'Shall I tell. . .?'

'Yes. And have a quiet word with Orsini. It's difficult for me to say anything at the moment.'

Aitken straightened his hat and spoke slowly, his Perth accent more pronounced than usual, something which Ramage noticed happened whenever the first lieutenant expressed deep feelings. 'With us sailing tomorrow, sir, and being provisioned for five months and watered for three: we're likely to be away for half a year. That'll be half a year when ye'll have no news of the Marchesa, sir?'

Ramage nodded. 'I'm assuming we'll be away six to ten months, but as you know, I have secret orders which I've not yet read.'

Aitken excused himself, both embarrassed and yet relieved to know the reason for the captain's and the midshipman's sadness. He could imagine the arguments that had gone on in London at the home of the captain's father: the men - the Earl of Blazey, Mr Ramage and Orsini - would have been arguing for reasons of affection; the Marchesa for reasons of state. It must have been a dreadful decision for a woman to make on her own: no husband, no relatives, no ministers could help her; she was - had been, rather-alone in a foreign land. Aitken was suddenly glad to be simply the son of a long-dead officer in the Royal Navy. It seemed inhuman to make a woman choose between some vague loyalty to a country and the man she loved.

Ramage had purposely not watched the seven men come on board (Aitken had proudly reported that there were in fact nine: two of the three seamen thought to have 'run' had come on board from the same cutter), preferring a more individual approach after they had time to settle in. All except the chaplain were likely to be complete strangers to life afloat.

Had he watched them come on board through the entry-port he would have saved himself the shock of the chaplain's appearance. Ramage had told Aitken to bring him to his cabin and introduce him at noon. For a moment he thought there had been some mistake until he saw Aitken behind the man.

Small, with narrow shoulders and a stance that looked as though he was half crouching, a ferret face with stained protruding front teeth that reminded Ramage of splayed fingers, shifty and bloodshot eyes: the Reverend Percival Stokes looked more like a trapped pickpocket as he stopped inside the door and then lurched forward a few more paces, obviously pushed by Aitken.

'My Lord Ramage? I am -'

Aitken stepped in front of him. 'Captain Ramage, sir: may I introduce the Reverend Percival Stokes? Mr Stokes - Captain Ramage.'

Aitken had managed the introduction very well, but Ramage doubted if Stokes had noticed that the captain did not use his title or, if he did, whether he could let his proximity to a member of the aristocracy go unremarked. The Reverend Percival Stokes, Ramage decided within seconds, would create havoc in the gunroom with his ingratiating brand of snobbery, fawning where he thought necessary and bullying where possible. Obviously someone with influence was indebted to the man - or, perhaps more likely, wanted him out of the way.

'Oh, my Lord, I am honoured and grateful to be the chaplain to such a distinguished officer -'

Ramage held up a hand. 'You have been appointed chaplain to the Calypso frigate, not to me, and at your own request, Mr Stokes. I did not apply for a chaplain.'

At first Ramage regretted speaking in such chilly tones (which clearly delighted Aitken), but a moment later he saw that neither the words, the double correction nor the snub had registered. Stokes, his hands clasped as though leading a congregation in prayer, was eyeing the sherry decanter and glasses on Ramage's desk.

In that moment Ramage thought he saw Stokes's life as though glancing along a narrow, shadowy corridor, and three words came to mind - debt, drink, hypocrisy. The wretched man was probably heavily in debt and, because of drink, had been neglecting his parish more than usual when the shopkeepers decided it was time their parson paid some attention to Mammon as well as God. With the debtors' prison suddenly presented to him as an alternative, it was likely that Stokes decided his vocation - for a year or two, anyway - was the Navy in peacetime. There he was paid, food was cheap and drink, duty-free, even cheaper. The Treaty ensured that no roundshot would spin past his ears.

Why did the man choose a frigate? Since his pay depended mainly on the number of men in the ship, a ship of the line offered eight hundred or so souls to be saved. A frigate like the Calypso had only two hundred souls. In both ships a chaplain received nineteen shillings a month, but he also had his 'groats', fourpence a month for every man in his ship. In a ship of the line this meant an extra thirteen pounds a month, which was £156 a year. In a frigate like the Calypso it was about £3 6s a month, or about £40 a year.

Why a frigate? Perhaps, despite the perpetual shortage of chaplains, even the Chaplain General had baulked at Mr Stokes; given that the Admiralty was prepared to grant him a warrant, perhaps the Chaplain General decided that he could do (or come to) less harm in a frigate.

Aitken stood to attention and said: 'If you'll excuse me, sir, I have -'

'No, no, Mr Aitken,' Ramage said genially, having no intention of letting his first lieutenant desert him at such a moment, 'you have the ship so well organized it can run for fifteen minutes without you.'

Aitken noted the fifteen minutes and sat down on the settee as Ramage gestured towards the armchair for Stokes. It was a seat from which a man of his stature would have to look up at both officers.

'Your first ship, Mr Stokes?' Ramage asked amiably.

'Oh yes, indeed, my Lord, oh yes, my goodness -'

'My title is not used in the Navy, Mr Stokes; you address me as "sir" and refer to me as "the Captain".'

'Oh yes, indeed, Captain sir,' Stokes said hurriedly, and Ramage noticed the man sprayed saliva as he talked, his protruding teeth tending to act like fingers over a hose.

'Where were you -' Ramage just avoided saying 'practising'. 'Where were you - I mean, where was your benefice before you decided to come to sea?'

'Oh, in Essex, Captain,' Stokes said vaguely.

'Then you decided you would like to see more of the world?'

'I had a row with my bishop,' the man said crossly and then, realizing his indiscretion, added with an ingratiating smile: I considered I could best serve the Lord by saving souls among our brave seamen, exposed as they are to greater temptations than my flock in Essex.'

'Ah,' Aitken said, glancing at Ramage, 'that's an interesting point of view which I know the captain has considered before. At this place in Essex where you had your kirk - did ye not have whores and thieves and vagabonds, like anywhere else?'

Stokes raised his hands, palms outwards, and assumed what he must have considered a man-of-the-world expression. 'Ah, a few of each, I must admit; the flesh is weak and a chaplain can only advise and pray and point theway...'

'I'm thinking ye've abandoned your flock,' Aitken said, his voice sorrowful, 'because while ye could perhaps have converted the whores and thieves and vagabonds in Essex, we dinna have one of any of those on board this ship for ye to practise on, Mr Stokes.'

'Ah, lieutenant, there you are mistaken,' Stokes said patronizingly, assuming that the fact that Aitken deferred to the captain meant that the chaplain's position was between the two. 'No man is without sin, is he, Captain?'

'He is in this ship,' Aitken said crisply, 'otherwise he gets a flogging!'

Ramage was hard put to keep a straight face: Aitken had set the trap, Stokes had walked in and Aitken had sprung it. Stokes was not to know that Ramage had ordered only two men to be flogged since he first commanded a ship, and anyway, he was technically correct.