A hat appeared, a head, a face, scowling, flushed from the climb. The blue coat and white waistcoat of a naval lieutenant. He surveyed them a moment, then swung himself over the rail. Three ratings came after him then a midshipman, older than Wee Davey but not by very much. They were all armed with the short swords favoured by the press gangs. Two of the sailors had belaying pins in their belts. The lieutenant had a pistol. He looked the length of the deck, then strode towards them, a man rich with purpose. “Who is in charge here?”

Captain Browne stepped forward.

“Is this your whole company?”

“Other than the man on the helm.”

“We saw more when we looked at you earlier.”

“No,” said the master, glancing round as if to be sure, “this is all there is.”

“Where are you bound for?”

“Dumbarton.”

“Dumbarton by Glasgow.”

“The same.”

“And your cargo?”

“Window glass, flint glass, loaf sugar. Some linen. Ten boxes of brass buttons.”

The lieutenant nodded. His face was seamed, the skin of his cheeks mottled with shallow scars. Smallpox.

“And you,” he said, turning to Lacroix, “you do not look like a sailor to me.”

“I am a passenger,” said Lacroix.

“On a pleasure cruise?”

“I have business in Glasgow.”

“You are in business?”

“Yes.”

“And what sort of business is that?”

“Land,” said Lacroix. “Rents.”

Briefly, the lieutenant looked unsure of himself. “You own land?”

“I do.”

“And your name, sir?”

“My . . . ?”

“Your name.”

“Lovall.”

“Lovall?”

“Yes.”

“Very good.”

He turned back to the master. “You will not object, I suppose, if we look below. You and your crew will remain where you stand. Are any of you armed?”

“None of us,” said the master.

“Mr. Parks!” called the lieutenant. The young midshipman stepped forward. “You will keep these gentlemen company. The rest of you with me.”

They walked aft, paused to interrogate Suliman at the wheel, then one by one disappeared through the companionway behind him. The crew of the Jenny stood in silence. At the flap of a sail the master and Berryman looked up and frowned. The midshipman glanced at Wee Davey, who grinned back at him, shyly, as if they might now start a game together. The day was utterly benign. The hens clucked in their coop. A gull, more silver than white, circled overhead with barely a flick of its wings. Lacroix studied the frigate (he could not see her name), then, sensing himself being observed and unable to keep himself from knowing if it was so, he glanced round and met the master’s gaze.

“I hope, Mr. Lovall, you passed a pleasant night.”

“I did,” said Lacroix. “Thank you.”