He suddenly realized that for two or three minutes there had been a steady knocking at his door, and the Marine sentry's call was now being reinforced by the agitated calls of Aitken and Southwick.

"Come in!" he called and the door flung open, Aitken almost sprawling as he rushed through, crouched so that his head did not hit the beams. He stared at Ramage sitting at the desk but jerked as Southwick, head down, bumped into him.

Aitken was quick to recover. "Sorry, sir, but you didn't answer."

"I was thinking," Ramage said lamely, "but come in and shut the door." He saw both men were pale under their tans, and although Aitken might be satisfied with the explanation, Southwick certainly was not: the old master had served with him so long that his role had slowly changed to - well, what? A benevolent grandfather dependent on his grandson's largesse? Anyway, the old man was now standing over him, a puzzled look creasing his face. "Are you sure everything is all right, sir?"

Ramage thought for a moment. If he did not tell them now, he would have to keep the news to himself all the way to England, like a man nursing a guilty secret, so now was the time. He held up the First Lord's letter. "If you can't read the signature, it's from Lord St Vincent."

Southwick sighed, as though he knew from long experience that letters from such heights never carried welcome news, and sat down, giving the page a shake to straighten it out. As he read, Aitken said quietly, by way of explanation: "When you came back from the Queen, sir, your face was white as a sheet. You seemed to be trembling. We thought you'd been struck by one of these sudden fluxes."

Ramage shook his head and nodded towards the letter that Southwick had just finished reading. The old man's features were frozen as he handed the letter back to Ramage without a word. Ramage gave it to Aitken, who took the precaution of sitting on the settee first: he had seen the effect on Southwick. He read it through twice, folded it and gave it back to Ramage without comment, but the skin now seemed too tight on his face.

Then Ramage remembered Jean-Jacques. The Count had been entranced by Sarah. And the four Frenchmen, Gilbert, Louis, Auguste and Albert, who had come to serve in the Calypso after helping to capture the Murex brig: they regarded Sarah as a woman among women for the part she had played.

He was bewildered; he pulled himself together enough to realize that. But the news of Sarah had torn a piece of himself away: the part that had feelings, that told him what to do ...

He then remembered the second enclosure in the packet which was still lying on top of his desk. He opened the seal, more to take his mind off St Vincent's news than because of any curiosity about new orders. For that was what they were.

They were signed, as usual, by Evan Nepean, the Secretary to the Board of Admiralty, and began in one of the time-honoured fashions, "I am directed by My Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty to acquaint you . . ." which told Ramage at once that whatever the orders were, they would not be radical: new orders usually began: "You are hereby requested and required to ..."

Ramage glanced quickly through the copperplate writing and, having assured himself there was no petard smouldering among the sentences, waiting to hoist him into more trouble, read through again, more slowly.

For a bizarre moment he pictured Their Lordships sitting solemnly round the long polished table in the Boardroom with a box in front of them full of slips of paper on which was written the word "whereas". While dictating their instructions to Nepean they would, every minute or so, skim another "whereas" slip across to him, to insert in the letter he was drafting.

Anyway, whereas Captain Ramage had been on Admiralty-approved leave in France when hostilities had again broken out, and whereas he had managed to escape in the Murex brig and join Admiral Clinton upon the commander-in-chief's arrival off Brest with the blockading force, "and whereas Admiral Clinton had given Captain Ramage command of his former frigate the Calypso" (and there Ramage recognized the gentle rap over the knuckles: although he had applied to the Admiralty for leave to go abroad, as laid down in the Instructions, and been granted it, the fact was when the war suddenly broke out again he was not with his ship. The Admiralty never sought or listened to excuses -  officers went on leave by their own choice - and generally had a bovine disregard for fairness or logic).

"- and whereas Admiral Clinton gave certain orders concerning the capture of the French frigate L'Espoir and the release of French Royalists, among them the Count of Rennes, and whereas Their Lordships have now assumed that these orders have been successfully executed" (an indication, as if one was needed. Ramage thought to himself, that there was no excuse for failure), "Their Lordships direct that having called at Barbados with the prize and the Royalists, the refugees, the Count of Rennes among them, are to be given passages in suitable merchant ships and sent back to England with the first convoy.

"Their Lordships further direct that you are to remain in command of the Calypso frigate, which should also return to England and is now again under Admiralty orders." Which meant, Ramage noted, that Rear-Admiral Tewtin could not interfere.

Any prizes taken in the course of the original operation, Nepean continued, should be handed over to the commander-in-chief, the Windward Island Station, who would buy them in for service or otherwise dispose of them. And Nepean had the honour to be, etc.

So there it was. Their Lordships (which probably meant in fact a quorum of three members of the Board) blithely assumed one could do the impossible, and afterwards punctiliously sent out fresh orders to keep one gainfully occupied, just as one leaned back to rest a moment and take a deep breath. Still, it was better than facing a court of inquiry (or even a court-martial) because of failure.

But now there was all the irritating detail, although arranging passages for the refugees should not be difficult - there were a couple of score of merchant ships already anchored in the Bay, and obviously a convoy was being assembled.

Admiral Tewtin would no doubt present a few problems (no local flag officer liked a ship in his waters receiving direct Admiralty orders) but Ramage could use the actual orders as a talisman: they were as binding on Tewtin as on Ramage himself. The two prize frigates - well, whatever price Tewtin decided on had eventually to be approved by the Admiralty and Navy Board who, to be fair, were just as likely to raise a low one as reduce another that was too high. So within the week the Calypso should be on her way across the Atlantic to England, with the Royalists following in the convoy.

The Calypso, he remembered with a shock like a gun going off beside him, would be going to an England where Sarah would not be waiting to greet them. And now he must go to tell Jean-Jacques.