Chapter 4

The rain continued to fall in grey sheets as we glided into Valetta harbor, but the gentle downpour could not obscure the city's humble majesty. Sandy buildings cluttered with arched windows lined the waterfront and above them rose the domes and turrets that testified to the Hosptiallers' years of tenancy on the Island. Someday I should like to return to the city, perhaps

James stopped, drawn from his reminisces by the realization that such a trip could never be. He let out a short sigh as he deftly scratched out the line of prose.

I had hoped one day to return to Valetta. Perhaps as an old man in my dotage, to spend my days chatting with Ambroise in a small house where we could watch the night lights shimmering on the green water. I could have taken Elizabeth with me. She would have liked Valetta, I think.

What I recall most about Valetta is its overwhelming sense of serenity and honor. I felt privileged to be housed in such a haven, though for a time I felt almost sick to be there. Everywhere I looked there was another spire, another red crossed uniform, another courteous "Monsieur" to remind me that I was in the presence of the noblest of men. Knights who upheld a stern code of chivalry and honor--and here was I dashing off my schoolroom French and discoursing on Homer pretending I belonged with them, when the truth was that I had no right to stand in the same room with such men, I who had failed as I did.

During my second day in residence at the magnificent hospital, I requested a pen and some papers. Then, propped up against several generous pillows, I turned towards the task of admitting my shame. I would have to submit a full report of the shipwreck to the navy offices once we reached London, including an inventory of the weapons, supplies and men lost. Unable to face the opening wherein I would have to describe my failure in minute detail, I decided to begin with the inventory. I began to list the names of my deceased crew. I wrote Gilette's name on the list and stared at it for a long time. Impudent and arrogant though he was, were he alive he would have become a far greater commander than I could ever hope to be. His cool judgment would have served him well as an Admiral; if he'd been commanding the Dauntless that day he and his crew would be alive and sailing for home. If I had only listened to his concerns.

I never finished that report.

Monsieur Charbonneau, or Ambroise as he soon allowed me to call him, was very discreet, not announcing my shame for all to hear. When questioned he would simply explain that we had been injured in the hurricane and would let me choose not to tell the rest. It was this kindness that made me truly warm to him, and it was only three days after our arrival in Valetta that I was dining at his expansive house on the hill above the hospital. After dinner we sat sipping strong Mediterranean tea infused with refreshing mint, watching the lights in the city below.

"So, Commodore. What will you do now?" he asked. (Once he knew me better, he'd switched to English out of courtesy. Also, he'd admitted jovially, because my pronunciation could be a trifle painful at times.)

I looked out at the city. The scent of mint wafted soothingly from my cup. In a corner of the city a group of worshippers sang a beautiful hymn.

"My men seem to be recovering well. I'll have to report to my admiral soon. We should be gone in a fortnight."

His eyebrows rose slightly. "So soon. Where will you go? London?"

"Yes. If we can find safe passage." I tried not to make it sound like a plea.

He smiled knowingly. "Some of my colleagues don't approve of me helping you."

"If it's trouble, we can find ano--"

He smoothly swatted my reply. "I trust you, Commodore, and I believe you to be a good man. Besides," he spoke this last gently, "you seem as though you could use a stroke of good fortune."

I nodded, as the resident emotions in my stomach simmered faintly.

"I want you to know I appreciate all of your assistance, Monsieur."

He smiled a little. "Do not dwell too much on your failures, Commodore. Someday you will be given an opportunity to regain your honor. And you will take it. We must first have the rain so we may grow the blossoms, nes pas? Let God bother with perfection."

"Yet you are a knight, you spend your life striving for perfection in honor. How can you say such a thing?"

He slowly drained his glass. For a moment his eyes focused on something far away. "I had many reasons for joining the Order. I was young then, and needed perfecting."

So it was, after about three weeks, that our intrepid trio left Valetta, residents of a very tidy merchant brigantine on which M. Charbonneau had secured us passage. The captain was unused to sailing beyond Gibraltar, but he was easily convinced that trade with the English would be worth the cost, supplemented by a generous donation from Monsieur le Hospitaller.

We docked at Catagena in Spain, discreetly replenished our supplies, and continued on until we reached Plymouth. After a few days posting on a mail coach, during which time we seemed to lose , we arrived at our destination and we once again beheld the ruddy streets and dark bricked buildings of London. The city buzzed at the height of the Season, and some short enquiries soon confirmed my suspicion that my Uncle was in residence at his town house. Wanting to avoid my appointment at the navy offices as long as possible, I went to visit him.

His maid opened the door and showed me into the drawing room, its fashionable sofas and draping curtains reminding me vividly of the large mansion on the hill in Port Royal. I could almost imagine the door opening and Lady Barclay bustling into the room with Elizabeth trailing behind…I swallowed hard, pushing such thoughts out of my head.

Just then, my Uncle, stouter and grayer than I remembered him and suitably bespectacled, strode through the door. He stopped, examining my adult features and the somewhat outmoded coat that Ambroise had given me to travel in. Then he put out a resolute hand.

"James. So you've finally come to see me, eh?" He shook my hand with a smile and sat down.

We examined each other as we talked, I making vague replies to his inquiries about my stay in London. I found him just as I remembered; a pragmatic, genial man, with pleasing manners and a contained merriment that I had only seen revealed fully on certain rare occasions in my youth. He still smoked a great deal too much, read an excess of the legal papers (as I suspect he'd always wanted to be a lawyer, and would've done, if his business had not proved so profitable), and had an unexpected penchant for opera, which, he explained, was what brought him to town for the Season; that was when all the best operas were playing.

He invited me to stay with him and I accepted. He set a pair of servants to work on my uniform, to make it ready for the small dinner party he was already planning for the next evening. Though I didn't feel much like socializing, my Uncle insisted that if I was to be in town for the Season, I must form some acquaintances. He added in a pointed way that it would benefit me to have some female society after being so long at sea. I almost laughed at the triviality of it. I had almost died in the Mediterranean, for weeks consumed with such issues as revenge and honor, and here my uncle was trying to marry me off. I gathered from some of his comments that he took my detached conversation and melancholy solitude as evidence of heartbreak and I believe he suspected that I had come to London for the very purpose of catching a bride. In the first part of his supposition he was partly correct, in the second he couldn't have been further from the truth. I don't believe I shall ever marry.

'Could I marry now, even if I wanted to?' James wondered. He decided to grapple with his uncertain mortality later. He was coming to one of the more painful moments in his story, and he felt he had better push through and get it over with.

The dinner party was of a good size, and my Uncle's modest drawing room was well filled with lawyers, bankers, tradesmen and their wives and daughters, several of whom were uncommonly pretty and unattached. I was introduced to many of these young ladies, as well as a pair of the grander members of the company, Lord Stanley and his wife Lady Joanna Stanley. I was particularly struck by Lady Stanley's features. She was a fine looking woman, excellently dressed in a gown of midnight silk trimmed in black with a red striped underskirt. She bore the hauteur of a woman who has married well, basking in the affluence and consequence of her chosen mate. She reminded me strongly of someone I felt I knew, though I couldn't recall meeting her ever before.

The dinner was good, and fortunately I was seated by a talkative mama who was eager to extol the virtues of her blushing daughter, which saved me from having to answer questions. I half attended to what she was saying, my eyes resting often on Lady Stanley. There was something so familiar about the way her mouth moved, her superior gaze, even her cool voice. I decided that I must find an opportunity after dinner to speak with her and to discover just who she was. To my surprise, the lady afforded me the chance to speak to her almost immediately. Once the men entered the drawing room and her husband was settled as a fourth at one of the card tables, Lady Stanley approached me, greatly disappointing my dinner companion who doubtless wanted to continue her marriage mongering. Lady Stanley drew me into a more secluded corner of the drawing room and sat down.

"I understand, Commodore, that you have recently lost your ship, the HMS Dauntless," she began without any demurs.

I couldn't conceal the look of astonishment that crossed my face. I felt at once that this lady was a force to be reckoned with.

She dismissed my shock a bit smugly. "The story will soon be out, Commodore. You had better submit your report before the matter develops into something even more detrimental."

I couldn't discern whether she was warning me or threatening me. I didn't know how to respond. She continued.

"You may well wonder at my interest in this tragedy." Her voice was controlled, but I noticed her color rise ever so slightly and her eyes lost some of their refined disdain as she pronounced, "Before my marriage to His Lordship, I was Joanna Gilette."


A/N: Yay! Another chapter! I was on my way to class yesterday morning and James' voice began speaking in my head and I couldn't shut him up. I apologize for the continued infrequency of my updates but stick with me and do not despair—I WILL finish this story (sooner or later). : ) Hold onto your hats folks, he's about to blow....