valuable oil painting, though not quite in the modern taste.’
‘Mama, may I run after Dr Maturin and go with them?’ asked Cecilia.
‘Do, my love, and tell Dr Maturin to come and see me. No, Captain Aubrey, do not get up: you shall tell me about your Spanish journey. There is nothing that interests me more than travel, I declare; and if I had had my health I should have been a great traveller, a second -a second -’ ‘St Paul?’
‘No, no. A second Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. Now tell me about Dr Maturin’s establishment.’
Jack could not tell her very much; he had been unwell, delirious at times, and he did not attend to the kind of leases they had in those parts, or the return on capital
- Mrs Williams sighed - had not seen the rent-?roll, but supposed the estate was ‘pretty big’ - it took in a good deal of Aragon, as well as Catalonia; it had its drawbacks, however, being sadly infested by porcupines; they were hunted by a pack of pure-?bred porcupine-?hounds, often by moonlight, the field carrying Cordova-?leather umbrellas against the darting of their quills.
‘You gentlemen are always so taken up with your sporting, when a little attention to rack-?rents and fines and enclosures - I am enclosing Mapes Common - ah, here comes the dear Doctor.’
Stephen’s face rarely betrayed much emotion, but her effusive welcome made him stretch his eyes: her first question set him right, however, ‘So I hear that you have a marble bath, Dr Maturin? That must be a great comfort to you, in such a climate.’
‘Certainly, ma’am. I conceive it to be Visigothic.’
‘Not marble?’
‘Visigothic marble, my dear madam, from a baptistery destroyed by the Moors.’
‘And you have a castle?’
‘Oh, it is only a small place. I keep one wing in order, to go up there from time to time.’
‘For the porcupine-?hunting, no doubt?’
Stephen bowed. ‘And for my rents, ma’am. In some ways Spain is a more direct country than England, and when we say rack-?rent in those parts, rack-?rent is what we mean - why, we make them pay for the use of the instrument.’
Jack found Diana at the buffet where he had had his conversation with Canning: Canning was no longer with her, but his place had been taken by two more soldiers. She did not give Jack both hands, because one was holding a glass and the other a piece of cake, but her greeting was as gay, cheerful and undisguised as it had been for Stephen:
even warmer, perhaps, for she moved away from the group to talk with him - a hundred quick, attentive inquiries -and she said ‘How we have missed you at Mapes, Aubrey; how I have missed you! A pack of women mewed up together, bottling gooseberries, God help us. There is that odious Mr Dawkins bearing down. We will go and look at Lady Keith’s new picture. Here it is. What do you think of her?’
It was clear that the Magdalene had not yet repented: she was standing on a quay with blue ruins in the background - a blue that swept with varying intensities through her robe to the sea - with gold plates, ewers and basins heaped up on a crimson cloth, and an expression of mild complacency on her face. Her blue dress had blown off - a fresh double-?reef topsail breeze - and so had a filmy white garment, exposing handsome limbs and a firm, though opulent bosom. Jack had been a long time at sea, and this drew his attention; however, he shifted his gaze after a moment, surveyed the rest of the picture and sought for something appropriate, perhaps even witty, to say. He longed to produce a subtle and ingenious remark, but he longed in vain - perhaps the day had been too full - and he was obliged to fall back on ‘Very fine - such a blue.’ Then a small vessel in the lower left-?hand corner caught his eye, something in the nature of a pink; she was beating up for the harbour, but it was obvious from the direction of the lady’s clothes that the pink would be taken aback the moment she rounded the headland. ‘As soon as she catches the land-?breeze she will be in trouble,’ he said. ‘She will never stay, not with those unhandy lateens, and there is no room to wear; so there she is on a lee-?shore. Poor fellows. I am afraid there is no hope for them.’
‘That is exactly what Maturin told me you would say,’ cried Diana, squeezing his arm. ‘How well he knows you, Aubrey.’
‘Well, a man don’t have to be a Nostradamus to tell what a sailor will say, when he sees an infernal tub like that laid by the lee. But Stephen is a very deep old file, to be sure,’ he added, his good humour returning. ‘And a great cognoscento, I make no doubt. For my part I know nothing about painting at all.’
‘Nor do I,’ said Diana, staring up at the picture. ‘She seems to be making a very good thing of it,’ - with a chuckle - ‘No lack of admirers. Come, let us see if we can find an ice: I am dying of heat and general distress.’
‘Look at the outre way Diana has dragged up her hair,’ said Mrs Williams as they passed by towards the great drawing-?room. ‘It is bound to attract attention. It would do Sophie good, to see her walking about like that, as bold as brass, with poor Captain Aubrey. She has positively taken his arm, I protest.’
‘Tell me,’ said Diana, ‘What are your plans? Are you back for good? Shall we see something of you in Sussex?’
‘I am not sure,’ said Jack. ‘Do you see that man saying good-?bye to Lady Keith? But you know him - he was talking to you just now. Canning.’
‘Yes?’
‘He has offered me the command of a - of a letter-?of-?marque, a private man of war, a thirty-?two gun frigate.’
‘Oh, Aubrey, how splendid! A privateer is just the thing for you - Have I said something wrong?’
‘No. No, not at all - good evening, sir: that was Admiral Bridges - No, it was just the word privateer. But as Stephen is always telling me, one must not be the prisoner of words.’
‘Of course not. Besides, what does it signify? It is just like taking service with the native princes in India:
nobody thinks any the less of you and everybody envies the fortune you make. Oh, how well it would suit you
