“The notion of skullduggery is common enough, I grant you, among the French. But I hesitate to credit it.”

“Do you prefer to believe that Tom Seagrave lies?” I protested. “One or the other — Seagrave or Chessyre — must be acknowledged as duplicitous. You require a witness who may speak without prejudice; I have found you one. Why will you not consider all that he has said?”

“Because what LaForge would claim is utterly beyond reason. Why should Chessyre thrust Seagrave's dirk into the French captain's breast? — And well after the man was dead?”

“To ensure that his charge against Seagrave would be amply supported by evidence — evidence observed by Englishmen and French alike. Can you think of any reason, Frank, why Tom Seagrave should be the object of such a plot?”

But Frank did not immediately reply. He bent and stared into the fire, though the heat from the faggots he had procured was considerable. “On Chessyre's part, I might put it to the account of envy — the desire to see a successful man ruined, and repay trust with betrayal.”

“It seems such an awful act,” I murmured, “for one man to effect from spite alone. There ought to be another hand behind it — another force, that bent Chessyre to his will.”

Frank stared at me. “A plot, you said. You used the word as a politician might. You think it possible, Jane, that someone unknown has deliberately worked through Tom's subordinates to ruin his career?”

I smiled thinly. “Believe me, Frank, when I assure you that similar outrage has been known to occur. How well acquainted are you with the details of Seagrave's service?”

“No more than what every man may know. Tom was at the Nile, where he commanded a ship of the line. He was also at Trafalgar — and distinguished himself among all others on that glorious day. Since then he has been posted to the Channel station, having a rare old time ruffling Boney's feathers and seizing ships off the coast of Spain. He's worth twenty thousand pounds, at least.”

“You do not ruin a man's reputation within the Navy for twenty thousand pounds. You ruin him for the satisfaction of seeing him disgraced before those he values beyond everything in the world.”

Frank nodded in assent. “The history of this whole affair must argue an intimate enemy.”

“Has he family? Connexions? Some force for Influence that might work on his behalf?”

“An elder brother employed by the Honourable East India Company out in Bombay. I met Alistair Seagrave in India once — a fair-spoken, intelligent man who cuts something of a dash. But the family were never very Great, Jane. The father was a clergyman. That was an early bond between Tom and myself — the likeness in our childhoods.”

Of course. The constant hours of learning Greek at the knee of a stern and kindly man, when one had much rather be gone to sea.

“And does Alistair Seagrave know aught of his brother's trouble?”

“No letter could reach him in time. The voyage round the Horn is uncertain in winter; several months at best. I should not like to predict when he might learn of it. After all is … decided, perhaps.”

“But you think Tom Seagrave would request his brother's help?”

“I cannot say. Even did Tom hope to prevent Alistair learning of it — from diffidence, or shame, or pride — they possess common acquaintance enough that his brother cannot remain in ignorance. The Navy and the Honourable Company are forever in one another's pockets.”

“Is it at all likely, Frank, that Mrs. Seagrave's family is behind the project? For you know they have considerable standing in Town, and cut her off when she married to disoblige them.”

“Why attempt to scuttle Tom Seagrave now, when the marriage is fifteen years old? They had better have despatched assassins on the night of elopement.”

“True. It does not seem likely. But whom, then? Has he enemies you could name?”

Frank threw up his hands. “Are you certain in your mind that we must credit this Frenchman?”

“Monsieur LaForge is no friend to Eustace Chessyre. That must be accounted an advantage.”

“He's managed to complicate matters considerably.”

I laughed. “Then his work is disinterested at least. What possible advantage could LaForge find in destroying Chessyre's reputation? Even the Lieutenant's name was unknown to him. LaForge was cautious enough in his manner, as befits a man who has witnessed what is strange among his enemies; but I detected nothing of deceit. He offered the evidence of his own eyes.”

“Eustace Chessyre professed the same,” Frank observed.

I was resolutely silent.

My brother sighed. “I suppose I must disclose the whole to Tom Seagrave. He deserves to face the court on Thursday with as much intelligence as he may; he deserves to know that his subordinate betrayed him. A letter despatched express is in order, I think.”

“It is possible that Seagrave may supply the reasoning behind Chessyre's act, and resolve the affair entirely.”

Frank hesitated. “Would your Frenchman consent to testify before an English court-martial?”

“We can but enquire.”

“And he refuses, we shall take a sounding of his deceit The man may merely be raving, after all, and when pressed on the morrow, deny all knowledge of his tale. But I shall petition Admiral Bertie for LaForge's release, and carry him with me down the Solent on Thursday.”

“Let us hope he will survive so long.”

“If you are nursing him, he can do nothing else.” Frank's tone was much softened from the abuse of a quarter-hour previous. I suppressed a smile, and rose to join the others in the dining parlour.

“Jane—”

I turned at the door.

“I regret what I said regarding your activity at Wool House. I know you undertook the effort solely with a view to aiding Seagrave's case. I am deeply grateful for all that you have done. But—”

“Never fear, my dear,” I said. “I shall sit in the chair farthest from your bride.”

MY MOTHER FELT WELL ENOUGH, ON THE STRENGTH OF Martha's return, to rise from her bed and descend — in all the fuss and state of vinaigrettes, wool shawls, and needlework — to the dining parlour.

“—Tho' I shall not take a chair next to Jane,” she insisted fretfully, “on account of the French; nor yet next to Mary, on account of the baby.”

“Dear ma'am!” cried Martha with hearty good humour. “We have divided you between us! May I enquire what has laid you low, since my going into Berkshire?”

“I cannot like winter” — my mother sighed — ”and I fear this shall be my last. Such dreadful spasms, Martha, in my side! Such flutterings at my heart! It is as much as I can do, to take a little tea and bread once each day; and with dear Cassandra gone, nobody pays me very much heed — tho' I am decidedly failing.”

As my mother was, if anything, in better looks now than she had been when Martha quitted Southampton for her sister's home in Berkshire, I could not blame my friend for her aspect of astonishment. The simple truth is that my mother is dreadfully bored in her present situation. She does not like being a guest in someone else's house, particularly if she must pay for the privilege; and the raptures of Frank and Mary's young married life are proving a trial. I have hopes of her amendment, however, when once we are established in our own home. A Castle Square entirely under her command, with Frank returned to sea and Mary at an utter loss as to the rearing of her infant, might give scope to my mother's ambitions. We might live to see her abandon her bed at last.

“Where is dear Frank?” my mother enquired. “Has he deserted the family table yet again?”

“A pressing matter of business,” I supplied, “has detained him. But he begged that I should make his excuses, and urge you all to partake of dinner without regard for his absence.”

Mary lifted her fork with alacrity. We should have another swoon before the evening was out.