"Come and inspect the cargo," he said to Ramage, who nodded politely but then exclaimed: "But they're all brass!"

"Every single one," Yorke said, as Ramage looked along the line of guns, and then at the small swivels mounted every few feet along the top of the bulwarks. "I had them recast a year or so ago. They were seventy years old, if a day."

"Any problems at the foundry?"

"No, they just add a little more tin - which is damnably expensive - because apparently it gets lost over the years and weakens the metal. But brass guns are an economy in the end - no rust, no constant chipping and lacquering."

"And you have good gunners?"

"No - hopeless!"

"But why?" Ramage asked in surprise. "What's the point of brass guns if... ?"

"My gunners are hopeless, my seamen are landsmen, my petty officers are nincompoops ... Until I know whether you're going to press any of them!"

"Then you can sleep in peace. I'm short but I haven't pressed a man out of this convoy."

"You must be one of the few King's ships that hasn't."

"I know, but I prefer quality to quantity."

"I wish some of your fellow captains felt the same way."

"Perhaps they do."

"True - but can they create quality?"

Ramage avoided answering - this was tender ground. He didn't intend telling the master of a merchantman of his contempt for the lack of leadership shown by some of his brother officers, however hospitable Yorke might be.

"Come along," Yorke said, "you must inspect the cargo."

Noticing Ramage's lack of enthusiasm and tendency to dawdle as he inspected the ship he added, "The female section of it are probably eaten up with impatience, and they won't be very flattered to find you were more interested in brass guns."

"Female section?" Ramage exclaimed. "Women? Hey, you showed me a false manifest! Since when have ladies rated as cargo?"

"Well, these do!"

Ramage was completely unprepared for the four people waiting in the airy saloon of the Topaz. Hehad expected a portly planter and his wife, a colonel or two and perhaps a general and his strident spouse, all with complexions matching the highly polished mahogany panelling and figures in keeping with the well-padded chairs and settees.

With easy grace Yorke bowed to the two men and two women.

"May I present Lord Ramage?"

Ramage had time only to glance at the men and notice that one of the women was young before Yorke completed the introductions : "M'sieur and Madame St Brieuc, their daughter Madame de Dinan, and M'sieur St Cast."

"We are honoured," St Brieuc said as they shook hands and Ramage kissed the ladies' hands. "Surely you are the young man who captured the privateers near here? Mr Yorke has been telling us about it."

As he spoke, in almost perfect English with an accent that only hinted at his French nationality, Ramage tried to think why the names had a curious - even spurious - ring about them.

Yorke answered St Brieuc's question. "The very man."

To Ramage he said gaily, "You might as well know you're going to have to sing for your supper!"

"Sing for your supper?"

The daughter looked puzzled as she repeated the words toherself, lowering the fan which had been hiding most of her face since her eyes had first met Ramage's a few moments earlier.

Her voice was little more than a deep murmur with a heavy French accent, to Ramage it seemed he sensed her words rather than heard them; an intimate voice that brought a tightening in his thighs.

He was brought back to the reality of the saloon by Yorke. "An expression, ma'am - it means..."

"That instead of paying for my dinner with money, I perform some service instead," Ramage completed the sentence, embarrassed that his brief reverie might have been noticed. "Entertain you with a song, for instance."

"Or stand on his head, or juggle with a dozen wine glasses," Yorke added.

Ramage saw the joking had misfired because the girl was now looking embarrassed and said: "The juggling - I do not understand why..."

"My dear," her father said, "Mr Yorke was simply telling his lordship that we hope he'll tell us of his adventures. A warning, as it were!"

Madame de Dinan had large brown eyes set in a small oval face. She was about five feet tall, and her almost classic French beauty was saved from the coldness of statuesque perfection by the warm brown eyes and the wide, sensual mouth. She's married, Ramage thought sadly; all that store of love and passion reserved for someone else...

Suddenly he remembered that St Cast and St Brieuc were tiny fishing villages tucked behind the rocks and reefs of the Breton coast, not far from St Malo and south of the Channel Islands. They were only a few miles from each other and he could picture that section of the chart, with Dinan a few miles inland. So these people were probably travelling under assumed names, which was hardly surprising since they were obviously Royalist refugees.

St Cast spoke for the first time. A large, florid man with white hair and heavy features which could be friendly or haughty with little change of expression, he had an unexpectedly high-pitched voice, but he enunciated every word precisely, not through pedantry but as though accustomed to giving instructions.

"Are you coming to Jamaica with us?"

When Ramage said he was, Yorke took the opportunity of asking: "What was all that nonsense with the Admiral?"

"I don't think I'm one of his favourites."

"I'd guessed that much. Hope I did the right thing, dragging you from the cabin like that."

"Not only was it the right thing to do, but you timed it perfectly!"

"They looked like two cats deprived of their mouse," Yorke said. "A fat cat, a thin cat and a choice mouse."

Ramage laughed and then, before he could stop himself, commented bitterly, "But only a temporary deprivation."

Yorke turned to his guests and said, with what Ramage thought was unnecessary gaiety, "While I was on board the flagship I saw that the Lieutenant was also out of favour with Admiral Goddard. I'm not betraying naval secrets because about fifty other masters noticed the same thing!"

While Ramage puzzled over the "also", St Brieuc - a small man with the profile of a thinner Julius Caesar - was inspecting his nails. "A temporary affair, I trust," he said politely. "A temporary fall from grace ... perhaps a passing cloud?"

Ramage saw that everyone was curious. Well, there was no need to keep secret something of which the whole Navy was aware.

"No, hardly a passing cloud; it's as permanent as - as the Minquiers."

St Cast's heavy features froze. He glanced at St Brieuc, as if asking a question, and received an almost imperceptible nod in reply.

"I see you have guessed that we are travelling incognito. I -"

Ramage flushed and held up his hand. "M'sieur - the allusion was quite accidental. Your names - the villages are familiar because I've served in a ship based on the Channel Islands. They must have been in the back of my mind when I tried to think of some - some symbol of permanence, like the Minquiers Shoal."

"No harm is done," St Cast assured him. "We simply -"

Again Ramage held up his hand to silence him, embarrassed but assured.

"If you are travelling incognito I am sure there's a good reason, and in wartime the less one knows the less one can be forced to reveal if captured..."

The girl shuddered and her mother reached out to touch her arm with a reassuring gesture. Ramage and Yorke tactfully glanced away but St Brieuc, standing more erect, said with quiet pride: "Maxine has reason to know what you mean: the men of the Revolutionary Tribunal tortured her for three days to force her toreveal where in Brittany we were hiding."

Ramage said quickly, "Your presence here proves that they failed."