A week had passed since Cicely's sleight of hand over the American privateer and the men were in good spirits. They had now lost sight of Admiral Pellew's "Indefatigable"; the "Star" and "Maria Josephine" further on still. Two days before Jack had instructed the ship's course to be north-west, which had taken them due north of Australia and to the east of Papua New Guinea.
At Guinea, Jack had taken aboard a good deal of much-needed supplies: food, timber for repair, fresh water, taken a day to repair the hull which had been damaged in the fight against "Liberty" and Captain Eaton, and allowed his men a day of leisure, which had resulted in the ejection of a dozen or more native women from the ship the next morning.
While Jack had been genuinely grateful for her interjection on behalf of the ship during the altercation with the "Privateer", she could also sense, underneath his mild jocularity over the issue not a small level of discomfort at her part in it.
It wasn't as if she had seized a naval-issue cutlass and joined her former comrades to fight shoulder to shoulder with them, as she had, as a free citizen under permission from Stephen, as her husband, on the "Acheron". She hadn't crossed the line, Cicely knew, but she had put her toes over it and she sensed that Jack couldn't wait to hasten north to find the islands over which her uncle, Charles Godwin, ruled. And did a good trade in coconut and cacao if what the natives at the Guinea ports were to believed.
That evening, departing Guinea, with mixed thoughts of arriving at the Carteret Islands she had sought the balm of Stephen's cabin, his diminished possessions soothing her unsettled feelings, continuing alone the leviathan task of consolidating his notes, wishing she knew when she would see him again.
But an invitation to mess with officers and Cicely's dour mood shifted. Dressing in her Christmas dress she escorted herself to the officers and the evening proved to be a balm of a different kind.
They were now a target of the American States, declared Jack, his glinting eyes flashing at Cicely for a moment. It is less of a concern now compared to the established Atlantic coast of what were once the British colonies - and were now firmly independent United States. landmass was East of them: the coast was Spanish America to the latitude of their ally Hawaii, and the remainder of the coast to Vancouver remained unclaimed.
Jack smiled at Cicely when she entered the mess, shorn of her heavy cotton breeches and tunic top that she wore when she worked. She was working now, though, working on her husband's behalf for, tomorrow, she would be disembarking to be with her uncle and the safety of his care and she recalled their conversation that afternoon, which was similar to the one the officers were now discussing.
You do realise you've made an enemy now, Jack had said, his wry face had looked at her over his log. Cicely had thought that she detected a hint of satisfaction on her face.
"Whatever do you mean?"
"The old colonies? Benjamin Franklin will want your capture, Cicely, for that sleight. That ship was cruising on behalf of the Colonist states. You have made an enemy of them, they who now own two-thirds of the land between the Gulf of Mexico." She had felt her mouth open a little, before closing it again. Even out here, on the other side of the world, she was aware of Napoleon's war fundraiser.
"But they are far from reaching and colonising the west coast," Cicely had murmured, recalling something she has read recently, within the confines of their cabin had elicited her statement. "Oweyii is a key strategic point." Jack had nodded.
"Indeed so. Britain has a very good relationship with the natives on the coasts of the Oweyiian Islands – should war be brought to this sphere from France or from the United States of America. The Americans claim the territory on the West Coast, or find a passage north of Hudson Bay, that would be the end to any enemies, should the Americans wish it."
It had been at that point then that a thought occurred to Cicely suddenly, something else Stephen has said to her. Could it be, then, that he was still spying for the King in addition to his commission? As Cicely noted in her mind, the Oweyiian Islands are ideal British allies should any boat wishes to sail east.
"You seem very well-informed, Cicely." He had steepled his fingers and leaned over them, very like the day nearly two years ago when she had been confronted about her gender.
"It was something I read recently, Jack." Captain Aubrey had raised an eyebrow at Cicely's abruptness
"What do you have in your mind, Cicely Maturin?" Jack's question had been almost inaudible, as if asking it to himself. Then, he added, much louder, "I know that I will regret your answer, but what is in your head regarding this?"
"Stephen said that he had unfinished business. And I do not think he was talking about his commission."
"You intrigue me," Jack had prompted. This time it had been Cicely who raised an eyebrow. Jack was unaccustomed to Cicely's suppositions but, when he didn't stop her, she continued.
"The West Coast of America is unclaimed, as yet, or so Stephen says." She had watched Jack nod. "What would it be to Britain that we could claim it – that the colonies in Canada were to travel east, and then down the coast? What a boon that would be to commerce – we have India, Australia and the colonists in the East can stay exactly where they are, even with their Louisiana Purchase."
"Care now, for they have their eyes north – some say there is access west, through the ice and snow to the Pacific. And that privateer, Eaton, could easily have taken us for slaves in Morocco had he been better equipped. But..." Jack had folded his arms, as if giving her supposition thought, "there may be something in what you say. Maybe that is why a Yankee tub was in the Pacific, so close to the Mexican coast, when all of their commercial interest is along the Atlantic seaboard. But, why do you think on this, Cicely?"
"I..." she had paused, considering the question. Why did she care? Something in her mind told her to not bother and yet, at the same time the thought would not be cast so easily from her mind, in the same way her mind would not free itself of Diana Villiers. She had looked at Jack's leather-topped oak desk, her mind on a similar desk on which lay Stephen's papers, though which she had looked and discovered his Letter of Marque. He would not leave his grudge against Wickham, the man formally accused of High Treason by his country, of that she was certain. And yet, espionage was once nearly the end of him. Cicely then noticed Jack waiting for her to still reply.
"I believe, Jack, that despite what Stephen says he has not left his old life behind him. And somehow it is entangled with his commission. Somehow." Cicely had emphasised the last word a little, but the Captain's face did not betray that he knew anything more than what she was telling him.
"Then, for the both of you," Jack had replied, his expression sincere as he spoke softly to her, "I hope that his commission is resolved very quickly, and then you can both live and build a life together. However," Jack leaned back in his Queen Anne chair, "for Stephen, there has always been the chase, like his naturalism, for instance. The thrill is in the chase and its meaning, his Royal Society report, will not thrill him as much as hunt."
And it had been then that she had left the cabin, a small knot in her chest at the thought. That's what I'm afraid of, she'd reflected, closing her eyes as she had closed their cabin door behind her, and leaned on it.
"That's exactly what I'm afraid of." Cicely was aware that she was staring vacantly at the ship's portside interior and that she had spoken to herself.
"Mrs Maturin?" Jack was sitting next to her, his voice one of concern as he looked carefully at her face. "Cicely, are you unwell?" She shook her head, grateful of his concern.
"I must admit," he continued pouring cooled boiled water for her carefully into a glass, then offering it to her, "that you are handling this remarkably well."
"I may appear so, Jack," she replied, taking the cup, "but I miss him dreadfully. At least, when we get to my Uncle Godwin, his work should provide me with occupation. Stephen wants his commission so badly, and so I must endure his absence." Jack smiled, leaning back and clapping her on the back, gently.
"I was wrong about you, Cicely, and I'm happy to admit it. You are a singular woman with quiet strength."
"By God's will," Cicely replied, smiling at her former captain, her friend, "while my faith is Methodist and his Catholic we have the same belief, deep down, of that I am sure. My uncle writes that he has set up a church and has converted many of the natives to Wesley. I will gain a great deal of comfort from helping him with the Lord's work."
"I'll be sorry to see you go, Cicely," he said, smiling one of his wide, hearty smiles before engaging Lieutenant Blakeney in conversation about the dessert. Following the spotted dick, or Preserved Killick's version of it with tiny berries akin to the bilberries that Cicely and Edward had picked as children in the wood near their home, Cicely excused herself before the port wine. Jack thanked her profusely for her company before she left to take the air.
As on Christmas Eve at Sao Paulo, the air was warm but fresh, the sea under their hull as they cut through it confidently. Where was Stephen now, she wondered, air rushing past her face. Was he thinking about her? Or had he got his head in the nest of a bird or the hole of a beast. The latter was most likely, Cicely thought to herself, laughing lightly as she wondered absently when she would be aboard "Surprise."
"They say..." said a voice near her left ear, "that you should always get off a ship with your right foot, so that you have left something behind." Cicely smiled at the familiar phrase, and the familiar voice of her friend, John Howard.
"Because, if you've left something behind, you have go back and get it," she finished. "Yes," she nodded, "I'll be sure to do that. Yes, I have to go, John," she added, more for herself than the captain.
"Yes," the Captain of the Marines agreed, closing his eyes and nodding at the blackened horizon. "We aim to calm an economic mutiny in India. The damned French again, stirring up trouble."
"Then, do you have a spare uniform, Captain?" she asked, turning her head quickly towards the man, her eyes sparkling in excitement. "For if you do, I could work under your command, and accompany you to India, where I would serve you well as I fight the French." At the look on her friend's face she dropped the pretence.
"But I have Stephen - we have his commission and I strive every day to honour him by behaving as I am expected. As I promised the Lord Admiral."
"Yes, Mrs Maturin," he growled. "I know you wouldn't, but, I also think you would. You stared down that Captain Eaton."
"But when on a ship, John," she replied, running her hands through her hair as the breeze took it, "with the freedom and purpose it holds...though I will be with my kin, Captain Howard, I do view my future to be...pale...staid. compared to now." She turned to face him. "I will take solace in the fact that I will be one less burden to Captain Aubrey. I will miss you, and Blakeney, and the captain. And the salts, who improve their reading daily." At this, and John Howard's friendly clap on the shoulder Cicely too smiled.
"You too will be missed, Mrs Maturin. I have long considered you a friend; someone of my station with whom to confide. Surprise will return, of course; Stephen too. You will have a life unencumbered by worry and uncertainty, and that is certainly worth the wait. And I will write, when I am able, though..."
"Yes...?"
"Between you and me, Mrs Maturin, I will very much embrace retirement: my hands are becoming stiff and its nothing but my age. I must admit my missing that albatross and injuring the good doctor on the process – " he looked out to the horizon himself, discomfort animating his features, "that was the beginning of it."
"I am sorry to hear so," Cicely returned, the chill from the water arriving at her bones through the silk. "I will delight in hearing from you, John," she added, "just so long as you include everything, so I can feel like I am still with you."
"Yes, Mrs Maturin, I will. And you must do me likewise."
With assurances that she would, and with the cold night air causing her to shiver, or she might have stayed to talk, Cicely took her leave, her goodbye to the ship itself being one last slow caress on her main mast, taking in its splendour, before she descended to the main deck.
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The sun was just rising as Cicely did, the morning of the day she was leaving. Hurrying to the main deck she stared out east hoping to catch the first glance of the place she would be calling home for the immediate future, the bell to her right chiming four bells of the morning watch, the midshipmen scrambling to position around her, as she stood at front of the fo'c'sle deck.
And, before long, a tiny chain of islands hoved into view. It was that sight of her new home that she would keep in her memory for a very, very long time.
"Niece! How delightful to see you!" Two hours later, and mid-morning, Cicely's maternal uncle Charles Godwin, who had not changed a bit from her memory of him, standing tall despite him being over sixty, his large, jocular face curling into a smile at their arrival, had embraced her and welcomed the Captain of HMS Surprise, which had brought his niece safely to him. He held her chin in his hands as she remembered he used to do when they were children, before their father had forbidden her and Edward's annual visit to Norfolk.
"You look as bright and lively as Mary, my dear," he continued, "I was devastated when I heard of your loss, I really was. It was Edward who felt it most keenly." He looked between Cicely and Jack Aubrey, his expression questioning, as his gaze took in the line of sand and shingle between his porchway and the warship.
"Pray, is my nephew still aboard?"
The silence told all, and it might have been enough: Cicely had buried his memory in her mind, of the time he had taken his own life, an event which intertwined with her own life as closely as ivy to a tree. At the sudden mention of her brother shocked her into answer.
"Edward is dead, Uncle," was about all that Cicely could manage, and she was indebted grateful that Jack interjected with, "in the course of his duty in the Service, his duty unwavering to the last."
Charles Godwin looked at Cicely for a moment before looking back to his nephew's captain.
"Indeed," he said, at length, "indeed. I am sure there is plenty for us to discuss. Won't you come in?"
Leaving the crew, under the command of Blakeney for some leisure time, the officers followed Jack, who escorted Cicely inside to what turned out to be a modest, one-storey villa decorated in the neo-classical, the outer construction of the building, from its thick bamboo wood the only suggestion to its location – not in Norfolk, but in the Pacific Islands.
"I have a lot of trade with the British and the Dutch," said Charles Godwin, seeing that they were admiring his home. "And I with them. Sweet potato, coconut. Cacao. Sometimes even timepieces. Yes, I still work on them," he finished, as Cicely looked about her in astonishment, for in his reception room, not large, but ornately decorated, were the clocks she remembered being in his home, when she had visited with her mother and Edward, intricate and exquisite. She remembered, although she was too young to understand what he meant, that he had collaborated with a man by the name of John Harrison.
"I get parts, wood, and make them still. What would it be if a man did not have a hobby?"
And then, after showing Jack onto the sun-terrace, which faced offered an unrivalled view of the sea, and the neighbouring Buka island, roll-back chairs and a mahogany table seeming out of place in the vivid sunshine.
"There are some pressing matters to discuss with my niece," he said finally to Jack Aubrey, taking Cicely by the shoulder, "please, help yourselves to the food, wine, and this liquor, distilled from a plant not dissimilar to the Mexican cactus." He beckoned over a tall, native man, who handed Godwin an amber coloured glass decanter which he placed before them onto the table, next to lead crystal glasses. "I have water, distilled, should any of your men be non-imbibers of spirits, and my houseboy will serve you food. Although, I confess, the main provisions ship from Guinea has not passed this way this week, and so I hope you will be happy with turtle."
"My dear, tell me all," said her uncle said, as he escorted her back inside the villa, the officers of the Surprise not in the least unhappy at the offer of mysterious alcohol and turtle – they had eaten worse.
And they sat for nearly two hours in his withdrawing room, Cicely unburdening to the last of her relatives everything that she had done, gone through, experienced in the last two years, from her leaving her father Hollum's home, through her seeking of Edward, marrying Stephen, losing their child, parting from Stephen, fighting at the Battle of Trafalgar, marrying Stephen again to her sailing with Jack again to take up his – her uncle's – invitation.
"It is an understatement to declare that you have experienced a good deal," said Charles Godwin at length, after Cicely had poured out her whole story. "My dear, you always were the one for getting yourself into scrapes –do you remember locking yourself into my grandfather clock in the hall at Lytton?" Cicely stared back, trying to picture it, then shook her head.
"You were very young, maybe three, or four." He smiled, then leaned over to take her hand. "I know that you will be bearing your brother's loss keenly, as will I, as I did with my poor, dear Mary. If only she had not married that man – " he spat the word, and turned his big, happy face from hers and scowled darkly at the floor. "But, we can only do what we can with the choices in front of us. Hollum was kind to her, in the beginning. And the house – well! He came from money. But Gloucester is nothing like Norfolk."
"Nor is here!" declared Cicely. Her uncle smiled.
"Indeed not. But, I always knew I would Mission; our country is converted, more or less, especially the west – Wales, Cornwall, Cumberland, where the Old Christianity took root, and never died, despite Rome imposing its will. The natives come to church; they sing, they leave elated in the love of the Almighty God and his Grace."
"And I will help you!" declared Cicely at once, her mind now fully open, clear to what she must do now, with a fervour as strong as her will to fight the French. "Oh! Uncle! Thank you, thank you for your invitation for us to live with you. I know Edward would have taken the opportunity too."
At his name, the spirit of Edward Hollum sealed the agreement for, to Cicely, he was never far from her mind, and would have wholeheartedly approved of Mission and clockmaking.
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"My niece has assured me of the care that you have taken with her, in her incredible time with you." With Jack Aubrey, Charles Godwin was inspecting the horizon, the bright, heat-wave-inducing temperature soaring as the atoll was outlined in all its glory.
"Like my own kin, Mr. Godwin," replied Jack. "She resided with my wife for several months. I take it she has furnished you the details of her life since she left England?
"Indeed. It has been very eventful, to say the least. And serendipitous. I wish to thank you, sir, for the care and guidance you have afforded my niece. Cicely tells me her husband, your surgeon, is an honourable man?" The salts were busying "Surprise" under the supervision of Thompson, a middie keen to impress, as Blakeney supervised the removal of Cicely's belongings, a task which she had been happy to entrust with her young friend, now Lieutenant, a young man equally keen to impress.
"He is indeed, Sir. It is clear that they are well matched and suit one another impeccably."
"And he is a Fenian?" Godwin challenged, although his face remained impassive.
"I do believe so," nodded Jack.
"Excellent!" declared the man, slapping his thigh. "There was never anything better than a man's morals that guide him to challenge the English government. Such people saw John Harrison to an early grave, poor fellow, and stole his work. He was my friend, like a brother to me. No, there is no love lost between myself and the British government."
They circled behind Blakeney's entourage and Godwin continued, "Fenians, the poor, the colonists, the women..." he leaned across to Cicely and added, "your other uncle, William, with his struggle when he married Mary, leaving him with a baby, and a stepchild when she died, poor thing; next may be the republicans, although I do believe Pitt has enough guile to outsmart any uprisings?" Godwin raised his eyebrows at the question. "We had our revolution a hundred and fifty years ago, and folks grew to hate the Puritans for their restrictions on liberty as much as the Protestants sought to liberate themselves from the tyranny of Latin-tongued priests prescribing their faith." Jack, son of a Tory grandee, and as wed to preserving the striations in society as to the sea, and Sophie, said nothing.
"Pray, you are not seek advance in government yourself, Sir? After your days in the navy are over?" Jack Aubrey smoothed down the cuffs on his jacket before replying evenly, "my father has a baronetcy and a seat as a Tory. I do indeed wish to succeed him, in due course."
"Naturally, naturally," declared Godwin, smiling good naturedly and clapping Jack on the back, clearly still spiritually generous to the man who, despite his politics being entirely opposite to his own, was still more than welcome as they rounded back to the terrace of the villa, where Jack's officers were still taking their leave and they watched as Cicely, still in her white dress, thanked Blakeney for his care in bringing all that she had asked.
"And now, would you care to join me in some Jamaican stiff? Your officers too? Come, my dear friends," he said, ushering Jack, Richard Barrington, Henry Cross, Mowett and Will Blakeney into the wide, open parlour of his house.
"A Harrison?" asked Jack, as he studied an oak-cased timepiece on the wall in the hallway. They were now making to leave - the sun was high and the tide was in their favour.
"A prototype," said Godwin. "How clever of you to recognise it, good sir."
"We do have a Harrison chronometer; all ships of the line do."
"Well, I say, give this a try, Captain Aubrey. Run it next to your "Harrison" and see that you get to your destination sooner." He reached it down and handed it to Jack. "Put it in your cabin, as dry as you can. Compare it to hand calculations - your middies seem more than able to carry this out, what?"
"That is most generous, sir," replied Jack, handling the box with care as they strode out onto the terrace again and Godwin and he shook hands.
"We cannot leave you here, Cicely," whispered Blakeney urgently, as he shook her hand and had stooped a little to whisper close to her ear. Cicely smiled. At nearly sixteen the boy had had his growth spurt and was now not the small, pre-pubescent midshipman she had known two years before.
"Of course you can. And you will, for it is my choice to remain, Will," she whispered back, not having to stoop so low to whisper to him as once she had. "I have a home here; I've trespassed on the Commander's time and hospitality for too long. I have work I can do here - my uncle has opened a church in the Methodist way and a school - I will have plenty to occupy my time until Stephen returns. And "Surprise" is to return here in six months - what tales you will have to tell me when you do."
"May I write?"
"Indeed. And I will write to you, and Commander Aubrey. And Captain Howard said he would write too. It will be like I've never left". And she hadn't – Cicely had taken care to tread on the small rowing boat that had ferried her from Surprise to the small jetty on her uncle's island with her right foot, and she had left something behind, so she knew she must go back for it.
"Bye, Cicely", he said, pulling her close for a sisterly embrace. Cicely hugged him back, whispering "bye" into his ear.
"Now c'mon there, Lieutenant Blakeney, we have no time to lose now the tide is in our favour," called Jack, as the men, now at the rowing boat, were getting into it, clambering, jumping on as the stong waves, though deceptively gentle in their appearance fought their departure. Blakeney tore along the shore and was assisted aboard by Nagel and Chell as Cicely took up her place by her uncle's side.
She waved her arm high as the boat ebbed from the coast, the sound of the men quietening as the distance between them grew. A tear pricked in her eye as the reality that she was, now, apart from the Surprise - a voluntary separation it may be - but separation nonetheless, from her crew, its captain, her friend, Captain Howard...Stephen...and she buried her toes hard into the sand and waved more vigorously as the salt water - not from the sea - dampened her cheeks.
Just as she thought that they had gone fully from her a roar of "Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!"
rushed towards the shore. Cicely smiled, wiping her face. Surprise had its mission: to dissipate the French, to weaken their hold in India and eliminate their growing Oriental strength.
Not until the frigate was a tiny dot on the horizon, almost undiscernable from the sea haze and the cirrostratus wisps, that Cicely turned, her Uncle waving on the steps of the villa and she walked surefootedly to her new life.
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At the same time that Stephen Maturin and Padeen Coleman were crossing Fiji, arms full of cages of exotic animals and paper, ink and quills, William Wickham crossed the globe, albeit at a higher latitude pursued by an ever fervent Laurent Lebec. It would have interested the doctor greatly to know that they were behind the French monarchist and the spy he hunted by less than a day.
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In a large garden room in a large house Gloucester a woman looked upon a crippled child holding as the girl was a paintbrush and trying to copy a picture of a vase of flowers. The woman shook back her head, black hair tumbling out, as he once was fascinated with. After everything it had been generous for the child's father to arrange such agreeable accommodation.
Generous? The woman cast her glance into the garden, which must have stretched for half a mile or more. He had borne his child out of love but, far from the beauty that she yearned for little Bridget, ugliness and twistedness had come. Yet, she had her father's bright character and love of life which, despite her own shallow predilections the woman could not fail to treasure.
"Generous?" She spat the word aloud as she interrogated a huge apple tree in the fore-distance critically with her eyes. They were entitled – she was entitled! And her lover's change of fortune had been their fortune too. For it wouldn't be long until he was back in her arms.
