"We needed the exercise," Ramage said teasingly. "I for one was feeling quite jaded."

"You should come over and see us, then," Yorke said, "and bring any of your officers who can be spared."

He pushed forward an armchair for Ramage. "It's a hot day. Rum punch or lemonade - or lime, or orange?"

"Lemonade, please," Ramage said and Alexis commented: "I thought you'd prefer a rum punch."

She blushed as first Yorke and then Ramage laughed, and Ramage quickly explained: "It's an old joke between your brother and me: he knows I hate rum."

"Alexis hates it too," Yorke said. "She nearly faints away when a planter leers at her and then whispers sweet nothings through a smokescreen of rum fumes."

"You certainly know how to put our guests at ease," Alexis told him crossly. "Now the poor man is worried in case I don't like the smell of lemons!"

"I doubt it," Yorke said. "He's not about to give you a planter's leer."

Seeing Ramage's eyebrows raised questioningly, Alexis laughed and explained: "And that's an old joke between Sidney and myself. The ladies out in the islands - wives of the planters, merchants and soldiers - tend to have shrivelled up minds and figures, so that . . ."

She broke off in embarrassment, having started off on an explanation without considering where it might lead her.

Yorke rang a small silver bell for the steward as he finished her sentence. "So that the husbands, bored and boring, flock round a beautiful woman like moths round a candle and singe their wings with what they think is wit but is simply bawdy, almost barrack-room humour."

"Actually the wives are worse," Alexis said unexpectedly. "You men never notice it but they're so jealous they're very, very polite, yet everything they say has hidden implications."

"Implications?" Yorke exclaimed. "What implications? Most of them are so stupid they couldn't distinguish an implication from an imprecation!"

"Oh, they imply that I'm trying to run off with their husband or have come out to the islands looking for a husband."

"Wasn't that the idea?" Yorke asked with feigned innocence. "A handsome husband, ten thousand a year and 20,000 acres no further north than the Trent?"

"It might have been your idea, so that you could get rid of me, but it wasn't mine. I must admit," she added sharply, "I was looking for a wife for you: it's high time you married. Nicholas -"

She broke off, her face flushed with embarrassment as she realized what she was about to say.

"You are quite right," Ramage said quickly, "it's high time he married. I have just the sort of woman in mind. I can recommend some names."

Alexis was clearly intrigued. "What sort of woman?"

Yorke shook his head: he had known Ramage too many years to have much doubt about the well-cushioned little trap into which Alexis was walking.

"Well, first one has to assess what Sidney has to offer. He's wealthy, and even if he proves an incompetent shipowner, you'll be there to keep an eye on him. He's not very handsome - but his fortune compensates for what his features lack. A poor card player - that's a great advantage because wives can get very resentful if their husbands constantly beat them at quadrille. He's hopeless at backgammon, which makes him an even better prospect. He has good taste - he's always in the company of one beautiful woman, his sister..."

"Oh, do go on," Alexis urged, laughing at Sidney.

"Well, this woman should be a widow, because while a widow understands marriage, I'm not at all sure that Sidney does. A mature widow, and preferably the late husband should have been a dull fellow who left her verging on debt, so that Sidney dazzles her with his wealth. You see," Ramage explained to Alexis, hard put to keep a straight face because she was concentrating on every word, "his money can make up for some of his shortcomings."

Alexis was nodding in agreement. "Yes, but did you see anyone suitable in Barbados, for instance?"

"No, I didn't go on shore. But London - I know of several in London. The advantage there is that their tipple is likely to be gin, not rum, so their breath won't trouble you."

At that she glanced up warily, saw Yorke grinning and told Ramage crossly: "You are an unfeeling brute: I thought for a moment that you really cared about Sidney's happiness."

"I do," Ramage assured her. "I care enough not to interfere. One day he'll meet the right person and he'll recognize her, and it won't be someone we've discreetly introduced into the family circle."

"You seem very certain. Anyway, it won't be anyone we approve," she said, with a trace of bitterness in her voice. "But it hasn't happened yet."

"Sidney and I are the same age," Ramage said gently. "I married only a few months ago and I met my wife on board a John Company ship anchored off a tiny island in the South Atlantic that few charts even show. Until fairly recently, everyone expected me to marry a woman I met in Italy."

"The beautiful Marchesa whom you rescued?" she asked softly.

"Yes, la bella marchesa. But I finally met my wife a quarter of a world away."

Yorke said: "I'm flattered at the attention of two such experienced marriage-brokers, but when are you going to tell us what happened yesterday, Nicholas?"

"Yes," Alexis said. "What did you do to make that poor frigate fire at you?"

"That 'poor frigate' should not have fired at us," Ramage said mildly, "so have a care where you scatter your sympathy!"

For several moments both Yorkes were silent: both knew enough of ships and the sea to know that something had gone dreadfully wrong.

"From here it seemed that she fired her starboard broadside at you," Yorke said. "We saw the smoke between you."

"The frigate is the Jason. The smoke you saw was from her starboard broadside: she suddenly cut across our bow and raked us. Fortunately without doing much harm."

"But why?" Alexis exclaimed. "She's British, and you must have been flying all the right flags."

"We were, but I don't know why she did it." Ramage stopped talking while the steward came into the cabin and set down the glasses, putting the jug and sugar bowl in front of Alexis. "Shall I pour, madam?" Alexis shook her head, obviously preoccupied with what Ramage had just said, and the steward left the cabin.

"Sidney always tells me I mustn't interfere in men's business - but can you tell us any more? It is most intriguing. No, alarming. I have visions of a British frigate suddenly sailing across our bow and raking us. Surely, if one rakes you, then another might attack us?"

Ramage gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "I have a hundred questions of my own, but no answers. In fact," he admitted, "I'm here as a refugee. I've discussed it so much on board the Calypso that my brain is overflowing. I was hoping you two might have some fresh ideas."

"It is sweet of you to include me," Alexis said, "but what can a woman know about naval matters?"

"This doesn't concern naval matters," Ramage said grimly, sipping his lemonade. "It concerns a madman, and I think we all know as much as each other about madmen. This one seems to be straight out of Bedlam, although who unlocked the door and gave him the King's commission I don't know."

"It's the captain, is it?" Yorke asked.

Ramage nodded. "This is what happened," he began, and finished half an hour later, during which time Sidney Yorke and Alexis listened with all the concentration of children hearing a thrilling fairy story, asking only an occasional question.

At the end of it Yorke said promptly: "I don't know for sure about this man Shirley, but I'm certain you are crazy!"

Alexis, now white-faced and almost in tears, looked at her brother as though he had suddenly hit Ramage, and instinctively reached out to touch his wrist, as if wanting to reassure him.