'It's the place for you, Nat...'

'What is?' asked Drinkwater, staring about momentarily confused, his mind having been fully occupied with his mount and the need to keep up with his host.

'Gantley Hall. I can't keep the place, damn it; have to sell it. What d'you say? Make me an offer.' And he put spurs to his big hunter and cantered off, leaving Drinkwater staring open-mouthed after him.

And so, after a visit in perfect spring weather when the red-brick façade glowed in the afternoon sun and the young apple trees were dusted with the faint, lambent green of new buds, Elizabeth pronounced herself delighted with the house. Less easily satisfied, Drinkwater had interviewed the sitting tenants in the two farms and voiced his doubts.

'If I return to sea, my dear, how will you manage?'

'Well enough, Nathaniel,' Elizabeth had said, 'as I have always done in your absence.'

'But an estate ...'

'It is a very modest estate, my dear.'

'But...'

His protests were brushed aside and they concluded the treaty of sale. By midsummer they had removed from Hampshire and brought with them Louise Quilhampton, Elizabeth's friend and companion; her son, Lieutenant James Quilhampton and his wife Catriona migrated with them, renting a house in Woodbridge, content to enjoy married life until, like Drinkwater himself, necessity drove James to petition the Admiralty for another posting.

For Drinkwater the summons had come too early, but the letter was a personal one, penned by John Barrow, their Lordships' Second Secretary, whose attitude to Captain Drinkwater had, hitherto, been cool.

It transpired that Drinkwater's success in Hamburg and Helgoland [See Under False Colours] had rehabilitated his reputation with Barrow. Behind the Second Secretary's phrasing Drinkwater perceived the shadow of Lord Dungarth, head of the Admiralty's Secret Department, and although his new posting did not derive from Dungarth but from the Foreign Office, he was not insensible to his Lordship's backstairs influence: