None of which, Ramage told himself, necessarily made Rear-Admiral Tewtin any less efficient as a flag officer, and might indeed indicate heavy expenses at home - many a man had been ruined through inheriting a large estate without the money to run it, or acquiring a wife whose style outranged his purse.

Although Ramage waited a minute or two, expecting Tewtin to hand over the Admiralty letter, the man made no move, and his desk was bare. He looked up at Ramage and asked: "You have a written report of your proceedings?"

Ramage bent down to open the canvas pouch he had leaned against the side of the chair, but Tewtin said: "I'll read that later. Just tell me what brings you here with two French frigates as prizes."

And now, Ramage thought to himself, choose your words carefully. He had written orders from the commander-in-chief of the Channel Fleet, Admiral Clinton, for the operation he had just carried out, and these concluded that the Calypso should then return to England and report direct to the Admiralty (leaving Admiral Clinton happily distant in the event of failure). There was nothing to prevent Rear-Admiral Tewtin holding on to the two prizes (indeed, Ramage hoped he would, after he had bought them in).

"It's a bit of a long story, sir," Ramage said apologetically.

"Well, keep it short: you're here now; where did you start from?" Tewtin smirked at Newick, as if to indicate that famous young captains were really rather silly fellows who needed a guiding hand from admirals like Tewtin.

"At a friend's château near Brest, where I was spending my honeymoon, sir."

The smirk left Tewtin's face, but now he was clearly puzzled: was Ramage teasing him, or ... "Honeymoon? Did you finally marry that Italian woman?"

"You mean the Marchesa di Volterra, sir?" His voice was just cold enough to point out Tewtin's lapse.

"Yes, I think that was her name."

"No," Ramage said shortly. "At the signing of the Treaty she returned to the Kingdom of Volterra - of which she is the ruler."

"But. . . well, Bonaparte must have had her arrested when the war started again."

"Probably. I have her nephew serving with me. She was not to be persuaded to stay in England."

Now Tewtin realized he had blundered but he could see no way out. "Er, you did say you were on your honeymoon? Who was the lucky woman?"

"Yes, sir -1 married the daughter of the Marquis of Rockley."

The embarrassed smirk vanished from Tewtin's face as though a barber had wiped off shaving soap: he realized that with a few ill-chosen remarks he might have antagonized the son of the Earl of Blazey (who was still an admiral of the white although retired), referred to an Italian woman as though she was a tart (and now found out she in fact ruled an Italian state) and then discovered that this young puppy Ramage had married the daughter of a marquis (who had been the most powerful man in India and presumably had enormous influence with the present government in London).

It would be hard, Tewtin thought ruefully, for a rear-admiral near the bottom of the flag list who had been lucky enough to get this job (and it was luck; he admitted that) to drop so many bricks in so short a time - less than five minutes. Anyway, the last had hit the deck; now he would handle Ramage carefully.

"May I congratulate you?" Tewtin said. " 'All the world loves a lover', eh? You were describing your honeymoon."

"Hardly that, sir," Ramage said tightly. "I said I was staying near Brest on my honeymoon."

"Of course, of course. At a friend's château when the war started again, I think you said."

Ramage nodded. "Yes sir. Bonaparte's police arrested my friend, but my wife and I managed to escape. At the same time, the ship's company of one of our brigs mutinied and ran into Brest with her -"

"Yes, yes, I've heard from Their Lordships about that."

"Good," Ramage said, "that shortens my story. So when we reported to the Channel Fleet -"

Tewtin held up a hand. "Wait! Their Lordships simply warned me that the men had carried the ship in and sent me a list of their names."

Ramage deliberately gave a gentle sigh, hoping Tewtin would take the hint. "You asked me to start at the beginning and keep my story brief, sir, but there are some details I have to give to make sense of it."

"I do understand, my boy; go on," Tewtin said encouragingly. "After my wife and I escaped from the château we had to think of a way of getting back to England, and also see if we could rescue our host -"

"Your duty was to return to England and report at once to the Admiralty," Tewtin said heavily, like a bishop admonishing an errant deacon.

"Of course, sir, but we had no transport, and our host was a friend -"

"Friend!" Tewtin almost exploded, slapping the arm of his chair for emphasis. "Surely you put your duty to your King before your social obligations to a friend - a Frenchman, I presume!"

"- a friend of the Prince of Wales," Ramage finished his sentence.

"You don't mean that you were staying with ..."

"The Count of Rennes is an old friend of my family, and of course apart from being a leader of the French Royalists who fled to England, he is a close friend of the Prince."

Tewtin hauled a large handkerchief from his pocket as though, Ramage thought, he was letting fall the Queen's foretopsail. The admiral mopped his brow, rubbed the sides of his nose vigorously to give himself time to think, then found he had wiped the whole of his face and brow without thinking of anything: the crash of falling bricks was leaving him stunned. "Do go on," he urged Ramage.

"Well, sir, at the same time that we found the Count had been put on board a French frigate with many other Royalist prisoners to be transported to Devil's Island, my wife and I and some French fishermen (Royalists, of course) managed to recapture the Murex brig that had mutinied after the villains had been taken off by the French, and sailed in time to meet the Channel Fleet, which was just arriving off Brest to resume the blockade."

Tewtin had many questions to ask but managed to restrict himself to nodding approvingly. A nod was safe, he realized.

"By chance my own frigate, the Calypso, was in the Fleet and I was put in command again." Ramage saw no reason to elaborate on how that came about. "Anyway, as soon as Admiral Clinton heard that a French frigate was already on its way to Devil's Island with the Count and many other Royalists, I was sent in pursuit, my wife returning to England in the Murex brig."

Tewtin, thinking that was the end of Ramage's story, nodded and said: "But you picked up a couple of prizes, anyway. I'm sure the Count will survive, although he's in a very horrible place at this moment."

"Oh, he'll survive, sir," Ramage said reassuringly, a tight smile on his face. "Just a touch of fever."

"What is?" asked a puzzled Tewtin. "Fever?"

"The Count, sir. He is on board the Calypso but developed a bout of fever a couple of days ago."

Tewtin jumped to his feet. "Good God, man! Bring him over to the flagship! He must be my guest. Here -" he waved at Lieutenant Newick, "have this cabin prepared for him. Warn Captain Woods that I shall be moving into his quarters -"

"Sir," Ramage said quietly, "I don't think the Count will move from the Calypso. Apart from anything else, his main concern is to get to England as quickly as possible."

"I don't want any argument from you about this," Tewtin said firmly. "He will be my guest, and that's that. Have him sent over in a boat - no, I'll send over my barge. That will be more comfortable for a sick man."

"Sir, please leave the Count where he is: he anticipated your kindness," Ramage said tactfully, "and was most emphatic that he should stay in the Calypso."Suddenly Ramage thought of another excuse. "He prefers to talk French: in fact, he is so weakened by the fever that he has great difficulty in speaking English. Do you have a fluent French speaker... ?"