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Lord?’
    â€˜Captain Palgrave did not leave his command willingly.’
    â€˜I heard he was indisposed.’
    â€˜He was shot in a duel. A very foolish affair which I heard of due to the loose tongue of one of the clerks here who is related to your first lieutenant. It seems that Palgrave had some sort of altercation with one of the captains of the whalers. Nothing will be done about it, of course; Palgrave cannot afford scandal so he has resigned his command and he has enough clout to ensure the facts do not reach the ears of the Court. But it is exceedingly unusual that a merchant master should incapacitate the captain of the man-of-war assigned to give him the convoy he has been bleating for.’
    â€˜Perhaps some affair locally, my Lord, an insult, a woman . . .’
    â€˜I grow damnably suspicious in my old age, Nathaniel,’ Dungarth smiled, ‘but since you speak of women, how is Elizabeth and that charming daughter of yours. And I hear you have an heir too . . .’

Chapter Two
May 1803

The Corvette
    Drinkwater leaned from the window of the mail-coach as the fresh horses were whipped up to draw them out of Barnet. Dusk was already settling on the countryside and he could make out little of the landmarks of his youth beyond the square tower of Monken Hadley church whose Rector had long ago recommended him to Captain Hope of the
Cyclops
.
    From above his head a voice called, ‘Why she flies like a frigate going large, sir.’ Looking up he saw Mr Quilhampton’s face excited by their speed, some eight or nine miles to the hour.
    Drinkwater smiled at the young man’s pleasure and drew back into the coach. Since his breakfast with Lord Dungarth it had been a busy day of letter writing and last minute purchases. There had been a brace of pistols to buy and he had invested in a chronometer and a sextant, one of Hadley’s newest, which now nestled beneath his feet. They had seen the bulk of their luggage to the Black Swan at Holborn and left it in the charge of Tregembo to bring on by the slower York Stage.
    He and Quilhampton had arrived at Lombard Street just in time to catch the Edinburgh Mail, tickets for which Quilhampton had purchased earlier in the day. He smiled again as he remembered the enthusiasm of Mr Quilhampton at the sight of the shining maroon and black Mails clattering in and out of the Post Office Yard, some dusty from travel, others new greased and washed, direct from Vidler’s Millbank yard and ready to embark on their nocturnal journeys. The slam of the mail boxes, shouts of their coachmen and the clatter of hooves on the cobbles as their scarlet wheels spun into motion was one of affecting excitement, Drinkwater thought indulgently as he settled back into the cushions, and vastly superior to the old stage-coaches.
    The lady opposite returned his smile, removing her poke bonnet to do so and Drinkwater suffered sudden embarrassment as he realisedthat not only had he been grinning like a fool but his knees had been in intimate contact with those of the woman for some minutes.
    â€˜You are going to join your ship, Captain?’ Her Edinburgh accent was unmistakable as was the coquettish expression on her face.
    â€˜Indeed, ma’am, I am.’ He coughed and readjusted his position. The woman was about sixty and surely could not suppose . . .
    â€˜Catriona, my niece here,’ the lady’s glove patted the knee of a girl in grey and white sitting in the centre of the coach, ‘has been visiting with me in London, Captain, at a charming villa in Lambeth. Do you live in London, Captain?’
    Drinkwater looked at the girl, but the shadow of her bonnet fell across her face and the lights would not be lit until the next stop. As she boarded the coach he remembered her as tall and slim. He inclined his head civilly in her direction.
    â€˜No, ma’am, I live elsewhere.’
    â€˜May one ask where, sir?’