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The eighth bell of the first watch jerked Cicely from a dreamless slumber. She blinked her eyes heavily and, having ascertained that she was where she had expected to be swung her legs over the side of Captain Aubrey's cot-hammock. Trying to land lightly, and failing a little, her feet caused the planks to creak and she reached for the cot's fabric to steady herself.

Four in the morning, land time. If the ships were indeed to fly free of the wharf that day, the Surprise included, then they would surely leave soon. No vigorous calls from the bo'sun; no running of seamen on the decks above. Cicely wondered where Jack might be at the present time – if she were to depart to the Victory she would have to do it now and with discretion. How she would then re-board the flagship was another matter entirely and she would have to think quickly.

Stealing her way to the door, Cicely caught sight of the bureau to the right. Upon it, where she had left it, was Stephen's decrepit notebook, the one he had compiled over several years as a child and, folded inside the notes she had hastily written at "The Mount", Dr. Darwin's house, with whom she had resided as a guest of Sophie Aubrey and from where she had made her shameful flight. The book, in its simplicity, its crudeness, to her it beauty defined. She could have clung to Blakeney for eternity the emotion it had caused in her when he had given it to her.

Her heart, still slumbering in her chest moments ago, now leapt as if almost out of Cicely's chest as she placed her hand over it. It was her last, her only link now to her long-gone husband and she fought the tears which had replenished in her ducts during her sleep. Cicely thought back to the moment William Blakeney had given it to her as she pulled it towards her chest. He didn't even know that his friend…confidante…mentor had gone. Will had been so earnest, so –

No. She looked at the door before her, which led into Aubrey's office, and thence to the gun room. Cicely forced her mind onto what her intentions were to be that day as she contemplated how she would pass through it – Jack had surely locked it when he had left her the night before. She looked up. Could she make it through the gap between the ceiling and the deck, as Blakeney had done?

Putting her hand onto the door handle and giving it one last vain twist Cicely was astonished to find that it twisted under her grip and she stepped forward awkwardly, almost falling onto the floor before her. Holding onto the door handle she managed to gain her feet again and caught her breath as Stephen's book scuttled across the floor.

Cicely glanced up, realising Jack Aubrey was asleep over his desk, his head bent, resting on his arms. Next to him was the now-empty rum jar and, slung over the back of his chair was his tunic that Cicely had grudgingly mended for him.

She looked between Jack and the notebook then, realising the Captain had not stirred for her clumsiness. A couple of paces brought her right to it, she scooped up the notebook and, turning swiftly Cicely was in the process of stowing it into her clothing when Aubrey's voice rang out.

"Madam, please hold there." Cicely turned, failing to disguise her guilt. Jack was sitting upright, staring at her, wiping his eyes with the cuffs of his shirt.

"Captain Aubrey, I – " she began, but he held up a hand. Unusually, Cicely fell silent. So, he was to turn her off the ship, she was to be returned to England. She had, again, shamed him with her presence. Cicely's mind worked rapidly as she scrabbled for options for self-survival.

She could beg charity on the state, although that was unlikely to work because of her father's influence…were she to fall into her father's hands again, or, God forbid, those of Wigg, she could fight to escape and…what…? Serve…? Navvy…? Perhaps she could persuade someone to loan her money to get her to Sarawak, to her mother's brother, who had invited her, and Edward, to live with them, a letter also stowed inside her clothing…maybe earn it in some way –

Cicely's thoughts were interrupted when she realised Aubrey was gesturing to a letter which, presumably the one she had noticed next to the rum jar a few moments ago and was now open on the desk before her.

"My orders," Jack continued, "expired. Look at the date on the top." Cicely peered forward. Five months ago. She would have been navvying then. She scanned across it, noting the premise – that she was to be turned over to the authorities if she were to be found aboard a naval ship – signed by a Henry Gordon.

"Your orders," Cicely echoed, her heart sinking and she looked at Jack trying not to let tears brim over her eyelids. "Perhaps, before you give me to the Marines, perhaps I could remind you of the letter you gave me yesterday, about a possibility to go to the South Seas and find my uncle – " she looked down. "Or if I am to return to England, perhaps I might – "

Cicely jumped as Jack banged heavily on the desk in front of her and she looked at him in shock. Instead of the fury she imagined him displaying Jack let out a "Ha!".

"No, Mrs Maturin, not to England, or Sarawak, or any place on land!" Jack folded his arms in triumph as Cicely continued to stare at him in shock. "My dear girl, if you were not to board the flagship, who else will preserve the liberty of our Lord Admiral? These orders have since been superseded." Jack's mind thought back to his conversation two nights before with Donald McGregor – how he loathed the, who seemed to take cold satisfaction in Aubrey's demarcation.

"Yes," he continued, when Cicely persisted in saying nothing and his tone softened. "You rested well, I trust, given the shock?" Cicely nodded a little and she watched Jack push back his chair, as he had done the day before, and get to his feet. "Because you were aboard my ship and – " he held up his hand to stop her from interrupting now, " – because I interceded by sending you to my home, to Sophie." Cicely hung her head. Had she just not ran…hadn't Fouche told her, and Major Blunt too, that her impetuosity had consequences on others?

"I am in ignominy, which is the reason why, I believe, I am to flank the flagship but not engage in the battle." Cicely looked up, taking in his thorough misery at the prospect. Ships, she recalled him saying over dinner once to Stephen, were safe in the harbour, but that's not what ships were built for.

"I have requested an appointment with Captain Hardy of the flagship and he has yet made no reply. I intended to divulge your information to him however, as we are to sail soon. It is unseemly for a captain to be piped aboard another ship without invitation especially as it is likely he would ask me the source. He wouldn't listen to the tale even if I were to bear it with all the gravity it deserves. Even Admiral Collingwood wll not acknowledge," he added, his disappointment rankling.

"No," Jack concluded, hands on his hips as he paced behind his desk, "if you are still for the game, Cicely, then you should, for the love of the Lord. No captain can do very wrong if he places his ship alongside that of the enemy."

"Those are fine words, Captain," nodded Cicely.

"Indeed they are, were that they were mine. No, the Lord Admiral has his way with the language, efficient but beautifully apt." Cicely felt herself agreeing privately – he had saved her from a watery grave two evenings' ago with his unique prose. It was time to repay the favour. Jack's mind was on the dinner where Nelson had said this, before McGregor had called him out. He would be near the enemy too – how could he not wish to place "Surprise" next to them, and ball them, too?

"What is the punishment for desertion, Jack?" Cicely asked next. In the interceding moments between her leaving his cabin to now no seed of a plan had even begun to germ.

"The "Articles of War, 1749" clearly state that, in the event of cowardice, for which desertion is included, the offender is subject to death." Oh, thought Cicely, just death, then. "Which will never do," Jack continued, and, from under the original, superseded orders that she had read about herself he pulled a folded, sealed letter.

"I have written to Captain Hardy explaining that, due to severe insobriety, which caused you to bear this morning to myself in this very room, in your folly you disembarked the flagship in search of merriment. You met with some of my men who, recognising you to be a Naval hand but not being able to ascertain your ship, brought you aboard the Surprise in order to reduce the embarrassment to the service." He picked up the letter and held it towards Cicely and, despite herself, she broke into a smile.

"They should commute it down to a flogging," Jack added, "which shouldn't, I would have thought, be carried out presently due to our imminent departure." That was it. Her path was clear. Now to confront James Fillings…

"Your tunic is mended sufficiently well for you to wear now, Jack?" Cicely changed the subject and glanced at the garment on the back of his chair. "I do hope my amateurish attempt will ennoble you enough for your task. Killick insisted I would make a better seamstress." Jack coughed uncomfortably.

"Cicely, I would trust Preserved Killick with my life you understand, however I would not trust him to dress up a fowl or beast lest the stuffing was to fall out all over the table. Had I not known it, I would have said it was come direct from the Admiralty itself. I will wear it with pride this day. Now," he added quickly, for which Cicely was grateful – how she hated praise, especially from a man who she owed more to than any other, and he strode towards the office door, opening it and bellowing for, "Lieutenant Blakeney, if you please, and First Lieutenant Mowett."

Both men appeared promptly, perhaps a little too promptly as if the wait for the off had caused both lieutenants to stand prepared. Mr Mowett beamed his usual, ready smile as he appeared at the door. Will Blakeney was equally as keen, but his face broke into a broad grin when he espied

"Mr. Blakeney, would you please depart the ship with haste and make for the flagship." Cicely paused for a moment, then proffered Jack's letter to Captain Hardy. Blakeney, still grinning, hurried over to her, and took it keenly before looking over his shoulder to his captain.

"You are not sending Mrs Maturin back home," he enquired.

"And why would you think that, Mr Blakeney?" Jack intoned, frowning.

"No reason, sir," Will replied quickly, a little tinge of pink to his cheek."

"No," agreed Jack doubtfully. "And I shall not ask how Robert Young acquired his present attire."

"No sir," replied Blakeney.

"No, after the battle, should God be willing that we all come through safely, Mrs Maturin will return to the Surprise as herself – " Jack shot the lifeline of hope in Cicely's direction including the terms under which it was offered, "and, as herself, we will discuss the matter further." He strode towards Cicely and took hold of her upper arms firmly, looking into her eyes as Edward might have done had she been about to something foolish and highly dangerous. "May God be with us, Cicely," he added, his voice low, almost as a whisper, "for our mutual friend."

Cicely let her head fall heavily into a nod. It was clear what Jack was trying to say. She was acting not only for the Service, but also and, more importantly, in Stephen's memory. The embrace was short and Jack swiftly released her arms. Jack turned to his lieutenants and detailed the plan.

"We are to stow anchor, Mr. Mowett. All women are to be removed from the ship."

"All women without exception?" asked William Mowett who, despite being an intelligent man had become quite lost in the intrigue. Jack gestured to the letter h had written for Captain Hardy which was still in Blakeney's hand.

"Mr. Blakeney, if you could hand Mr. Mowett that – " he ignored the disappointment on Will Blakeney's face. He guessed the lieutenant had wished to spend a few more moments in Cicely's company. "Escort Robert Young to HMS Victory and give that letter to Captain Hardy directly. Captain Howard will accompany you, for the look of the thing." He glanced at Mowett, "Only Captain Hardy, mind," Jack added pointedly. "We want no-one else to know about this, or guess something is afoot. It is enough that we all know your identity here, and Harris, of course, but we – " Jack stopped as he noticed the look that passed between his lieutenants.

"I rather think the crew as knew you Mrs Maturin wish to depart," said Mowett at length. Aubrey's face darkened but then his features softened as he turned to Cicely.

"Robert Young," he began. "Go to your duty."

"Aye aye, sir." Cicely, for the second time in three days saluted a short-term commander. She made to go before turning and, to Aubrey's utter astonishment gave him a very unsailor-like, but very Cicely-like hug.

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As Cicely stepped out of the cabin she would have been the last person to guess that the crew, assembled as if to sail out, would be, as one, staring towards the Captain's cabin. Whatever Harris had told them, Cicely concluded as Blakeney closed the door behind Jack, she didn't know, but they had their eyes fixed on her.

Those whom she knew: Bonden; Nagel; Pizzy (who had grown also into a far older child); Mr. Lamb; Boyle and Williamson; Plaice; Davies, either nodded towards her or grinned as she passed them, under apparent arrest from the Marine Captain. Even those who did not know her, those Portuguese with whom she had vied for inspection at the wharf the day before, the Spanish and even those English new to her followed her with their eyes, knowing that something significant was going on.

"All right, Young," said Captain Howard sternly – even though she had shared many a jest and conversation about hunting he too was playing along – and he harried her forward as he might a prisoner, for that was what she was pretending to be. As she stepped onto the wharf-plank she glanced over her shoulder and, from the group a cheer erupted, which, moments later, Lieutenant Blakeney was attempting to douse, with mixed success. It took Aubrey to issue forth commands to make ready for the choruses of "Hurrahs" to die away but Cicely would not forget the farewell for a long time.

The same sentiment could not be said for the crew of the flagship as she was pushed aboard by Howard, closely followed by Mowett. The hands who were fixing the lines to the rings eyed her contemptuously – they knew a salt in the custody of a marine captain would have been guilty of something foul. A couple may even have recognised her as she trooped, head low, over the parapet and onto the deck. Howard spoke a few words to the Victory's Captain of the Royal Marines who immediately dispatched another to fetch Captain Hardy.

Cicely felt her feet, in simple canvas shoes (a luxury for a common hand – most ordinary seamen were bare-footed) and looked at them. Her fate would be sealed soon by the Captain and her disgrace known to all moments after. Not that it bothered Cicely – as Jack had said, the punishment was likely to be carried out after the Victory sailed – the flagship would be first out of the harbour this morning and, like the Surprise, was making appropriate provision to sail.

It didn't take long for Captain Hardy to appear. On the main deck, before the crew who were present, with his lieutenants flanking, he received the letter officially from First Lieutenant Mowett, scanned it, scanned her, and then looked at the letter again, frowning a little when he read Jack's signature at the bottom.

"So, you were found inebriate last night, eh?" Captain Hardy looked her up and down. Cicely tried to play ignorant – an ordinary seaman, a mizzenlad like her, would hardly know what an inebriate was. "Drunk!" shouted Mowett, with effect. "You were drunk, lad, weren't yer?" Cicely nodded, head still bowed although the fact that most of the crew who should have otherwise been making ready to sail had surrounded the protagonists of this public dressing-down were obvious.

"I thank you gentlemen for your returning one of my crew so efficaciously," Captain Hardy said smoothly to Howard and Mowett. "Please give my regards to Captain Aubrey; he – " Hardy stopped abruptly, before continuing, " – thank your Captain," he finished awkwardly, but bowed his head as if his words were far more eloquent. Out of the corner of her eye Cicely saw both men's boots tramp towards the Victory's wharf-plank and disappear. Just as she turned her head back so she was staring at the planks Cicely noticed Bill Gibbons staring at her and just behind him Reuben Jelfs.

"So, you were the man my marines were firing at the other evening?" Cicely raised her head, taking care not to look the captain in the eye. She said nothing. If Robert Young – no! She was Stephen Maturin here! If Stephen Maturin was supposed to have been so drunk she was carousing around, rather than deserting, then he would not have known it.

"Speak, man!" First Lieutenant Quilliam burst forth, telling the exasperation that the Captain was too dignified to express. "Were you the deserter?"

"Er, if you please sir," Cicely managed, keeping her head low, "I…I remember bullets, sir. Not much else though, sir. I'm very sorry, sir," she added, hoping that speaking her sorrow for the fictional wretched event would be enough.

"And just what is your name?" Quilliam stood over her a little as she kept her head bent in supplication.

"Stephen, sir," she replied, "Stephen – "

" – Maturin!" Cicely jerked her head to her right, before lowering it quickly. Henry Jellicoe, her lieutenant, had accurately asserted her identity. She nodded glumly.

"Jellicoe?" Quilliam narrowed his eyes.

"It is my misfortune, sir, that this is one of my mizzenlads." Henry Jellicoe's voice was cold, ice like his fair hair and sharp as his long nose.

"Stephen Maturin." Captain Hardy mulled Cicely's name momentarily before continuing to commute punishment. "Fifty lashes, to be carried out post-battle." If I survive it, thought Cicely, remembering the time previously that she had been sentenced to a lashing, from Aubrey for fighting ferociously with Nagel.

"You will be imprisoned in the hold for the duration of the battle." Cicely felt herself start, looking up momentarily to the captain, before remembering her place. They meant to be sure then. "You are not to be trusted," Captain Hardy continued, probably for the benefit of his lieutenants. "Therefore you are not to be trusted on your station at the present time." Captain Hardy turned to the lieutenant. "This sorry mess is brought to your door Jellicoe," he added. Clearly a middie had responsibilities and those hands bringing dishonour to the ship reflected the shame onto their superior. Henry Jellicoe knew this full well. "Take that man away and chain him well."

"Aye aye, sir," said Jellicoe, swallowing down his humiliation and transforming it into loathing towards Cicely.

From the hatch to the fore of the ship Juana Margill pressed her back towards the deck-shoulders trying to cover herself decently with her ill-fitting clothes and listening to every word.

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