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"Villiers --" said Stephen. Diana turned to look at him with an open, inquisitive expression. "No, never mind. It is of no consequence." Diana, raising a dark eyebrow but saying nothing, resumed her exercise on the quarterdeck, and he resumed his brooding.
It was a sign of his inner turmoil, he thought, that he should ever have considered broaching the subject. Years upon years of necessity had taught him secrecy, and despite his long friendship with Diana he could not bring himself to make such a confession to her.
He turned his gaze toward the foredeck and beyond it to their destination. Paris was a different world, less constrained by prudish morality; indeed that was the very reason Diana accompanied him. She was to see out her pregnancy and confinement there, and he would engage the best accoucher in the city to attend her. For himself, he intended to make his address to the Institut, gauge the mood of the city's inhabitants with respect to the war, and return to England with reasonable haste. His mind was far from easy, despite his elimination of Dubreuil and Pontet-Canet, and the trials he had endured at Mahon were never far from his thoughts.
No, libertine Paris could not comfort him, yet perhaps certain of his acquaintance there might do so. He would call upon La Mothe, he decided. La Mothe was a man of secrecy, in whom it was perhaps safe to confide; even if it were not he might offer a haven to Diana. Yes, Adhemar would no doubt adore Diana, with her elegant fashion and sparkling manner. The decision made, he returned his mind to the ship and began to pace the deck with Diana, engaging her in conversation.
* * *
"La, Etienne, you were never quite such a dull fellow!" cried La Mothe. It was true that Stephen had sat dumbly throughout the evening, while La Mothe's other friends flitted like butterflies around him. Maturin reflected for a moment on his friend's colourful attire, so unlike the sombre tailoring preferred in England, and imagined the feeble clench Jack might produce in relation to "La Mothe" and "butterflies".
"Pray take a turn about the room with me, my dear." With this La Mothe offered his arm, but although Stephen stood and began to walk with him, he did not take the proffered limb, and Adhemar lowered it again to his side.
"I must tell you, my dear, that your Diana is a treasure, a veritable treasure: such elegance, such poise, such wit! Where on earth did you find her?"
"She is the cousin of my friend Aubrey's wife. We met during the peace."
"Aubrey? Jacques Aubrey, the English naval hero who has sunk so many of our ships?" Stephen nodded his assent. "Oh, I do so adore a naval hero! Pray tell me all about him."
Stephen felt the intensity of his friend's interest like the glare of a tropical sun. He looked down and rummaged in his pockets for some unknown item, and replied, "He is a fine man and an excellent seaman." He was on the point of saying more, but shut his lips firmly and looked away.
"Just so, just so," said La Mothe, looking at him curiously. "Now, will you come in to supper? There is a lobster terrine I am simply dying for you to taste!" With this he swept Stephen on into the next room, introduced him to several new species of two-legged butterfly, and left him with a bow.
* * *
Stephen dressed for the Institut in some distraction. He had acquired new raiment for the occasion, and laid it out with precision and care: but his thoughts had waylaid him and he did not give his full attention to dressing himself.
He had just turned away another request to deliver a Frenchman's promise of loyalty to the Royalist cause; he was almost certain that it had been sent by an agent provocateur seeking to determine whether he was the sort of man who would convey such messages when travelling under the auspices of natural philosophy. Did they suspect anything particular, or was it merely a matter of form? Had word leaked back from the United States, or was he being over-cautious? No, there is no such thing as too much caution in such matters, he decided; there is only cautious enough, and captured. He had not been cautious enough on two previous occasions, and had suffered one capture and one near capture in consequence of it. He did not wish to suffer another.
La Mothe, he decided, lacked caution. In public he played Madame Duroc's ardent admirer, but few who knew him were fooled and at home among his friends there was no dissimulation at all. Surely the last time Stephen had visited Paris La Mothe had been more guarded; or was it Stephen who had changed, become more circumspect, more cryptic, more burdened by new secrets, while La Mothe remained the same?
Had he erred in entrusting Diana to him? His network of friends, his underground brotherhood, might help her in the event of difficulties; but might not his conspicuous sodomitical practices -- for such they were, and might as well be named -- cause their own problems, for Diana or even for Stephen himself? An agent could not afford for his weaknesses to be known, lest they provide any opportunity for blackmail: Stephen congratulated himself on the discipline which had prevented him from confiding in La Mothe.
With this he turned his mind to the evening's gathering, at which he hoped to acquit himself well in the matter of extinct avifauna, and at which he was certain he would learn something of the current military situation. Putting his coat on, he checked his pockets - so empty, without their usual bulging assortment of crumbling ship's biscuit, fossilised creatures, and birds' nests! - and set forth.
The Institut did indeed prove rewarding, in matters both philosophical and political. Although he feared he may have mumbled somewhat in his address, he was flattered by the many compliments and gifts he received afterwards, both for himself and to convey to his friends in England. No less appreciated were the tidbits of information and rumour he heard regarding the engagement in Moldavia, the state of the Baltic in general, and the feelings prevalent in Paris.
Stephen was in an expansive mood when his friend Schlendrian caught his eye and drew him into a corner; but something in the scholar's manner caught his attention, and he saw that all was not well. Schlendrian told him, with tears in his eyes, that Pontisch was dead. For the linguist, it was a great loss to scholarship; to Stephen, it also meant the failure of a mission of great importance to England.
He stood in thoughful sympathy for a moment, until his attention was caught by the voices of two men standing at a little distance. Both wore unremarkable black, and did not appear to be either fashionable gentlemen or scholars. In the few words that Stephen caught - "physician... La Mothe... paederast..." - and the glance one of them made in his direction, his heart fell. His excuses to Schlendrian were abrupt in the extreme, and he left the Institut in an unprecedented hurry.
He found La Mothe at home, that gentleman having left the Institut as soon as the conversation had reverted from the fashionable to the learned. As usual his salon was full of artists and writers and light laughter, but when he observed Stephen's entrance and his pale countenance, he drew him aside into a small parlour.
"My dear, you look quite distrait," he said. "Pray tell me what is the matter."
"I must leave Paris immediately. I came only to bring you my compliments before I depart."
Adhemar tilted his head and looked at him, saying nothing for a long moment. Stephen supressed the urge to squirm under his scrutiny, and wondered at the intelligent understanding he detected in his friend's gaze.
La Mothe took a pinch of snuff with casual grace, and said, "I am surprised you do not confide in me, dear friend. And yet I believe I can hazard a guess at what has upset you: I have felt it myself often enough, though I try to believe that I am mistaken, and that nobody knows."
Stephen's face fell into his hands, and he drew several deep, shuddering breaths. La Mothe was at his side instantly with a glass of port, and waited until his friend had regained his equilibrium before continuing.
"You will allow me to loan you my coach to Calais, my dear, and when you are gone I will be sure to let it be known that you are in love with Mrs. Villiers - you were, once, I perceive?"
"No, no, it is better that she were not connected to closely to me. You may tell them discreetly, if you must, that I have learnt of a natural child in England, and that its mother is suffering some grave illness to which I must attend."
"Very well. Now go, go! Make your excuses to Diana, and fly home to your captain."
With this he took Stephen's glass, and showed him to the door.
* * *
The crossing to Portsmouth had been beset with a dull drizzling rain which kept him to his cabin; but as they had reached England the sky had cleared, and Stephen came on deck, taking deep breaths of the clean sea air, squinting at the forest of masts in the port and at the hills beyond, and getting underfoot as the crew furled the sails and dropped anchor.
He found Aubrey at Ashgrove, skulking in a disused building by the mines and fretting about the letters he had received from Halifax, Grant's accusations, and his ongoing legal difficulties; but his welcome towards his friend was as heartfelt and joyful as any he had ever given, and Stephen was pleased to see his friend's colour improve as they talked of the fate of the Daphne and the possibility of a mission to Grimsholm.
They set out almost at once for London. The flow of conversation in the carriage was cheering to him, most cheering. He firmly suppressed the occasional worries that intruded unbidden at the edge of his mind, and basked in the glow of Jack's increasing jocularity as Kimber, Grant and Smith were put behind him.
"It is wonderful," he mused, "that I should be so heartened by his company, and so little oppressed by melancholia. France must have weighed on my mind more heavily than I knew. However, no man, least of all myself, could remain miserable for long in his presence."
He left Jack at the Grapes, eating the remains of a giant pie and embarking upon the cheese. "We will meet for breakfast, if God allow," he said as he put on his greatcoat and walked out the door into the waiting coach, which carried him to a discreet house near Shepherd's Market.
He remained at Sir Joseph's for most of the night, discussing in fine detail the plans for the Baltic mission and Pontisch's failure on its previous attempt. Evening began to draw into morning, and Stephen had already once been prevented from rising by Blaine's request for his medical advice in regard to his manly vigour and his approaching nuptials.
"Mrs. Blenkinsop must be a woman of unusual character," he observed, and Sir Joseph did not deny it. "Sure, and I wish you both very happy, sir." While Blaine offered his thanks for his friend's kind wishes and for his advice, Stephen gathered his papers. Then having gathered them, he held them in his lap and did not shift.
"Sir Joseph, may I also ask you for some little advice?"
"Certainly, my dear friend, most certainly! I hope Skinner is all that Aubrey had wished for?"
"Oh, it is not that. The captain's legal affairs are in excellent hands." He paused, and gathered his thoughts. "Do you know of Adhemar de La Mothe, in Paris?"
"The sodomite?"
Stephen winced inwardly. "Quite so."
"One hears these things, of course, but to my knowledge he is sufficiently cautious to prosper in spite of it; of course Paris is quite its own country when it comes to such matters. No political affiliations whatsoever, though he does know some of the most prominent men of the Empire. What of him?"
"I have left Diana -- Mrs. Villiers -- with him. They are very well suited in disposition, and I believe he is well placed to protect her from any difficulties which might arise in relation to her nationality or connections." By this they both understood him to mean her friendship with Stephen. "Before I left Paris, on my last night there when I addressed the Institut and learned of Pontisch's failure, I overheard two men talking. They mentioned La Mothe, and," pausing again, and turning to look Sir Joseph directly in the eye, "they spoke of me in similar terms."
Sir Joseph could not suppress a smile. "My dear fellow! Oh my. I do hope you were not too offended."
"To be sure, I did not know what to think of it," said Stephen, "but I thought it best to inform you, in case there were implications in regard to my work for you."
"I doubt it. Did they specify the supposed object of your affections? They didn't imagine that you and Aubrey - no, no, that's cutting it too rich by half!" He laughed heartily. "It was not La Mothe himself, was it? I cannot see that peacock as quite your sort of man, Stephen!"
Maturin shook his head. "There has never been the slightest impropriety between myself and Captain Aubrey, sir. Or La Mothe," he added as an afterthought. "They spoke only in the most general terms."
"In that case, it is nothing but the merest puff of rumour, and it cannot harm you one whit. Why, a sodomite can only be hanged if he is caught in flagrante delicto, and as long as you keep your breeches on you are far safer as a suspected bugger than as a spy."
Blaine's jollity was infectious, and the doctor found himself smiling. "You think I should ignore this rumour, then?"
"By all means! You may ignore it or foster it as much as you wish. As long as you are not caught in flagrante delicto!" With this he laughed again, and Stephen caught up his papers and stood.
"Thank you, Sir Joseph, you have quite set my mind at rest."
With this he departed, his step lighter and his mind more at ease than it had been these many months.