Patrick O'Brian - The Letter of Marque

'It will not take you above an hour. I will draw you a map. This is a meadow filled with iris pseudocorus, and on the shore just beyond it, near the bridge, you may see a nest of the tuberculated swan.'

'The name of the house that I wish to find is Koningsby.'

'It is here, where I put the cross.'

Stephen's intention was to determine the place where Diana lived, and to get some feeling of the country around her: he then meant to come back to his hotel, summon a barber, change his shirt (he had put up three, a spare neckcloth and a waistcoat), dine, and send a message asking if he might call. He had no notion of making his appearance at her door without a word of warning.

He crossed the necessary bridges and passed the Serafimer Hospital, looking attentively at it as he went by; the houses soon thinned out and presently he was walking along a wide road between fields, in gently rolling country, mostly pasture, with woods on either hand - a pleasant impression of prevailing green. Moderate farms, some cottages, and here and there a large house among its trees. He noticed with satisfaction that the crows were all of the grey-backed Irish kind.

There was not much traffic on the road, broad and well-kept though it was; two coaches, the occasional gig and farm cart, and perhaps half a dozen horsemen: a few people on foot. They all called out a greeting as they passed, and Stephen, influenced by the greenness and the crows, replied in Irish: God and Mary and Patrick be with you.

Not much traffic on the high road and even less when Stephen, having looked at the apothecary's map again, turned off right-handed on what was no more than a narrow country lane leading through meadows, all fenced with shabby post and rail, as though they belonged to one large but somewhat neglected estate, an impression strengthened by occasional glimpses of a long park wall to the south.

He had found the marshy fields of irises and he had seen the swan upon her nest when he heard the sound of horses' hooves ahead; an alder-grove hid them, but they were certainly near and they were certainly drawing a vehicle at a fine clipping pace. He looked about for somewhere to get off the lane, even more constricted here because of the ditches on either hand, broad ditches with a bank on the far side and the fence on top of it. He chose the least broad part of the right-hand ditch, took the string of his parcel in his teeth, sprang across, caught the rail, and stood there poised on the bank. As the carriage came into sight he saw that it was a phaeton with a pair of chestnuts; and a moment later his heart stood still - Diana was driving.

'Oh Maturin, God love you!' she cried, reining in hard. 'Oh how happy I am to see you, my dear.' The groom ran to take the horses' heads and she sprang down on to the green verge. 'Give a good leap," she called, holding out her hand, 'and you will clear the ditch for sure.' She caught him as he landed, took his parcel, and kissed him on both cheeks. 'How happy I am to see you,' she said again. 'Get in, and I will drive you home.'

'You have not changed at all," she went on, setting the horses in motion.

'You have, my dear,' he said in a fairly level voice. 'Your complexion is infinitely improved: you are a jeune fille en fleur.' It was true; the cooler, damper northern climate and the Swedish diet had done wonders for her skin. Her particular black-haired, dark-blue-eyed kind of beauty required an excellence of complexion to set it off at its best and she was now in a finer bloom than he had ever seen her.

They reached a gate into a field and here she turned the phaeton with her usual skill, driving back along the lane at an exhilarating speed, the more so since in some place the wheels were not six inches from the edge and since the near horse showed a tendency to toss his head and play the fool, calling for a very firm hand and great watchfulness - too much for sustained conversation. They repassed the alder-grove, struck into a broader road - 'That is the way to Stadhagen," she said - and reached a pair of open iron gates where the horses turned in of their own accord.

The weed-grown drive made a couple of winds among the trees and then forked, one branch leading across the park to a large house, rather fine but blind and lifeless, being almost entirely shut up. 'That is Countess Tessin's place,' said Diana. 'Jagiello's grandmama. I live over there.' She pointed with her whip, and at the far end of the park Stephen saw a smaller, much older building with a tower: he took it to be a dower-house, but made no observation.

The phaeton drew up; the groom leapt down and led it away. 'Would that man be a Finn, at all?' asked Stephen.

'Oh no,' said Diana, amused. 'He is a Lapp, one of Jagiello's Lapps; he owns a dozen or so.'

'Slaves, are they?'

'No, not really, I think; more in the way of serfs. Stephen, do come in.'

The door had opened and a tall, bent, elderly maidservant stood there, curtseying and smiling. Diana shouted something in Swedish very close to her ear and led Stephen into the hall.

She opened one door, shut it again with the words 'Too squalid' and opened another, which led into a pleasant little square room with a piano, bookshelves, a great china stove, two or three elbow chairs and a sofa; the window looked out on to a lime-tree. Diana took one of the chairs, said 'Sit where I can see you, Stephen. Sit on the sofa.' She gazed at him affectionately and said 'Lord, it is so long since I saw you and there are so many things to talk about I do not know where to begin.' A pause. 'Oh, I will just say something about Jagiello. It is not that I owe you any explanation, Maturin, you know,' - quite kindly - 'but he will be here presently and I do not wish you to think yourself obliged to cut his throat. Poor lamb, that would be too hard! When I told him that I should be happy to put myself under his protection to go to Sweden I meant just that - protection against insult or persecution or ill-treatment - and no more, as I said quite clearly. And I said I should of course pay my own way. Protection in the plain sense was what I wanted, not a bed-fellow. He did not believe it - indeed, even while he was protesting all possible respect, brotherly sentiments and so on, he smirked, as men will smirk, I am afraid. For a great while he would not be persuaded that I meant what I said. But in the end he was obliged to; I told him it was no use - I had sworn I should never put it in any man's power to hurt me again. Do not look so catastrophic, Stephen: it is all over now - I am heart-whole - and I hope to God we are not such simpletons as to let it prevent us from being very, very fond of one another. But as I was saying, he had to believe it, and now we are friends again, though he does keep trying to prevent me from going up in balloons. He is to be married to a sweetly pretty young woman that dotes upon him - not very clever but good family and a splendid portion. I helped to arrange it, and his grandmother is so pleased with me - that is to say, when she remembers, which is not always the case.'

'I am glad to hear what you tell me, Villiers dear,' began Stephen, but he was interrupted by the coming of the maidservant, to whom Diana roared as loud as she was able and then, rather hoarse, said 'Ulrika tells me there are only eggs in the house and smoked trout - I was going shopping when we met - and she asks whether the gentleman would like some of the Lapp's dried reindeer.'

Ulrika watched Stephen's face, and seeing its look of pleased acquiescence, walked off chuckling.

'Well, that deals with Gedymin Jagiello,' said Diana. 'Though by the way, when they come we shall have to speak French: her English is even worse. Now let us begin at the beginning: where have you come from?"

'From England, in the Surprise, with Jack Aubrey.'

'Is he in Stockholm?'