The door to the dining room closed quietly. Catherine glanced from the door, to her husband and back to her plate.

The Rector brought his napkin to his lips. He too watched the door for a moment. Replacing the cloth, he said, "I believe this to be her quickest meal yet -- and with the fewest words."

"Yes," Catherine murmured. "Quite. I only wish it were possible to plan and prepare with as much speed as she consumes. Were that so, I would have much more time to be a lady of leisure."

Edward smiled. "You, a lady of leisure? You would only find more to do in a day. Better it stays this way. Besides, she is entitled, is she not?" Pushing his plate away, he continued, "A young woman, newly married, her husband gone for who knows how long. You are not worried, are you?" His wife's past, in his judgement, gave her an authority in this matters

"No, not just yet," Catherine said as she took their plates to the credenza. "It is only four days since your brother's departure. Nevertheless ... " She placed coffee before him and took her own seat again.

"Nevertheless what?"

"Her character is not so formed that she may even understand what her feelings are in this, much less take a firm hand to them. Just as the days change to months and years, a little lowness progresses quickly to become a deep and abiding depression."

Edward looked at his wife. She gazed out the window. Her faraway look said that she was thinking of her own misfortune and her own brush with that of which she spoke. "Nevertheless, you are not yet worried about her?"

She laughed a little. "No, as I say, he has not been gone yet a week." Taking a sip of tea, she collected her thoughts. "Lawrence and I were not married, and his death was so unexpected -- such a shock. Louisa is a wife to him, and has had time to accustom herself to her his departure. The two matters are quite different."

The Rector was surprised at the feeling that rose upon his hearing this. "True. She has had time to accustom herself to his leaving, but make no mistake ... " He took a drink of coffee. "Unexpected death is all a part of it. Every time I wave him away, I wonder if I will have him back. Some do not return, you know."

Catherine sighed. "I am sorry," she took his hand. "I know you worry, and poor girl, she has never been on her own. She misses him so and is most likely homesick into the bargain. It only makes everything blacker."

"Whether it is his absence, her being homesick, or both, we must watch her closely -- he has trusted us with her care." He rose and kissed Catherine. "This proves that all things work together. You know the signs to watch for. Was she at Uppercross, they might not see anything until it was too late. Now," he said straightening, "I have visits to make. I must get something from my study and then I will be off."

"Was she at Uppercross," Catherine said, "she would not be homesick." She winked.

He scowled. "Wha -- oh, right. Never mind. You do understand me."

"Of course I do, dear. You will be home for dinner, will you not?"

Looking at his watch, he snapped it shut and said, "I should." Leaning down again, as to kiss her, he whispered, "You are very pretty this morning," and was out the door before she could respond.

In the study, Edward watched the swallows dart and chase outside his window. The morning sun rose onto the face of the house, and the warmth attracted a few hardy insects. The past year, the swallows had gathered each morning to feast and give him a show. It seemed that this year would be no different.

Turning his attention from the outside, he opened a drawer and brought out the pouch of gold coins. The heft of it and the substantial sound and feel of the coins rubbing together made him think about the plan Frederick had laid out for him to follow. It was all simple enough and predicated on Pollard Levant's inborn greed and his obvious need of funds. If the scheme had to be played to the end, the rector was not certain that he had enough of the guiser in him to do it justice. He hoped it would not go so far. His greatest hope was, that Levant would accept the gold in full and be done with the whole bargain. In his heart of hearts, Edward knew that to follow the plan to the end would require him to so finesse the truth, it would just as well be lies. While Frederick saw this as a military man -- as a campaign being fought between two opposing armies, and therefore a bit of prevarication acceptable -- the man of God saw it quite differently. While not comfortable with all of the scheme, he understood his brother's thinking on the matter and resolved to follow through.

Slipping the pouch into his coat pocket, he looked over his desk and chose two sheets of paper from several handwritten, scratched-out sheets. He folded them, and tucked them in his breast pocket. Taking a last look around the study, he felt for the pouch. Finding it secure, he departed for Bramford Hall.

"The Rector Wentworth, sir."

"Rector, do come in," Pollard Levant said, a little louder than necessary. He came from around his desk with hand extended. "I have been anticipating your arrival for some time. I hope nothing of real import kept you."

Edward shook the man's hand and took the chair he indicated. He also took in the thinly veiled barb. The rector had not been on the doorstep at dawn, and was, therefore, deemed late. "No sir. I was merely wanting all parties to be done with morning concerns."

"Ah, yea. Tom, bring us tea. Unless you will have something stronger, Rector?" He looked at Edward. A shake of the head settled matters. "Tea then, and be quick." Sitting heavily, Levant settled himself behind his desk and looked again at his visitor. "Well, sir. I think we have some matters of business to discuss, but first, how is your lovely wife?"

"Mrs Wentworth is well, thank you."

"Good, good. I have ordered a load of wood brought to the Rectory. I know that the weather is quickly turning, but March is unpredictable. We could still have a snow or two. And with the baby and all -- And how is the other Mrs Wentworth?" He paid particular attention to his cuffs and coat front as he awaited a reply. "Mrs Captain Wentworth?"

Before he answered, Edward thought how like Levant it was to supply him with heat at the very end of winter, and to be more interested in the condition of his sister-in-law than his wife. "She is well also. She misses the Captain of course, but that is to be expected."

"Yes, yes it is. Such a sweet woman. Nevertheless, such a pity to have her husband ripped from her so soon after their marriage." He reached into a marquetry box and removed a cheroot. He did not make an offer to the rector. He rose and went to the fire. Lighting a twig, he used it to light the cigar. He drew hard and puffed, "Too bad for her. With all the rumours ... about Bonaparte, it must be difficult knowing ... this could be his last commission." Levant tossed the twig in the fire and took his seat behind the desk.

The double meaning of the statement was troublesome, but either way, Edward would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that the same thoughts plagued the Wentworth household. "We must hope for the best in all things. He is in God's hands."

Levant laughed heartily. "Yes, well, I suppose you must think that. Your occupation being what it is." Taking a long draw on the cheroot and blowing out a thin stream of smoke, Levant said, "And the congregation. How are they faring? Healthy, happy?"

"For the most part." Edward knew that Levant had no more concern for the members of the congregation than he had concern for Frederick's well-being. "Every congregation has those more fortunate than others, and we minister to each as best we can."

"Sure, sure," was the only response. "And about the foundry up by Glencoe, now that should be quite the talk!" Levant sat straight and looked at Edward with a definite eye.

"Yes, the foundry. The last talk I had heard, " (the talk was from Abernathy, whose uncle was an investor in the project) "was that the consortium has had trouble raising the capital. There have come to light many considerations to do with the location that no one could foresee."

"Really? I had not heard." Levant was silent. The foundry had always been one of his strongest bargaining chips. He had insisted the foundry would bring jobs to the district and, therefore, more tithes to the small, rather poor church, thus making the living worth much more than it appeared. He cleared his throat and said, "Shall we get down to business? I think we have solved enough of the world's problems. Shall we now solve some of our own?"

"I think we should, sir." Edward rose and took the pouch from his pocket. Laying it on the desk, he returned to his seat.

Levant stared at the sack for an instant and then gave the Rector a quizzical look. He leant forward and snatched up the bag. He opened the mouth and peered inside. His eyes widened when he took in the gold. Dumping the contents onto the desk, he counted the coins. "This is less than we agreed upon, Rector." His fingers rested on them, even as he scowled at Edward.

Edward swallowed and called on God as he answered. "Sir, I do not believe that we agreed upon a particular amount. In our last two meetings, several amounts were discussed, but none expressly agreed upon."

Levant shoved the gold away in a disdainful gesture. "This is not nearly enough. Besides you have been at this for a year. A year for which there was no payment. That should count for something."

The Rector came to the edge of his chair, but thought better of standing. "I have served this Parish over the past year, as was the wish of your grandmother. She and I agreed on terms. It is only now that you wish to change things. I do not see that the bargain I struck with her should influence this one -- sir." Edward willed his ire down.

"As you said, things change. Now look, Wentworth, you want to remain as the rector of the Parish, I want you to remain. But, if we cannot come to terms, you will force me to find someone more reasonable. And it is not as if there is an overabundance of situations for men in your line of work -- and at your age."

There was silence between them. Levant had managed to touch on all the Rector's deepest fears in one, graceless statement. He could pay more to Levant, but his brother's admonition would not be ignored. He now would employ the argumentation he and Frederick had discussed.

"But, Mr Levant, this is all the money that I have to give you towards the living. This gold is all that I can allot for this."

Edward had not been comfortable when Frederick and he had argued about using such careful wording.

"It is not a lie! You are not saying that this is all the money you possess, but merely all you can give him. I admit, it is a fine line, but I do not believe that you are crossing it!" Frederick had said. Both men had held their ground, jaws tight and faces flushed.

"But, brother, the purpose of words is to communicate, and these words communicate that I have no more money, and that is not the truth!"

"All right, if that is how it is with you. I only give you the money on the condition that no part of it, apart from these gold coins, makes its way into Levant's pockets! There, now you will be telling the honest truth -- and if I find that you have done otherwise, I will demand immediate repayment!" The look on his brother's face had been one of pure satisfaction. They had both laughed with giddiness. In a reversal, it was the elder brother's deepest woe remedied by the younger. Very much a turnaround of the usual order of things.

But now, as Edward applied the remedy, his conscience pricked him. Frederick called the scheme a canard, but Edward could only call it a lie. A lie that he would correct at the next opportunity.

"Now look here, Wentworth, I need at least another fifty pounds to make this work. Surely you can find fifty pounds." Levant reached out and took one of the coins. He flipped it into the air and caught it. "Your wife's family is well-set from what I know."

"The financial condition of my in-laws is not something to which I am privy." He looked at his hands. "I would rather not involve them, anywise."

"Ah, Rector Wentworth, pride and greed are sins are they not?"

The question took Edward aback. He had no idea as to the direction Levant might be leading him. "Yes, of course. The Scripture is clear that both are abhorrent to the Lord."

"Then, perhaps it is a good thing that you are reluctant to come to terms. Perhaps you should move on to another parish. I do not know that I wish a man willing to sacrifice not only the congregation he claims to love, but his own family's livelihood, because he is too prideful to ask for assistance. Or that he is too close with his purse. Come on man, it is not thirty pieces of silver, it is only fifty pieces of paper." Pollard leant back in his chair. A look of satisfaction spread across his face.

The Rector sat stunned at the man's allusion. He had known from the moment of their meeting that he and Levant were not destined to be friends, but he had thought it merely a bad match in their personalities. He now saw it for what it was, raw hatred on the part of Levant.

As he was a bout to speak, Levant continued. "Perhaps that young fellow that assists you might be more amenable to the position. He seems the sort willing to make the necessary sacrifices for his flock." He puffed on the cheroot. He seemed to be giving Edward more time to come to terms.

Perhaps he was being prideful. Frederick would never know if he gave Levant the money and both knew that even if that happened, repayment of the money would never be demanded. Was it greed that kept him from giving over the fifty pounds? Was he willing to sacrifice the congregation to the likes of Cooper or any other man that Levant would approve? Would he truly uproot Catherine at such a delicate time just to keep from giving Levant the money?

As Edward thought, Levant gathered the coins into the bag and tossed it away from him. "Wentworth, I know that your brother is a wealthy man and so I have my doubts whether you are truly poor or merely bleating to keep me from what is rightfully due me. I have put up with your palaver about the cost of the living and now, you think that I will be wooed with gold! I have tolerated your undermining me when it comes to my enclosing the Bramford lands and pious sermons about loving the unlovable and that the Hand of Providence -- "

Edward heard no more. Levant's nattering had made him realise something vital.

The Rector stood and came to stand just at the front of the desk. Levant paused to watch what he might do. He thought to continue but closed his mouth instead. The two men stared at one another.

"Well, Wentworth! Speak up," he barked.

The Rector stood quietly. The silence was becoming uncomfortable, and Levant squirmed in his seat.

Suddenly, Edward found his voice. "First, Mr Levant, I must apologise to you. You are correct in that my brother is a wealthy man. And a very generous one, I might add. He provided for me in a way that I had not expected, nor had sought." Pointing to the bag, he said, "It was my brother who gave me that gold and you are right, we hoped you would be 'wooed' by it. That amount of money, in these times, in gold -- we certainly did hope -- "

Edward leant on the desk and this caused Levant to lean away. The look on the Rector's face and the tone of his voice made Levant wonder about the sanity of the man.

"For these tricks I am truly sorry. You are right. I was bleating. I have fifty pounds I can give you, but I was crying poverty in hopes that you might show mercy. I see now that was a foolish notion. You are not a merciful man and such things are disgusting to you." Edward could feel the heat rising to his face and his words were coming faster and stronger.

"But I must also thank you. You made me realise something that is more important than all of our petty manoeuvreing and artfulness."

Levant chuckled, warily. "And what was this?" He pushed himself further back in his chair, as though he was not sure the Rector might not jump up on the desk and come even closer.

"You made me see that all the money and all the gold and all the careful speaking could not secure for me this position, for it was not by your hand that it was give to me -- "

Levant broke in, "No, that would have been the hand of my dear, sweet grandmother that gave you the living -- "

"No!" Edward cried. "Your grandmother was a dear woman. A woman to the manor born, and one who understood her responsibilities very well, but even she did not give me this situation!"

The confusion on Levant's face was clear. He racked his brain to think of any other of his relations who could have given the living. There were none. He looked at the Rector as though he were indeed, mad.

"Do you not see it, Levant? No matter what we decide here today, it is of little consequence. We are merely human agents."

The Rector's talk was so agitated and bewildering to Levant that he stood and moved further from the desk. He walked over to the windows. "What do you mean ... we are merely human agents? Have you been seeing apparitions and visions? Better to go to Rome with that sort of talk, Wentworth!"

"You misunderstand me. You said it yourself -- the Hand of Providence that I preach is in this to the fullest extent. More than your grandmother, it was God Himself gave me this situation. And only God can take it from me."

Levant turned and looked at the rector. "You have driven yourself mad, Wentworth. You truly believe that God gave you this parish?" He snorted and turned back to the view out the window. "Not much of a gift, I would say," he muttered under his breath.

"Yes I do," Edward said. He felt calmer now and more in control of himself, but what he had said, and what he had further to say, would sound wild and insane to a man like Levant. "You have accused me of pride and greed. At times, of these, I may very well be guilty, but not in the case. I indeed have the fifty pounds, but I would sooner eat it for my dinner than give it to you."

"What?" cried Levant as he turned and glared at the rector.

"You heard me." Edward took a step towards Levant, who took a step away. " I would just as soon go home and burn fifty pounds than see it in your hands -- if I were to give it, it would be as good as thirty pieces of silver then!" He reached back and swept the pouch off the desk and shook it in Levant's direction. "This is a fair price for the living. We both know it. But you have threatened to replace me with the likes of my curate. Or, no doubt any other man willing to pay the price can have the title of Rector of Crown Hill, no matter what kind of man he might be!" Without looking, Edward tossed the sack back towards the desk. "You could not care less who stands in that pulpit, so long as you are paid a good price. The good people of Crown Hill have none of your sympathy."

Levant began to laugh. "I thought for a moment that you were gone round the bend, Rector. Now I see your game. But it will not succeed. You are right when you say that I am not a merciful man. Neither am I a stupid one. You cannot frighten me with your thunderings about God Himself appointing you to this place, and you cannot work up any guilt on my part about how I might choose your successor." He took his seat behind the desk and indicated that Edward should take his. "The fact remains that I will give the living to the man who meets my price. And if that is not you, it will be another -- and you will cease to be the rector. That is my wish, not the Hand of Providence!"

Edward moved back to the front of the desk, but remained on his feet. "God placed me here. Whether I am called Rector or am a man of private means, it makes no difference, and only God can remove me from this place. I was put here to care for these people. They are worth all that I have. If I must, I will take this gold and what other monies I have and live off them. I will find odd work around the village and continue to minister as I can. You cannot take that from me, you cannot stifle me. I would, in fact, be more free to speak about your enclosing Bramford. More free to preach what I believe. You could not stop me. The Bishop in Shrewsbury could not stop me. The Archbishop of Canterbury could not stop me! This place, and these people are worth all that I have."

He looked at the bag. Edward had mused such things in the privacy of his thoughts, but now they had weight and meaning in his heart. It was the idea of the freedom of which he had told Catherine. A freedom that he had never known before. The thought of such freedom made him reach for the gold.

"Good lord, Levant. The man is crazed! Take his money and be done with this." Daniel Randwick muttered through gritted teeth. He had heard enough of the exchange between Levant and the Rector to know that his plans were about to change drastically.

In the latter summer months, he had set about to cultivate a close association with Levant and through it, using subtle persuasion, manipulate the two seats in Parliament connected to Bramford. But, as Rosamond's mission had come to light and fate had decreed the passing of Poor Pollard Levant sooner than any could have guessed, it looked to be necessary for Randwick to give the fool precisely what he had wanted from the onset. "I was reluctant to mortgage this pile of rock for you, Pollard, but now it looks as though to keep my hand in things, I will have to use a more direct approach." Taking a deep breath, he grasped the handles of the double doors and threw them open.

The doors burst open and both the occupants of the room turned. Randwick looked innocently from one man to the other. "Dash it, Levant. I am sorry, I did not realise that you were entertaining."

Glaring at Edward, Levant sneered, "I would not call this entertainment. Could you please leave us, Randwick?"

"I hope you will excuse me, Rector," he said apologetically. Walking further in the room, Randwick said, "I really must speak with you, Pollard. It is a very urgent matter." His look and tone of voice confirmed his words.

"I will be finished here in a few moments, then I will -- "

"Please, sir. Now."

With an exasperated snort, Levant pushed himself up and followed Randwick into the hall. "What is it, Randwick? I have important business with the Rector -- "

Having pulled the doors shut, Daniel stepped well away and motioned Levant to him. "Don't be a fool! The whole house knows you and the Rector have business! The man claims that God has placed him here and you are tussling over fifty pounds!"

Levant was surprised. He knew that the Rector had been a bit loud, but did not think the same for himself. "Yes, well, this is a private matter. It is very unseemly to eavesdrop, young man."

Daniel had a notion of mentioning that being in his very presence was unseemly, but chose to forgo the pleasure. "Thank your stars that I have been!" hissed Randwick. "You are about to ruin all your plans for the enclosure -- for the cheap pleasure of fifty pounds!" He stepped back a little and took a deep breath. "Don't be so blind, man!"

"What do you mean? Wentworth is an inconvenience, but certainly not powerful enough to stop me!"

"True. Even if he remains the rector of Crown Hill, alone he would not have the authority to stop you. Even his testimony at the hearings for enclosure would not carry much weight -- as the rector. But if he is willing to become a private man and support himself just to work against you -- " Randwick took a step closer and lowered his voice even more. "The man is a zealot, Pollard! Zealots attract other zealots. The common man admires those willing to sacrifice everything for a cause, especially a man that is willing to sacrifice everything while it costs them nothing! Enclosing Bramford is not going to endear you to the population! If Wentworth is willing to support himself -- humiliate himself by leaving a position with a certain social standing -- he will have supporters trailing by the cartload up to London and voicing their opposition to you!"

Randwick stepped back and lowered the finger that had been tapping Levant's chest.

Levant studied Randwick's avid expression. "Perhaps you are right. I must do something ... "

Randwick fished in his breast pocket. "Do not allow a desire to best this man blind you to what is important," he cried as he opened his wallet, "I will give you fifty pounds." He took a note from the wallet and stuffed it into Pollard's coat. "There -- do not be such a fool that you will cut off your nose to spite your face."

Levant pulled out the note and glanced down at it. He shoved it back in his coat, and said, "Thank you, Daniel. You are quite a sport." He smiled and folded his arms. "Now that you have brought the enclosure into the conversation, it puts me in mind of something else that requires my attention. Money being what it is for me, the Rector's bit will only put off the inevitable and as you are the one who brought up the subject of London -- if I must mortgage the Hall, those seats in Parliament will certainly be a temptation to anyone looking to invest in Bramford."

The old carbuncle was certainly not as stupid as he had thought! Even in the midst of all the blather about the living, and the nattering about the Providential Hand of God, Pollard showed himself to be a sly one indeed! Randwick grudgingly admired Levant's persistence in working him for the mortgage that would keep Bramford afloat. A mortgage which had been refused -- several times.

"I see your point," Randwick hissed. "In fact, I have come to this very same opinion when it comes to me holding a mortgage on the Hall, Pollard. Later, we can draw up some papers stating our intent, I shall give you a draft on my bank and that bit of business will be tidied up. Meanwhile, you must go back in there and make peace with your rector! He has the favour of the parishioners and you will need that in a very short time!"

Edward had watched the doors close behind Randwick and sagged in relief. His hands shook and his breath was short from his exertions. He picked up the pouch of gold and turned it over and over in his hands. He again thought about the brother who had given it to him. He smiled to himself and mused that the Captain would, no doubt, applaud his outburst.

Keeping the gold in his hand, he walked to the windows and took Pollard's place. The sun was brightening the clouds that blocked the blue of the sky. What am I doing? Can I truly do this? Can I leave the Parish to Cooper, or to one as low -- or worse?

For all his high-blown talk about being a private man and the freedom it would allow him, he knew that to leave the position in the church to a hireling would prove him to be no better than Levant. In fact, knowing the destructive power of such a thing, and allowing it to come to pass, would prove him to be worse than the likes of Levant.

He returned to the desk and dropped the bag. His foolish, selfish notions and imprudent tongue had endangered all the he held dear and he prayed that he would be allowed to undo the damage.

The doors opened and Levant entered the room and took his place behind the desk again.

Both men stared at the bag. Neither seemed prepared to make a move.

Reaching for the pouch, the Rector said, "I am sorry Mr Levant. I think I have -- "

"Ah, not so fast Wentworth, not so fast." Levant took the gold out of the Rector's hand. Edward could feel the braided cord, which held the bag shut, lightly slip over his palm. Levant looked down at the purse and then at Edward. He began to casually bounce the bag with one hand. With the fingers of the other, he looped the cord in and out. He suddenly leant down, opened a drawer and tossed the little sack in. "We are agreed then." He straightened and smoothed his coat. "When I return to town, I shall have my solicitor draw up a paper for -- "

It took a moment for Levant's actions to penetrate the Rector's stupor. With neither a grovelling apology on his part, nor disparaging remarks on Levant's, the confrontation was finished. Determined to be completely and irrevocably installed as Crown Hill's rector, Edward reached into his coat and drew out the two folded sheets. "I have been in this occupation for a while, sir. I am very familiar with these matters." He opened the papers and laid them before Levant. "I am sure that you will find things all in order." He stood back and clasped his hands behind him, hoping to give a gesture of openness.

Without touching the paper, Levant glanced at it and snorted. "I suppose that a man of God would not bamboozle one of the flock. Would he?" He raised his brow.

"No," was the simple answer.

Levant called for Randwick. "Good to have a gentleman witness this sort of thing," he said. Tom came at the call and said that Mr Randwick had retired upstairs. Tom witnessed the signing and then Tom's mark was witnessed. Levant's copy was swept into the drawer along with the gold. Edward's was safely back in his breast pocket. It was over and all was legal.

After a curt dismissal by Levant, Edward stepped into the hall and made his way back to the entryway. Just as Tom handed him his hat, a familiar woman's voice met his ear. “Pardon me, sir. Are we acquainted?”

It took a moment for the voice to break through his jumbled thoughts. Turning to look, the Rector saw her. The woman with which he had shared a coach. He knew immediately that she must be the woman who had all of Crown Hill speculating her purpose. Edward was speechless and stood gaping at the woman standing on the stairway.

"Yes, I believe we are. I hope that you have not troubled yourself to return the handkerchief I lent you. As I told you, I have more than enough." The woman tilted her head and smiled at Edward.

“Your beard has grown in remarkably thick for such a short a time.”

Just as Edward was about to speak, a man stepped out of the shadows and came to stand next to the woman. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Good day to you, Rector Wentworth. I see you and Levant have settled things. I hope all is to your satisfaction."

He stood taking in the scene. This woman that had captivated his thoughts was obviously at home in these questionable circumstances. She was obviously not bothered by the physical closeness of the young man Randwick. Even if the gossip were not completely true, this woman was not of the character which Edward's imagination had bestowed upon her. He mumbled something he thought appropriate and hurried out the door.

"Good-bye, Rector." Randwick called. In a quieter voice, he said, "Do come again." To Rosamond, "I was not aware that you were acquainted with the Rector Wentworth. How could this be, considering that you have not been to Church since your arrival?" Randwick teased.

She leant against him and said, "He and I shared the coach when I travelled here. I was not aware that he was the rector of this quaint, tumbled down village. All I knew was that I liked him. How funny. The world really is a very small place." She mused for a moment upon the meeting and then turned to face Randwick. "The Rector is the least of our concerns. Were you able to find out anything in your prowling?"

"We must watch Pollard closely. I have been listening and if I am not mistaken, he has come into some money -- " Randwick kept his tone inconclusive. There was certainly no need to worry Rosamond with any of his petty financial dealings, like the mortgage.

" -- and his first instinct may be to run to town -- "

"-- and in a fit of sense, though not given to those often -- he may go to Demarest. We cannot have that, now can we?"

Randwick offered her his arm and they began down the stairs.

Dinner had been a martyrdom! The Rector had returned from his calls in high spirits. Higher spirits than Louisa had yet to see him. This gaiety had overflowed into the dining room. So much so, that Mrs Graham had even smiled as she served. Mrs Wentworth had done nothing to discourage his antics and had even encouraged several of his more uproarious stories.

"All that laughter and amusement. They have completely forgotten Frederick. They behave as if he no longer exists. They seemed so close when he was here. But now ... " she muttered.

Louisa turned from the window and looked at the tiny room for the thousandth time that day. The idea of staying locked away was becoming abominable, but she had no desire to go downstairs and share in the Wentworths hilarity. Since they were so obviously lacking in familial feeling, it would be her responsibility to uphold Frederick's memory. She would go down, but she would walk and take some air.

She remembered that her cloak was hanging on a peg by the kitchen door, and Graham would still be cleaning up after dinner. Though she would not have to answer to the housekeeper about her intentions, she did not wish to see anyone. This being the case, she would have to find something else to wear.

The sun had burned off the light fog of morning, but it was still a bit chilly. Opening the wardrobe, she looked over her own dresses and found nothing that would help her out of doors. Moving things around, she noticed a pile of cloth in the corner. She pulled it out and found it to be the heavy linen smock-frock Frederick had worn when he had hunted with Charles at Uppercross. She had not seen it since they had married and thought nothing about it. It was obvious that he had forgotten it when packing his chest for Plymouth. It would be perfect.

Standing before the mirror, Louisa looked at herself in the coat. Though it was buttoned, it hung ridiculously from her slender frame. She turned up the sleeves and held it close, hoping to make it look less comical. But just as his nightshirt was a huge fit and nearly swept the floor, the coat was the same. She would wear it nonetheless. It was his and she relished the acrid smell of gun powder and the faint scent of a long ago cigar that clung to the fabric.

Not wishing to draw any attention to herself, Louisa eased the door closed behind and made her way to the stairs. As she had thought earlier, Graham would be in the kitchen and so the back door was out of the question, as privacy was her aim. She hoped that the Wentworths would be closeted away, together in the study and not in a position to see her sneak out the front door.

"Of course it is no bother, Mrs Junkins -- Beatrice."

Hearing Catherine's voice in the entryway, Louisa stopped and stood close to the wall. Listening, she learned that Mrs Junkins too had felt the need to take some fresh air and had decided to bring two dozen eggs to the Rectory.

"I have been feeling a bit spindly today -- and the best cure is a good brisk airing -- Mr Junkins will be coming along in a short while, with Arthur and the cart, to take me home." Mrs Wentworth's reply was muffled and unhearable. "Well, the dear man insisted, what was I to do?"

"Thank you, Graham, when you've put away the eggs, please bring us tea. Have you seen Mrs Wentworth? Of course not, she is upstairs. Bring us three cups. I shall fetch her and we can all have a lovely visit."

Hearing her name and realising Mrs Wentworth was coming up the stairs to find her, Louis hurried the other way and down the back stairs. As she descended, she hoped that Graham was slow in bringing the eggs to the kitchen. Looking around, she saw the room empty and made for the door. She glanced to the pegs that held the housekeeper's things, and old pelisse of Catherine's and what looked to be a gardening hat, perhaps the Rector's. On impulse, she snatched the hat, jammed it on her head and was out the back door before anyone was the wiser.

Louisa ran until she had crossed a field and come to a roadway that was really little more than a path. It did not seem to be well-travelled and that suited the young Mrs Wentworth. She felt completely alone in her missing of Frederick -- the others seemed to be ignoring the fact that he had left. At dinner, there had been no mention of him at all. Nothing in their manner or conversation gave a hint that they thought anything about the matter. She was his sole mourner.

She walked a while, pitying herself and wondering about her new family. Not wearing her own coat, the pockets did not hold her gloves as did her cloak. Dejected, she jammed her hands into the deep pockets of the smock. In one pocket, she felt cloth of a sort and in the other something spiny and sharp.

Out of the left pocket, Louisa pulled bits of muslin cloth, which she recognised to be shot patches. In amongst them, she found two misshapen lead balls. From the other pocket, she pulled hazelnuts. Two were still safe in their papery, frilly husks while the others were gleaming brown, waiting to be hulled and eaten.

It was obvious that Frederick had last worn the coat the day they had walked to Winthrop. He and Charles had been shooting early in the morning and then had joined she and Henrietta and Mary on their walk.

Looking at her find, Louisa could not help but remember the day. She remembered how, after her brother and he had joined the party, he had seemed to prefer her company over that of anyone else. How they had made a game of him jumping her over the many stiles they had encountered. She thought about the beautiful speech he had made to her as they gleaned the very nuts she held.

Her eyes stung as all her thoughts brought her back to this place. He was gone and all she had of him was his coat and a handful of the past.

At the same time Louisa plotted her flight from the Rectory, Pollard Levant had been excusing himself from the company of Rosamond and Randwick. He had determined to take a ride and do what he could to shake off the anger he felt. The more he thought about his meeting with Wentworth, the more angry he became.

Allowing his horse her way, Levant repeated the morning in his mind and at every turn, was able to best the Rector, keep the gold and bilk him of the fifty pounds. As he had gone over the meeting a second time, he noticed he was closing on the Rectory. He thought a moment about stopping and harrying the Rector a bit -- who was to know what might come of thhat? -- when he saw a figure run from back of the house and across the field adjoining.

At first it looked to be a man. The coat and hat were definitely those of a man. But it was not the Rector, as the form was too slight. Then, in the taller grass, he could not help but see that it was a woman. Whoever it was raised her skirts to walk. He continued to watch and was rewarded for his trouble. While hopping a stile, the broad-brimmed hat slipped from the wearer’s head and revealled her identity.

Ah, so this would be the Captain's charmer, he smirked. Now why might you be running from the Rectory? M-m-m.

He kept well back and watched the girl for some time. It came to him, as he watched, that the girl could perhaps be of use to him. With the Captain gone, there was no telling what the climate of the Rectory might be. It was not unknown for families to be quite vicious with one another -- especially in-laws.

Even if there is radiant harmony in the Wentworth household, there is no saying that I might not use her to my advantage. He pondered the public humiliation of the Rector were anything untoward to happen to this woman left in his care.

Mrs Wentworth had come to a stop after walking on the road for a time. She seemed to be examining her hands. No matter. He would make his presence known and explore the possibilities the situation presented him.

"Mrs Wentworth, I did not recognise you ... you are dressed a bit less fashionably than when last we met."

She had been so intent upon her mementoes she had not heard him ride up behind her. His voice startled her and as she turned to determine to whom the voice belonged, the patches, the misshapen lead balls and the nuts fell to the ground.

Seeing that her company was Levant, she took a step back and felt, rather than heard the crackling of the nuts under her shoes.

Dropping to the ground she began gathering her treasures. The tears on her face embarrassed her and seeing the crushed hazelnuts caused more to come.

Kicking his leg over the neck of his horse, Levant was down and on his knees beside her before a word of protest could be uttered.

“Thank you, Graham. I am sorry, Beatrice, I am unable to find Louisa anywhere. First, we can barely coax her from her room for meals and now,” Catherine began to pour the tea, “she is nowhere to be found. It is difficult to understand the mind of one who is young and in love.”

Stirring her tea, Mrs Junkins said, “True, but she is bound to be in a bit of a fog, the Captain being gone so soon and all.” She took a drink and continued, “If my mother were alive and dispensing advice, she would say it was time to beat the rugs!”

Catherine laughed. “Mine would bring out a pot of beeswax and require that all the furniture be polished within an inch of its life!” The women laughed more. It was interesting to find that mothers, no matter which side of the Atlantic, were very similar in their treatment of a broken heart.

“It is really of no matter,” said Mrs Wentworth. “I think there is no harm that she might come to if she is out on her own.”

"The patches and the shot I would expect to be found in a coat of that kind, very typical of a gentleman, but nuts?" They had stood and Levant placed the things he had gathered, in her hand.

Louisa coloured. "It is my husband's, of course. The nuts are from a walk we took ages ago. Nothing but sentimentality will make me keep them. Thank you, Mr Levant." She took all that they had gathered and taking off the hat, placed it all gently in the bowl of it.

"You are quite welcome. I think you are a little sad – missing your husband, eh?"

Louisa wished nothing more than his departure, but knew that she must be polite, if for no other reason than the Rector's sake. "Yes, I do miss him. I was walking in hopes of lifting my spirits ... "

"But", he said, taking the reins of his horse, "it does not seem to have worked. Lifting your spirits, I mean. It is a lovely tribute to him -- wearing his coat, I mean."

Before she could speak, he continued, "I know how it is. When life seems most cruel, the most soothing thing I know is to seek out nature. It seems to bring immediate rest to a weary soul."

They began to walk along the road together, the horse following amiably along behind.

"I know for you, it is an awful time, your husband being snatched away – and to such an uncertain fate."

Louisa looked up at him with a pale and shocked expression. "Now, my dear Mrs Wentworth, you needn't hide your true feelings from me. I understand completely. The dread and the worry are almost more than one can bear at times, I know. But should the worst happen, you know that there are many who will be nearby to support you."

As they walked, she looked longingly at the field she had crossed to get to the road they now walked. If she were to call her apologies and begin to run, perhaps he would not follow. She began to purposely drift towards the road's edge. He did not seem to notice.

I must sympathise with you, Mrs Wentworth. Many look at the external shell of a person and feel that they know all the circumstances of a person." He glanced her way and noticed she had moved from his side. He did nothing to change his course, but began to speak more vigourously. "For example, most would see you, and believe your sadness is simply explained by your husband's leaving. It takes one truly sensitive to know the deeper fears you hold – am I right?"

Louisa opened her mouth, but realised she had no firm understanding of him and what he said. It did not matter, as he cut her off.

"Another example is me! People look and say, ‘There goes Levant, of the Hall -- ‘ and what they comprehend to be a liife of money and ease ... " He looked at her quickly and then launched off agin. "But with these blessings, come great responsibilities, I assure you. While I do have much, I hold the livelihoods -- the very lives of so many in my hands. It is quite a burden at times."

They continued to walk, neither saying anything. One was calculating the effect of his words, the other watching for any opportunity to bolt.

"You see, when I came to Bramford, I was rather idealistic. I thought that I would be able to use my position to improve the lot of the tenants and those around the Hall. But," he grimaced, "when I began to look at the books, I found that much – nay – most of the family resources were gone – "

"That must have been a great shock," Louisa cried.

"Yes, it was indeed. My grandmother has an impeccable reputation in the district, I would hate for the truth of the matter to surface and become known." He glanced her way and continued, "Anywise, I find that, at the insistence of my creditors, mind you, I must do extensive trimming to the household budget. This means that I will need to let go several faithful, long-time employees. Most, I am able to help find other positions, but there is one who going to be difficult to place." Levant went on to describe the employee, and the situation.

"So you see, Mrs Wentworth, this fellow will be quite a challenge, and with his family being what it is, I worry that I might be dooming him to complete and abiding poverty. Can you see why, on this ordinary March day, my mind is burdened? I feel it deeply that I literally hold a man's fate in my hands."

Louisa had been carefully listening to the man and had begun to feel pity for him. It occurred to her that the world continued, no matter what her circumstances. She looked into the hat, and said quietly, "Yes, I see that you have a very difficult decision." It embarrassed her a bit that she was crying over old cloth patches and hazelnut husks – to her knowledge, her husband was well and would continue to be so – Frederick's hat contained nothing so vital as a man's occupation.

Levant stopped and turned to Louisa. "Mrs Wentworth, you are quite astute for one so young. I wish I were so, perhaps it would not seem beyond my capabilities to find another place for a religious man as – " He stopped. Levant watched Louisa for a moment and when she showed that she had understood, he continued. "Good lord, I have told you."

She stood rigid, shocked by what she had heard. Her mind raced as she realised her family's plight.

"I never meant to tell you, of all people, this terrible dilemma. Oh, had I only kept to myself, but you are so easily confided in, your manner is so engaging – "

"Is there nothing that can be done? Sure there is another way to economise – " Louisa's voice was filled with panic.

"I assure you, Mrs Wentworth, I have searched all other avenues. My grandmother and her overgenerous nature left me in this predicament. I wish I had another remedy ... " His voice trailed off and he watched her for a moment. After a time, he said, "surely you do not think that I would enjoy such a thing -- possibly ruining a man?"

She realised she had made him feel guilty. "No, certainly I do not think such an abominable thing. I – I see you have been left little choice." She turned and said quietly, "How horrible for the Rector."

Levant stepped closer to her and said, "May I – "

He was cut off by a garbled voice calling out to them.

"Mrs Wentworth! Are you all right?" The voice belonged to Joshua Junkins.

Both Louisa and Levant turned to the voice. Louisa was torn. Junkins afforded her a way from Levant's company, but if she were to stay, perhaps, together, they might puzzle out a solution to the Wentworth's impossible circumstance.

Joshua walked closer as Levant cursed himself that he had not heard the man approaching. "Are you all right, Mrs Wentworth?" Joshua asked again. He knew that the girl did not understand him well, but hoped that she might grasp the drift of his words. "Mrs Wentworth."

Louisa looked up and saw Junkins pat the seat of the cart and grasp his chin with his fingers. It puzzled her for a moment and then she realised that he offered her a ride home to the Rector. Again, she was torn, but her natural aversion to the man Levant, won out and she began to walk to the cart.

Levant, seeing how things stood, took her arm and cried, "Now wait a moment! I would be remiss in my duties as a gentleman, were I to allow this! Do you even know this monstrosity?"

Louisa whirled to face the man. "Of course I know this man! He is a dear friend of the Rector's -- and my husband." She pulled her arm from his grasp. "I think I must go now, Mr Levant."

He barred Louisa's way and said quickly, "Mrs Wentworth, I certainly will not put you in the custody of a man of no reputation – I shall see you home!"

Louisa watched over Levant's shoulder as he spoke. "I do not think so. Please, release me." She indicated with a nod of her head. Levant half turned and looked in Junkins' direction.

He let go of her arm and stepped aside that she might mount the cart, which had been drawn closer than he recalled.

Mounting his horse, he said with venom, "Threatening me with that pitchfork will get you nowhere. I shall see that – See here, get along with you then!" He pulled hard on the reins, forcing his horse to back away from the fork. Giving another tug, he dug his heels into the horses sides and rode off.

Joshua wheezed a laugh and walked back to the box of the cart, replacing the pitchfork. Looking up to Louisa, he said, "Shall we be off to the Rectory?" He took the rope that haltered Arthur, and started off.

"Thank heavens this is the last stop. I am fagged tonight, I do not mind saying, Martin." Timothy Harville took hold of the first step of the accommodation ladder. He heavily pulled himself up to the next.

Since arriving in Plymouth, his fondest desire had been to free himself of his walking stick -- and he had. For three days he had carried out all his duties without it. But as he drew himself up and over the side of the Laconia, the sight that met his eyes made him wish he carried it just then. He waved a hand to get the boy's attention.

"What is it, sir?" Martin cried. "Are those thieving blackguards back to steal somethin' else?"

Just days before, Harville and Martin had made their usual visitation of the Laconia and had been shocked to find two boys with hatchets. Having hacked the binnacle box lose from its station, they were attempting to wrestle it over the side. Since that discovery, two men had been posted as guards on each watch. "Shhhh, Martin," Harville hissed. I do not think it to be our two young sneaks, but someone is aboard. Quietly now." He helped the younger man up and over. Silently, they sneaked and hide themselves behind the capstan.

They watched a man leaning upon the railing. He neither moved nor seemed to notice that he was no longer alone.

"Could it one of our own men, sir?"

I cannot see well enough to know." Harville said slowly, looking intently, hoping to identify the man. "But both are well-trained, I would hope that neither would be caught dead leaning on the railing -- even at this late hour. Besides, the fellow is too tall -- and he's not dressed like a sailor."

After watching the man for a bit longer, Harville determined it was time to take action. Pulling a pistol from his waist, he slowly cocked the hammer, and stepped out in the open.

"Do not move -- I do not wish to shoot -- who are you?" His voice was gruff and as serious as he could manage.

The man started and stood straight. Turning, he cried, "Good Lord in heaven, please, do not shoot me! I am here with the captain of the ship!"

"I am the captain of the Laconia," said Harville, "and you did not come with me." Keeping the pistol well-aimed, he slowly made his way closer. Martin followed, holding up a lantern and looking into all the shadows for any compatriots that might be waiting to set upon them.

"No, Harville, but he did come with me." A voice behind them said. "Acting Captain Harville, this is Charles Hayter. He will soon be my brother-in-law." The Captain walked over to the man at the rail. "You had best not shoot this one. He is a man dedicated to the Church, and to shoot him would put you at odds a much higher authority than even those at Whitehall."

Wentworth held up his lantern and made the round of introductions.

After a brief explanation of the Laconia's scandalous condition, Charles Hayter excused himself from the sailors, declaring it time to find a bed for the night.

Walking with Hayter to the ladder, Frederick said, "I thank you for bringing me all this way." Looking over to Harville and Martin, he smiled. "I hope that you will forgive the welcome of my crew. Most are not as delinquent as those first two curs we found with the dice in my cabin, nor are they usually so quick to threaten with arms. But, as you can see, this is a remarkable circumstance."

"It is all right, Captain. I enjoyed being of service. I am not happy about Charles illness, but this has been quite an adventure, I am generally bound to my duties in the country. Besides, it has given us an opportunity to become better acquainted." Climbing over the side, he stopped. "Again, thank you for the enjoyable day." Stopping part way down, he asked, "Might you recommend a particular inn?"

"The George is the best. There should be a big fellow -- his name is Gracious -- has a tattoo of a mermaid on his foreearm. Tell him I have sent you. My name may not mean much when it comes to the treatment of my ship, but perhaps I still carry some weight with the local tradesmen." He offered his hand. "Again, thank you, Hayter."

After shipping the Captain's dunnage to the Moonshine, and rounding up a fit supper, the two officers settled into serious conversation about ship's business.

"Several of the warrants are full – a surgeon with his own loblolly, I'll have you to know ... and that makes 110 men as of yesterday," Harville said, proud that the complement was shaping up so well.

"Any sign of a decent purser?" Frederick asked.

Timothy frowned. "No sir. And no one has come around today. I am thinking tomorrow I will go up to the hospital and see if there are any half-wits that can haul a line." Harville wiped his plate clean with a piece of bread.

"Hold off for a time on the hospital, we are near bursting with able-rated men now. Let us wait until the Laconia is clean and tidy, then we will make a last hard pull for ordinary sailors. I'm glad to hear about a decent surgeon and the other officers, but I have to tell you, the man who is responsible for bringing me an honest purser will have a bonus. Nothing I hate worse than being flayed by my own purser.

Harville laughed. "Aye, it is a might galling to hire the man to pick your own pocket." He wiped his hands of crumbs. "All in all, I am amazed. At the present state with France and with the press, we still got this many without all that much fuss! It is a testament to you, Captain." He pushed his plate back and finished his beer.

A hint of a smile touched Wentworth's lips. "Aye, many hoping that I can conjure prize money to fill their pockets, no doubt." Turning, he called, "Bring the brandy, Pym." Pym, the acting steward, was one of the old Laconias that had materialised to sign aboard. When the decanter was brought and the glasses filled, Frederick continued, "With orders from the West Indies, I am certain everyone is slavering to be off. But with our girl stripped of everything including her modesty, I'm not certain that even I can do much for a time." He looked at his friend with a glint. He knew that his reputation and a sail to one of the few places left in the world which offered a hope of profitable captures, had brought many out of hiding in hopes of securing a decent sum of prize money. But, all through supper, Harville had been relating horrors of gross mistreatment at the hands of the Port Admiral's office and shipwrights alike.

Taking a drink, Harville said, "I knew I was dished when even Locke would not see me. I was there for hours, being told every few minutes that he would be free shortly. I figured I was fairly safe though, I was camped by the only door leaving his office. Then came his paper monkey with the news that the Admiral had suddenly been called away for the day and would not be returning. He'd taken a back way out. I was out-foxed when I thought myself so clever." "So," Frederick said, "Locke had Darwin deliver the bad news to you. I don't know where Locke would be without his faithful, but very much put upon secretary." Harville frowned. "This fella's name wasn't Darwin ..." his voice trailed off as he thought. "I believe it was Mabey. A very youngish man, still spotty. Who was this Darwin?" "He was the secretary when I came just a few weeks ago." Frederick leant back and thoughtlessly toyed with his glass. In a moment, he brightened. "I have always liked the name Mabey -- so definitely indefinite. Perfect for a man charged with balancing the desires of Philistine like Locke, and an endless parade of man usually angry and armed." He smiled at the thought and took a deep drink. Harville studied his master for a time. "Just right for someone posted to a capricious master like Locke. I am glad to see," he started, "That marriage has not dampened your wit or philosophical bent." Frederick raised his eyes and looked at his friend. "Aye, there is a part of me that rejoices in my return. I had, in fact feared a loss of zeal for the entire enterprise of sailing." The Captain's revelation brought a look of surprise to Harville's face. Seeing the expression, the Captain continued, "But just drawing close enough for a whiff of the sea made me know such a vagary to be nonsense." Harville smiled in agreement. Pouring them both another glass, Frederick said, "And yet, even as I say those words, if it were in my power, I would give you the ship, the crew and all the glory that we might encounter on this voyage just to be in Shropshire, settling into a quiet evening with my wife." He didn't look at his friend for a time, but when he finally did, he exclaimed, "Dash it, Harville! You have always been soft in the head where marriage is concerned, and don't think that it does not stick in my throat to say this," Frederick scolded, "But I think I am now of the same opinion." He took a long drink and looked over the rim of his goblet.

Captain Harville said nothing, and with a leisurely satisfaction, finished his brandy.

"Well," Frederick said, "what have you to say for your victory?"

Sliding the glass away, Harville said, "Guilty on the charge, sir. I have never hidden my partiality for the wedded state. And, it is not with a little pride that I welcome you into the fold of the converted. Though, I am sorry that you had to leave the warmth of your new family so soon."

"Another bit of satisfaction for you – it was very difficult telling her. Not at the time," he said, "but as my time to leave drew closer." Not wishing to pursue the conversation further, Frederick emptied his glass and smiled, "Many converts are grateful to those that bring them to the light. Some even try and bestow gifts. But while I am happy with my new found faith, the only reward I will allow is that smug grin you sport."

"Fair enough," Harville said with a nod to the Captain. "Though, might I ask just one favour of my novitiate?"

"Ask. I make no guarantee of my answer."

"Well sir, now that you are an ardent admirer of the matrimonial state and admit your own sorrow at leaving hearth and home ... "

"Yes, yes, Harville, get on with it! I know my own mind and besides, the novitiate is tired and wishes his bed -- "

"Then I will be blunt, Frederick. I have been here over a fortnight, and other than the first night at the Crown, I have always slept aboard with whatever crew each day has brought me. All this, even after I had secured a very good lease on a lovely house and my wife and children had arrived."

"A house -- and Elsa arrived so soon?" This surprised Frederick. The Harville household was remarkable for its ability to accommodate the naval life. If Elsa had arrived and there was a home to be lived in -- Frederick's eyes narrowed, "And so your request might be ... "

"Allow me to go home for the night. I've not slept beneath the same roof as my family in ever so long."

Frederick held an impassive look. Standing, he went to Timothy. "Request granted," he said, clapping him on the arm. "Greet your good lady for me and beg an invitation to dinner one night soon. And," he added, "I do not wish to see you here agin until Wednesday morning ... when you breakfast with me."

A wide smile broke over Timothy's face. "Thank you, Frederick." He began to gather his hat and coat. Just as he was pulling closed the door, he called out, "Oh, Captain."

"Yes, Captain."

"The longing eases after we have weighed and are well away -- when all possibility to run home is past."

"You had best run home, Harville. As pretty as you have made this old tub, I am certain I can find some sort of duty that would require the attentions of my second-in-command."

"Good night, Frederick."

"Good night, Timothy."

As soon as he was able, the Captain vowed to hire on a steward. He detested caring for his personal belongings. It was the one luxury of command which he had no hesitation in pressing to his full advantage. Not that his steward had much in the way of duties. Wentworth bathed himself, shaved himself, dressed himself; the only things left to the fellow was the maintaining and laying out of his clothes. That, along with the preparation and presentation of his meals would be all the duties the fellow, whoever he might be, would have. He was mostly simple to care for, but in these particular things, he was rather fastidious.

Wanting to be settled and not caring to have Pym, he began to shift some of his things from his sea chest to the various lockers in his sleeping cabin. As he shifted an armload of shirts, something clattered to the floor. Looking around, he saw it to be a small, blue-covered book of paper, no bigger than the palm of his hand. Tossing the shirts on his berth, he knelt and picked it up. Paging through it, he came to a penciled portrait. It was Louisa.

The quality of the picture was surprisingly good. He had no idea that she could draw. Now he understood the few times he had caught her gazing at herself in the mirror in their room. He had made light of it and passed it off as youthful vanity. But it seemed now that there had been no vanity, only a desire to capture the truest rendering of herself possible.

Frederick made his way to the better light of his writing desk and sat down, all the while looking at the picture. In it, she was not looking directly at him, but away and to the side. She had drawn herself hair down, just as he liked her. It was pushed back, with only a slender tendril, sneaking its way over her shoulder. To his delight, she had captured the curve of her neck and the bones of her chest perfectly. Her shoulders were bare and her only adornment was the strand of blue beads.

Examining the face, he saw that she had struggled with some of the finer features, but had captured herself well, overall. The line of her jaw was particularly good. So good in fact that he had to struggle back from memories of following that line from her mouth, down her neck and beyond.

Closing the little book for a moment, he remembered her plea that no one but him ever see her, 'surprise.' He now knew why. It was quite provocative in its content, but he knew in his heart her precise meaning . . . by her own hand, she was giving herself to him in a way that most men never see their wives. This was the visible product of what she had said their second night together. "When you are away from me, and alone . . . lonely . . . I wish it to be me you think of to comfort yourself . . . my face . . . my body . . . me . . . no one else. I love you, Frederick, and I will do whatever I must to secure my rightful place in your mind . . . and your heart."

Opening the little book, he noticed that some of the other pages had writing on them. It was Louisa's spidery scrawl. He went to the beginning of the book and began with the first page.

My Dearest Husband Frederick, I hope that you are well and that your arrival in Plymouth and onto the Laconia was all you had looked forward to. You said that I had spoilt this return, but I am certain that you have found joy in being back on your beloved ship. Please do not think ill of me for the picture I have made you. There was not time for a proper portrait to be done, and I wished for you to have a likeness of me. Perhaps I was too bold in my pose, if that is the case, please forgive me.

"It is bold, my dear Loua, but there is certainly nothing to forgive," he murmured. He leant back, against one of the stern windows. Closing his eyes, he thought about the picture and the woman who had drawn it. It took very little time for him to realise that this picture might prove to be more a struggle than the comfort she had hoped.

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