‘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 outré 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 -your own master, no fagging up and down to Whitehall, no admirals to make you do tiresome things and snatch great lumps of your prize-money. A perfect idea for a man like you – for a man of spirit. An independent command! A thirty-two gun frigate!’
‘It is a magnificent offer: I am in a maze.’
‘And in partnership with Canning! I am sure you would get on famously. My cousin Jersey knows him. The Can-flings are absurdly rich, and he is very like a native prince; only he is straightforward and brave, which they are not, on the whole.’ Her eager face changed, and looking round Jack saw an elderly man standing by him. ‘My dear,’ said the elderly man,
‘Charlotte sends me to tell you she is thinking of going home presently; we have to drop Charles at the Tower before twelve.’
‘I shall come at once,’ said Diana.
‘No, no, you have plenty of time to finish your ice.’
‘Have I, truly? May I introduce Captain Aubrey, of the Navy, Admiral Haddock’s neighbour? Colonel Colpoys, who is so sweetly kind as to have me to stay.’
Very small talk for a moment, and the colonel went away to see to his horses.
‘When shall I see you again? Will you call at Bruton Street tomorrow morning? I shall be alone. You may take me into the park, and to look at the shops.’
‘Diana,’ said Jack in a low voice, ‘there is a writ out against me. I dare not walk about London.’
‘You dare not? You are afraid of being arrested?’ Jack nodded. ‘Afraid? Upon my word, I never expected to hear that from you. What do you think I introduced you for? It was so you might call.’
‘Besides, I am under orders for the Admiralty tomorrow.’
‘How unfortunate,’ said Diana.
‘May I come on Sunday?’
‘No, sir, you may not. I do not ask men to come to see me so often . . . No, you must certainly consult your safety: of course you must consult your safety. In any case, I shall no longer be in town.’
‘Mr Wells’s carriage; Sir John Bridges’s carriage; Colonel Colpoys’s carriage,’ cried a footman.
‘Major Lennox,’ said Diana, as one of her soldiers went by, ‘please be very kind and find me my cloak, will you? I must say good-bye to Lady Keith and my aunt,’ she observed to herself, gathering her fan and gloves.
Jack followed the procession of Colonel and Mrs Colpoys, Diana Villiers, the unknown Charles, Lennox and Stephen Maturin, and stood bare-headed, exposed on that brightly-lit pavement while the carriages made their slow way down from the mews: no word, however – not so much as a look. At last the women were handed in and stowed away, the carriage moved off, and Jack walked slowly back into the house with Stephen Maturin.
They went up the broad stairs, making their way against the increasing current of guests who had taken their leave; their conversation was fragmentary and unimportant – a few general remarks – but by the time they had reached the top each knew that their harmony was no longer what it had been these last few months.
‘I shall make my farewells,’ said Stephen, ‘and then I believe I shall walk down to the Physical Society. You will stay a little longer with your friends, I imagine? I do beg you to take a coach from the very door itself and to ride all the way home. Here is the common purse. If you are to see the First Lord in the morning, your mind must be in a condition of easy complaisance, in a placid, rested state. There is milk in the little crock – warmed milk will relax the fibres.’