Ashton swallowed a mouthful of wine. 'Sarah's a very handsome young lady,' Ashton said, 'as for Fred, well, he'll inherit his father's title and ...' Ashton seemed suddenly aware of what he was saying and hesitated, but it was too late, he had already indicated Marlowe stood to inherit some considerable wealth.
'Well,' remarked Drinkwater smoothly, as though not in the least interested in Marlowe's expectations, 'I hope the poor fellow is soon back on his feet again.'
'I am sure he soon will be ...'
'Tell me something about yourself, Mr Ashton. Have you ever been under fire?' Drinkwater closely watched his victim's face.
'Well no, not exactly under fire in the sense you mean. I took part in some boat operations off the Breton coast. We cut out apéniche...'
'That was alongside Mr Marlowe, was it not?' hazarded Drinkwater. Ashton nodded. 'But no yard-arm to yard-arm stuff, eh?'
'Well no, not exactly, sir.'
'Pity. Still, we shall have to see what we can do about that, eh, Mr Ashton?'
'Er, yes, sir.' Ashton was visibly perspiring now, though whether owing to the heat of the candles, the fullness of his belly or apprehension, Drinkwater was quite unable to say.
'Well, Mr Ashton, we never know what lies just over the horizon, do we?'
'I suppose not, sir ...'
The meal proceeded on its course and when the company rose they were in good heart. Left alone in his cabin while his servant cleared away, Drinkwater mused on his conversation with Ashton until Frampton's fossicking distracted him and drove him on deck.
A gibbous moon hung above a black and silver sea and Drinkwater found Frey, an even blacker figure, wrapped in his cloak. At Drinkwater's appearance Frey detached himself from the weather rigging.
'Good evening, sir.'
'Mr Frey, would you take a turn or two with me?'
The two men fell in step beside one another and exchanged some general remarks about the weather. The wind held steadily from the north-west and the pale moonlight threw their shadows across the planking of the quarterdeck to merge with those of the rigging and sails. These moved back and forth as Andromeda worked steadily to windward, pitching easily and giving a comfortable, easy roll to leeward.
'It's a beautiful night, Mr Frey'
'It is, sir.'
'I am sorry that your duty kept you from joining me for dinner, but,' Drinkwater lowered his voice, 'truth to tell, I wanted to sound Ashton about Marlowe. I understand the first lieutenant is betrothed to Ashton's sister ...'
'Ah, that is not known in the wardroom,' Frey said, reflectively.
'That is unusual.'
'But not', said Frey with some emphasis, 'if you had a reason for not wanting the matter known publicly'
'You mean, if neither party wanted it known?' queried Drinkwater, intrigued and wondering what Frey was driving at.
'Neither party would want it generally gossiped about if, on the one hand, one did not want the matter to progress; and, on the other, one feared that it would not come to the desired conclusion.'
'Oh, I see,' chuckled Drinkwater. 'You mean Ashton disapproves and Marlowe wishes it.'
'Quite the opposite,' replied Frey, and Drinkwater found himself realizing that Ashton's behaviour did not square with his own hypothesis. 'Ashton wants it,' said Frey, 'but Marlowe does not.'
'Now I come to think of it,' Drinkwater replied, aware the wine had made him dull-witted, Ashton seemed keen enough, but what exactly are you hinting at?'
'I may be incorrect, sir, but I believe Ashton has his claws into Marlowe and whatever part Miss Ashton has to play in all this, it would ultimately be to Ashton's advantage.'
'There was some allusion to wealth ...'
'A considerable inheritance from his father, and, if one can believe the shrewd lobster,' it took Drinkwater a moment to realize Frey was referring to Hyde, 'there is money on his mother's side too.'
'Well, well, well,' Drinkwater said, lapsing into silence for a while as the two men paced between the carronade just abaft the starboard hance, turned and strode back again towards the taffrail and its motionless marine sentry. 'So how has Ashton achieved this ascendancy?'
'According to Hyde, by the normal manner.'
'You mean the lady has anticipated events?'
'I'd say they had both anticipated events, sir,' Frey remarked drily.
'But if Hyde knows of this scandal, how is the matter not known of in the wardroom?'
'I did not say the scandal was not known about, sir,' said Frey, 'I said the betrothal was not common knowledge.'
'So you did, so you did. I should have been more alert to the subtleties of the affair.' Drinkwater was faintly amused by the matter. 'Now I perceive the effect our diversion into the Atlantic has on all parties,' he remarked, 'not least on poor Miss Ashton.' And in the darkness beside him he heard Frey chuckle.
And as if to chide him for their lack of charity, Drinkwater's tooth twinged excruciatingly.
The frigate settled into her night routine. One watch was turning in, another was already in their hammocks, and the so-called idlers, who had laboured throughout the day, were enjoying a brief period of leisure. The cooks, the carpenter and his mates, many of the marines whose duties varied from those of the seamen, chatted and smoked or engaged in the sailor's pastimes of wood-whittling or knotting.
A few read, and although there were not many books on the berth-deck other than the technical works on navigation which were occasionally perused by the midshipmen, Sergeant McCann was known to have a small box of battered volumes which he had picked up from various sources. His most recent acquisition, Miss Austen's novel, purchased new and which Lieutenant Hyde was so enjoying, was just one of those which he had bought before the ship had sailed. McCann himself, though he had admired the work, had found its reminders of domestic life too painful. At the same time that he had bought Pride and Prejudice, he had also acquired a second-hand copy of Stedman's monumental history of the first American War, that struggle for independence which had rendered men like McCann homeless. And although McCann had avoided too often reflecting upon the past, Stedman's partiality for the loyalist cause reopened old wounds.
As a consequence of reading Stedman's book, McCann was unable to avoid the workings of memory and take refuge in his hitherto successful ploy of submerging the past in the present. Moreover, such were McCann's circumstances, that the book shook his sense of loyalty. He had nothing against Lieutenant Hyde, in fact he liked his commanding officer and enjoyed the freedom of action Hyde's inertia allowed him. But it had been officers like Hyde, indolent, careless and selfish, who had degraded his mother and debauched his young sister. He now heartily wished he had not picked up the two heavy volumes of Stedman's works, but having done so, his conscience goaded him unmercifully. Could he not have done more for his mother and sister? He had come to London to seek compensation in order to return to America and rehabilitate his unfortunate dependants, but there had been no money to be gained, and in order to survive he had eventually returned to the only profession war had taught him: soldiering. He had joined the marines with some vague idea that by going to sea he would be the more likely to get back to his native land, though this had proved a nonsense. Year had succeeded year and he had had to abandon hope and find a means to live.
He was no longer a young man; his eyesight was failing and he could not read the pernicious book without a glass. The physical infirmity prompted the thought that time was running out, and while he entertained no doubt that his mother had long since died, he often and guiltily wondered about his sister. But a man who has adopted a mode of acting and made of it the foundation of his existence does not abandon it at once. Indeed, he discovers it is extremely difficult to throw off, so subject to habit does he become. Thus Sergeant McCann at first only indulged in an intellectual rebellion, regarding both Lieutenant Hyde and his own position in relation to his superior officer with a newly jaundiced eye. It was a situation which had, as yet, nothing further to motivate it beyond an underlying discontent. Indeed, McCann was subject to the conflicting emotion of self-contempt, regarding himself as author of his own misery and attributing the abandonment of his sister to base cowardice, ignoring his original motives for leaving North America.