Looking around the room, Frederick was struck at how his life was so changed from his last journey to Plymouth. He had stayed at this very inn, Thank God, not the same room, he thought. It would have been more than he could countenance had that occurred. He looked out on the port. Still as shabby as it ever was, but bustling with occupation. The rumours about Bonaparte were throwing everyone into a right patriotic fervour and ships were being readied in anticipation of war. He had kept account of things through the London Gazette and the Naval Chronicles, that was how he had come to know the Laconia was being taken off ordinary and put back into full commission. While he had little hope of taking her to sea again, he did hope for some command which would take him out of the country and keep him occupied.

Turning from the window and its scenes of dock life, he set to laying out his uniform. The coat needed brushing and to hang the night. Looking at the epaulets, he mused as to how much of his life they represented. He recalled buying the first one. After being wounded in the main action off St Domingo and his promotion, he had been forced to wait nearly a month to get to a port where the long-awaited prize could be purchased. He and Patrick McGillvary had been granted a day of liberty and had made the acquisition of their 'swabs.' As the day and evening had progressed, the number of bottles consumed in wetting the swabs had been lost count of and therefore the walk back to the ship had proven to be something he remembered little about. Two years later, when he had been promoted into the Laconia, a fifth rate, 38-gun frigate, and the rank of full captain, he was entitled to move the epaulet from his left shoulder to his right; then after three years, another had been purchased for his left. He was aware that in a group of officers, the two swabs meant something and now was the time to press his advantage with his brother officer, Admiral Benjamin Locke.

Shaking himself from the memories, he proceeded to lay out all the articles for his dress uniform, the snowy waistcoat and lawn shirt with white neckcloth. The white breeches with gold buttons, the silk stockings and black shoes with silver buckles. Taking the decorative scabbard from the saddle scabbard, he removed the sword carefully. The blade shone in the afternoon light. He felt of the heft of it and how it molded to his hand. Carefully wiping down the blade and hilt, he placed it back in its resting place, and laid the sword upon the bed.

Admiral Locke was in charge of the port of Plymouth and had, in the past, proved to be a valuable acquaintance to Frederick Wentworth. There had been an opportunity to make himself of service to Admiral Locke several years ago and while the Captain loathed pressing repayment, it was his only hope of returning to sea and extricating himself from the situation he had created at Uppercross. Giving a small thought to Uppercross, he quickly put it away from him. He was over fifty miles from the place and not to return for ten days, there was no need to wear himself out agonizing over unchangeable circumstances. Going back to the window, he ran over the plea in his mind and considered all the possible ways that the situation might proceed. After exhausting all the possibilities that came to mind, he thought about his trip to Lyme.

He wished to tell Timothy Harville and James Benwick of his engagement to Louisa Musgrove face to face. He wished them both to attend the wedding, knowing that he could not and had not asked Edward to support such a thing with his presence. His brother had been quite plain in his opinions to do with the notion of marrying one woman when your heart was held by another. It was not that his brother was an extraordinarily romantic man; he himself had planned to wed his wife out of convenience and not love. Edward was a man of great religious sensibilities; he saw it impossible to stay faithful of mind to a wife if one was in love with another woman. His brother had used faithfulness as the chief argument against Frederick's marriage to Louisa, not the fact that she did not own the Captain's heart.

A knock at the door brought him back to the present. It was a note from Admiral Locke's secretary. The Admiral was detained in Sussex, but would be returning by Monday; he would be pleased to see the Captain at ten o'clock that morning. This meant five days of waiting. He had not counted upon such a long time in Plymouth. He had desired an appointment today as requested in the express sent Monday afternoon. There was nothing to be done for it and so he would have to wait and occupy himself as best he could.

After an indifferent meal in the bar-parlour of the inn, Frederick took a brisk turn about the docks, his hope being, that physical activity would lessen the frustration of waiting. As the wind blew sheets of rain over the harbor, he watched some of the ships warping out a mile or so to ride out the squall. Others staying in the port were dropping two, sometimes three mooring lines to hold them fast as the wind whipped the water into a foam. As he took in the scene, he could actually feel the heaving of the decks beneath him, hear the particular sound of the ship's joints creaking, punctuating the wind in the rigging. Turning to begin the soaking walk back to the inn, he took such a vivid imagining as an omen of a return to the sea. Walking by a wooden post, holding the dock planks, he absently gave it a scratch. He knew that his brother would be horrified if he saw such a display of superstition, but it was hard to fight his desperation, a desperation willing to grasp at anything.

Hoping to find a message telling that Admiral Locke was now returned and would be able to see him sooner than Monday, but finding none, he went up to his room to begin spending the night like the ships in the harbor, just waiting out the storm.

Taking notice that the candles had been lit, he proceeded to hang his oilskin and hat, then fetched a towel for them to drip on to. He had brought nothing to amuse himself, he had not planned to be long in Plymouth and was now regretting his lack of planning. Just then a gust of wind slammed into the side of the building and rattled the windows. We're in for a h_lluva blow by the sound and feel of that, he thought. From his window, he had a view of the docks and decided to watch the capers of the storm; he doused the candles and pulled the room's one chair over to begin the show.

It was a nasty squall, but one for which the port had had the entire day to prepare. Only for the occasional freak gust, there was not much that was out of the ordinary for winter weather in Plymouth. Putting his feet on the sill of the window, Frederick commenced leaning the chair on its two back legs. The creaking was the same as that of the ships snugged to the docks and he thought better of it, The last thing I need do is ruin myself by running a chair leg through my backside. Carelessly, pushing the chair back to its usual resting place, he kicked off his boots and lay on the bed. He again went over the speech he would use with Admiral Locke, thinking on all the counter arguments which could be raised, he answered them thoroughly and afterwards felt certain that he would again have a ship. Lying there, staring towards the cracks he knew to be in the plaster of the ceiling, he began to think about the service that he had performed, the service which he hoped would be a boon to him. A service, that at the time, had been anything but a boon.

A few years ago, on the Mediterranean station at Valletta, Malta, the Port Commander, Admiral Benjamin Locke had particularly sought out Captain Wentworth. Other than their short interview where he had presented his books for inspection, the Captain had no direct experience of the Admiral, only knowing that he had just hoisted his flag a few years previous and had recently been sent to this particularly isolated base on the Mediterranean. While the Admiral did have a reputation as a harsh and dictatorial captain, it was difficult to know whether gossip was based on truth or merely the whims of the teller. His reputation for being a 'flogging captain,' Frederick had overlooked in deference to his senior position. There were many who would call Wentworth a prig when it came to flogging, for his not taking the cat out of the bag for months at a time and only then, for the worst of offenses. Not regarding himself a prig, he chose not to regard the Admiral as a flogging dictator.

The Laconia had been in port for several weeks being refitted after an extremely damaging turn on a blockade of Toulon. It had been months of tacking and wearing with no other diversions. A blockade was damaging to not only the ship, but its crew. There had been little communication with the outside world and his men had been nearly gross in their behaviour when the orders to proceed home had come. The orders had included a short run to Malta to deliver dispatches and mail as there were no envoys free to convey them. The weeks in port had been used well, damage to his precious ship had been repaired, his men had cast off their doldrums and in turn, excessive energies, with several liberty days and they were now preparing to return to England, preparing to return home.

Two days before they were to weigh anchor, Admiral Locke had sent a message that he needed to speak with the Captain immediately. The secretary's carefully printed request had merely read an immediate interview was desired. In a personally written note at the bottom, the Admiral had added that this was of a most personal nature. Captain Wentworth had immediately washed, shaved, and had brushed his best coat in anticipation of meeting with the Admiral.

When he had arrived at the Port Admiral's office, he had been ushered in with the greatest of courtesy, not the usual indifferent handling that came with a summons by one's superior. He had been seated in leather wing-chair in the Admiral's inner office, a much more private and intimate affair than the outer business office with its austere green walls and printed pictures of the King and Nelson. This office was smaller, but richly paneled and upholstered. As the Captain had begun his second perusal of the room, the Admiral stepped out of what must be a necessary room as he was drying his hands and face on a hand towel.

"Oh, Captain Wentworth? Please, sit back down, no ceremony today. I am sorry, you have caught me refreshing myself. This blasted heat! We just arrived a few months ago from the Baltic and my family and I are suffering a martyrdom from it." Turning, he tossed the towel back into the little room and closed the door. He walked over and took his coat from a nearby hook and stood before a mirror buttoning, tugging and pulling things into place. Giving a final look to himself, and liking the results, he turned to face Wentworth. Rather than seat himself at the large mahogany desk, he took the wing chair that was the mate to the Captain's.

"I have to thank you for answering my note so promptly, Captain. I know you must be quite scattered, preparing to be away home and all. Please know that I do appreciate this. Would you like a bowl of frozen punch . . . no, better yet . . ." The Admiral rose and stepped to the outer office; Wentworth could hear a murmur of voices, one a bit sharp and the other low. The conversation was not long and then there was the opening and closing of a door. The Admiral stepped back in and seated himself. "I must tell you Captain, you have quite a reputation and that is why I have called you here. I cast about and found that you seem to be the most trustworthy of men and I am in need of such a fellow. I must have someone whose discretion I may trust completely . . ." As he was about to continue, a knock at the door admitted his clerk bearing a tray and two iced tankards. "I find that there is nothing like thoroughly iced sham to cool one on a murderous day such as this." Taking down one of the cans from the tray, he handed it to Wentworth and took the other for himself. He sent the clerk off with the instructions to bring another round when the bell was touched.

The Captain watched as the Admiral took a deep pull of the champagne. Wentworth himself cared little for the drink, iced or otherwise and he was not particularly sweltering; he had been in the Mediterranean for over a year and was somewhat used to the heat. It was only May, but the Admiral had mentioned the Baltic and so that might account for his feeling the temperature more acutely. The Captain took a polite drink and awaited the Admiral's return to the conversation.

Finishing his drink with what seemed to be great satisfaction, the Admiral set the tankard down and began to finish his thought. "You see Captain, as I said earlier, my family and I are just a few months from the Baltic and I find that we have already met with an extreme tragedy." The words had an ominous tone and it was quite obvious to the Captain that Admiral Locke was nearly undone just saying them.

"I am sorry to hear this, sir. I hope that I am able to be of use, especially since you have sought me out personally." Even with the heat and the tankard of champagne in him, the Admiral was pale. The Captain, seeing the man's distress, and being an ordinary fellow with a sympathetic heart, wished to help in whatever way he could.

"Thank you for making yourself so available to me, a stranger. But we are, after all, brother officers and that kinship is what I am counting upon. You see, I find I must trust someone with my most precious of possessions . . . my daughter." The Admiral visibly sagged as he said, 'daughter.'

The Captain was not certain whether it had been the Admiral's tone of voice, or how the statement had been phrased, or perhaps it was his own natural wariness coming into play, but immediately he did not like the turn that things were taking. At that time, he had been reluctant to have any involvement with women at all, much less an admiral's daughter, even in a disinterested way.

The Admiral went on to explain that his seventeen-year-old daughter was with child and must be taken back to an aunt in Cornwall. The vague explanation was not to the Captain's liking, not that he wished more details; he could see the drift of the conversation and he wanted no part of transporting a young girl, in a family way, home to England. The use of a King's ship for such purposes was repellent to him and he felt that he must endeavor to point out to the Admiral other ways to accomplish this delicate, but obviously unavoidable task.

"Surely, sir, there are merchant ships heading home that would be far better . . . far more comfortable to your daughter's needs. On a frigate, there is precious little space and while I would not, in the least, mind giving up my accommodations, there is also the question of a travelling companion and then there are the men themselves, sir. A woman aboard makes the normal operations of a ship impossible." There were other, more dangerous reasons as to why he did not wish a woman aboard the Laconia, but he did not feel it appropriate to point out to the girl's father that though he anticipated no trouble on the sail home, there was still the possibility of engaging the enemy or a chase that might take him hundreds of miles out of the way. Though he might carry an admiral's daughter, his duty to the crown still must come first.

Frederick had thought he had seen a flash of anger in the Admiral's eyes, when it was clear that he would not just mutely agree to transport his daughter. However, he had thought that for only an instant. The Admiral was well within his rights to use his rank over the Captain, and order him to take the girl; Admiral Locke had chosen instead to appeal to Wentworth's sense of honour. Visibly bracing himself, the Admiral had begun to pour out the whole squalid business before him.

"My daughter, Susan is normally very shy, but when we came here, almost immediately she was introduced to a young man. His father has some influence in the affairs of the city and in the course of my taking command of the station, our families were introduced." At this, Admiral Locke had stood and walked away to the windows. He continued, "They took a liking to one another . . . it became clear that she loved him." The Admiral stood silently for a time, obviously collecting his thoughts. "Captain, are you married?"

"No, sir. I am not."

"Then you have no children . . . no children to see used for another's gratification, and then, after they have been sullied . . . tossed aside like so much . . . " The Admiral's voice was choked with emotion. The Captain had been embarrassed by the display. Not so much by the display of the man's feelings, nor even by the terrible shame of the girl's being used in such an infamous way, but by the confidence being placed in him. It had taken great courage on the Admiral's part to lay bare such a wretched family secret. The man continued. "When it was clear that he wanted no more from her, the young man was not satisfied to leave her be . . . his family desires him to marry the daughter of a very high ranking official here on Malta and any breath of scandal will end that hope . . . he started by warning us to keep quiet about the affair, but once it was found that Susan is with child . . . he began to threaten her with physical danger. As a gentleman, I cannot tell you the things he has suggested that he will do to her . . . and the child . . . if word of his indiscretions should come to light." The Admiral turned and touched the bell. In an instant, his secretary entered with two more tankards of champagne. He took the one and indicated the other for Captain Wentworth. The Admiral then asked for some port to be brought, saying he needed something stronger. The secretary quit the room and the two men were silent for a time. "Captain," the Admiral began, "I greatly lament my daughter's foolishness and impropriety in giving herself to this man, but he is a man and she is but a girl. He used her dreadfully and then cast her aside. If that were the worst of it, I could bear the shame. But to think that he wishes her harm . . . that is more than I am able to countenance. Do you see why I am frantic to have her away from here and back to the safety of home?" The pleading in the Admiral's voice was more than Frederick Wentworth or any man with a heart beating in his chest could bear. Despite his personal feelings, the Captain knew that he would take Susan Locke to the antipodes were it necessary to make her safe.

"I wonder if Locke has ever found out what a vacuous and scheming creature his daughter truly is. I doubt that the fellow on Malta used her a bit," Frederick muttered to himself as he rose, and lit a few more candles. Pouring water from the ewer into the basin, untying his neckcloth and unfastening the buttons, he began to prepare for bed. As he dried his face and hands, he continued the thought, "Only God Himself knows whose child that might have been."

For the past years, Frederick had been struck with the contrast between the lovely, shy girl that Admiral Locke counted as his daughter and the girl that had sailed aboard the Laconia over the course of those weeks. When the Captain argued with his sister, and others on the justness of women aboard ships, it was partly his experience with Miss Susan Locke which had cemented his ideas. There were other, more desperate reasons he hated to see a woman on board, but this matter had put him solidly against ladies on ships and had given him the, "lack of comforts" plea that he used so vehemently.

In deference to her sex and need for discretion, he had given up his cabin to her. With a few modifications by Chips, the ship's carpenter, the Captain was still able to make use of his dining table, making it do double tides as his writing desk, this was along with a few of his lockers, but otherwise, he had relegated himself to a small and cramped, canvas-walled cabin off the gun room. While personal comfort was not uppermost in his mind, the comfort and goodwill of his crew was. The girl had been told that she would be very limited as to her movements, particularly on deck. Though she could be called pretty, she was by no means a beauty, but she carried enough charm to be a distraction and he wanted no skylarking or showing out to impress her. That meant one hour of exercise a day upon the quarterdeck, though she could walk freely, with her maid,on the comparative privacy of the gangway.

While things had not been to his liking from the start: too many trunks had been hauled aboard, the companion was not much older than Miss Locke and there had been no one of responsibility to see the girls on board, merely a houseman with a note again thanking the Captain for his liberality. The first few days had lulled the Captain into a belief that he had perhaps been mistaken about the effect that Miss Locke would have on the voyage. She had stayed strictly to her quarters, coming out with her attendant only for the occasional short stroll upon the gangway and the agreed hour upon the quarterdeck. This was fortunate for the peace of a vessel comes from the regularity of the watches, the bells and religiously keeping to the order of the day. When anything out of the ordinary occurs, it is felt throughout the ship, for there are no secrets aboard a man-of-war.

The out of the ordinary occurred upon the Laconia in the middle of the second week of the voyage. The ship's First Officer, Lieutenant James Benwick had been meaning for the bosun, Mr Crafter, show him the wear in the anchor's cable. There was not felt the need and so the cable had not been replaced in Malta, but upon weighing, as it had been stowed in the cable tier; a previously unnoticed cut was found and the bosun had gone to Benwick, requesting he look to see if a repair should be affected. It had been put off the first week in favor of getting under way, but could no longer be shunted aside. Benwick disliked the idea of spending his morning clambering about the cable tier as it was dark, habitually damp and the air was unreasonably foggy; the very reasons which kept most persons of responsibility away from the place, aided those endeavoring to keep things secret. As Mr Crafter and Lt. Benwick had made their way down to the cable tier, they had, at the same time, heard the sounds of a rather passionate exchange. It was not the angry voices of seamen settling a difference, it was the sounds made by a man and a woman locked together in the age old struggle.

Benwick's first thought was that a prostitute had been smuggled aboard before weighing anchor and had been hidden here after the anchor had been catted and the cable stowed. It was not an unknown practice, but one which Captain Wentworth abominated and was known to punish quite severely. James Benwick was a parson's son and while he was not what could be called 'religious' he did have some sensibilities when it came to propriety and women. He had made their presence known, allowing the couple to hopefully straighten whatever was particularly in need, followed by an appearance to demand they answer for their behaviour. Having expected a seaman and a brute from one of the grimier bawdy-houses near the docks, he was shocked beyond speech to find the ship's physician and Miss Locke's maid.

Frederick smiled as he remembered Benwick's astonishment as he had related the incident while they dined together that evening. While neither had been shocked so much by the act, the participants had given the Captain a turn, for the ship's physician was just newly warranted and the Laconia was his first commission; hoping to make the Navy his bread and butter, Mr Hemmings had told Benwick he meant to distinguish himself from the outset of the cruise. Both men had laughed uproariously at the irony of his means of 'distinguishment.'

"Ha, ha, ha, but sir, all jest aside, I am not certain that things went terribly far with the girl and Mr Hemmings. By the time I was able to speak with him about the incident, the young gentlemen of the gun room had thrown the fear of Wentworth in him and it took quite a lot of time to convince the poor creature that you would not be ordering a hundred lashes or more." Taking a last bite of his dinner, James had smiled and said, "One of the little blighters had even hinted that the girl might just be your sister!"

A look of shock came over the Captain's face. "Ahem . . . I hope you disabused him of that notion quickly."

"Yes, sir. I did just that. He is expecting a very harsh punishment, but in speaking with him, I think it was mutual . . . impetuosity that went further than either meant or even thought could happen. That does not excuse Hemmings in the least, but he is a young man that I believe will learn from this."

As he folded his shirt and trousers, Frederick again smiled, thinking about Benwick and his romantic sensibilities. Even in those far gone days, before he had known Fanny Harville, he was enough the sentimentalist to call taking a young woman to the cable tier for an assignation, impetuosity. "Oh, my dear Benwick, lust is lust, no matter what you name it," he said to himself.

"And I must tell you, sir, I have found that, the doctor's . . . examination, aside, Miss Locke's maid is no maid, if you smoke my meaning?" He had smiled under arched brows, knowing that the Captain loved a good word play and Benwick was one of the best.

"Ah! So what we actually have, are two young, adventuresome girls on a sailing holiday, rather than a fearful and shamed young woman being attended by her lady's maid?" The thought that his ship had been used in such a fashion angered Wentworth then and it angered him still. "Surely the Admiral knew nothing of this sorry arrangement, most likely the mother knew . . . mothers always seem to know," he muttered as he finished brushing his teeth.

Turning his thoughts to the present, Frederick pulled back the sheets on the bed, and inspected them; to his surprise, he found them to be freshly laundered. His last sojourn to Plymouth had him sleeping on a mattress with large lumps and a pillow of questionable history. He lay down and settled the covers, looking over to the bed table, he saw that he had forgotten to remove his watch off its fob and rose to fetch it when he heard the bells begin to strike . . . "Five, six, seven," he counted to himself automatically. He had forgotten that Plymouth being a port was nearly the same as being at sea for keeping the time, even the ship's bells and, "All's wells," could be heard playing tag from ship to ship. He laid back down, knowing that the bell was never more than half-an-hour away. Having snuffed all the candles, save one, Frederick drifted back to the conversation all those years ago . . .

"Precisely, sir. When I returned the afore mentioned maid, who, by the way, is a cousin or some such who makes her home with the family . . . where was I? Oh yes, I returned her to her quarters and admonished Miss Locke to keep her under control, I was bombarded with such language concerning my person and allusions to my parentage that I might have been nonplused were it not for the preposterous image they presented . . . two lovely girls with such coarse, and ill-born language spewing forth, it was very sad." There had been genuine pity in his eyes as he had said this.

Benwick and the Captain had finished their meal and were well into a bottle of young port, when the Captain said, "Well, lovely girls or not, I am rather tempted to haul Hemmings and . . . just what is the cousin's name, any way?"
Frederick had not been able to remember what the girl looked like, he doubted he could even put a name to her, when Benwick's voice brought it to him . . .

"Miss Janet, sir" Benwick had told him.

"Yes, Janet. As I said . . . haul Hemmings and Cousin Janet in here tomorrow morning and say the words over them and be done with it. I have Article Two roundly on my side and if he'll not consent, perhaps those hundred lashes are in order!" Finishing off his last glass, he had gone on, "A gentleman would be in here begging to make things right."

"That might very well be true, sir. But, I am not certain that you have the authority, even at sea, to force a marriage involving an underage girl, no matter what has been done to her." Benwick had looked at him sheepishly.

"Then, by Jove, we'll just not make them put their hand to any papers and let them think that they are bound up all legal and tight." Wentworth wanted to punish both Hemmings and the girl, but he thought that the lash was not quite the thing for Hemmings and he could not revoke the Doctor's warrant for that would leave the crew without a medico. As for the girl, he had nothing, other than confinement to use against her.

"I understand you are frustrated, Captain. And while that sounds to be a handsome plan, I fear that it would be worse than forcing a marriage . . . even one that was not legal but performed in good faith. If you say the words, but have them sign nothing, then send them off thinking they are married . . . well, what will most likely happen is that she will move her dunnage to his quarters and then . . . things will begin in earnest." He had given Frederick a look which made his meaning very understandable. "Perhaps you should reconsider the hundred lashes?" A smile in the corners of his mouth had told the Captain he was attempting to force a bit of humour to the circumstances.

The Captain had looked at his First. Benwick's exacting nature, had, at times been a sore trial to the Captain, and the crew. Though, in this case, it had most likely saved him quite a lot of embarrassment. Frederick raised his arm and laid his head upon it, thinking again about Benwick's ways, he wished that he had had James to watch over his antics with Louisa Musgrove. James had kept him from a raging blunder those many years ago, perhaps he could have done the same for him again.

"Michaelson! Bring the coffee now!" He had called for coffee a little more loudly than he normally would, but every possible avenue to resolve the situation had been thwarted and at that moment, Michaelson seemed to be the only person he could count on to do as he was told without the freedom to express an opposing point of view.

Captain Wentworth's steward, Mr Michaelson came bearing the coffee. It was poured and the cups placed before the officers. "Thank you, Michaelson. I assume that Miss Locke and her cousin have finished dinner the same as the officers?" He asked as he took a drink of his coffee.

"No sir, and she made it clear that none of the meals has been to her liking." Michaelson stood, visibly uncomfortable with the question. The Captain looked at his steward; Michaelson had been with him since his days on the Asp, and the seaman's countenance was quite readable by now; there was more to tell, but the man was hesitant to initiate anything.

"Michaelson, just what did Miss Locke and her cousin have for dinner?" The hurriedness with which the arrangements for Miss Locke had been made, precluded much in the way of stores being brought aboard for her and her cousin. That had not been a concern, for the Captain had more than enough laid by to well feed two young girls for a short sail home.

"The same as you, sir. A chicken, sea pie, potatoes, boiled cabbage and an apple tart for a finish. Plus two wines." Michaelson squirmed a bit, knowing that the Captain would not tolerate such rude behaviour. Considering the alternatives, her turning down a decent meal, properly served was insulting. If there had been one thing on which Captain Frederick Wentworth prided himself, it was his ability to offer a good table to a guest and no matter what else he thought of Miss Susan Locke, she was a guest of the ship.

"I see." Turning to Benwick, he asked, "Now be honest, old friend, was this a passable meal or no?" His tone belied ease and curiosity, Benwick knew that his captain was seething at that particular moment and it was in his best interest to be quick with his answer.

"Captain, it was the best meal this commission . . . but I am partial to sea pie," he answered with a low tone.

"Sir, I beg you not think me telling tales, but . . . the food was never touched. She and the cousin got no idea how it all tasted, it was the look of it she detested. Beg pardon sir, but she took one look and hoved it at me!" The man stood mutely.

"All right, Michaelson. I can see that there is more, tell it all and let's be done with this."

"Ahem . . . well, as I say, she hoved a full plate at my head, but in it missing me, sir . . . it plashed all over the facing of your cabinet that Admiral and Mrs Croft took such pains to send you from India. I wiped it as best I was able with the harpies at my back sir, but I'm dreadful afraid that the sea pie is made its way into the inlay work and it will harden to stone before we end this commission and I am able to attend it proper."

Turning onto his side, Frederick yawned and chuckled to himself about the chest. He had ordered it struck into the hold the following morning where some of his other furniture had been stowed, and where Michaelson could properly attend to the sea pie in the inlay work. The irony lay in the fact that the chest itself had not survived a chase through the Sargasso Sea, the monstrously heavy piece had been hoved over the side in an attempt to lighten the ship.

Turning onto his back again, thoughts of the rest of that hellish commission hastened through his mind. A few days later, Benwick had determined to take it upon himself to amuse and distract the young ladies. He could see that they were bored and needed occupation. The Captain had felt that James would be up to the task as there would be no hint of impropriety; Benwick's distaste of them would keep him from temptation and his previously disparaged person would hopefully keep them at bay. It became clear very soon on that discovery of the afore mentioned occupation might, in itself, become an occupation.

The girls had no literary sensibilities, excepting a few gothics Miss Locke had brought for entertainment. After Benwick's perusal of the novels, and his putting down the strong desire to heave them out a nearby scuttle, he knew that any of his attempts to broaden the girls in that regard would be useless. Neither had any talent for cards nor games of any sort. Lacking any musical talent or the appreciation of it left that topic unusable. While the family had travelled widely in the course of the Admiral's career, other than venturing into the arms of her Portuguese suitor, Miss Locke had never taken any interest in her surroundings outside the naval society that any given port might offer. While Benwick generally had a very high regard for women, he had quickly decided that these girls were hopelessly stupid, and that his self chosen task was doomed to failure.

By the time Benwick had washed his hands of the ladies, there was only a sennight left to Plymouth. The Captain's frustration with the circumstances had become quite noticeable in his every action and he was beginning to notice the crew's looks as the tensions mounted hourly. Each day had brought a new restriction. On the first day, the ladies had been removed from the Captain's stores and put on the ship's stores. As that had been a Tuesday, at one o'clock on the afternoon watch, the ladies, (having by now been confined to their quarters), had been served the customary one pound of bread, two pounds of pork and one-half pint of pease each; one concession to their femininity was the substitution of wine for the three-part grog usually served out. Michaelson had reported to the Captain that these had promptly been hoved at his person. The Captain had countered by ordering that the mess was not to be cleared away until an apology was given. As he was forced to use his writing desk in the small fadged cabin next to theirs, he personally heard the complaints of the accommodations, crew and morality of their treatment. Frederick hated to admit to himself, but he still derived a wicked bit of pleasure remembering the tone of the whining.

On the last day, as they had been making ready to dock in Plymouth, leaving all the hullabaloo to Benwick and the day watch, the Captain had neatened his books and dressed in his finest in anticipation of his meeting with the Port Admiral to finish out the commission. The ladies had been informed that they were arrived in Plymouth and to make ready to leave the ship. The gang plank had been laid and the Captain had been ready to escort his charges to their next keeper, the maiden aunt come from Cornwall to see them home.

The trunks had already been carried off and stowed on the carriage; looking to his watch, the Captain had begun pacing with energy as the Port Admiral had sent word that the sooner the captain of the Laconia made his appearance the sooner the Admiral could go home and prepare for a ball his wife was giving. Just as the Captain was about to send Benwick down to help the ladies along, they appeared.

Two more sweet and innocent looking girls he had not seen before. The effect of white muslin and lace was amazing. All the seamen removed their hats and made a bob as the ladies passed by; it was all rather grand, as if Royalty had come to call. Cousin Janet gave a cold nod as she passed him on by, but Miss Locke stopped and gave the Captain the sweetest of curtsies. Demurely raising her eyes to meet his, she said, "Captain Wentworth, I must thank you for bringing my cousin and me safely to England. The voyage was one that I shall never forget. And I must tell you, I am going to tell my father everything that was done to me and perhaps a few things which were not." Her smile widened as she went on, "When I am finished, he will break you and you will be fortunate to pilot a bum boat hauling slush to the chandlers." Batting her eyes, she concluded, "Have I made myself clear, sir?" Dealing what she must have thought to be the coup de graceí, she offered her hand.

As he had gently taken her hand, he had given her his most friendly of smiles coupled with his iciest of tones, and said, "Miss Locke, in all my years of sailing, I have never experienced anything to match this commission. And perhaps you are ignorant of the fact, but each officer aboard keeps a log of the voyage and to break me would require that I face charges. I would welcome such an opportunity as I believe you favoured more than just me with your wretched behaviour. I wish you and your cousin an excellent journey to Cornwall." With that, he had kissed her hand and she had flounced away.

Resting his head on his arms, Frederick yawned and wondered how the rather pleasant, older lady introduced as Aunt Mary had fared. He also thought how Miss Locke must have kept mumchance regarding certain parts of their misadventure, or else her father had chosen not to act; just then. "Either way, I shall find out soon enough." Bringing his arms down and settling down beneath the covers, he turned on his side and as was his habit, fell quickly to sleep.

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