‘May I ask, sir,’ said Mr Dee, reviving, ‘whether you have any strong feeling against Jews?’
‘I have not, sir,’ replied Stephen.
‘I am glad of that,’ said Mr Dee, ‘for the gentleman, the physical gentleman in question, is a Jew, a Spanish Jew. That is to say he was brought up as an orthodox Sephardi, which gave him not only the curious Spanish the Sephardim speak in Africa and the Turkish dominions, but Hebrew too and Arabic, together with an equally fluent Turkish. But with age and the influence of the Enlightenment - he studied in Paris before the Revolution - his principles grew more... liberal, as one might say. Very much more so, indeed: he quarrelled with the synagogue, and this had a disastrous effect on his practice, which, from the paying point of view, was entirely among its members. He was reduced to sad straits; but in earlier days, and out of mere kindness, he often used his linguistic skill to help one of our friends; and some time ago it was suggested that this assistance should be put on a more formal basis. Since then he has carried out several missions for us, usually as a merchant in precious stones, of which he has a considerable knowledge; and with his wide acquaintance, relations, medical skill and so on he has given very great satisfaction. We have of course repeatedly tested his - his discretion - in the usual way.’
‘Tell me, sir, is the gentleman married?’
‘I believe not,’ said Kent. ‘But if it is tomorrow’s unhappy affair that prompts your question, I can assure you he is perfectly orthodox in those respects. For a while he resided in Algiers on our behalf, and the reporting agent mentioned two mistresses, one white, one black. But apart from these ladies he had many connexions in Algiers, his musical abilities making him particularly welcome among the Europeans of the better sort: and these connexions may prove of the utmost value if Algiers is the chosen port, which seems...
‘Very true,’ said Mr Dee. ‘But I must insist that the Adriatic harbours and dockyards come first: a great show of force, the elimination of potential enemies and the presence of the Royal Navy will necessarily have a great effect upon the fraternities - so great an effect that their conspiracy may well prove abortive. All our efforts should be directed towards that end. I am too old and infirm to take an active part: but my cousins have a banking-house in Ancona, just across the water, and from there I can correspond with my Turkish friends in the Ottoman provinces and co-ordinate our operations. I can also communicate with London by the bankers’ couriers.’
During the time of this conference, Jack had been very much occupied with the rest of his squadron: on the way down from Madeira he had had all the captains to dinner, he had been aboard them repeatedly, and he had a fair notion of their abilities; but it was still not clear how he should divide the ships for their separate duties. As far as the Adriatic was concerned, he would certainly shift his pennant into the Surprise, with her wonderful sailing qualities, her old, trained, thoroughly reliable ship’s company, capable of such a deadly rate of fire: but for his consort he could not decide between Pomone and Dover. The difference in broadside weight of metal was very great: no less than a hundred and forty-four pounds. But the thirty-gun Pomone was the unhappy ship whose captain was laid up in Funchal with a badly broken leg, unlikely to recover, and whose second lieutenant was confined to his cabin to await trial for an offence under the twenty-ninth Article of War, which dealt with ‘unnatural and detestable sin’ - a ship to which Lord Keith had appointed a young man, very recently made post, the only qualified officer at hand. Whatever the outcome of tomorrow’s ugly trial, the Pomone’s people would be very upset - new officers, new ways ... mockery.
‘Larboard, sir?’ asked Bonden in an undertone.
Jack nodded. The gig hooked on and he ran up the frigate’s side, still lost in thought. He had seen the flagship’s barge carrying the civilians away long before and he expected to find Stephen in the cabin. ‘Where is the Doctor?’ he cried.
‘Which he is in the other doctor’s cabin,’ said Killick, appearing as if by magic, ‘discoursing of physical matters and drinking rare old East India sherry. Dr Glover called for another bottle a quarter of an hour ago.’
In fact at this moment they were discoursing of impotence. Their conversation had begun when, having dismissed the Sick and Hurt Board as a parcel of incompetent Ascitans, fit only to dance round an inflated wineskin, Dr Glover asked Stephen whether he had heard of the death of Governor Wood of Sierra Leone.
‘I have, alas,’ said Stephen. ‘A most hospitable man: he and his wife entertained us nobly when we were there in Bellona. I am about to write... the most difficult kind of letter in the world, however highly you esteem the person to whom it is addressed, and however much you sympathize. I grieve for her extremely.’
Dr Glover did not reply for some time: then, having finished his glass, he looked sideways at his old friend and said, ‘I was in Freetown the best part of a year, and they were both my patients. I can tell you as one medico to another that in this case formal expressions of regret would be perfectly adequate: more indeed might be offensive. It was not anything much of a marriage, you know. Indeed legally I believe it was no marriage at all. The Governor was impotent. I took the ordinary measures, and some out of the ordinary: but nothing answered. How the connexion came about in the first place or what they made of it I do not know: but they slept in separate rooms and I had the strong impression that it was but a sad cohabitation - guilt and resentment just under the surface. He of course was a busy man, and very fortunately she had her anatomical studies - a most uncommonly gifted lady. No. Condolence by all means; but tempered, tempered .
