'Do your duty men. You have nothing to fear.' He strode aft.

The cabin had been cleared. All that remained from the previous night were the table and chairs. Rogers followed him in. Drinkwater heard him sigh.

'There is a great deal to do, Sam.'

'Yes,' said Rogers flatly. From an adjacent cabin the sound of a cough was hurriedly muted and the air was still heavy with a mixture of sweat and lavender water.

Drinkwater returned to the lobby and threw open the door of the adjacent cabin. It was empty of people though a sea-chest, bedding and cocked hat case showed it was occupied. He tried the door on the opposite cabin. It gave. Mrs Jex was dressing. She feigned a decorous surprise then made a small, suggestive gesture lo him. Her charms were very obvious and in the silence he heard Rogers behind him swallow. He closed the door and turned on the first lieutenant.

'Pass word for Mr Jex, Mr Rogers. Then make rounds of the ship. I want a detailed report on her condition, wants and supplied state. Come back in an hour.'

He went into the cabin and sat down. He looked round at the bare space, feeling the draughts whistling in through the unoccupied gunports. The thrill of first command was withering. The amount of work to be done was daunting. The brief hope of raising the status of Virago as Lord Dungarth suggested seemed, at that moment, to be utterly impossible. Then he remembered the odd encounter with Mr Willerton, that vestigial loyalty to his ship. Almost childlike in its pathetic way and yet as potent to the carpenter as the delights of the flesh had been to last night's revellers. Drinkwater took encouragement from the recollection and with the lifting of his spirits the draught around his feet seemed a little less noticeable, the cabin a little less inhospitable.

Mr Jex knocked on the cabin door and entered. 'Ah, Mr Jex, pray sit down.'