The Surgeon’s Mate. Patrick O’Brian

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      None of this applied to their wives however, and here the diversity was greater still. Some sailors, perhaps guided by their apprehensive families, married in their own class or sometimes higher; but others, home after the long and dangerous tedium of the Brest or Toulon blockade or a three-year commission in the Indies, East or West, sometimes flung themselves into the strangest arms. And although in many cases these unions proved happy enough, sailors being excellent husbands, often away and handy about the house when ashore, it did make for a curious gathering when the spouses were all invited to a ball.

      Stephen contemplated them from among the potted plants: in spite of their differences in size and shape, the sailors’ uniform made them a single body; much the same, though with more variation, could be said about the soldiers; but the women had chosen their own clothes, and the results were interesting. He had already recognized a former bar-maid from the Keppel’s Head in Portsmouth, now swathed in pink muslin and adorned with a wedding-ring; and there were some other ladies whose faces were vaguely familiar, perhaps from other inns, or from the stage, or from tobacco shops.

      There was a clear distinction between the dresses, between those women who could both choose and afford good ones and those who could not, a distinction almost as clear as that between the jewels the ladies wore: and these ranged from the garnet pendant round the neck of a child who had married a lieutenant with nothing but his pay of a hundred a year to Mrs Leveson-Gower’s rubies, which would have built a thirty-two-gun frigate and provisioned her for six months, and Lady Harriet’s thumping great emeralds. But it was not this that interested Stephen as he stood watching the crowd: he was more concerned with the ladies’ bearing and behaviour, partly as a lesson in female social adaptability in a society so strongly aware of rank, overt or implied, and partly because he had a theory that the more free or even wanton a given past might have been, the more reserved, correct, and even prudish would be the established present.

      His observation, interrupted from time to time by a glance at the top of the staircase to see whether Diana would ever finish dressing, did not bear his theory out and the only conclusion he could draw was that those with style retained it whatever their origins, while those who had none were lumpish or affected or both; though even these were already enjoying themselves. The general gaiety, the universal delight at the Shannon’s victory, so filled the entire gathering that nearly all the women were in good looks, and the ordinary worries of dress and consequence and husband’s rank counted far less than usual. In short, that shared happiness and a strong fellow-feeling abolished distinction for the time being, in spite of the sometimes conflicting but always powerful hierarchies of service rank, social origin, wealth, and beauty.

      This was not a discovery that warranted any very prolonged seclusion among the plants – an uninteresting set, filicales and bromeliads for the most part – and Stephen moved out into the mainstream, where he almost immediately met Jack, accompanied by an equally tall but far bulkier man in the uniform of the First Foot Guards, a blaze of scarlet and gold. ‘Why, there you are,’ said Jack. ‘I have been looking for you. Do you know my cousin Aldington? Dr Maturin, Colonel Aldington.’

      ‘How d’ye do, sir,’ said the soldier in the tone he thought suited to the subfusc garments of a naval surgeon. Stephen only bowed. ‘This is going to be a prodigious fine ball,’ said the Colonel to Jack. ‘I can feel it in the air. The last I was at – oh, and I forgot to tell you, Sophie and I stood up together – was at the Winchester assembly, a miserable affair. Not thirty couple, and never a girl worth looking at. I took refuge in the card-room, and lost four pound ten.’

      ‘Sophie was at the assembly?’ said Jack.

      ‘Yes, she was there with her sister, looking very well: we danced together twice. I flatter myself we – by God, there’s a damned fine figure of a woman,’ he exclaimed, staring at the head of the staircase. Diana was coming down in a long blue dress and a blaze of diamonds that eclipsed all the other jewels in the large, beautiful, and well-filled room: she always held herself very well, and now as she came slowly down, straight and slim, she looked superb. ‘I should not mind dancing with her,’ he said.

      ‘I will introduce you, if you like,’ said Jack. ‘She is Sophie’s cousin.’

      ‘If she is your cousin, she is mine, in a way,’ said the soldier. And then, ‘Damn me if it ain’t Di Villiers. What on earth is she doing here? I knew her in London, years ago. I don’t need an introduction.’

      He set off at once, pushing through the crowd like an ox, and Stephen followed in his wake. Jack watched them go: he was extremely hurt by the thought of Sophie dancing at the assembly. At any other time he would have been pleased to hear that she was not moping at home, but now it came on top of his bitter disappointment at having had no letters and of losing Acasta, and although he was not much given to righteous indignation his angry mind thought of her dancing away, never setting pen to paper, when, for all she knew, he was languishing, a prisoner of war in America, wounded, sick, and penniless. She had always been a wretched correspondent, but never until now a heartless one.

      Colonel Aldington reached Diana. He gave Stephen a surprised, disapproving glance, and then, changing his expression entirely as he turned to her he said, ‘You will not remember me, Mrs Villiers – Aldington, a friend of Edward Pitt’s. I had the honour of taking you in to dinner at Hertford House, and we danced together at Almack’s. May I beseech you to favour me tonight?’ As he spoke he gazed now at her face, now at her diamonds: and then with even more respect than before, at her face again.

      ‘Désolée, Colonel,’ she said, ‘I am already engaged to Dr Maturin, and then I believe, to the Admiral and the officers of the Shannon.’ He was not a well-bred man: at first he did not seem to understand what she said, and then he did not know how to come off handsomely, so she added, ‘But if you would fetch me an ice, for old times’ sake, I should be most eternally obliged.’

      Before the soldier could come back the music had begun. The long line formed, and the Admiral opened the ball with the prettiest bride in Halifax, a sweet little fair-haired creature of seventeen with huge blue eyes so full of delight and health and happiness that people smiled as she came down the middle, skipping high.

      ‘I would not have danced with that man for the world,’ said Diana while she and Stephen were waiting for their turn. ‘He is a middle-aged puppy, what people used to call a coxcomb, and the worst gossip I know. There: he has found a partner. Miss Smith. I hope she likes ill-natured tattle.’ Stephen glanced round and saw the Colonel taking his place with a tall young woman in red. She was rather thin, but she had a splendid bosom and a fashionable air, and her face, though neither strictly beautiful nor even pretty, was extremely animated – dark hair, fine dark eyes, and a rosy glow of excitement. ‘Her dress is rather outré and she uses altogether too much paint, but she seems to be enjoying herself. Stephen, this is going to be a lovely ball. Do you like my lutestring?’

      ‘It becomes you very well indeed; and the black band about your thorax is a stroke of genius.’

      ‘I was sure you would notice that. It came to me at the very last moment; that is why I was so late.’

      Their turn came and they went through the formal evolutions required by the dance, Diana with her customary heart-moving grace, Stephen adequately at least; and when they came together again she said, above the ground-swell of countless voices and the singing of the band, ‘Stephen, you dance quite beautifully. How happy I am.’ She was flushed with the exercise and the warmth of the room, perhaps with the glory of her jewels and the excellence of her dress, certainly with the general heady atmosphere, the intoxication of victory: yet he knew her very well and it seemed to him that at no great depth beneath the happiness there was the possibility of an entirely different kind of feeling.

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