“They say he made a fortune in diamonds,” Braithwaite murmured to Sharpe, “and his servant isn’t expected to travel in steerage, but has a place in the great cabin.” He spat that last information, then composed his face and stepped forward to intercept the baron. “Malachi Braithwaite, confidential secretary to Lord William Hale,” he introduced himself as he raised his hat, “and most honored to meet your lordship.”

“The honor and pleasure are entirely mine,” the Baron von Dornberg answered in excellent English, then returned Braithwaite’s courtesy by removing his tricorne hat and making a low bow. Straightening, he looked at Sharpe and Sharpe found himself staring into a familiar face, though now that face was decorated with a big waxed mustache. He looked at the baron, and the baron looked astonished for a second, then recovered himself and winked at Sharpe.

Sharpe wanted to say something, but feared he would laugh aloud and so he simply offered the baron a stiff nod.

But von Dornberg would have none of Sharpe’s formality. He spread his powerful arms and gave Sharpe a bear-like embrace. “This is one of the bravest men in the British army,” he told his woman, then whispered in Sharpe’s ear. “Not a word, I beg you, not a pippy squeak.” He stepped back. “May I name the Baroness von Dornberg? This is Mister Richard Sharpe, Mathilde, a friend and an enemy from a long time ago. Don’t tell me you travel in steerage, Mister Sharpe?”

“I do, my lord.”

“I am shocked! The British do not know how to treat their heroes. But I do! You shall come and dine with us in the captain’s cuddy. I shall insist on it!” He grinned at Sharpe, offered Mathilde his arm, inclined his head to Braithwaite and walked on.

“I thought you said you didn’t know him!” Braithwaite said, aggrieved.

“I didn’t recognize him with his hat on,” Sharpe said.