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two to exchange with the men in One of her less ladylike moods.
    ‘I believe that is correct, Mr Willerton,’ replied Drinkwater gravely, mastering sudden laughter.
    ‘I have my eye on a piece of pine, sir, but it cost eight shilling. Then there is paint, sir.’
    ‘Very well, Mr Willerton.’ Drinkwater reached into his pocket and laid a guinea on the table. ‘The balance against your craftsmanship, but be careful how you pick your model.’
    For a second their eyes met. Willerton’s were a candid and disarming blue, as innocent as a child’s.

Chapter Four December 1800-January 1801
A Matter of Family
    Lieutenant Drinkwater was in ill humour. It was occasioned by exasperation at the delays and prevarications of the dockyard and aggravated by petty frustrations, financial worries and domestic disappointment.
    The latter he felt keenly for, as Christmas approached, he had promised himself a day or two ashore in lodgings in the company of his wife. Elizabeth was to have travelled to Chatham with Tregembo and his own sea-kit, but now she wrote to say she was unwell and that her new pregnancy troubled her. She had miscarried before and Drinkwater wrote back urging her not to risk losing the child, to stay with Charlotte Amelia and Susan Tregembo in the security of their home.
    Tregembo was expected daily. The topman who had, years ago, attached himself to young Midshipman Drinkwater, was now both servant and confidant. Also expected was Mr Midshipman Quilhampton. Out of consideration for Louise, Drinkwater had left her son at home when he himself went to London. Later he had written off instructions to the young man to recruit hands for Virago. Now Drinkwater waited impatiently for those extra men.
    But it was not merely men that Drinkwater needed. As Christmas approached, the dockyard became increasingly supine. He wanted masts and spars, for without them Virago was as immobile as a log, condemned to await the dockyard’s pleasure. And Drinkwater was by no means sure that Mr Jex was not having his revenge through the influence of his kinsman, the Commissioner. As the days passed in idleness Drinkwater became more splenetic, less tolerant of Mrs Jex, less affable to Rogers. He worried over the possibilities of desertion by his men and fretted over their absence every time a wooding party went to search the tideline for driftwood. Unable to leave his ship by Admiralty order he sat morosely in his cloak, staring gloomily out over the dull, frosty marshes.
    His misgivings over his first lieutenant increased. Rogers’s irascibility was irritating the warrant officers and Drinkwater’s own doubts about selecting Rogers grew. They had already argued over the matter of a flogging, Drinkwater ruling the laxer discipline that customarily prevailed on warships in port mitigated the man’s offence to mere impudence. The knock at the door brought him out of himself.
    ‘Come in!’
    ‘Reporting aboard, sir.’
    ‘James! By God, I’m damned glad to see you. You’ve men? And news of my wife?’
    James Quilhampton warmed himself over the smoking stove. He was a tall, spare youth, growing out of his uniform coat, with spindle-shanked legs and a slight stoop. Any who thought him a slightly ridiculous adolescent were swiftly silenced when they saw the heavy iron hook he wore in place of a left hand.
    ‘Aye sir, I have fifteen men, a letter from your wife and a surgeon.’ He stood aside, pulling a letter from his breast. Taking the letter Drinkwater looked up to see a second figure enter his cabin.
    ‘Lettsom, sir, surgeon; my warrant and appointment.’ Drinkwater glanced at the proffered papers. Mr Lettsom was elderly, small and fastidious looking, with a large nose and a pair of tolerant eyes. His uniform coat was clean, though shiny and with overlarge, bulging pockets.
    ‘Ah, I see you served under Richard White, Mr Lettsom, he speaks highly of you.’
    ‘You are acquainted with Captain White, Lieutenant Drinkwater?’
    ‘I