report in uniform and be presumptuous or report in civilian clothes and be incorrect.
However I shall take uniform as well, in case I have to go on. Sweetheart, it has not gone to wrack and ruin all these years?’
‘Neither the one nor the other, my dear, only the epaulettes are a little tarnished.
Killick and my mother and both the girls have been blowing on your best and dry-scrubbing it with soft brushes to get the smell of moth-balls out since yesterday morning.
But I am afraid it will be much too big; you have grown pitifully thin, my poor darling.’
Pitifully thin or not, Jack Aubrey still made the post-chaise heel well over as he stepped into it, having kissed his family all round except for George, who had been wearing breeches for quite some time now.
They struck into the main London road at Cosham and
bowled along at a splendid rate under a blue, blue sky with billowing, flat-bottomed white clouds travelling in the same direction, but at a far more stately pace. ‘Remarkable fine horses,’ observed Jack. ‘And a most uncommon pretty day.’ He whistled and then sang From Ushant to Scilly, ’tis thirty-five leagues right through.
Since there had been no rain on Saturday or Sunday the hedges all along the busy road were white with dust, but only a little way beyond them there was a living green in the wheat, oats and barley, in the various leys, and in the woods and copses with leaves coming to their glory under the brilliant sky that it would have lifted the heart of any man, let alone one who might expect such an end to his journey.
Most of the summer migrants had arrived and there were still some passing through to northern parts; the countryside was therefore rich in birds, and as they changed horses at a village some way beyond Petersfield Stephen heard no less than three separate cuckoos at once. He shook his head, remembering the extreme pain that call had caused him at an earlier time, but almost at once his mind was taken off by the sight of a wryneck, a bird he had much more often heard than seen. He pointed it out to Jack
with the usual result: ‘There is a wryneck.’ ‘Where?’ ‘On the young elm to the right of – it is gone.’
Wrynecks, the progress of Jack’s daughters in learning and deportment under Miss O’Mara, and the albatrosses of the high and even moderate southern latitudes occupied the next stage, but after that Jack became more and more silent. There was so very much at stake and now the moment of decision was so very near – hurrying and even racing nearer every minute. He grew exceedingly uneasy in his mind.
•
‘I shall feel better after dinner,’ he said to himself as the chaise turned off the Strand, rolled down into the Liberties of
•
the Savoy and came to a halt at the Grapes, their accustomed inn Mrs Broad made them heartily welcome. Killick, travelling up on yesterday’s night coach, had given her warning, and she
provided them with a dinner that would have soothed any reasonable man; but at this point Jack Aubrey was not a reasonable man. His mind was fixed on the possibility of unacceptable conditions or even downright failure and he ate mechanically, drawing no benefit from his food whatsoever.
‘It is my belief the Captain has been called out, and is going to meet some gentleman in Hyde Park,’ said Mrs Broad to Lucy, for Castlereagh’s duel with Canning and some other slightly less notorious encounters were still very much in the public mind. ‘He never even touched the pudding.’
‘Oh Aunt Broad, what a terrible thing to say,’ cried Lucy. ‘But sure I never saw a man look so grim.’
Yet not so grim when he knocked on the door in Arlington Street as the St James’s clock struck half past five, for now the action was engaged; the time of waiting was over; he was on the enemy’s deck at last.
He gave the servant his card, saying, ‘I have an appointment with his lordship.’ ‘Oh yes, sir, this way, if you please,’ said the man, and led him to a small room opening directly off the hall.
‘Captain Aubrey,’ said Lord Melville, rising from behind his desk and stretching out his hand, ‘let me be the first to congratulate you. We have sorted Out this wretched business at last: it has taken far longer than I could have wished for – far, far longer than you can have wished, I fear – but it is done. Sit down and read that: it is a proof-sheet of the Gazette that is now printing off.’
Jack looked at the sheet with a fixed, stern expression. The ringed-round lines ran May 15. Captain John Aubrey, Royal Navy, is restored to the List with his former rank and seniority, and is appointed to the Diane, of thirty-two guns. He said, ‘I am deeply sensible of your kindness, my lord.’
Melville went on, ‘And here is your appointment to the I)iane. Your orders will be ready in a day or two, but of course you already know the essence of the matter from Sir Joseph. I am so glad – we are so glad – that you are able to undertake this mission, with Dr Maturin to keep you company, for nobody could be better qualified in every way. Ideally, no doubt, you would bring those evil men Ledward and Wray back with you, but Mr Fox, our envoy and a man of great experience in Oriental
concerns, tells me that this could not possibly be done without injuring our subsequent relations with the Sultanate. The same, and I say it with the deepest regret, applies to their frigate, the’ – he looked into a folder on his desk – ‘the Cornélie. Yet at least I most sincerely hope that the mission will frustrate and confound them, bringing them to utter and permanent discredit. And ideally you would be able to choose many of your own officers and midshipmen, but as you know time presses most urgently and unless you can catch the tail of the south-west monsoon Mr Fox may arrive to find the French in possession of a treaty. If you have any friends or followers within immediate reach, well and good
– but this is a matter you will discuss with Admiral Satterley. I have made an appointment for you at nine tomorrow morning at the Admiralty, if that is convenient.’
‘Perfectly so, my lord,’ said Jack, who had recovered during Melville’s steady, practised flow and who was aware of a grave
– happiness is too slight a word – emotion filling his whole heart; though even now he found that he was crushing his appointment, grasping it with enormous force and ruining its folds. He smoothed it discreetly and slid it into his pocket.
‘As for hands, Admiral Martin will I am sure do his very best for you, both because their lordships command it and because he has a great liking for you and Mrs Aubrey; but there again you know the difficulties he has to contend with. And lastly, as for Mr Fox, I had thought of arranging a dinner, but Sir Joseph thought it might be better, less formal, if you and he and Maturin were to invite him to Black’s, to a private room at Black’s.’ Jack bowed. ‘And speaking of that,’ said Melville, glancing at the clock, ‘I trust you will eat your mutton with us this evening? Heneage is coming and I can imagine his disappointment at missing you.’ Jack said he would be very happy, and Melville continued, ‘There, I believe that is all I
have to say as First Lord: the admirals will deal with the purely service aspects.
But speaking as an ordinary mortal, may I say that my cousin William Dundas is bringing in a private bill on Wednesday to allow him to win some land from the sea. There is likely to be a very thin House, perhaps not enough for a quorum, so if you were to look in, and if you were to approve what he says – though it would diminish your watery realm by nearly two square miles – why, we should take it very kindly.’
No one but a man far more obtuse than Maturin would have had to ask the result of the interview as Jack came running upstairs, his papers in his hand.
‘He did it as handsomely as the thing could be done,’ he said. ‘No humming and whoreing, no barking about the wrong bush, no God-damned morality: just shook my hand, said “Captain Aubrey, let me be the first to congratulate you” and showed me these.’ Then, having chuckled over the Gazette again, observing that it would make poor Oldham, the postcaptain who had stepped into his seniority, look pretty blank tomorrow, he gave Stephen a minute account of the conversation, the subsequent dinner – ‘it went down remarkably well, considering; but I believe I could have ate a hippopotamus in my relief’ – and the truly affecting behaviour of Heneage Dundas. ‘He sends his very kindest wishes, by the way, and will look in tomorrow in case you have a free moment while he is in town. Lord, how pleased I was with the whole thing, and how pleased Sophie will be. I shall send an express. But,’ he went on after a hesitant pause, ‘I do rather wish Melville had not asked me for a vote, not just at that time.’