April 1st 2002

An old fashioned doorbell tinkled above her head when she pushed on the heavy door and entered the dark premises beyond. It was a real curiosity shop, calling itself an antique store, but really little more than a confusion of tat and jumble. She loved places like this. Sometimes little gems could be discovered amongst all the worthless junk and the thrill of the hunt for a bargain was always a great pull.

The shop smelled of mildew and rot, dust and cobwebs. Sophie began to turn over great piled-up heaps in boxes all labeled rather euphemistically, as if they were hosting rare antiques instead of unwanted rubbish. An assorted collection of mismatched costume jewellery and broken adornments was called "Jewels". A heap of crockery, many chipped and broken was: "China ware" and so on. There was a rail in one corner with old clothes on hangers, the smell of moth balls strong. Its sign, lettered on old card with the edges yellowing, said "Antique Designer wear." Sophie smiled to herself, but raked through the dozens of old robes despite herself.

This was her business. Sophie Smithers was a costumier who worked freelance in film and TV production, mostly in the field of costume drama, and often scoured such places for ideas and old dresses, or suits she could rip apart and rebuild. She had come down to Portsmouth with an eye to picking up naval memorabilia from the countless little shops or auctions held down here which might just turn up a valuable original of the period she was researching. Her latest commission was for a film set in 1805, a sea faring drama.

Suddenly her eye was caught by one outfit. It was a dress, probably early nineteenth century by its design- so, right period. The striking feature, the one that immediately took her attention, was its perfect condition. It was clean, if a little musty, and the cloth was sturdy and well-shaped, no real sign of wear or aging. Sophie lifted it off the rack and held it to the light. The dress was of a flowery gingham, little yellow daisies on a cream and white checked background, a simple cut, button front, lacy collar, full gathered skirt. Pretty but simple. The typical dress of a middle class woman for day wear. How had it survived in such pristine condition? She looked carefully at the seams to check if it was indeed some modern reproduction, not an original at all, but it seemed to be authentic- the hand sewing and the thread thicker than modern yarns told her what she needed to know. What a find!

"You want to buy, Miss?" An old gentleman who seemed as mothballed and musty as the contents of the shop itself hobbled over to where she stood. "There's a place for changing if you want to try it on..."

Sophie did not wish to try it on. In fact the idea had never occurred to her but, no sooner had he said it, than she suddenly decided that was exactly what she wished for. Following him to the rather dilapidated Japanese screen that served as a partition, she dipped behind and slipped off her jeans and jumper before easing on the delicate dress, aware that no matter how well preserved it was, the item was two hundred years old and could easily be torn or frayed.

It fitted. Perfectly. As she buttoned up the last of the pearl fasteners and smoothed down the skirt, she caught her reflection in the mirror. On a whim she piled up her shoulder length hair, fashionably straightened, and secured it with the clip that she had worn to hold it back. A smile crept over her pretty features. She looked so demure and ladylike that it amused her. Her pale skin, without benefit of makeup, and the simple hair style gave her that delicate complexion of an Austen lady, her slim frame and high bosom suiting the style of the gown. Perhaps she was meant to be a woman of an earlier time, little suited for this era of lithe athletic gym-hardened women who sought careers in more assertive professions than needlework and dressmaking.

"How's it look, Miss?" She heard the voice of the old proprietor from the other side of the screen.

"Rather fetching actually," Sophie grinned and stepped out to give him a twirl. The old man smiled and gave her a courtly bow.

"Suits you to a T, Miss. You look a proper lady and no mistake!"

Just then, Sophie's eye was taken by a display cabinet above his head which contained some more expensive items. Nestled at the front was a rather splendid fob watch, an intricately etched gold case on a chain. She thought it must be very old and was eager to have a look at it.

"Could I trouble you for a look at the watch in the case as well?"

The old man turned and smiled, seeming pleased that she had recognized it. "Ahhh yes! Now that is a rather special item. A beauty." He eased it from the case and placed it gently in her hands. "Two hundred years old and not a mark on it- still keeps perfect time. But these sea clocks are all the same. Made to last they were..."

Sophie turned the heavy gold case over in her hands, tracing the filigree engraving with her thumb and enjoying the tactile feel of the worn old timepiece, imagining the hands that had done the same over two centuries. She flipped up the cover and checked the time- dead on the nail- and then held the casing up to the light to read the faint engraved legend:

How romantic! A woman to her lover - a keepsake. "He was a sea captain- quite a hero of the Napoleonic wars, I believe. I expect it was given when he sailed off to war..." The old gentleman explained.

Sophie smiled fondly at it and imagined a young woman having to say farewell to some dashing hero on the quayside and pressing this into his hands as she kissed him goodbye, wondering whether he would return to her or if both man and watch might lie at the bottom of the sea in a watery grave....tears came to her eyes at the thought of the dramatic scene. "Have you any other items from this period? I am especially interested in old clothing or even buttons, belts, anything of the time. Particularly naval memorabilia..." she asked him as she continued to play with the watch and think of her little daydream. Jack and Sophie...her name, too...how delightful!

In answer to her query, the shopkeeper reached up and began to pull down a box on a high shelf muttering something about a collection of buttons and other insignia. It was a little too high for him and, as he reached up, he accidentally dislodged another heavier wooden box which fell and......

Sophie opened her eyes and felt the thumping pain of a head wound. A trickle of something warm ran down the back of her neck and she instinctively knew it was blood. Her eyes swam; she felt nauseous and the light was dazzling her. Light? She squinted and looked upwards and saw a blue sky and a bright sun. How had she wound up outside? Where was the shop?  Raising herself tentatively to her feet, realizing that she was slumped against a stone wall and lying on cobbles, she began to pay attention to her surroundings. Her brain was fuzzy and unclear but even in that state she could see that something was very wrong. Was she hallucinating? Concussed? Would she be able to think that clearly if she were?

But she had to be dreaming. The streets of modern Portsmouth were gone and she was standing in some older town, cobbled lanes, quaint old ramshackle buildings, refuse and dirt piled up, horses pulling carts and carriages and people walking about in costume. She must be unconscious and dreaming of the film. That must be it!

Leaning a hand on the stone flagging of the building behind her, she shook her head but felt her knees begin to buckle again as her head rang with the thudding pain. She wondered how bad the blood loss was and tried to stem the flow with a hand to her head. At that moment she heard a loud voice behind her: "Madame? Are you indisposed? What may I do to be of service?"

Sophie turned and tried to answer but the dancing lights of a faint obscured her vision and no sound emitted from her mouth. She merely crumpled along the wall, slithering to the ground saved only by the strong hands that gripped her and swung her up into his arms.

Jack Aubrey reacted instinctively as the young woman fell to the ground, gathering her up and pulling her into his embrace. Heaving her higher still so that his purchase was secure, he walked forward towards the harbour, immediately aiming for his particular friend, Stephen Maturin.

Perhaps a little explanation is required at this point in the tale? Our intrepid rescuer, the saviour of our damsel in distress, was none other than Captain John Aubrey of His Majesty's Royal Navy, recently awarded command of the sloop Vincenjo after an enquiry exonerated him of blame for the loss of his first ship Sophie the previous year. This was a temporary command, replacing a captain who had been seconded to a flotilla for a period of time as Commodore but would return in a few months to reclaim his ship.

Aubrey was a larger than life character, tall, burly, handsome in a raw and seamanly fashion, no better educated than he needed to be and rather an embarrassment in society. He was cursed with an eccentric and unpopular father who generally opposed the mainstream of his own class and had virtually threatened Jack's chance of inheritance by marrying and breeding a second family with a dairy maid (who was, interestingly enough, one of Jack's own youthful conquests).

John 'Lucky Jack' Aubrey was also bedeviled by a rather unfortunate sense of humour that invariably missed the mark and, added to his father's dubious reputation, had caused him some problems of his own in society. As a sailor, he was second to none- an exceptionally gifted navigator, as brave as a lion, a natural leader of men and an unquestioning believer in the honour of The Service. His greatest downfall, apart from his tendency to open his mouth and put his foot in it, however, was his taste for the finer things of life- food, wine and women. He rarely seemed to get his fill of any. Most of his worst mistakes on land had been made when he was overindulging in food and the grape, not to mention his taste for other men's wives.

Aboard the sloop was Aubrey's good friend and shipmate,  Dr.Stephen Maturin, as unlikely a companion to the sanguine and fiery Aubrey as you could imagine. The doctor was a thin and abstemious man, highly educated and of a rather academic and scholarly nature. He was a surgeon and physician of rare skill and knowledge, unusual aboard ships of the line, an agent of the British crown (a fact that even Jack himself was yet to discover), a naturalist of some renown, a longtime addict of laudanum and, perhaps most surprising of all given his relationship with a High Tory like the Captain, an illegitimate Anglo- Irish whose father was a Catalan, making him both Catholic and a bastard, both Irish and Spanish- a singularly unfortunate ancestry for a man in the services of the British Crown at that time.

And so our brave naval officer made his way through alleyways deep in mud and sewage, stepping daintily over dead dogs and rotting refuse to wend his way down to the dockside with his precious cargo in hand. The woman was in a deep faint, dead to the world in fact, her pretty head flopping delicately against his expansive chest and a steady drip of bright red blood staining his shirt.

Gaining the harbour, Jack called out in his booming voice for assistance from some of his men who were loitering by the quay chatting to doxies supposedly selling wares (when in fact their real commodity was a far more inviting prospect to a lonely sailor than a small bunch of lavender flowers). "Bonden! Plaice! Look lively, men. Bring the boat up close...I have a woman here in need of attention!"

The two men shot up at the bellowing voice and tipped their forelocks, still managing, however, to mutter beneath their breath, "I thought the captain could manage a woman all on his own, if rumour be true!" But no such ribaldry was spoken in the Captain's hearing, of course. Instead they replied:

"Aye, aye Cap'n. Step along this way and we'll have you aboard in no time...watch your step, sir, there's a bit of water on the gangway..."

Jack negotiated his passage from land to sea with a dainty sidestep wholly unexpected in a man of his weight and girth. Sitting down, he rested his burden on the wooden bench and asked for something on which to rest the lady's head. Bonden passed him a rough blanket; he folded it before easing it beneath her slender white neck. The other seamen gathered around to gaze upon the sight.

"Back away, gentlemen, give her air!" Jack insisted. "I found her in distress upon the street and thought straight away of the doctor. He will know what to do for her, if any man can."

"That's prodigious kind of you, sir. What a gentleman you are, to be sure!" grinned Bonden, nudging his companion with a sly grin.

Jack did not notice the look of amusement the men gave him, so wrapped up was he in the woman displayed helplessly before him. He was concerned about her head wound, the length of time she had been unconscious and feared a serious concussion. "She is a delicate little thing and has lost a great deal of blood. I believe it may be necessary to loosen her corsets, for women are generally so tightly laced that normal breathing is often restricted..." Jack unfastened some of the tiny pearl buttons at the front of her dress.

"Sir, ain't her corsets a bit lower down?" asked Bonden, all innocence.

The Captain cleared his throat. "Just so, Barrett, just so, but I dare say that a little bit of air to her...bows... will aid her revival. Heave to, lads, we haven't a moment to lose. This woman is in dire need of attention."

The men set to the oars and pulled the boat around, heading out for their ship moored some distance away. They exchanged glances but kept their views to themselves, unwilling to risk the wrath of their captain who, although a jovial and tolerant man, could give vent to awesome temper if crossed. Meanwhile the said captain fussed and primped around the comatose female, doing little of any good, but attempting much. His eyes kept straying to the pale flesh exposed by the buttons he had undone and the gentle rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed in her sleep. She was a slender girl, light as a feather, but ably favoured in the chest area, a facet of particular interest to Jack Aubrey. Her face, although white and drained of blood, no doubt from her present condition, was exquisitely wrought: fair unblemished skin, pert up-tilted nose and a full rose-pink mouth, ripe for kissing...Jack shook the highly inappropriate thought from his mind and tried to think of something other than her lily white neck, the pulse beating at her throat, the stray tumble of her chestnut hair...He shifted slightly in his seat and squeezed his thighs together at the first stirring of his manhood. "Goddamned prick," he thought to himself, "Not now! This is neither the time nor the place for importunate behaviour!"

Luckily the boat was drawing close to the Vincenjo and Jack rose to his feet, his balance impeccable as always even on the bobbing wave. "Shake a leg, there...send down a chair and look lively, man!" he shouted to the seaman who manned the ladder. While the lady was strapped inside and swung as gently as possible over the rail, Jack nimbly sheared up the rope ladder and was soon aboard awaiting her arrival. "Gently does it...watch her, you damned fool, she's already injured, do you want to finish her off, you clumsy oaf! Lower her down, down...gently... there she goes...easy now..." And he claimed her as she reached the side, easing her over and unfastening the ties, to sweep her into his arms again and hurry her down to the orlop.

"What's all the palaver?" Lt. Pullings sauntered down to see what the noise was about. "Why did no one pipe the Captain on deck?"

"Sorry, sir, but we had an emergency there. Captain bringing a lady aboard...he found her in the street..." Bonden replied, with a wink to his mates.

"A what? A woman? Aboard?" Pullings choked back the comment, aware that it was completely unacceptable to remark upon the captain's behaviour, particularly before the men, but his face said it all. Jack Aubrey, albeit a womanizer of a sizeable carnal appetite, was famed for his absolute refusal to allow women on board - and he kept strictly to that rule himself. On land, so rumour had it, he had women in every port and was rarely more than a half hour off the ship after a long voyage before his breeches were off and some lady was receiving his singular gifts- but not at sea. There, he was as chaste as a maid and expected the same of his men. Surely he hadn't fallen prey to Venus' temptations in so public a fashion?

Jack kicked open the door to the orlop where the doctor was quietly sorting through a tray of tiny insects; Maturin started at the noise and scattered all his exhibits.

"Good God, man, will you not enter with more decorum!" he snapped as he shot round to find Jack lowering a young woman onto his table. His natural instinct as a healer choked off any further retort as he lurched forward to assess this unexpected patient.

"Who is she?" Stephen asked as he gave her a cursory examination, looking carefully at the head wound that had now stopped bleeding but was still a rather deep and nasty abrasion.

Jack shook his head. "I have no idea. I was walking along George Street and she simply swayed and slithered to the ground. Luckily I caught her before she could do more damage. She seems to have no cloak or hat, no purse- I wonder was she robbed? There are some scurvy dogs around those streets, I'll warrant - they are hardly fit for man nor beast to walk on!"

"Then, pray tell, why was Captain Aubrey in that vicinity on this fine morning?" Stephen muttered as he attended to his patient.

Jack cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. "Er...I was simply taking a shortcut through one of the back alleys on my way to the port offices..." he blustered.

"Hmm... strange route...but then you are the master navigator, to be sure," Stephen added and smiled wryly to himself, well aware that Jack would have been off in pursuit of a private chamber in one of his favourite bawdy houses and a few wenches to feed him and give him the benefit of their tender flesh.

Jack paced about nervously, fidgeting with his waistcoat and rubbing at the bloodstains, coughing and beginning to speak and then thinking better of it. He was so patently ill at ease that the good doctor could not help but goad him further. "So Jack...you want to be surgeon's mate, today, do ye? And here am I thinking that the very sight and smell of this place is abhorrent to you. Roll up your sleeves and hold this wound together while I assemble my instruments - I think I may have to relieve the swelling by trepanning..."

"I beg your pardon? Is it so serious? Well, if I must...but I would rather simply observe if I may..."

"No Jack- you may not. Out, out, out...you are a man and this is a gentle woman. Think of her modesty! Although I warrant you have already seen more than is fitting of her if this deshabille is anything to judge by!"

"Sir, I resent that implication. She needed air, I merely loosened her tight clothing."

"Very thoughtful of you, Jack. And would you have done the same were she fifteen stone and toothless?" he asked sardonically.

Jack grunted. "Indeed, sir, I would. I am Christian. Although I would have asked for a cart to push her in were she such a size..." At that the two men caught each other's expressions and broke into laughter. "You misjudge me, Stephen, but I must admit, she is as fair a flower as I ever picked up on the streets of Portsmouth, to be sure," Jack added with a rogueish smile.

"Well, this women is no wench...I am sure of it, so curb your ardour, man. Now get out and let me to my trade."

Jack rubbed his hands together. "You are sure...you do not need to me help undo her stays.." Stephen raised his head and gave Jack a stern look. The captain cleared his throat. "That was merely a quip, Stephen, so there is no need to appraise me in that disapproving fashion...merely a jollity...well, I shall be outside then. Call if you need me...as you know, I have some experience in the anatomy of women..."

"OUT!" shouted Stephen as Jack bent his head to step from the doorway into the space beyond. "And close the damned curtain behind ye'."

Jack sat down on an upturned barrel in the outer room and rested his hands on his knees. He had planned this day rather differently, having expected by now to be tucked up in the back room of Mrs. Molly Merriwether's rather choice house of ill repute along with some of her more comely girls. He thought of Primrose and her enormous bosoms and the full pert apple-like buttocks of Flora- a singularly charming duet he had enjoyed on several occasions...

But then there was this fragrant little flower who had fallen on such hard times. The unknown lady was quite lovely. Her smell still assailed his nostrils. A wonderful scent, one that seemed to radiate from every part of her and most noticeably from between her lovely breasts. Jack contemplated the aroma. It was vaguely floral, a hint of spice, a touch of fruit, clean and fresh, invigorating and sensual...He was a man who had a taste for life- a gargantuan appetite for food, wine, women, danger- and all his senses responded to the prospect of a feast of any one of his driving needs. But he was also an honourable man, often beleagured by his conscience- even if rarely inhibited by it.

This woman may have been lingering on a street in the worst part of a rather infamous port, but she appeared to be a gentlewoman, of that he had no doubt. Her condition and state suggested that she had fallen on hard times or maybe was the victim of a cruel assault or perchance some blackguard had tried to molest her and she had escaped but not without suffering some outrageous offence to her person. Jack felt his anger at this nameless attacker rise and his fist clenched and thumped into his other palm instinctively. He would like to show such a man what he thought of this outrage.

Whoever she was, she was in good hands now, safe on his ship with the good doctor to care for her injuries and he himself to be her champion. He would make it his business to offer his protection to her, find her family and return her safely to them. It was only fitting behaviour for a gentleman and a naval officer. He wondered whether she was affianced or even married...and then wondered why he was even considering that. It was unworthy. He was almost betrothed himself - or would be if that old dragon Mrs. Williams would give her blessing to his suit...damn, if he lost this prize in the court action...he would lose Sophie with it....Jack's mind began to wander to his other problems.

And he had plenty of those. There was the matter of his courtship of the fair Sophie Williams whose mother believed him unworthy and without prospects. There was the list of creditors that were hounding him- gambling debts, repairs to his ship that he had to fund himself until his enormous prizes, won for his taking of the Cacafuego, were released to him from Chancery( his right to them was being challenged on several grounds). Then there was the matter of the inquiry into his losing the sloop, Sophie, his first command, and whether his negligence or lack of experience had contributed to that. Then there was his father who had made a complete and utter fool of himself in the Lords and, to make it worse still, had launched into an anti- Navy tirade which was bound to affect how the Sea Lords considered his son's current situation. Then there was the damned Peace of Amiens- no war- how was he ever to make his mark? Then this command only temporary- and then what? Ashore on half pay? How could he live? How could he even think to marry? How he could bear the boredom of the landlubber's life? How could he evade debtors' prison? Would he ever get his own ship?

But Jack Aubrey was not a man given for long to melancholy or introspection. He would think on his woes and then he would make a decision- accept what he must and then turn to the matter in hand and put the rest aside. It was a mark of his personality that was both advantage and disadvantage. Not for him the drooping of spirits and the sad bemoaning of his lot. But inevitably his skill at conveniently forgetting led to more problems- gambling, money wasting, foolish investments, romancing another man's wife or the calling out for a duel. To be sure- he led an eventful life!

He began to think about the night ahead. He had a supper engagement. With Diana Villiers. That brought a smile to his face and a remarkable lightning of his mood. Ah an evening with a rather free spirited woman like Mrs. Villiers and a chance to savour passion in a woman's arms! It served Mrs. Williams right. She wished to deny him her daughter- well he would have her niece and not even need to bow his head beneath the yoke of matrimony to get her. Jack knew that was an unworthy thought but- Diana was a willing participant- a widow ,so she claimed, so she had no virtue to protect and was merely taking her pleasure freely whilst keeping her eye out for a rich husband. Jack Aubrey would never do, of course - unless for peeling away her undergarments and giving her the rogering of her life. For that Diana appeared to regard him eminently favoured.

Inside the medical room, Stephen applied himself to the patient before him. First he opened up her dress and felt beneath her skirts for evidence of over-laced corsetry. Surprisingly there was none. In fact this young woman was almost naked, save for a strip of cloth across her breasts, fastened by some unusual hooks, and some tiny covering to her sex. Perhaps she had been importuned by some rogue and lost her nether garments, only managing to escape with her outer clothing but still sustaining a blow to the head? Concerned now, Stephen gave her a more intimate examination but there was no evidence of male semen or indeed recent penetration. She was not a virgin, however, nor had she ever born a child; he wondered what that said about her?

Despite his doctor's professional detachment, as a man it was difficult not to be affected in some wise by the naked woman whose body he was invading. She was a beauty. Her long dark hair spilled over the table- it was remarkably straight but shone like polished metal and smelt of apples. She was of more than average height compared to most women and extremely slender- far more than was usual and yet did not look undernourished or of poor health. But she certainly had no need of corsets. Her breasts were full and high, rose pink nipples on soft pale skin and she was exceptionally clean- from her dainty polished fingernails down to her painted toenails there was not one single blemish or stain - she might have been dipped in a bath moments prior.

The doctor listened to her heart and as he leaned on in, her fragrance assailed him- quite intoxicating loveliness, a perfume he had never sampled before. Carrying on his examination, he noted her flat belly, toned almost as a fit young man, and the dark curls about her sex. They were curiously sparse, almost as though she has shaped them neatly- merely a narrow patch of hair which barely concealed the delicate pink rosebud of her womanhood. On to her legs, smooth and polished, not a hair to be found- almost like a child's- but shapely and slender- such a tiny ankle too, even though her feet were quite large. Altogether he remarked to himself that he had rarely seen such a healthy and perfect specimen of feminine pulchritude, despite the fact that she was quite unconscious to the world. He took a large blanket, aware that it was coarse for such tender skin, and covered over her nakedness.

Examining her dress, he found one item tucked into the pocket. A watch. A man's fobwatch. Curious now, he inspected it for an engraving but the watch appeared to be brand new and contained no name or inscription. His acute mind was turning over all the clues and he was drawing some disturbing conclusions. This woman might be rather more interesting to him than she first appeared- there was intrigue here, of that he was convinced, and he wondered in passing whether it was coincidence or intent that had caused this lady to fall in a faint at the feet of his friend, Jack.

Removing the cork from a phial of sal volatile, Stephen waved it beneath the nostrils of the woman to revive her; she coughed and spluttered, shaking her head from side to side, her little nose wrinkling with disgust. He moistened a cloth with water and wiped it gently across her forehead. The woman gasped and stared at him, her hands grabbing at the blanket and pulling it around her as she realized her state of undress. Her eyes were wide with fear; she surveyed him and then looked about her, seemingly shocked at her surroundings. He was not surprised- she must wonder how she had found herself aboard a man o' war.

"Do not fret, my dear, or distress yourself. You are in safe hands. You suffered a mishap on the streets and have been brought here so that I can render medical assistance. Dr. Stephen Maturin, at your service. If I may just attend to this rather deep wound upon your scalp..."

The woman said nothing but let him clean and dress the wound, wincing slightly and then crying out softly when he dabbed it with iodine. He was relieved to ascertain that it was a clean wound, wide but not so bad as he had initially feared; he left it open, aware that a woman would not willingly submit her hair to be shaven the easier to bind it but also recognizing that her thick, clean hair would no doubt protect the wound just as well.

"You have been very brave, Madame. However, there may be a measure of concussion and I would prefer to observe you for the next day to ascertain that your progress gives no further cause for concern. Head injuries can be tiresomely unpredictable and I will take no chances with you, ma'am. If you will permit me I should like to discuss this with the captain and endeavour to arrange a suitable berth for the night- you cannot possibly be moved far at the moment..."

"Berth? The captain? Is this a ship?" It was the first words she had spoken.

"Why yes, my dear! This is a ship, don't you know? A warship commanded by one Captain John Aubrey of His Majesty's Royal Navy..."

"His Majesty's?" She asked, her voice appearing astonished.

"Why yes, indeed. His Majesty, King George.'

"King George?"

Stephen frowned. The woman appeared to speak English like a native, if with a slightly loose pronunciation, and yet seemed unaware of simple facts. Ah! Perhaps a touch of hypomnesia! "May I ask you ...do you remember your name?"

The woman looked at him, a bewildered expression on her face. "My name is Sophie," she whispered as if she had only just recalled it.

"And the date...my dear...do you know the date?"

Sophie paused and looked about her once again. "No, I do not remember...What is the date?"

Stephen patted her hand. "Be not afraid. These conditions are invariably temporary. Today is the twelfth day of March,1802."

He heard the woman's sharp intake of breath; she raised a hand to her head. "OH MY GOD!" was her rather melodramatic response before she sank back, closed her eyes as if to blot out a nightmare and turned her head to the wall.

The doctor stepped outside and found Jack waiting, deep in thought. "It is as I suspected. No fracture of the cranium but a heavy concussion and some affect on memory. It is essential that I observe her carefully for signs of subcranial haemorrhage. She needs rest and tender care, Jack- and the infirmary will not suffice- it simply won't do. There are men here and it will not be congenial - or seemly- for a genteel woman such as Miss Sophie..."

"Sophie?" Jack interrupted. "Her name is Sophie? Well, I'll be damned if that name does not seem to dog me wherever I go." He seemed disgruntled and Stephen knew why. His tentative love affair with the comely but rather straight-laced Miss Sophie Williams was not faring well. Sophie was diffident and vacillating, her mother was adamantly opposed to the alliance and Stephen himself was unsure exactly why Jack was so persistent in wooing a young woman who was so evidently of an opposite nature to his own. It was Stephen's belief that the true cause was some sort of reaction to his recent affair with the winsome, if entirely amoral, Mrs. Molly Harte. Jack had fallen and she had hurt him badly. As a result, he had had his fill of calculating women of passion and fire - now he wanted the comparative safety of a quiet and simple wife. Sophie was beautiful- quite lovely in her pale English Rose way- but she was a rather namby-pamby girl with a hint of the shrew behind her gentle manner. Stephen already nursed doubts as to whether they were ideally suited.

"...But naturally if her condition requires her to be kept abed then she must remain here. I will arrange for my quarters to be at her disposal- there is nowhere else suitable on board for a lady. She can have my cot and I'll have Killick sling a hammock for me in the great room...or perhaps I will sleep ashore tonight...yes...that would be more appropriate..." Jack added. Stephen was hardly fooled by Jack's sudden act of charity. He imagined there was some amorous assignation already on the cards for his lusty friend.

"Thank you, Jack, much obliged. I will have the lady transferred...you wouldn't have a spare night shirt as well that I could give her to wear, could ye? Her dress is bloodstained and in need of laundering and I'm afraid none of mine are in a decent condition..."

Jack shrugged and told Stephen to ask Killick to look one out - he was damned if he knew where such garments were kept.

Sophie Smithers opened her eyes and this time found herself, some hours later, in a tiny chamber lying in a narrow wooden bed with rather high sides. The entire space was fabricated from wood, sparsely furnished with nothing but the cot, a small bedside table and a large trunk. There were a few tiny bare windows, a low ceiling and several candles, one by the bed and others in lanterns strung along the walls.

By the dim light cast by the window, Sophie estimated that it was late afternoon and the slight surge of motion confirmed her notion that this was indeed a ship as the 'doctor' who had attended to her before had said. Raising herself groggily to sit up, clasping her aching head, she clumsily pulled back the sheets and found herself dressed in a white frilly gown - something like a hospital nightdress but very large and sort of fussy - frilled down the front with lots of pleats and tucks. It was rather like a nineteenth century night shirt...Sophie looked at it more closely. She had been researching exactly this kind of garment for the film and had even worked on a similar production piece only last week...

Running her hands down the front, she searched for the giveaway sign and found it. Good God! The vent! The whole team had been highly amused by the thought of these upstanding gentlemen threading their hardons through the discreet hole in the front of their voluminous nighties to have at their poor wives, who were supposed to lie back and think of sons for the Empire... 'Oh God! This can't be real.' She groaned again. 'This cannot be 1802. I must have some weird concussion and be hallucinating. Like an extending feverish dream brought on by that watch and the dress and thinking about the film...'

Easing herself off the cot, she sat while trying to let her swimming head settle and pinching herself to try and wake up. She was sure she was actually in Portsmouth General Hospital and probably out for the count. Sinking her face into her hands, she tried to will herself to: 'WAKE UP, YOU SILLY COW!!' but when she removed her hands she was still there, stuck in this crazy nightmare.

Looking about she began to take more notice of her surroundings. On the table next to her was a book, 'Advanced Principles of Geodesic Navigation'. What? Hardly bed time reading. Sophie picked it up and flicked through. It was a really old volume with a typical copperplate engraved frontispiece,  bearing an elaborate banner wreathed in nymphs and set on a Globe with the title of the book elegantly lettered inside. The strange thing was that, although this was clearly a first edition of a very ancient text (she noted this from the typeset, the quality of the paper, the tooled leather binding and the whole layout) the book seemed quite new. There was no sign of mildew or the browning of the edges of the page that you expect in such tomes. Sophie screwed her nose up and read a little. It was bloody boring anyway so she soon shrugged and closed it. The owner must be a bit of a geek if this was the best thing he could think of doing in bed.

Placing the book back down, she saw a half consumed glass of red wine in a crystal goblet. The owner must have retired to bed with his book and a nightcap. Wonder who he was? Why did she think it was a he? Somehow Sophie knew that it was a he. That made her search for confirmation and she soon found it. Standing by the wall was a pair of men's knee-high black leather boots. They looked something like riding boots. She slipped off the bed and picked one up. The man had large feet; she grinned to herself at that piece of information.

On the wall by her head she also noticed a sword resting on a frame; she eased it off and took a closer scrutiny. It was a fearsome object, polished and honed- a real sabre that looked authentic to the period of the late eighteenth/early nineteenth century. Sophie returned it carefully to its perch. If this was a dream, then it was a bloody accurate one.

There was a door ahead and she stumbled over to it, still a little unsteady, the bare wood cold on her naked feet and scuffing slightly against the rough planking. She looked down at herself in the shapeless gown; it hung open at the front where she was too narrow for the shoulders- the seams hung half way down her arms. It was long and dwarfed most of her, just her calves and ankles peeking out below the hem.

Sophie caught her reflection in a small shaving mirror on the wall above a high table which had an empty bowl, jug and some rather rudimentary shaving equipment: cutthroat razor, chunk of some sort of soap and a soft brush. The implements were all set in solid silver handles elegantly wrought and carrying the inscription 'J.A.' in flowery lettering. So the owner of this room was definitely a man, just as she had suspected.

The mirror revealed her own distressed state; she pulled a face. Her hair was a mess, hanging matted with blood round her pale and sickly cheeks. She brushed it back with her hands and cried out when she accidentally touched the cut at the base of her scalp. With some difficulty she took a look in the mirror and saw that, although it was pretty nasty, it was sealed and covered in iodine. This dream was curiously careful about details. But why no butterfly stitch?

Feeling a little more composed and curious by now to find out what else this strange reverie was going to reveal, Sophie decided to find out what was beyond the door. Pushing on the heavy oak, she stepped over the raised frame into the room beyond and stopped dead. A man was standing by a large wide bow-type window, staring out at the sea.

He was tallish with broad shoulders, clad in a loose white shirt, such as some swashbuckler might wear, over cream knee breeches, stained here and there, the buttons on the knee fastening popped. His legs were encased in white stockings; his feet were shoeless. From what she could see of him, his hair was long and blond, caught in an untidy pony tail and his hands were behind his back, his thick fingers drumming as if in some imagined rhythm.

"Oh, I'm sorry...I didn't know anyone was here..."

The man spun round on his heel, appearing momentarily shocked. His hands went to his hips, from where he affected a rather precious pose, elbows akimbo, appraising her with a stern expression on his face. Sophie caught her breath. He was simply gorgeous- breathtaking- magnificent. Strong handsome face, swarthy and unshaved, bronzed and rugged, bright blue eyes, prominent nose and a fleshy mouth, now set in a rather cute pout, his chin raised assertively. Only the rather limpid quality in his eyes and the blinking of his long lashes seemed to suggest he might not be quite master of himself at this moment - no matter how commanding he appeared.

Sophie surveyed his body. His chest was wide and the unfastened dress shirt revealed a manly peppering of hair. The garment hung loose over his tight breeches but the swell of the pouch just visible beneath the shirt seemed to suggest he was exceptionally blessed in that quarter. To Sophie, he seemed to be the epitome of prime male - a sight she rarely got to see these days among the rather pathetic men that she seemed to come up against. This erotic dream might be worth the price of a sore head tomorrow morning after all.

The man seemed to pull his shoulders back even higher and knot his brow even tighter. "It is customary to knock before entering my cabin, Ma'am!" he barked rather imperiously.

Sophie blushed. "I apologise...I didn't mean to offend you. I simply didn't really know where I was..."

He pursed his lips and nodded. "Just so. No harm done...but I think it might be preferable if you repaired to my chamber and..." he coughed as if embarrassed, waving his fingers towards her in a circular motion. "...and...em...your clothing, Madame...it is somewhat...if I may say...unsuitable for my presence...."

Sophie looked down sharply at her dress. What was he going on about? "My clothing? What do you mean? This monstrosity reveals less than a nun's nightie..."

He frowned. "I beg your pardon? I'm afraid I don't smoke your meaning, Ma'am."

Suddenly a light bulb came on in Sophie's head. This bloke, hallucination or not, was some sort of Hornblower-type character, pretty much like the character in the film that she was making...in fact that's exactly who he was. Jack Aubrey, of course! God - that was the name of the captain in the film! She'd been working on his costume recently. My God- her brains must be addled not to have recognised that!  "I'm sorry...I'll leave...thank you for letting me rest in your quarters...I have been quite a nuisance, I know. I believe you found me unconscious in the street...it was very kind of you to look after me. Thank you," she added, in an embarrassed rush of words, feeling rather intimidated by this authoritative figure before her as well as bewildered by her very presence here.

He smiled paternalistically at that and stepped forward. "Forgive my rudeness. Captain John Aubrey, His Majesty's ship Vincenjo, at your service! I trust you are making a timely recovery from your unfortunate mishap." He bent down and took the hand she had extended for shaking, instead placing upon it a light kiss. As he raised his head back up, she saw his eyes stray to the opening in the front of her shirt and realized that she was revealing quite a fair amount of cleavage- and he was looking quite blatantly at her. Sophie grabbed the edges of the shirt and pulled them together.

The Captain coughed again and Sophie realized he had blushed slightly. "I think it would be more appropriate if you would confine yourself to my cabin from now on until you are fully recovered. Do not presume to enter my quarters again without an invitation and - make sure none of my men catch you in that attire. I run a tight ship, Ma'am, and it has always been a firmly held belief of mine that a ship is no place for a woman. Trouble will come of it, to be sure."

Sophie bridled at that. "Oh really? Why is that, Captain? Do you think we might tempt you to forget yourself? That you might have a quick gander at my tits while pretending to be a gentleman? Of course, I forgot, excuse my ignorance - it is always the women who cause it, isn't it? The demon women and their wiles?"

Jack Aubrey was not amused by her retort, hardly used to be challenged on either his words or behaviour by mere slips of girls. "Go back to your room and dress. Your manner is unbecoming and your opinions are of no interest to me. This is my ship - and on it I am law. This may not please headstrong girls like you, but that is not my concern. If you want to behave like a doxy then there are plenty of inns along the quay for you to ply your trade. It shall not be carried out upon my ship. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"

At that Sophie's mouth fell open. "What did you call me? A doxy? Isn't that another word for a prostitute? You bastard...who do you think you are?"

Jack's eyes flashed with anger and he rocked back on his heels. "OUT! NOW! Before I have you dumped over the side..."

Sophie turned and marched back to her room- then she stopped. "And by the way.... Talking of needing your dress rearranged. When's the last time you took a bath? Changed your soiled clothes? Washed your grimy hair? Oh, and have you checked out your groin recently - or is that some sort of naval salute?" With that she stormed back into the inner chamber and banged the door behind her.

Jack hit the desk before him in temper. To be spoken to like that by a woman! The little harridan! If he'd known she was just toting for trade he would have left her where she lay. No doubt she'd been with some poor devil and tried to help herself to his pocketbook...and he'd given her a beating. Well, it wasn't the way a gentleman should behave but no doubt she had given him enough provocation, the wanton hussy.

Just then there was a knock on the door and Stephen pushed it open a little. "May I enter, Jack?" he asked, a smile on his face.

"If you must," Jack snapped back belligerently. Stephen raised his eyebrows but said nothing, stepping into the cabin. "I was just about to check on my patient, she should be awake soon..."

"Don't bother yourself, brother. She's fully recovered and already back to business..." Jack retorted and poured himself a glass of port.

Stephen scratched his head. "I'm afraid you've lost me completely, Jack. Has the young lady annoyed you in some way?"

"Annoyed me? Yes, sir...I am most damnably hipped. The little wench barged in here without so much as a by-your-leave and proceeded to flaunt herself like some naked Venus before me...and then when I politely pointed out that she was hardly suitably attired to be in the Captain's cabin, she gave me the sharp end of her tongue. Would you warrant that? A bit of a girl turning her temper on me...! And she cursed like a port rat...and she made remarks about my personal hygiene and dress...and a lewd comment about the arrangement of my breeches..." At that both Jack and Stephen looked down at the aforementioned obstruction. The doctor repressed the urge to smile.

"Well, Jack, you are singularly embarrassed there, if I may say so...have you no linens on, man?" Jack grunted, turned round and slipped his hand down the front of his breeches to pull his manhood into line.

"Hardly fitting for a lady to point that out to a gentleman, though, wouldn't you say...unless...unless she is no lady, that is..." he eyed Stephen knowingly.

Stephen sat down and exhaled. "Jack, she has taken a blow to the head! Her memory is somewhat affected. It is entirely possible that her behaviour is the result of the injury to the cranium- such loosening of convention has been noticed in the victims of head wounds. Surely you can have more human kindness that that? And exactly how polite were you towards her? She must have been frightened out of her wits by the sight of you half dressed and shouting like a madman...shame on you, Aubrey, have you lost your wits? Or did you ever have any? Perhaps I should be examining your head not hers!" And with that, Stephen knocked gently on the inner cabin door, waited for the lady's muted response and entered.

Jack threw himself down in the chair and grimaced. His mood was not improved by the added inconvenience of a quarrel with his old friend. It was just as he always remarked. Bring a woman near a ship and you would have trouble before you could catch a rat and set its tail alight. Well, she could stay until the morrow and then she was being set ashore. Whoever she was, she wasn't his affair- he had enough tribulations of his own without adding another one. He lurched up and opened the main door, shouting loudly: "Killick? Killick? Where are you, you damned fool? Light along here - now!"

Killick trudged in moments later his normally sour countenance even more unwelcoming than ever. "I do beg your pardon, Sir. I must be slowing down with age. Fancy not anticipating your every whim even before it strikes, you. Sir."

Jack turned a stern eye on him; Killick quit his mumbling sarcasm. "Draw me a bath...no, not in here...somewhere else...no, on second thoughts I'll go to a club...get me some clean clothes...and I need to be shaved. Damnation my implements are in that doxy's way...damn and blast...Well, go on... what are you dilly dallying here for?"

"Which I was just trying to decide what I was supposed to be doing, sir. Bath? No bath? Shave? No shave? Clean clothes? Go ashore? Who the buggery knows what's in your mind from one minute to the next...?"

"I'm warning you, you old goat. Hold your tongue! Answer me back once more and I'll have you clapped in irons..." Jack threatened.

"Which would be a holiday, Sir, and no mistake... and who would fetch and carry for ye, then?" He ducked out of the door before Jack could reply.

Jack seethed. What a day! Well, at least he could hope for something to look forward to tonight. An early meal with some fellow officers at the Crown, a hand or two of piquet, and then on to a late supper with the winsome Diana Villiers. At least by the end of the day he might find some soft place in which to ease his current state of choler.

"Jack...Don't open another bottle, for pity's sake! I want a live man in my bed not a dead body..." Diana called over from the door of her dressing room later that night. He was sprawled on her bed, dressed only in his linens and about to start on his third bottle of Claret - and he had been well away when he arrived- his face florid and his gait stumbling. He looked up and surveyed her in the soft lace-edged nightgown made of a delicate sheer fabric; the light of the candle from behind made her silhouette clear against the cotton and he groaned at her voluptuous nakedness.

Resting the bottle down on the night stand, Jack leaned back on the pillows with a hooded and sensual stare. Diana watched as his manhood rose in the loose confines of his linens and smiled to herself at Jack's capacity, even when drunk, to raise his mainmast and give a more than adequate performance. Diana was very fond of Captain Aubrey and much enamoured of his physical gifts but she knew his limitations; Jack was a sentimental libertine where women were concerned and, although he liked them well enough, he knew nothing about the workings of their mind and cared even less. However the workings of their intimate anatomy he seemed to grasp very well indeed.

"Come...join me, madam..." Jack announced and Diana slipped into the space beside him, kneeling and running her fingers sensually over the mighty protuberance at his loins, catching his eye and laughing, her long hair tumbling wildly down her back as she shook it from side to side.

"You've had your supper, Jack my boy, now I want mine!" And she dropped the top of her lacy gown; it snaked from her, to fall at her knees and bare her voluptuous curves. Jack didn't wait for an invitation. He was in full boarding mood and the old maxim "Up and at 'em, sir," suited him very well tonight. With a roar of satisfaction at the fruits of her womanly perfection so freely offered, he tupped her onto her back shrugged off his linen covering and was soon buried inside her. Her bed protested at the noisy engagement with rhythmic creaks and one could hear the sounds of Diana's laughter and cries of passion coupled with Jack's groans and grunts from down in the servants' Hall of Mapes Court where Diana was staying at the moment as a friend of the owner, Mrs Arabella Masterton, a widow of some fortune and absolutely no morals, who found Diana a very entertaining companion indeed.

Later, as Jack dozed, exhausted from his endeavours, Diana rose and attended to her douche and thought about what marriage to Jack Aubrey might be like. He didn't have much fortune at the moment- in fact he had been singularly unfortunate of late in that regard- but he had prospects and was bound to make a mark on more than just her bed springs. He would want children, of course, and she was not very keen on them, but as he would be at sea most of the time, she would mostly have her freedom - with a highly enjoyable bed mate when he was home on shore leave. Perhaps. If nothing better came along. She would bear him in mind.

Just then she heard the bed springs creak and Jack heave himself out, to stagger across to the window, from where he let go a stream of piss onto the ivy covered walls of the old manor house. He sighed gratefully as he relieved himself, completely unembarrassed by his nudity or this intimate act. Diana slapped his shapely buttocks and he grinned at her, before shaking himself off and following her back to bed.

"I must say, Diana, I feel better than I have for days. My mood has been quite awfully low of late. Matters are simply not turning out in my favour. There is the nightmare of this war ending, the inquiry into my prizes, my damned father and his infernal opinions and then- to top it all- the old goat, Mrs. Williams, has the gall to accuse me of drunkenness, gluttony, wasting my money on gaming and debauchery! Apparently I am not fit to marry her precious daughter." He threw himself down on the bed and helped himself to more wine.

Diana laughed. "Jack- you are drunk, have spent all night gambling and have had, to my knowledge, two evening meals and a supper tonight alone. Plus, you have just enjoyed rather hearty sexual congress with the good lady's niece!" She tilted her head as she reminded him of all that.

"But...what is her point? Does that make me any less a suitable husband for her daughter? I love Sophie, want to make her my wife, be faithful and keep her in the manner she deserves. If I stray from the path of righteousness - it is the old goat's fault, not mine. I am under a great strain and she is increasing my load- what else is a man to do at such times?"

Diana grinned at him and ruffled up his long golden locks. "You are incorrigible, Jack Aubrey, do you know that? But quite, quite adorable nonetheless!" She kissed him lewdly and then took his glass to swig down a gulp herself. "What puzzles me most of all, my dear, is this determination that you have to marry my little cousin. I know she is lovely and an ideal wife for a man- but isn't she just a little too...too...unimaginative for a full-blooded man like you? Have you considered, pray tell, what she will be like in your bed?"

"Madam- I would not even dream such a thing about Miss Williams- it would be unconscionable to think of her in that way!" Jack was incensed at her comment.

"But, Jack, with the greatest respect, that is the point of marriage when it comes down to it! It is the sanctified coming together of a man and a woman for the purpose of bearing children. At some point you will have to see Sophie as more than just a fragile little flower- and roll her over just like any other woman."

At that Jack just made an indeterminate grunt and seemed unwilling to continue with the topic of discussion, so Diana shrugged away his petulance and took another tack. "But if you insist on pursuing this singularly hopeless suit I will tell you this. Sophie Williams is rather taken by you and her mother's constant griping is actually raising you in her favour. She is a very awkward girl when she wants to be and her mother is driving her to distraction. However, there is another man hovering - a Mr. Josiah Adams of Wantage. Rumour has it that he has fifteen hundred pounds a year and the promise of a lot more when his bachelor uncle, Sir Frederick dies. Sophie is mildly interested but dithering as ever. Now two day's hence Mrs. Masterson, my benefactress, is holding a dinner party and the Williams' girls are invited - as is Mr. Adams. Now, I suggest that you attend - I can easily arrange an invitation- and then make free with some other lady present. Ignore Sophie completely. I assure you that that will disturb her mightily and may turn her back to you."

Jack listened with his mouth pursed in concentration. "But...how can I let this scurvy knave, Adams, creep and crawl about her all evening? I swear I will call him out if he so much as..." Jack's hand smoothed over Diana's pretty breasts and played with her rosy nipples as he thought about her words. Diana wriggled sensuously at the sensation of his tender caress.

"Jack....sometimes you are such a child! Women are like that. You make yourself too attentive and they find you tiresome. But if you play the stern captain and give her hardly a glance- she will be devastated and believe all is lost. That is the way to win a fair lady- not moving your chair closer and closer and offering to hold her lapdog while she flirts with someone else!"

Jack rolled languidly onto his back and pulled her over with him until she was resting on his chest. "I shall give it some thought, Diana, but first, I will give this some thought. Perhaps you would hold this lapdog of mine while I seek out somewhere to put it? What say you, my lady? Or is my close proximity becoming too tiresome for you?" At that Jack burst into laughter and Diana followed him. It was hard to stay serious for long with the captain- or off one's back, Diana mused!

The following day, Stephen Maturin pronounced Sophie Smithers sufficiently recovered to leave her bed. He asked her where he might take her and she had to admit that she simply had no clue. Aware that she was lying but unable to think how else she could explain herself, Sophie pretended that she was still suffering from amnesia, had no money, no place to stay nor memory of her family whatsoever. Stephen was perplexed and very concerned. He could not simply cast this poor thing out onto the four winds to who-knew- what fate. It was something no honourable man could countenance.

And so he took her welfare upon himself. First he found her a set of rooms in a respectable boarding house run by a kindly widow, Mrs. Trumpton, and then he took her to a dressmaker's and bought her a few day dresses, an evening gown and asked the lady to..."supply her with the necessaries..." Sophie found out that meant some rather uncomfortable underwear, a corset that pushed her tits nearly up to her throat and some ladies' essentials: perfume, rouge, a little kohl and a small box of face powder. It was extremely kind of Dr. Maturin to provide all this but he insisted that once she had found her family, as he was sure she soon would, then matters could be arranged. She was not to feel beholden to him for this sum of money nor was she to hesitate to ask for anything else that she required.

On the way back to the rooms, Stephen stopped at a milliner's, where he bought a charming bonnet for her, some hair ribbons and a brush. Sophie was overcome with this kind man's generosity. As he settled her back in the boarding house, he laid a book of poetry on the table, telling her she would no doubt wish to rest and perhaps read. But he would return at suppertime to check on her. Bowing, he took his leave.

Alone at last, Sophie weighed up her options. Things had rather changed for her since the day before. She no longer regarded this as an extended dream but was beginning to wonder if it was actually some weird time shift that had brought her to this place. Was she stuck here or would things suddenly revert back to normal? There wasn't much she could do about it really until she found some way of understanding what had actually occurred. Until then she knew she had to keep her head down and get by without making any terrible blunders.

Blunders. Like that awful scene with Captain Aubrey, who had all but torn her head off when she had answered him back. Whew - he was a formidable man and she was not going to push his buttons again, no way - he had scared her to death when he let rip- she had nearly wet herself. However, she had given him 'what for' and she was glad she had stood up to him. But still there would be no repetitions of those kinds of scenes for Sophie. She would be seen and not heard from now on.

Captain Aubrey. What a piece of prime rib, he was! Sophie shook her head at the awful impression she had made, though. He thinks I'm a tart and will probably give me a wide berth from now on. Just my luck. But then he isn't the type to be a womanizer anyway - too stiff upper lip and serious. Gets his kicks blowing up enemy ships and maybe shagging midshipmen - wasn't that a navy tradition? Sophie thought he was probably married to some demure wife with a gaggle of white-haired children. Yet another beautiful specimen gets away.

Just then there was a knock on her door and Mrs. Trumpton, her landlady, entered carrying a tea tray with a chunk of fruit cake.  "Tea time, my dear. Here's a nice little bit of brack on the side!" She rested down the tray, poured out into the impossibly dainty china cup and then settled down across from Sophie. "Now...seeing as your nice gentlemen friend 'as gone about his business, my dear, I thought I'd take this opportunity for a little word with you." Mrs. Trumpton lowered her voice to a whisper and looked around as if there could be eavesdroppers. "I hunderstand the nature of your...ahem...harrangement with the doctor. E's a fine gentleman and I'll hear none say different. Just to let you know that 'e can come and go as he pleases and there'll be nothing said, if you make my meaning. And if you need any...commodities...." at this she winked... "You've come to the right place, if you smoke my meaning, dearie..."

"Commodities?" Sophie asked curiously.

Mrs. Trumpton laughed. "La, girl, but you are a little innocent...I 'ope you know what you're getting yourself into with the good doctor. 'E's a gentleman and not the sort to demand too much of you....but 'e's still a man, for all sakes! I meant that I can supply you with the amenities that you might need to prevent unwanted hissue...or perhaps a medical man like the doctor has his own methods...?"

"I beg your pardon?" Sophie gasped. "The doctor and I are not lovers! We are merely acquaintances. He is a dear, dear friend..."

"To be sure, to be sure...but so that you know...'e can creep up the back stairs whenever 'e feels nature's impulse. We are very used to such 'harrangements' in this 'ouse, m'dear!" She tapped her forefinger to her nose, patted Sophie's hand, smiled conspiratorially and withdrew.

Sophie drank her tea and thought. "Good Lord- have I missed something? Is this how they did it? Would a woman of 1802 have realized immediately what the doctor was expecting as a reward for his kindness to a poor unfortunate woman?" She had to put out for him in return? Groaning at her lack of ability to pick up the social signals in all this, Sophie determined to be ready the next time that either Stephen Maturin or Jack Aubrey made an improper comment about her - and she had better do it in a manner that they might understand in future.