments ago, talking to the Physician of the Fleet. What a splendid fellow he is: he nursed me through a most devilish fever I caught in the mountains, and dosed me twice a day until we reached Gibraltar. Nothing else would have brought me home.’
‘Mountains - Spain,’ said Mrs Williams with strong disapproval. ‘You will never get me there, I can tell you.’
‘So you travelled right down through Spain,’ said Cecilia. ‘I dare say it was prodigiously romantic, with ruins, and monks?’
‘There were some ruins and monks, to be sure,’ said Jack, smiling at her. ‘And hermits too. But the most romantic thing I saw was the Rock, rearing up there at the end of our road like a lion. That, and the orange-?tree in
