The squall which had hung over the Solent seemed to have passed that week as Cicely waited for Stephen to return. She had indeed made inroads into his work, pointing out discrepancies, conflicting statements, and areas in which Zoonomia had the answers.
He had come back and, as Cicely had watched the small rowing boat coming in the direction of the ship, whence she had once taken step as a lowly private under Major Richard Blunt as they had taken passage to Quiberon Bay to crush a rebellion, it occurred to her that she had been feeling that she would never see him again.
Like last time.
Last time pricked her heart too often to mention; she felt at a loss without him by her side, and these last two days had been torture enough. But Cicely was level-headed enough to know that he would return promptly enough back to her.
Jack had taken his leave, visiting Sophie in their house not far from Fareham and, as various crew had also taken their leave, or gone ashore just for a day or a night, as the "Surprise" took on supplies and repairs had been undertaken, the comings and goings of the people she had once had as her comrades had entertained her when Stephen's work had got beyond her.
Lieutenant Blakeney had also visited his family, his mother and gaggle of elder sisters; less of a gaggle he had explained after returning from what had seemed like a testing afternoon for the lad, who was clearly used to taking the lead of groups of men, and sharing the company of other officers and less comfortable being fussed over by his mother for his complexion, height, appetite, immediate plans, less immediate plans ("She wants me to marry!" Will had complained to her as he had reboarded the ship).
And not once had she been tempted by the sights and smells, mercantile bounties or women of ill-repute as the sailors had, although some of the harlots did pause when they saw a plain-dressed woman amongst the company aboard as they followed their latest customer aboard.
So, halfway through the month of November and her wish had now come to pass: "Surprise" was sailing west, or more precisely, south-west, for South America was their destination, first to Brazil, and then, as before, round the horn and into the Pacific. The tempestuous Pacific, Jack had once called it. "Whoever heard of calling an ocean peaceful? It's the wildest and most treacherous body of water on God's holy Earth!"
It was their passage to the South Americas which was what Cicely was holding on to at this moment, and their docking in Sao Paulo (that excuse for a town – at least there'd be no John Fotherington this time!) for, although it was Saturday, and Stephen had met Jack's deadline, he was not with them.
The conversation three days ago had gone like this:
"Would you like to hear some wonderful news, my sweetheart?" Cicely had been sitting at his desk, peering at the hand of von Humbolt and endeavouring to decipher it when Stephen pushed open the cabin door and smiled widely at her.
Getting to her feet as the legs of the expensive oak chair scraped across the planks, Cicely embraced her beloved husband on his return, begging him to tell her of his time in the Capital, what he had done, and what the wonderful news was.
Captain Sir Richard Strachan had, for his prompt and forthright action been promoted to Rear-Admiral of the Blue, and admitted to the ancient and exclusive Order of the Bath, while all first-lieutenants were advanced to commander. Cicely was overjoyed, for that meant Will Blakeney. But that also meant that the next time he was back home his mother had yet another excuse to press matrimony on her son.
"Jack is to receive prize money, as are all who engaged," Stephen had continued, his face still ablaze with agitated excitement, "including you," he added. But when Cicely had gone to protest, for she had done nothing of worth, Stephen had quoted Jack, their captain – and friend – that by doing nothing, she had done everything.
"He is more than delighted with his gold medal for the trouble of the battle," Stephen had continued, and when Cicely had asked about his share, Stephen had acknowledged it, and then pushed it to one side, for the "wonderful thing" had turned out to be "Zoonomia", or rather, an invitation, one which, if he refused, would set his work back such a way that he may as well have given up on seeking entry to the Royal Society at all.
Stephen had not put it like that, of course. He had instead held her hand and said, in the way that always made Cicely melt, innards first, "Dr. Darwin, under whose care you out yourself has asked me to return "Zoonomia" to him." Cicely had nodded, wondering if that was the end of it, but sensed there was something more. "He asks," Stephen said slowly, looking careully into her eyes as if he had never seen them until that afternoon, "that I share my work with him. He has many connections in London, and my work is of interest to a group of scientists, engineers and thinkers who meet in a city not far from Shrewsbury."
"Then you must go," Cicely told him firmly. "You cannot miss out on an opportunity such as this. Dr. Darwin discussed this group of gentlemen at a dinner he was hosting, with another of his friends. "The Lunar Society" they call themselves, for they meet at full moon, so there is light enough to return safely home."
His look of shock took Cicely by surprise and it was at that moment that she realised that her husband probably felt the dilemma more acutely than she did, that leaving her for a short time was as bad for him as for her, however this was, as she had put it, a valuable opportunity. She was glad, so glad there and then, that she had made it easier for him.
Now, two weeks after seeing her husband depart "Surprise" again, Cicely was feeling a depression sinking upon her. Yes, she would see him soon – and the time she had to wait was far less than she had before, when Jack had told her Stephen had given his life for espionage. But that did not help the hopeless sense of vacuousness that fell about her as she had, for once, taken up the invitation to dine at the captain's table, with the newly-promoted commanders, once lieutenants, speaking of the celebrations which would soon be upon them in Brazil.
"And so, at the beginning of the Advent season," Jack had begun, we remember that this is a time of waiting, for remembering the life that came to the world to save us all. And - " he raised his glass higher for the climax, " - that the Messiah's birth was worth the wait. It is always worth the wait," he added, but in a lower voice, so only Cicely could hear.
Perhaps that was enough. Not long until she saw him again. He would take a boat to Brazil, a warship, or commission something, so as to catch up with "Surprise". He would need to, at any rate, if he were to continue with the entymological enterprise that he was about to undertake in the South Sea islands, another classification and taxonomic exercise, it would seem.
As she was about to take her leave to their cabin, not wishing for company or small talk, Captain Howard of the Marines waylaid her and asked Cicely her opinion on share option.
"It would seem that the markets are awash with it; new enterprises which have traded stock and the like. I would like to know your opinion."
Cicely hesitated in brushing the man aside and smiled. Late forties, and balding, but as full of energy and vigour as a marine half his age, John Howard had guarded Dumanoir's hold as the French prisoners had been taken to their fate in England. He had been the guard, too, on the both occasions she had raised her hand to Joseph Nagel, the latter incident of a full-on fight had seen the captain dragging Cicely from the errant Nagel, who had insulted her brother following his suicide.
He had joked, on the revelation of her gender, that he had known all along her true identity, for a man would have killed Nagel for less than that, and Cicely had joked that had he been a better shot she may not have been Mrs Maturin.
It was a joke that she hadn't repeated; Captain Howard had deep feelings of duty about the day that he had misjudged the timing to shoot the albatross which had been circling the ship, and had gone on to shoot Stephen. What she hadn't told John Howard was that, had he not, and she had not had a chance to nurse him, and admit her feelings for him, she may also not have been Mrs Maturin.
"I have been offered shares in guano," John Howard began. "What do you know of the market shares, Mrs Maturin?" he added, as Cicely felt somewhat giddily humoured by his offer, trying not to point out that any south-facing cliff in Argentina would offer him guano free of charge.
"The business allows for guano, a substance good for the ground, to be sold to help crops," he continued. "Do you think this would be a worthy investment?"
His large features were eyeing her earnestly; Howard clearly was serious about this. Perhaps his future as a marine was shortly to be coming to an end, for a man approaching fifty must surely feel the years more keenly than younger men, she had thought.
Then, a recollection of guano, the Anglicised name of the Spanish word which denoted sea-bird excrement, appeared in her mind. Von Humbolt had detailed the very substance in his letters to Stephen, and that it was a "virulent promoter of growth and strength in crops of all variants". So there was something in what Howard was saying, and she told him so.
He had thanked her profusely, and Cicely had enquired to his interest in share ownership. Indeed, he and Mrs Howard were looking for a more comfortable retirement. Cicely had spoken to the captain before about his home, and they shared a similar background; the "comfortable retirement" consisted of land near Bath where Mrs Howard could live out her days in society's ever-changing web of intrigue and gossip, where today's scandal was tomorrow's history. Cicely wondered why, if he was comfortably off, he was still in the marines, at least a class below his own.
"Mrs Howard has a mind to introduce me to gentlemen," Howard had answered for her and, as the conversation came to an end and she gave her apologies to Jack for not remaining longer in his hospitable company, it occurred to her that the reason Will Blakeney had been glad to return to the ship was more than likely the same reason John Howard had spurned society for so long: a dislike of socialising with the upper classes, the discussion of money and politics.
Like herself. That vile environment of "seen to be seen"; wearing "just the right shape/style/colour/country of origin garment"; having been to or indulged in "just the right business deal" or "the take over of a rotton borough guaranteeing a seat in Parliament". To Cicely's eyes, hateful, when the world meant more than money and power, and when other people mattered, and other causes than those which would drive the politicians.
Cicely had closed her eyes that night, the first night of the last month of the year, as six bells of the first watch rang out faintly to her hearing. An hour before midnight. But she could not find rest.
Her mind floated about her, like oil on water, as she recalled the evening, and tried to piece into it all that had happen and was about to. Four months and she would be safely away from the authority of the English crown, and the bond on her head. She would be able to help her uncle with the business he was making, and live a new life while Stephen finished his commission and was granted Society status.
With that money, a good deal to set them up for life, they could settle somewhere and raise a family – she was not yet too old – and sit with her children as they waved their father off to another expedition (Cicely was in no doubt that his work was something to which he was indentured for life).
It drifted too, to Captain Howard's treatment of her as an equal, and discussed with her matters of money thus.
Then the discovery that she was a woman; it was true indeed that she would not have been found out by Blakeney had it not been that Stephen had been in a feverish state and she had taken pity on him, allowing her deep-buried feelings to rise up and be seen.
Of course, it was bound to have happened that her gender would have been discovered at some stage following her incarceration, of that Cicely was in no doubt, such as her sentence for fighting had been the lash. What Nagel had actually said to her Cicely still couldn't remember, but her hand still bore a scar where she had hit him on the jaw.
Her now drowsy mind then rested on the last request of her husband, using the list she had kept of the people she owed, the Darwin family of The Mount, Shrewsbury being second upon it, after Sophie Aubrey, all of whom Stephen had promised to repay in full using her prize money, at her very strong insistence.
The white, Spanish silk gown that her husband had given to her just before he had trodden the planks and raised his long leg over the edge of the ferry-boat, as he had done less than a week before, filled her vision as her troubled mind fought sleep.
She would wear it, she had promised him, but only upon her return. Now, as her eyes yielded to the rest at last, Cicely dreamed of Stephen, of their past, and of their future.
88888888
Another conversation concerning the absence of Stephen Maturin was being recalled now by his best friend. Above the gun-deck, on the forecastle, the stillness of the cold night air was refreshing indeed.
He had seen Cicely's face that evening, one of sorrow, more so than she had done when she had believed Stephen dead.
"She pines for you, that I can discern," Jack had told his friend as he had given again to his friend for care his 'cello. "She will be the same, if not worse, once you tell her where it is you are going, and what you are doing."
The letter he held in his hand now, from Sophie, confirmed his worst fears, however as Stephen had explained it, Cicely had all but begged him to make the trip to Shropshire and engage with the good Doctor Darwin. He patted his pocket as he considered his wife's words: Sophie was concerned about her cousin's conduct towards Stephen Maturin, but perhaps this was Jack's interpretation of his wife's words. Sophie did not have the insight that Diana Villiers' letter had brought to him.
However Diana's reaquaintance with Stephen through a chance meeting with him at a function put on by her cousin, the Member of Parliament for Tamworth, to which the Lunar Society had been invited – whom the Darwins knew well, and Stephen by extension, must have been a shock to the woman, considering the letter Jack had written in response to the one he had received, and shown Cicely when Stephen was thought to be dead.
It appeared, depending upon the interpretation of Sophie's missive, that, "how funny it was considering that my dear Diana and Dr. Maturin had only just met, that they arranged to meet one another the following week. However, my darling, I do feel that the conversation was meant to be one just for themselves."
Fighting away his thoughts Jack tried to calm the voice in his head reminding him how insightful his wife was, banished Diana to the furthest realms of his conscious mind and turned it again to his friend.
"She and I were apart too long. But," Stephen's voice lowered, despite them being in his cabin and despite no other soul being around. "Were she to become with child, her injuries…it wouold kill her, I fear."
"Come, now!" Jack had retorted, laughing at what he felt his friend telling him as being surely a great exaggeration. "She is still very young..."
"But her injuries, to her stomach, arm, legs...never mind the burns she endured. I was grateful at the outset to have her alive. But now..."
Now, he was angry, Jack understood, absorbing like a blood in a jerkin the unspoken words that he knew to be hidden in his friend. Stephen was not prone to anger, but in this case anger did burn, white-hot at the Navy, at Mrs Aubrey, at Wigg and the King. Even at Jack himself. At Nelson. Anger at everyone for not keeping her safe.
"She pines for want of one, Jack. I could not, and will not, bear the look on her face were I to reveal that she were unlikely to carry to term again, and that she may die in the trying. She nearly died in the trying, the trying to return to me."
His friend had fallen into an awkward silence, and it was perhaps at this point, Jack thought, as he recollected the scene, that his thoughts were on his impending visit, namely who might his company be when he was in England.
"Perhaps," Stephen had justified, "when we get to South Pacific, this will take her mind off it. It is strange how her mind works."
"Is she a curiosity to you, then, my friend? Are you having second thoughts?" Jack's questions had come out of nowhere, and it had stunned both of them. Stephen's face turned to a cloud of indignation, but before he could rain down scorn upon his friend, Jack clarified, "Did you know that her father is a marquess? For someone of that standing she does not offer any of the societal airs and graces." The thunder faded, yet cumulous clouds remained on Stephen's facial forecast.
"I wish her to be with her uncle, that is certain, as I wanted her to stay with Sophie."
"She would not have left had her position as your wife been under threat. When you ask it of her, she is obedient. I believe you should be honest with her, for she has been honest with you."
Silence had enschewed, and one of those moments that felt like a lifetime had elaped when in fact it was a matter of seconds transpired at that point.
"I thought you didn't like the girl?"
"I do," Jack had retorted, hotly. "She is bold and daring, she has true spirit. It is just a pity she had to demonstrate in amongst my men and my ship. No," he'd concluded, "I don't dislike her…were she a man she would have shown herself true, earned my respect. She does not behave as a woman should."
"I love her, Jack," replied Stephen his words heavy. "I would die for her. It is because I do that I do not want her to be near. The work that I do, we do. Espion. Not with so many…secrets that would bring her down. I know that doesn't make a jot of sense, but that is how I feel. How often do we run into skirmishes? Life and death situations? She is a good hand, if you're honest, and God forbid you tell her that she can't do anything…"
A silent agreement on Cicely's character, and not for the first time had Jack wondered that, in the years preceding Cicely's arrival on the Surprise he had not seen his friend this enlivened by another human. Birds, yes. Humans, no.
"No, no," Stephen had concluded. "Cicely thrives on it – it is a challenge to her because she thrives on being completely unlike what her father had in mind for her. What can I do other than to offer her a more appropriate occupation? And does not here present itself as an apt juncture? To be with her kin and occupy herself in relative comfort?"
"She can sew," Jack had replied, referring to the time Cicely had made it to the Surprise at Cadiz and, while he had decided what to do with her had given her some mending. To his amazement, and possibly to hers, she'd called his bluff and had done it.
"Don't be be obtuse! I'm being serious!"
"In Sarawak, natives will need schooling. So many tribes and little civilisation, they need education, religion, modern practices. Cicely has all of those."
One bell. The first of the middle watch, or half past midnight. Jack brough his mind back to the present and commanded his lieutenants, his commanders, to adjust port, and bring the ship to full advantage of the strong north wind.
As he took a turn at the capstan, watching dark shadows appear to the left and right of the water, theatening gusts he wondered about his friend, when it seemed that all could was answered satisfactorily concerning Cicely Maturin, her residence with her uncle as Stephen pursued his naturalism, safe from the British; his own advancement with a relatively short visit to England, his obvious distress at Cicely's presumed reaction to her ability to bear children, and his fears about spying...he only took the role for the money to fund his naturalism; he was now in possession of more than enough gold that it would take to fund it.
All seemed congruous; all worked out to their advantage. And yet, something didn't sit right.
It wasn't really his business, Jack told himself sharply. However somehow, he felt Cicely deserved better. Feeling the wood under his grip, and the wind tearing his cheek, not for the first time Captain Jack Aubrey felt that there was more to this than Stephen was letting on. And somehow, it involved Diana.
