‘Dear me, dear me,’ she said with a sigh: and hearing the minute voice of Stephen’s watch, ‘was that a clock somewhere? Can it be twelve?’
He plucked it from his waistcoat. ‘Yes, twelve it is, by the ship’s exact noon observation of the sun.’
‘Oh what a pretty thing. Will it chime again?’
It chimed again, and Stephen asked, ‘Do you like it?’
‘I think it is perfectly beautiful. Is it what they call a repeater?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘I have never seen one before.’ She was clearly fascinated.
He put it back into her hand, showed her the buttons to be pressed, and said, ‘There, my dear. It is yours: a very slight acknowledgement of the delights you have given me today.’
‘Oh, what nonsense, Stephen dear,’ she said, repressing a smile. ‘Of course I cannot possibly accept such a present: though I return a hundred thousand thanks for the intention.’ She put it gently on the table, stood up, and said, ‘Come, it is already late. Let me show you to your room.’
It was a fine large airy place and the window framed the declining moon. She drew the curtain and said, ‘I am afraid you brought no night-clothes, Stephen. Should you like one of my gowns?’
‘Lord, no, my dear: I am perfectly happy to lie in my skin, like Adam before the fall.’
‘Well, good night, Stephen, There is water, and a towel. There is soap. I do hope you will sleep well.’
‘Good night, my dear. I shall be up before the sun, since I mean to walk up and over to rejoin my ship; so please forgive me if I take my leave now.’
Long he lay on the flat of his back, head supported by both hands and above all by his sense of the weakening of Christine’s absolute resistance; he turned the events of a singularly varied day in his mind; and a great way off two, three and even four different nightjars churred at their various pitches.
In spite of their earlier farewell, Christine joined him for breakfast. ‘I am so sorry I grieved you,’ she said, looking at him uneasily, after the first civilities.
‘I had no notion of your far more grievous reasons,’ he replied. ‘It was deeply impercipient.
But before I go, please let me say that as I see it marriage does not necessarily mean possession; far, far less dominance.’
‘Stephen, I would not hurt you for the world. You are going on a long and I hope very fruitful voyage: may I turn the whole thing over in my mind while you are away? And with the blessing I may come round – come back – to thinking and feeling like an ordinary woman. But, my dear,’ after a long, long pause, ‘you are not to feel in the slightest degree bound: no, not the very least degree.” Stephen bowed; and having poured him more coffee she went on hesitantly, ‘Did you not say that the Aubreys lived in Dorsetshire? I am going to cousins next month who live near Bridport; and if I can be of any use in carrying letters, either of you have but to command.’
‘That would be wonderfully kind. I know that Captain Aubrey has a heap of paper, written small; and I have not done badly. But tell me – though this is a personal question, which I detest – do you find it easy to travel?’
‘Lord, yes. I often go back. I may take Jenny, but I can perfectly well go alone: I find that men, particularly seamen, are particularly kind to women on their own; and a single trunk does very well. A big, roomy Portuguese Guineaman touches here next month. She will put me down at the Pool, as usual, and the agents will carry me and my trunk to Grillon’s, where I generally stay, and after a day or two of shopping I shall take a post-chaise down: it is as simple as that.’
‘Of course. I had always known of women travelling to and from India by themselves, but from some imbecility of mind West Africa seemed infinitely more remote. If I may, I shall send up our packets directly, for tomorrow we shall sail.’
‘Good-bye, dear Stephen,’ she said in the doorway.
‘Good-bye, dear Christine: God bless.’
He walked away from the house a little after sunrise with no more than a dissatisfied or inquisitive look from the dogs in the outer yard: a clear, cool morning, and a little flock of bulbuls flew over him as he sat down half-way up the hill to gaze out over the water: the duck were no longer moving, but the flamingos were busy, and he liked to think that behind the mangrove-belt he could just make out the monstrous form of that improbable great heron, Ardea goliath.
Rising, he climbed the hill: but with a rather languid step – even a short time at sea made walking on the unyielding ground quite arduous for a while – but his heart glowed with sanguine hope.
Yet for all his meditations on the possibility of a happy future and his rehearsing of the wonders he had seen the day before, his stomach kept up its peevish cry, above all at the scent of coffee wafting from the southern gate. Christine’s servants, though devoted and so trustworthy that she could leave the house without a qualm, lacked one prime virtue: they could not make coffee. The household drank tea, and this morning’s thin brownish wash (saved from yesterday) was a special concession to the guest, poor soul. Once he was inside the walls he walked straight to a decent-looking place at the corner of the market-square, called for a pot, and heard Jacob’s voice saying ‘Dear colleague, I wish you a very good morning indeed. May I join you?’
Stephen replied that nothing would give him more pleasure; and after a few preliminaries Jacob said, ‘If you were not my superior officer, I should venture to say that you push discretion much too far in not asking me what I am doing, what I think I am about, why am I here, and who is looking after our patients; but you are my superior officer, so without any comment I shall voluntarily tell you that two other men-of-war came in shortly after you left with Square and the girl. Their captains paid their duty-calls early, and in the afternoon
we began a three-sided competition – games of cricket, a boxing-match, and races between the various boats: they intend doing the whole dreary thing over again today on an even larger scale, together with bouts of raising and lowering masts and sails and even of gunfire, for God’s sake, all against a stop-watch. I cannot bear it, so I escaped at the earliest possible moment. I get in the way, I am pushed and blamed and even cursed: and as for patients, we have no patients, no bed-ridden patients, all the sick having declared themselves whole. No patients, other than a youth from the Erebus whom your young friend Hanson struck to the ground with a murderous blow. It is only in fact a passing concussion, but his shipmates feign infinite concern and swear that if it prove fatal they will keelhaul the Lion of the Atlas, as they call our champion, with his own intestines. The zeal and animation which fills these three ships, with the various exhibitions of maritime skill, passes all understanding: most of the officers are as deeply concerned as the men; but I must say that Captain Aubrey seems somewhat oppressed, and if he did not have official business ashore I think he might succumb.’ He poured more coffee, plucked off another six inches of soft bread, and looking attentively at his old friend, asked, ‘Stephen, are you satisfied with the Captain’s health?’
‘His physical health?’
‘Can the two be separated?’
‘On occasion, yes: but to be sure, in general the two are very intimately connected.’
‘His light seems to have gone out.’
‘His wife has used those very words.’
‘Whereas yours, if I may say so, Stephen, glows like a moderately resplendent sun. I hope, my dear, you do not dislike my speaking in this way?’ – they had as usual lapsed back into the French of their youth – ‘But we have, after all, known one another a great many years.’
‘We have indeed, Amos. No: I do not dislike it at all, in you: and I shall try to make the dimming – which I perfectly admit – more comprehensible. As far as the Royal Navy is concerned, I, for one, am attached, loosely attached, to the service: he is literally of it, and success or failure in the Navy is and always has been of paramount importance. He has risen high: he is a post-captain near the top of the list. But he is at that stage when some members of the group with approximately the same seniority are selected for flag-rank as rear-admiral of the blue. By no means all can be chosen: those who are not chosen, those who are passed over, are colloquially or by way of derision known as yellow admirals, admirals of a non-existent squadron. And that is the end of the poor man’s hopes: there is no return to eligibility. Merit has something to do with this vital step, yet influence has more