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note to her, but only one he had sent to the Lord Admiral proclaiming his innocence, even as his suicide seemed to mock his words.
    Now the whole matter was over and done. She knew that by marrying the admiral, who had no idea what a kettle of fish he had inherited and with any luck never would, her life with Andrew Daviess was irrevocably over.
     
    When she arrived at St Andrew’s, the vicar was concluding the earliest service. She approached him whenhe finished, explaining that in another hour, she and a gentleman would be returning with a special licence.
    ‘I am a widow, sir,’ she said, handing him the pasteboard folder. ‘Here are my earlier marriage lines and my late husband’s death certificate. Is there anything else you need from me?’
    The old man took the folder and looked inside. ‘Sophia Paul Daviess, spinster from Dundrennan, Kirkcudbright-shire, Scotland, age twenty-two years, 1806’. He looked at Andrew’s death certificate, shaking his head, so she knew he had read the part about ‘Death by his own hand’. He handed the document back. ‘A sad affair, Mrs Daviess.’
    ‘It was.’
    ‘And now you are marrying again. I wish you all success, madam.’
    ‘Thank you, sir.’ She hesitated. ‘For reasons which you must appreciate, I have been using my maiden name, rather than my married name.’
    He walked with her to the door. ‘I can imagine there has been some stigma to a suicide, Mrs Paul.’
    If you only knew , she thought. ‘There has been,’ was all she said.
    ‘Those days appear to be ending. I’ll look forwards to seeing you again in an hour.’ The vicar held out his hand. ‘If you wish, I can enter this information in the registry right now, so you needn’t be reminded of it during this next wedding.’
    It was precisely what she wanted. ‘Thank you, sir.’
     
    As she returned to the Drake, she looked up to the first storey and saw the admiral looking out. He waved to her and she waved back, wondering how long he had been watching and if he had seen her leave the hotel.
    When she came up the stairs to the first floor, he openedhis door. ‘You gave me a fright, Mrs Paul, when I knocked on your door and you weren’t there. I reckoned you had gone the way of The Mouse, and that would have been more than my fragile esteem could manage.’
    ‘Oh, no, sir. I would not go back on my word, once given,’ she assured him.
    ‘I thought as much,’ he said, ‘especially after the ’tween-stairs maid said you had left a dress belowdeck to be ironed.’ He thumped his chest with his hook, which made Sally smile. ‘What a relief.’
    ‘I went ahead to the church with my marriage lines and Andrew’s death certificate. I thought he might want to see them and perhaps record them. Such proved to be the case.’
    ‘So efficient, Mrs Paul,’ he murmured. ‘I shall be spoiled.’
    Not so much efficient as ashamed for you to see that certificate , she thought. Oh, seek a lighter subject, Sally. ‘That’s it, sir. I will spoil you like my old ladies—prunes in massive amounts, thoroughly soaked for easy chewing, and at least a chapter a day of some improving literature such as, such as…’
    ‘I know: “The prevention of self-abuse during long sea voyages”,’ he joked, then held up his hand to ward off her open-mouthed, wide-eyed stare. ‘I do not joke, Mrs P! You would be amazed what do-gooders in the vicinity of the fleet think is important.’
    She laughed out loud, then covered her mouth in embarrassment that she even knew what he was talking about.
    ‘I was a frigate captain then. I preserved a copy of that remarkable document and asked all my wardroom mates to sign it. The purser even added some salacious illustrations, so perhaps I will not let you see it until you are forty or fifty, at least.’
    She couldn’t think of a single retort.
    ‘What? No witty comeback?’ There was no denying the triumph in his eyes.
    ‘Not to that, sir,’ she admitted. ‘Perhaps I will