“… signal flags certainly are an immense improvement upon the usual speed of such …”

“… understand these signals might be changed for purposes of encoding …”

“… entirely secure … hardly subject to …”

Far from discussing vital matters of transport with the Honourable Company, Sir Francis was launched upon his favourite subject of swift communication. Mr. Lance was most attentive; but at that moment he happened to glance around — happened to catch my eye— and bowed most handsomely.

“Miss Austen!” he cried. “You should never wear any colour but that. It becomes you exceedingly.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lance,” I replied. “I find the shade encourages me to boldness when I most require it. Like the peacock, I carry my feathers forward when I should prefer to retreat.”

He gave a swift look about the assembly. “I had not realised Foote's drawing-room was a battlefield! Whom would you tilt at?”

“Your friend, Sir Francis Farnham,” I replied promptly, with an inclination of the head at that gentleman, who stared at me sardonically from his black eyes. “Though we are as yet unacquainted, I confess I have yearned to speak with him for some time, on the subject of prisoners of war. The Transport Board is responsible, I believe, for the care of the French? Or should I say — irresponsible? “

“Let me fetch you a glass of claret, Miss Austen,” cried David Lance with a gallant attempt to lead me away. “I am sure that you require refreshment. The heat of the room—”

“Stay, Lance,” commanded Sir Francis. His imperious eyes had never wavered from my face. “I should like to hear the lady's concerns. It is because of the French I am come to Southampton, after all.”

David Lance looked from Sir Francis's set face to my own, which I imagine must have been flushed with the ardour of my thoughts. He took a step backwards. “Very well. I should never come between opponents on the battlefield. Tilt away, Miss Austen!”

I lifted my chin, and with it, my feathered turban. Martha drew a sharp breath at my side, as though she intended to dissuade me; she had not bargained for dispute when she agreed to meet the Lances. I squeezed her gloved hand in a gesture that has always commanded silence.

“Am I right in believing I have the honour of addressing some relation of Captain Austen?” Sir Francis enquired, with ponderously calculated formality.

“There are two captains of that name — my brothers Frank and Charles.”

“I am acquainted with the former. He commanded the Sea Fencibles, I believe, some years ago — and was stationed in Ramsgate. But presently he undertakes a very different duty, I understand. The defence of rogues and murderers.”

“My brother is a steadfast friend, sir,” I returned tardy.

“It has often been observed that one may know a man by the company he keeps.”

I gestured around the Footes' close drawing-room. “Then you may learn in a single evening at Highfield House all you wish to know. My brother is perfectly acquainted with three-quarters of the party.”

“His great friend Tom Seagrave, however, is not present. I understand the Captain was thrown into gaol this morning. It is a wonder he did not land there years since. Has your brother visited Gaoler's Alley?”

“He has. The support of a friend is no less a duty when it is afforded little respect, Sir Francis.”

“It must call into question Captain Austen's judgement, however,” Sir Francis observed. He had a broad smile on his supple mouth; he bent his broad shoulders attentively my way. Anyone in observing us would consider Sir Francis the most delightful of men, a true paragon of the Fashionable Set — and so attentive to the poor spinster with the ill-judged plumes. “I imagine the Admiralty will be forced to review their opinion of Captain Austen. They will wish to revise their estimate of his probity.”

“I have every confidence in my brother, sir — as I have in Captain Seagrave's innocence.”

“I shall take that as the most ardent recommendation of each man's worth, ma'am.” He bowed, and made as if to turn away — but that I reached without hesitation for his sleeve.

“Pray enlighten me, Sir Francis, regarding an Admiralty matter that does happen to fall within your purview. Why are French prisoners, though no less men than ourselves, housed in such miserable conditions that they die of want and disease?”

My voice had risen with my passion for the subject; conversations all around me fell away and ceased. Sir Francis regarded me with one eyebrow quizzically raised. I drew breath, and blundered on.

“Surely we would not wish for British soldiers and seamen to be treated so abominably! If we cannot secure expeditious exchanges in the dead of the winter months, then we must ensure that the sick and wounded are placed in the naval hospitals at Greenwich or Portsmouth.”

“Are you fond of causes, Miss Austen?” he enquired with a curl of his lip.

“Only when I discern injustice, Sir Francis.”

He set down his wineglass with a care that suggested his temper was under tight rein. “I wonder that you dare to broach such a subject in the home of a naval officer. Those men you speak of so tenderly would as soon kill Captain Foote, and every other man in this house, as kiss your pretty hand.”

Most of the naval set was utterly engrossed, now, by our spirited scene. I felt my cheeks grow warmer.

“The men I have seen are in no condition to stand,” I replied evenly. “Indeed, there is one man at least who may not survive the night, he is in so wretched a condition; and he is a gentleman of some learning, too — a naval physician.”

“Ah.” Sir Francis risked a sneer. “There is a gentleman in the case. I should have suspected as much.”

I flushed hotly. “You are impertinent, sir! Were my brother — a post captain in the Royal Navy — to end a prisoner in France, I should devoutly hope that he might receive better care than a Frenchman on these shores. Our care for the Enemy must stand as a testament of our government's humanity, despite the brutality of war. It ought, it must, to serve as example to the Monster in France, that English subjects are possessed of hearts!”

“Here, here!” cried Cecilia Braggen. She had advanced upon the conversation. “Are you plaguing Sir Francis about Wool House, then? Well done, Miss Austen! The conditions are a positive disgrace, and Sir Francis should know it.”

The gentleman's expression shifted suddenly, from one of wooden tolerance — of indulgent impatience — to that of fleeting contempt.

“I have been to Wool House,” he replied, “so recently as yesterday. It was to view Wool House that I came to Southampton. I agree that the conditions are dreadful; I have already ordered that the men should be removed to Greenwich, and turned over to the care of the naval hospital. They shall be conveyed thither on the morrow. And now, ladies, if you would allow me to conduct my Board as I see fit — and as I am far more capable of doing than yourselves — I should be greatly in your debt.”

He turned his back and strode across the room without another word, so that I was left with scarlet cheeks and a desire to flee Highfield House that instant. When would I learn to govern my hasty tongue?

“I wonder what Mrs. Carruthers can be thinking,” observed Cecilia Braggen reprovingly. “To set her cap at such a man — vulgar, intolerant, and contemptuous as he is! I do not care how great his family was, or how considerable his late wife's fortune! He ought to be thanking us for the benevolence of our activity — for the sacrifice of our men, nearly every day! He ought to know what he owes the naval set!”

Curiosity overcame my mortification — I glanced up, and saw that Sir Francis indeed stood by Phoebe Carruthers's side. She wore tonight a gown similar to the one she had displayed in French Street — severe in its lines, untrimmed except for a frogging of black braid across the bodice — but her form was so magnificent, she might as well wear sacking and the world should cry admiration. She was speaking to Sir Francis in the most urgent tone, her eyes flitting from his countenance to my side of the drawing-room. Was it possible she understood a little of the scene that had occurred, and wished to know the particulars?