‘And where are you going now? Lord, Stephen, how prying and inquisitive I am. Just like my aunt Williams. I trust I have not been indiscreet.’
‘Oh,’ cried Stephen, suddenly filled with a strong temptation to tell her that he was going to be landed on the Spanish coast at the dark of the moon - the classical temptation of the secret agent in his loneliness, but one that he had never felt before. ‘Oh, ’tis only a dismal piece of law-?business. I shall go to town first, then to Plymouth, and so perhaps to Ireland for a while.’
‘To town? But Brighton is quite out of your way - I had imagined you had to go to Portsmouth, when you offered me a lift. Why have you come so far out of your way?’
‘The dew-?ponds, the wheatears, the pleasure of driving over grass.’
‘What a dogged brute you are, Maturin, upon my honour,’ said Diana. ‘I shall lay out for no more compliments.’
‘No, but in all sadness,’ said Stephen, ‘I like sitting in a chaise with you; above all when you are like this. I could wish this road might go on for ever.’
There was a pause; the chaise was filled with waiting, but he did not go on, and after a moment she said with a forced laugh, ‘Well done, Maturin. You are quite a courtier. But I am afraid I can see its end already. There is the sea, and this must be the beginning of the Devil’s Punchbowl. And will you really drive me up to the door in style? I thought I should have to arrive in a pair of pattens
- I brought them in that little basket with the flap. I am so grateful; and you shall certainly have your narwhal. Pray, where are they to be had? At the poulterer’s, I suppose.’
‘You are too good, my dear. Would you be prepared to reveal the address at which you are to be set down?’
‘Lady Jersey’s, in the Parade.’
‘Lady Jersey’s?’ She was the Prince of Wales’s mistress: and Canning was a member of that set.
‘She is a Villiers cousin by marriage, you know,’ said Diana quickly. ‘And there is nothing in those vulgar newspaper reports. They like one another: that is all. Why, Mrs Fitzherbert is devoted to her.’
‘Ay? Sure, I know nothing of these things. Will I tell you about poor Macdonald’s arm, now?’
‘Oh, do,’ cried Diana. ‘I have been longing to ask, ever since we left Dover.’
They parted at Lady Jersey’s door, having said nothing more, amidst the flurry of servants and baggage: tension, artificial smiles.
‘A gentlemen to see Miss Williams,’ said Admiral Haddock’s butler.
‘Who is it, Rowley?’ asked Sophia.
‘The gentleman did not mention his name, ma’am. A sea-?officer, ma’am. He asked for my master, and then for Miss Williams, so I showed him into the library.’
‘Is he a tall, very good-?looking midshipman?’ asked Cecilia. ‘Are you sure he did not ask for me?’
‘Is he a commander?’ asked Sophia, dropping her roses.
‘The gentleman is in a cloak, ma’am: I could not see his rank. He might be a commander, though - not a midshipman, oh no, dear me. He come in a four-?horse shay.’
From the library window Stephen saw Sophia run-?fling across the lawn, holding up her skirt and trailing rose-?petals. She took the steps up to the terrace three at a time: ‘A deer might have taken them with such sweet grace,’ he observed. He saw her stop dead and close her eyes for a second when she understood that the gentleman in the library was Dr Maturin; but she opened the door with hardly a pause and cried, ‘What a delightful surprise! How kind to come to see us. Are you in Plymouth? I thought you were ordered for the Baltic.’
‘The Polychrest is in the Baltic,’ he said, kissing her heartily. ‘I am on leave of absence.’ He turned her to the light and observed, ‘You are looking well - very well
- quite a remarkable pink.’
‘Dear, dear Dr Maturin,’ she said, ‘you really must not salute young ladies like that. Not in England. Of course I am pink - scarlet, I dare say. You kissed me!’
‘Did I, my dear? Well, no great harm. Do you take your porter?’
‘Most religiously, in a silver tankard: I almost like it, now. What may I offer you? The admiral always takes his grog about this time. Are you in Plymouth for long? I do hope you will stay.’
‘If you could give me a cup of coffee, you would do me a most essential service. I lay at Exeter, and they gave me the vilest brew. . . No, I am on the wing - I sail with this tide - but I did not like to pass without paying my respects. I have been travelling since Friday, and to sit with my friends for half an hour is a charming respite.
‘Since Friday? Then perhaps you have not heard the splendid news?’
‘Never a word, at all.’
‘The Patriotic Fund have voted Captain Aubrey a sword of a hundred guineas, and the merchants a piece of plate, for destroying the Bellone. Is it not splendid news?
Though no more than he deserves, I am sure - indeed, not nearly enough. Will he be promoted, do you think?’
‘For a letter of marque, a privateer? No. And he does not look for it. Promotion is the very devil these days. There are not enough ships to go round. Old Jarvie did not build them, but he did make men post. So we have herds of unemployed captains; shoals of unpromoted commanders.’
‘But none so deserving as Captain Aubrey,’ said Sophia, dismissing the rest of the Navy List. ‘You have not told me how he is.’
