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sure; a good revolutionary always assumes a servant is downtrodden and sympathizes with him.”
    With that Gilbert seemed to vanish through the door, but Ramage realized the man was so deft and light-footed he could open a door, go through and close it again, with less fuss than most people reach for the knob.
    Once they were alone, Sarah smiled affectionately and took his hand. “We should have been married a month or so earlier, then we would have been back home by now,” she said. “Or had a shorter honeymoon. Anyway, now you don’t have to worry about convincing Lord St Vincent not to pay off any more ships.”
    â€œNo, it looks as though the Cabinet at last became suspicious of Bonaparte. Withdrawing our ambassador from Paris must have startled Bonaparte, who will have been full of his own cleverness in getting us to sign that absurd treaty last year. Now we’ve suddenly slapped his hand. No more than that, though, considering the size of his army.”
    â€œYou’ll have to fight him at sea, then!” Sarah said cheerfully, and then could have bitten her tongue for the second time in less than twelve hours.
    â€œI’m hiding here,” Ramage said bitterly, “and someone else is commissioning the
Calypso
in Chatham. He’s the luckiest captain in the navy if the men haven’t been paid off yet, because he gets the finest ship’s company.”
    Suddenly she had an inspiration. “That means you are lucky. He will keep the men together, all ready for you to resume command when you escape.”
    â€œProviding I escape and providing the Admiralty are prepared to turn out a captain for me,” he protested. “Neither seems very likely at the moment.”
    â€œIf you are captured—I’m sure we won’t be—they’ll release you on parole. Then you can make for the coast and steal a boat, or something.”
    He laughed sourly. “My love, you have a simple approach to it all but the Admiralty doesn’t share it. Parole, for instance.”
    â€œWhat is difficult about that?”
    â€œWell, giving your parole means giving your word of honour not to escape, and you are freed to live outside the prison. You pay for your board and lodging, of course.”
    â€œThere’s bound to be a ‘but,’ though,” she said gloomily.
    â€œThere certainly is. If you break your parole and escape to England, the Admiralty doesn’t welcome you. In fact they might send you back. They certainly won’t employ you.”
    â€œWhy ever not?”
    â€œBecause you gave the French your word of honour and you broke it.”
    â€œBut there is a war on! The French killed their king. They guillotined thousands of innocent people.”
    â€œTrue, and probably will go on executing more, but the Admiralty’s view is that you don’t have to give your parole. If you do, then you must keep your word.”
    â€œSo what on earth can a captured officer do?”
    â€œRefuse parole. That means he stays in prison, but it also means that if he
can
escape and get to England, he really is free and can expect to be employed again.”
    â€œDo the Admiralty actually check?”
    â€œI presume so. There’s a French commissioner in London, you know.”
    â€œNot when we’re at war, though.”
    â€œOh yes. He’s a fellow called M. Otto, Commissioner for the Exchange of Prisoners. Every now and again we exchange Frenchmen we’ve captured for an equal number of Britons that the French have taken.”
    â€œLet’s not talk about prisoners,” Sarah said. “We’ll get out of this somehow. Gilbert—we can trust Gilbert. I fear for Jean-Jacques, though.”
    He shook his head. “No, I think Gilbert is right: that damned wife, or whatever she is, won’t want him executed: it wouldn’t do her reputation any good. The widow of a traitor. Transportation—yes, he could