Patrick O'Brian - Post captain

‘Never mind,’ said Harte, fiddling with his paper-​knife: and then in an unconquerable jet of waspishness, ‘but I will tell you this - your topsails are a disgrace to the service. Why can’t you furl them in a body?’

The malignance was too obvious to bite. Crack frigates with a full, expert crew might furl their sails in a body rather than in the bunt, but only in harbour or for a Spithead review. ‘Well,’ said Harte, aware of this, ‘I am disappointed in you, as I say. You will go on the Baltic convoys, and the rest of the time I dare say the sloop will be employed up and down the Channel. That’s more your mark. The Baltic convoy should be complete in a few days’ time. And that reminds me: I have had a very extraordinary communication from the Admiralty. Your surgeon, a fellow by the name of Maturin, is to be given this sealed envelope; he is to have leave of absence, and they have sent down an assistant to take his place while he is away and to help him when he sees fit to return to his duty. I wish he may not give himself airs - a sealed envelope, forsooth.’

The post-​chaise drove briskly forward over the Sussex downs, with Stephen Maturin and Diana Villiers sitting in it with the glasses down, very companionably eating bread and butter.

‘So now you have seen your dew-​pond,’ she said comfortably. ‘How did you like it?’

‘It came up to my highest expectations,’ said Stephen. ‘And I had looked forward to it extremely.’

‘And I look forward to Brighton extremely, too: I hope I may be as pleased as you are. Oh, I cannot fail to be delighted, can I, Maturin? A whole week’s holiday

from the Teapot! And even if it rains all the time, there is the Pavilion - how I long to see the Pavilion.’

‘Was not candour the soul of friendship, I should say, “Why Villiers, I am sure it will delight you,” affecting not to know that you were there last week.’

‘Who told you?’ she asked, her bread and butter poised.

‘Babbington was there with his parents.’

‘Well, I never said I had not been - it was just a flying visit - I did not see the Pavilion. That is what I meant. Do not be disagreeable, Maturin: we have been so pleasant all the way. Did he mention it in public?’

‘He did. Jack was much concerned. He thinks Brighton a very dissolute town, full of male and female rakes - a great deal of temptation. He does not like the Prince of Wales, either. There is an ill-​looking smear of butter on your chin.’

‘Poor Jack,’ said Diana, wiping it off. ‘Do you remember- oh how long ago it seems - I told you he was little more than a huge boy? I was pretty severe about it: I preferred something more mature, a fully-​grown man. But how I miss all that fun and laughter! What has happened to his gaiety? He is growing quite a bore. Preaching and moralizing. Maturin, could you not tell him to be less prosy? He would listen to you.’

‘I could not. Men are perhaps less free with such recommendations than you imagine. In any case I am very sorry to say we are no longer on such terms that I could venture anything of the kind - if indeed we ever were. Certainly not since last Sunday’s dinner. We still play a little music together now and then, but it is damnably out of tune.’

‘It was not a very successful dinner: though I took such care with the pudding. Did he say anything?’

‘In my direction? No. But he made some illiberal flings at Jews in general.’

‘That was why he was so glum, then. I see.’

‘Of course you see. You are not a fool, Villiers. The preference was very marked.’

‘Oh no, no, Stephen. It was only common civility. Canning was the stranger, and you two were old friends of the house; he had to sit beside me, and be attended to. Oh, what is that bird?’

‘It is a wheatear. We have seen between two and three hundred since we set out, and I have told your their name twice, nay, three times.’

The postillion reined in, twisted about and asked whether the gentleman would like to see another dew-​pond? There was one not a furlong off.

‘I cannot make it out,’ said Stephen, climbing back into the chaise. ‘The dew, per se, is inconsiderable; and yet they are full. They are always full, as the frog bears witness. She does not spawn in your uncertain, fugitive ponds; her tadpoles do not reach maturity in your mere temporary puddle; and yet here they are -, holding out a perfect frog the size of his little finger nail - ‘by the hundred, after three weeks of drought.’

‘He is entrancing,’ said Diana. ‘Pray put him out, on the grass. Do you think I may ask what this delightful smell is, without being abused?’

‘Thyme,’ said Stephen absently. ‘Mother of thyme, crushed by our carriage-​wheels.’

‘So Aubrey is bound for the Baltic,’ said Diana, after a while. ‘He will not have this charming weather. I hate the cold.’

‘The Baltic and northwards: just so,’ said Stephen, recollecting himself. ‘Lord, I wish I were going with him. The eider-​duck, the phalarope, the narwhal! Ever since I was breeched I have pined to see a narwhal.’

‘What will happen to your patients when you are gone?’

‘Oh, they have sent me a cheerful brisk noisy good-​natured foolish young man with scrofulous ears - a vicious habit of body - to be my assistant. Those who are not dead will survive him.’

‘And where are you going now? Lord, Stephen, how prying and inquisitive I am. Just like my aunt Williams. I trust I have not been indiscreet.’

‘Oh,’ cried Stephen, suddenly filled with a strong temptation to tell her that he was going to be landed on the Spanish coast at the dark of the moon - the classical temptation of the secret agent in his loneliness, but one that he had never felt before. ‘Oh, ’tis only a dismal piece of law-​business. I shall go to town first, then to Plymouth, and so perhaps to Ireland for a while.’

‘To town? But Brighton is quite out of your way - I had imagined you had to go to Portsmouth, when you offered me a lift. Why have you come so far out of your way?’

‘The dew-​ponds, the wheatears, the pleasure of driving over grass.’

‘What a dogged brute you are, Maturin, upon my honour,’ said Diana. ‘I shall lay out for no more compliments.’

‘No, but in all sadness,’ said Stephen, ‘I like sitting in a chaise with you; above all when you are like this. I could wish this road might go on for ever.’

There was a pause; the chaise was filled with waiting, but he did not go on, and after a moment she said with a forced laugh, ‘Well done, Maturin. You are quite a courtier. But I am afraid I can see its end already. There is the sea, and this must be the beginning of the Devil’s Punchbowl. And will you really drive me up to the door in style? I thought I should have to arrive in a pair of pattens

- I brought them in that little basket with the flap. I am so grateful; and you shall certainly have your narwhal. Pray, where are they to be had? At the poulterer’s, I suppose.’

‘You are too good, my dear. Would you be prepared to reveal the address at which you are to be set down?’

‘Lady Jersey’s, in the Parade.’

‘Lady Jersey’s?’ She was the Prince of Wales’s mistress: and Canning was a member of that set.

‘She is a Villiers cousin by marriage, you know,’ said Diana quickly. ‘And there is nothing in those vulgar newspaper reports. They like one another: that is all. Why, Mrs Fitzherbert is devoted to her.’

‘Ay? Sure, I know nothing of these things. Will I tell you about poor Macdonald’s arm, now?’

‘Oh, do,’ cried Diana. ‘I have been longing to ask, ever since we left Dover.’

They parted at Lady Jersey’s door, having said nothing more, amidst the flurry of servants and baggage: tension, artificial smiles.