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Seven bells of the forenoon watch. Seven-thirty in the morning. Cicely's ears recognised the sound, but her eyes refused to open yet. Cocooned in several blankets with her facing the oak timbers that comprised the walls of the cabin Cicely felt disinclined to open them now, even though she knew that it was a good two hours after she usually rose.
Bits of the previous day bounced around in her brain, of Blakeney enthusiastically reciting the names of the streets of the city of Sao Paolo; of Jack Aubrey in the cabin; of the waves breaking on the stern of the ship as the hands cleaned it. Of nursing a couple of wounded men who had been working on maintaining the ship.
But, what had made her so lacklustre, so absent of her usual energy? Looking at the knots and striations in the wood a part of her brain was screaming at her a silent answer, but when her cerebellum questioned it, in the foggy, vague manner of someone who had just woken up from a very deep sleep, the occipital lobe fell suspiciously silent.
And then the reason filtered into her brain like flour through a sieve. Aubrey had received a message from her beloved Stephen that her father had died, she was free of the threatened legal claim on her hand in marriage and that their marriage, that of Dr. and Mrs Maturin was legitimite.
Cicely stared at the wall for a good deal of time as she allowed her brain to come to terms with the enormity of the situation. Never in her wildest dreams did she think her father would die so soon and so suddenly; part of her felt a stab of sorrow that her other parent was now passed over, and that she was now the sole remaining person alive in her family.
Images of Edward appeared in her mind's eye, joined shortly afterwards by images of him, Cicely and her father, of her father berating Edward for imagined, or exaggerated, misdemeanours; of Richard Hollum sending his only son away on commission as a midshipman. He had beaten Cicely when he decided that she was defying him - sometimes she had thought defying thoughts, but more often than not these discrepancies were the result of her father's paranoia, promising her she would make her useful to him. Edward used to take her beatings, this she knew, for they increased with frequency and intensity upon his departure, though swiftly drained to nothing once Wigg was in the picture.
As she was contemplating rising from her very comfortable position in Stephen's cot, the small, built-in bed that only his and Jack's cabin boasted, wrapped, as she was in all the blankets contained therein Cicely heard voices on the deck, outside the cabin and could just make out, through the indistinct words a voice which seemed to be Will Blakeney's, but which died away again quickly as if he had been summoned to duty.
She would get up. It was a new dawn. It was Christmas Eve. There was a new order in the world today, which would lead to a new life for her, both with her Uncle Godwin, who had business interests in Sarawak, particularly the Carteret Islands. And Stephen, with whom she could live without fear of their oneness questioned.
That her beloved Stephen had allowed himself to bear the burden of bureaucracy with respect to her father was something she felt was truly honourable and noble, not least that he had declared her father's effects hers. And he was to return to "Surprise" the next day.
She must, she must, at least, have something for him as a gesture of Christmastide, for Jack had told her the previous evening that there was to be a dinner on Christmas Day evening, following the service on board ship in the morning; all men would partake in double rations, including grog, and celebrations, either aboard, or on land, would be permitted.
There would be particular guests, Cicely remembered Jack saying, though at the time it had been on the verge of her hearing, for she was still taking in the news of her father.
Dressing quickly in cool, wide breeches and loose smock, a compromise, and a deference to femininity while still retaining practicality, Cicely stepped onto the mid-deck, then climbed with purpose to the quarterdeck, the sun beating down onto her skin. A glorious, glorious Christmas Eve. And already several rowing boats were in use, with several of the "Surprise" crew within; others from two other naval vessels – one a larger man o' war, the "Indefatigable"; the other "Star", a similar frigate to "Surprise" - were joining them, and they intermingled like ants in an apiary as they approached the shore.
"Captain Howard?" Cicely knew what she needed to do; to ensure her safety, and thereby minimise the concern that may otherwise be afforded her she knew she needed a chaperone, someone in whose company there could be no doubt...the man turned, his face jovial as ever, smiling as she pinked a little, not because of the task, but because, after so long she would be able to see her beloved, his face, long fingers, ice-blue eyes...this someone, John Howard, would be able to ensure the little money she had got to where it needed to go, and negotiate on her behalf, if necessary. For she knew exactly what gift she wanted to buy for Stephen.
She had had to put it to Jack, of course, whom she knew would have reservations at her proposed excursion that, as Stephen would be with them tomorrow she was in need of a Christmas gift and that she had taken the precaution of asking Howard to accompany her, for the sake of propriety. She had a little of her own money, Cicely had explaind, not that she was in need of it, from wages. It would come in useful at some time, Cicely had told herself. And now seemed to be the right time too.
He had been surprised at her request, expressing such as she had explained her plan that her organisation was faultless and without burden on his crew, who would themselves be allowed to celebrate this Christmas time. He wished her well, too, and had then taken the trouble to invite her, and Stephen, to Christmas dinner formally.
Cicely smiled as the mid-morning sun beat down on her and her escort; Captain Howard was staring out at the shoreline, all the prettier in this weather and for its purpose; the last time she was there she was desperate to get aboard "Surprise" to be with her brother, and had done desperate things in order to do so. Now, the pretty, Portuguese-style buildings irradiated their white frontages from the coastline, the streets filling a little with people preparing for the holy day. Behind the quayside and the shops were some taverns and hostelries, and behind those houses. At the very back of the tableau was the church, its tower pushed up high, its large bell visible for some miles.
"What a glorious day, Mrs Maturn." Mr Howard was smiling widely as she turned her head; a legitimate excursion from the ship was obviously doing the man some good. "And what have you in mind for Christmas for the good doctor?"
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Half an hour later, with cages and crates under arms, Cicely and John Howard breathed as the midday sun beat down on them. Their journey had taken them deep within the city, one which Cicely was all too familiar, and they had found themselves at the marketplace, Cicely in the market, so to speak, for just one thing. Animals. Native animals from Brazil, ones which Cicely knew that Stephen would be interested in. Unfortunately, the thing about animals from a marketplace, as the two of them were discovering, was that the animals, and their cages, were somewhat bulky, and also that several of them really didn't want to be in said cages.
Taking them back to the ship had been slow and clumsy, but they had managed it, and the ferry-boats belonging to "Suprise" had willing helpers in the form of the crew. At the wharfside Howard was loading on a pair of parakeets that were just coming round from what seemed like some form of sedation when he realised that Cicely, who had been handing the animals to him was not there.
Indeed she had been doing just that, the heat of the day having made her put them down to catch her breath. The quay was bustling with people as sailors and ferrymen brought in people from the surrounding area close to Sao Paolo by sea. Two such ferries had docked close by and the oarsman had jumped out, in Portuguese said something to his boat passengers, then quickly moved the boxes and cages out to the back of the quay some way from the "Surprise's" ferry. Cicely had protested, and then had begun the process of moving them back, but had got lost in the crowds of people who were coming along the quay and pushed backwards and into a side street.
When at last Cicely did manage to navigate her way through the mass of bodies she saw the red jackets disappearing before being pushed off into another street by a swell of people.
Not knowing quite where she was, Cicely tried to get her bearings but, by rounding a street corner, then into another, she found herself further and further away from the docks, each one more decrepit than the first.
What was she to do? The buildings seemed to be getting narrower wherever she went, and she recognised no-one. Cicely stopped, looking around her. Then, some shouts drew her attention to a corner she hadn't seen just now and she made her way to it. Down there, she could see several men, all in sailing attire, pushing one another and arguing. None of them were from the Surprise, so she made to go, her glimmer of hope at a swift return to her ship dashed to one side.
Stepping back the way she came, she could hear the voices louder behind her, and heavy footsteps. Cicely turned, only to be confronted by the men, gathering her up in their wake as they thundered past her, before realising that, though dressed boy-like, she was not one of them.
Cicely recognised the look, one of realisation, that the figure they had passed was not one of their gender, and she was nearly too quick for them, ducking under the arm of the largest, broadest of them, and away. But a hand on her shoulder drew her back, and to the wall of the inn down whose passage they had been, arguing. All three of their faces were leering; the one who had caught her leaning closest, and shouting something in her face in Portuguese.
Cicely breathed in, waiting for her brain to come to her aid, with a plan to get away, but none came. She was at the mercy of the men who, by the stench of them, had been in the inn against whose wall one of them was holding her. Neither clemency, nor reason, would work.
Gripping her harder, the man made to pull her from the wall, his face animated, though Cicely could not work out what he was saying, and she tried to slip under his arm, but he held her fast, his tone one of triumph, and mockery.
But then another voice cut through the air, just behind them, first in Portuguese, then in a language she did understand and, like the Red Sea for Moses, the men parted, leaving her standing there, before looking at one another and running off.
"An excellent choice they made, what?" A man, tall, rather old, in Rear-Admiral uniform stood in view, offering her his hand. "My dear, are you hurt?"
"No, sir," replied Cicely, wondering how he could tell she was female when, in wide breeches and a loose blouson, her hair, not short, but certainly not womanly, pulled back in a fashionable bow. She eyed his features a little wondering if she knew him, whether he had been at Trafalgar as an Admiral for Nelson. She didn't recall him at Jack's court-martial, nor at her wedding.
"May I introduce myself, madam?" He closed his hand over hers and led her along the passageway. "My name is Edward Pellew, of His Majesty's Navy. To what do I owe the pleasure of the company of...?"
"Cicely Maturin," Cicely replied. "I was with an escort, from Her Majesty's Ship "Surprise", but in these crowds I became separated from him, and got lost. I need to get back before my absence becomes a burden for Captain Aubrey." Admiral Pellew raised his eyebrow at her last remark, and smiled, holding open the inn door for her to enter.
"Allow me to accompany you then, my dear; I and Mrs Pellew are to dine with your Captain tomorrow night, and I would consider it an honour to return you safely." Cicely stopped in the threshold of the inn, looking up at the Admiral.
"Then may we leave now? That the Royal Marines would have returned without me would cause some alarm." I
"I should think so," he replied, looking her up and down, analysing her critically. "But surely, you are in need of a little refreshment? Look, I can send word to the ship: you look shaken, my dear."
Cicely looked in at the inn; she did not recognise this tavern from her last time in Sao Paolo; and yes, a few minutes to get over her shock would be welcome.
As Admiral Pellew invited her to sit, engaging a member of the bar staff to send a short, handwritten message to "Surprise", he asked her how she came to be aboard the ship, and why she, as a married woman, came to be dressed in such a manner.
"I would describe them as practical, working clothes," Cicely replied, a small sherry-wine in hand, contrary to her faith but essential to her nerves on this occasion, as bluntly as the Admiral had asked it of her. "I nurse on behalf of my husband, a surgeon on Captain Aubrey's ship. However, he was...detained in Britain when last we docked. I took the opportunity to procure him a gift."
"And what would that be?"
"Something to help him with his commission."
There was a pause, as a look crossed over the man's face, before looking at her sharply, his brows creasing into a frown.
"Your name?"
"Cicely. Maturin. My husband is Dr. Stephen Maturin." There. The first time she had been happy to declare it without fear of recourse. But Edward Pellew's face had clouded further.
"Good grief!" he exclaimed, leaning backwards and raising his eyebrows in astonishment. "Not the fellow who saved Nelson's life? Why, he is famous the country over! Disguised as a humble seaman he defeated an assassin!"
Cicely smiled, a part of her beaming with pride, not only at her own subterfuge – for it was of course, she who had taken his name and saved Nelson's life. But that Stephen had been given formal credit for the action.
"Tell me, what gift did the wife of such a man afford her husband? Clothing? Precious stones? The Amazon is full of emeralds and rubies, so I'm told. And Argentina of silver."
"Animals. Several species of monkeys," she recounted. "Rats and mice. A cockatoo and several other of the local birds. All with food, and a map with the location in which they were discovered. It is loading these animals that I got lost in the confusion."
"Whatever did you buy these animals for?"
"Stephen is a naturalist, and pursuing his work in order to gain a recognition within the Royal Society. Money cannot buy him a commission. Only an original thesis into animals. I do not know the details Captain, but I do know that Stephen is interested in the origin, and natural history of these animals. What came before and what is extinct. There is a naturalist, who has tramped almost the whole of this country, whose hypothesis is at odds with the evidence that Stephen has collected so far and he feels he needs a good deal of evidence to make a strong case."
"You are a singular woman, Mrs Maturin. I can't imagine how you could have done this for your husband, and be halfway around the world without him. It must take some courage."
You wouldn't believe the half of it, thought Cicely, as Admiral Pellew leaned back in his chair a little, and looked at her, thoughtfully.
"Why don't you tell me a little about yourself, Admiral? Did you serve at Trafalgar?"
"It is my misfortune that I did not. I was promoted last year and have been on my way to my commission in India. No, my dear, there is little to tell about myself, just an old, run-of-the-mill Admiral."
Cicely smiled. A man who was an admiral could not have, by definition, a run-of-the-mill career.
"You must have done something substantial to earn Admiralcy..."
"Nothing much to tell, Mrs Maturin," Pellew shook his head. "My wife accompanies me on this rare occasion; she wishes to see India and, being childless, we have no dependents to have to worry about. She is willing to forego the social circles this season, she says she tires of it. I am sure you will get along."
"Get along?"
"Didn't you know? Captain Aubrey has invited myself and Mrs Pellew to Christmas dinner. And, I should have the pleasure, should I not of your husband's company? A naturalist, you say? He may be interested in the specimens I have aboard from India. Nothing to his, I hasten to add.
The conversation lulled, and Cicely hoped she did not bear her sorrow of Stephen's absence on her features. She fought or something to say. But it seemed, like Jack, Edward Pellew had continued his reminiscing about the service as he offered to now return her to "Surprise", and continued as they made their way through the less crowded streets and Cicely made to concentrate on the man's obvious love of the service, in the same way it was loved by Jack Aubrey.
But, interesting as the anecdotes were – and Cicely was always genuinely interested in naval strategy, plus other topics of possible interest: the situation in the Peninsula; society; the King and a possible Regency – thoughout it all the nagging sentence that Pellew had implanted in her mind bore down into it, like a stone in water, of Stephen and the nature of his absence.
"Before we go, may I avail you of another favour? I promised Captain Aubrey I would live a quiet life from now on." Captain Pellew eyes her torn clothes, nodding. "I have money," she added, "thanks to you."
"I believe a suitable shop lies along the streets towards the harbour. I'll happily accompany you, Mrs Maturin, for the sake of propriety. And you can perhaps tell me how you came to meet your husband, and be aboard Captain Aubrey's ship..:?"
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"I chanced upon your surgeon's wife as she lost company with her escort. She asked me to deliver her safely back to you, Captain Aubrey, and assure you of her utmost respectability."
The evening light had come to the harbour. Long shadows were being cast by the city's buildings and the people around the quay. On deck, a very relieved Captain Aubrey was alternating between a grateful expression to the Admiral and one of relief to Cicely.
"May I be so bold as to ask you, sir, to honour us with your presence this evening? We are absent still of Dr. Maturin but, may I say on his behalf, how grateful we are to receive Mrs Maturin back in one piece in; we did get your message, sir. And returned in what I must say, madam - " he looked Cicely up and down for a moment, trying to contain his mirth, " - a most fetching outfit."
"One indeed fitting for the wife of a naval surgeon," Admiral Pellew interjected, a slight chastisement in his tone.
"Indeed."
"And I must decline the invitation, Captain," Pellew added, looking down his long nose, though his tone softened slightly. "Mrs Pellew is expecting me. We are to attend midnight service at the city's cathedral, papist as it may be, it must do to serve on the night of the Lord's birth."
"Tomorow, then, and will we meet Mrs Pellew?"
"Tomorrow," the Admiral nodded. "My wife would delight in softer company, and so yes, will be with me." At this, he looked at Cicely. Oh lord, he expects me to wear this! Cicely's heart sank. But she did owe it to Jack who, though now post-captain, needed an Admiralcy of his own to secure his family.
"Cicely!" Jack embraced her heartily once the Admiral had left. "Captain Howard was beside himself – whatever happened?"
"I got lost in the crowd. A lot of people had caused me to get jumbled up with them when I was reaching for the..." she stopped. Had the animals made it aboard?
"They're in the hold; heavens I didn't want to mention that in front of the Admiral. He is taking his commssion very seriously; he has grown into the service after all these years," Jack put his arm around her, escorting her below decks, "whoever'd have thought he was the same man who defied his own captain to rescue an East Indiaman..."
Cicely felt her eyes widen. She had heard this story before...Jack's former Lieutenant,Pullings whom he had made captain of the Acheron, when they had engaged it in the South Pacific. He had told her he had waited on "Les Ercehous", the tiny rocks in the English Channel, hallucinating about Pellew rescuing them. The incident was somewhat famous in the navy, it appeared.
"That is the Pellew?"
"The very same. He has been commissioned to India; I took the liberty of inviting him to Christmas Day dinner once I knew his ship was anchored here. And so, my dear, in the continued absence of your husband this evening - " he looked her up and down in an outfit that was suited to a Portuguese widow – one which Pellew had asked for, and Cicely had felt unable to refuse - "would you accompany me to the midnight service at the papist cathedral?"
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Cicely felt her heart hammer in her chest. The view of the cathedral was enough, its doors open like the mouth of a demon, consuming the faithful as they attended homage to the Lord on the occasion of his birth. She knew that it was just a building, and that her being there was not a betrayal to her Wesleyan beliefs.
But, nevertheless, a feeling of wrongness was still there. If she was to attend a church to mark the Saviour's incarnation of Godliness into human form it should be in her own church. The lights were enticing, warm and tempting. She would be, stepping over the threshold, entering a world of doctrine, one of ritual and hierarchy, which was entirely opposite to her own.
Cicely must have clutched Jack's arm tightly, for he had stopped walking and was looking at her.
"What is the matter, Cicely? You don't have to come. I can escort you back."
Cicely said nothing, but the feeling of dread was stll there.
"God will still be there, no matter how it's packaged..."
"Very well put," Jack replied, but Cicely looked at him, quizzically.
"Wize words," he added.
"Yes," nodded Cicely, realising that she must have spoken them aloud, her eyes drifting to the cathedral door again. "It's a pity they are not my words." And then she swallowed, feeling an unbidden lump in her throat. Even now, when such a thing as attending church, when she herself thought very little of her own religion that she declared herself to be, Edward was there, telling her that it didn't matter. It didn't matter that she recognised the Messiah's birth in a humble, stark, basic chapel or here, with the richness of the world displayed in the Lord's honour. Just that she did was enough.
"Edward," she said simply, her reluctance melting away.
"God will provide," Jack replied, smiling at her. "It's what I keep in my heart when I am in most in need of comfort. And he has provided for you." Cicely looked up to Jack, wondering what he meant. Edward of course, but...
Jack's face was not now looking at her; reflected in the splendour of the thousands of candles within the cathedral his nose stood prominent. He was looking past the cathedral and towards the piazza beyond. Then he let go her arm.
Leaving him, pulling up her dress so as not to fall on the cobbles before the respendent, papist cathedral, Cicely ran. Not away, this time; she had spent too much of her life running away. Just as she got there, she stumbled a little. A pair of arms caught her just in time.
Cicely looked up into his face as the man for whom she had crossed seas and oceans, continents and countries pulled her close. Stephen Maturin, her husband, her lover, her friend, was here, here on Christmas Eve to take her to worship. It was his church, so to speak. And now Christmas was perfect, nothing else mattered.
