“And could yer man not come in search of the boy?”

“Dead,” she said succinctly. “At Trafalgar/

The drunkard swept off his hat — or the one he imagined to be as yet on his head, but had lost some time since — with a grand gesture of his remaining arm. “Caleb Martin at yer service, good lady,” he informed Jenny. “As who could not be.”

She actually simpered at him. I deemed it time to retrieve the reins.

“Would you be so good as to direct us to the Bosun's Mate?”

“Gladly,” he said, “provided I knew where it was. There's no pothouse o' that name in Southampton, and I've been inside of 'em all.”

Studying his red-veined features, I could well believe the truth of this. I turned to Jenny. “Are you certain that was the name?”

She looked at me helplessly, then nodded. “It's not a common one, like the George, that a body could mistake.”

“No. But a George we might have been certain of finding.” I sighed. “Let us proceed up the street. Perhaps we shall encounter a person better able to assist us than Mr. Martin.”

The fellow attempted to bow, and went sprawling on all fours. I winced at the impact of his poor stump against the paving-stones, but he seemed quite insensible to pain. From his position at our feet, he looked upwards and grinned — a gap-toothed, rather hideous smile that was nonetheless endearing. “Yer boy wouldn't be havin' a joke with yer now, would he?”

“Young Ned is capable of anything,” Jenny told him with resignation. “I almost wish he'd been sent to sea. It might be the making of him — same as yerself, Mr. Martin.”

“I only ask, because o' the name,” he explained.

“The name?”

“The Bosun's Mate. Everyone in Orchard Lane calls old Jeb Hawkins that, on account of it being his station fer thirty year or more. You sure it wasn't a person yer boy meant, and not a public house?”

JEB HAWKINS LIVED IN A TIDY END OF CHARLOTTE Street, with a neat front yard and a kitchen garden set out to one side. He kept a dog, which howled as we approached, and a few guinea fowl. He had evidently been up with the sun, and had been working about his place some few hours. We took courage and introduced ourselves; and rather than setting the dog upon us, he bade us welcome. He was just about to take his morning ration of grog, and would be happy if we might join him.

I should judge the Bosun's Mate to be roughly the age of sixty. A person of his prolonged exposure to the elements can never exhibit an unmarked frame; he was bent from hard labour, and his eyes were creased from gazing perpetually up into the shrouds. It is the boatswain's province on board ship to mind the sails and rigging, and report their condition daily to the first lieutenant; he is in charge, moreover, of all deck activity: the weighing and dropping of anchors, the taking of soundings, and the piping aboard of officers. The silver boatswain's whistle is a badge of honour among the able seamen, the highest distinction they may hope to attain. Frank has often said that a good bosun is worth his weight in Bombay bullion, and much of mutiny may be avoided in a ship that boasts the same.

“Mr. Hawkins,” I began, as Jenny and I perched upon two rattan chairs he had set out on the grass by a small table, “I am uncertain whether we disturb you to any purpose. A young woman — a stranger to us — said that we might find her through the Bosun's Mate. I understand that is how you are sometimes called.”

His thick white eyebrows lifted. “Are ye a naval lady, ma'am?”

“My brother is a post captain.”

“And his name?”

“Francis Austen,” I replied.

Mr. Hawkins nodded. “I've heard tell of yon. A grand, fighting cap'n, so they say, with none of your namby-pamby cut-and-run. Here's to the lad and his barky ship.” He raised his tankard, and took a long draught, I glanced sidelong at Jenny; we appeared to be no forwarder.

“Are you at all acquainted with Nell Rivers?” I persisted gently.

The tankard crashed down with a thud. Eyes flashing, Jeb Hawkins thrust back his chair. “I’ll not have ye meddling saints getting on the pore girl's back with all yer blather! She's not going to a Reform House, you hear? Not without Jeb Hawkins has something to say about it. Pore Nell's had enough to do, keeping body and soul together, and her the mother of three little 'uns, with no man about the place, without ye mealy-mouthed pisspots and all your bloody hymns! Be off!”

From the look on his face, he had been a bosun to fear indeed. Men must have quailed before the threat of his tongue, not to mention his lash; even in old age he could strike terror into a heart stouter than mine. Jenny was already on her feet, as though she meant to flee. But I reached out my hand in supplication.

“I am no missionary of God,” I said quiedy. “I come in search of Nell because she asked it. She says she is in fear for her life.”

The anger died out of his face. He settled once more in his chair and took a gulp of grog, scanning my countenance over the rim of his tankard. Then he sighed and set the loathsome mixture carefully on the table. A faint scent of rum laced the air.

“What do ye want wit' her?”

“That I cannot tell you.”

“May not — or won't?”

“Twice in three days Nell has sought my brother urgently. There is a matter of great importance she wishes to convey. And yet Captain Austen declares that Nell is unknown to him.”

“Many a man has said the same, to her sorrow,” Jeb Hawkins observed.

I leaned towards the old man and held his gaze. “My brother does not know this woman. And yet she wishes to speak to him. Captain Austen was from home when she came today, and she was sent away in disappointment. I am come to relieve her mind.”

Jeb Hawkins glanced from my face to Jenny's. Then he reached for a small ivory pipe, and settled it between his lips. “In fear for her life, you say? What has Nell to fear, in parting with such a bitter lot? She would be well out of her sorrows, and she found her grave.”

“Surely while there is life in mind and body, there must be hope of amendment,” I said.

He considered this. He rose from the table and ducked inside his small cottage to fetch a taper from his fire, then lit his pipe while standing in the doorway. I waited while the tobacco caught, and the smoke began to draw; I saw his narrowed eyes shift about the lane and then return to me. He lifted his shoulders in a gesture of surrender.

“I will not tell you where to find my Nell,” he said. “I shall send word by a trusty boy. If she is truly in fear for her life, better that no one know where she bides.”

“Tell her Captain Austen's sister begs the favour of a meeting,” I suggested. “Tell her that I shall be walking with my maid near the Water Gate Quay. She might find me there within the hour. If she does not appear by eleven o'clock, I shall return to my lodgings in East Street Please impress upon her that we are most anxious to hear what she has to say.”

“I'll tell her.” He took his pipe from his mouth and fastened me with a look. “But God help you, miss, if Nell comes to the slightest harm.”