Robert was in his last year at Harrow, and his future was a sore point with his parents, who refused to countenance his desire to be an inventor and engineer. A real engineer, not just an idle dabbler. But Truthful knew that Robert would end up doing what he really wanted, with a laugh and a wink at his parents that would overcome their distaste for his chosen profession.

Truthful sighed as she once again confirmed that she loved them all equally. As brothers. Taking care to take suitably lady-like steps on her new silver slippers, she proceeded down the stairs to greet them properly.

“Ah, Truthful, my dear, you have come down,” exclaimed the Admiral.

Truthful smiled at him, and held out her hand to the Newington-Lacys, who queued in order of age, to gently hold her fingers, kiss her lightly on the cheek, and wish her happy birthday.

That courtesy taken care of, the Admiral enquired after Sir Reginald Newington-Lacy and his wife, who were visiting the shrine of Saint Ethburga and taking the waters at Bath. It was hoped this would cure Lady Angela’s weariness, which had progressed beyond a fashionable ennui to a state quite alarming to her family.

“Father says that the statue of Saint Ethburga moved two fingers in a blessing, and the waters are also having a beneficial effect,” replied Edmund. “They fully expect to be home within a sennight.”

“Oh, I do hope Aunt Angela is quite recovered,” said Truthful. “They say the waters at Bath are very invigorating. I should like to go to Bath myself, though perhaps . . . perhaps not to the shrine of Saint Ethburga. I’ve always thought it sounds rather frightening.”

“Better off at the shrine than wandering about Bath with all those young bucks that promenade there,” grunted the Admiral. “Bah! Half the fellows are damn man-milliners! Shirt-points up to their cheeks, cut their ears if they turn sideways and damn me if they don’t festoon themselves with charms and gew-gaws!”

He glared at the Newington-Lacys, as if amulet-fobs and spell-breaking watch-chains were about to sprout from their waistcoats, despite the fact that they were all rather soberly attired in blue long-tailed coats, starched linen shirts without excessively high collars, fawn waistcoats, knee-breeches and black slippers. Only Edmund went so far as to sport his neck-cloth in a style more daring than a simple triangular tie, and even he only dared the Osbaldeston. They were, in short, fittingly attired as country gentlemen come to dinner.

“I should like to go to all the balls and assemblies,” replied Truthful. She had been to small provincial assemblies in Canterbury, but of course Bath had far superior offerings, without being quite so frightening as London.

“Hmmmph,” interrupted the Admiral. “You’ll get enough of that in London with your great-aunt, puss. Only a few weeks away. I shall miss you, but your mother would never forgive me if I kept you mewed up here to keep an old salt like me company. Let’s go into dinner.”

There were only the five of them for the meal, for the Admiral was not fond of society, or any neighbours save the Newington-Lacys. Truthful played her role as hostess from one end of the table, and the Admiral that of host from the other.

Turbot with lobster sauce, several boiled fowls, a turtle, a ham, and a quarter of lamb with cauliflowers adorned the table in rapid succession, followed by a gooseberry and currant pie, a soft pudding, and five different sorts of fruit, all washed down with the Admiral’s champagne, burgundy and madeira, though Truthful surreptitiously drank lemonade in her champagne glass, with the knowing cooperation of the servants.

Everyone ate heartily, the young men gently chaffing the Admiral to tell tales of his naval exploits. He needed little encouragement and proceeded to do so at some length, stressing his advice to Nelson at Trafalgar (neglecting to mention he was actually on a different ship), and the importance of “cutting the line”.

Then he turned from tales of war at sea to tales of storm and shipwreck. He had barely moved on from describing some common storms to the story of a hurricane off Jamaica, when the air began to cool, and the sound of distant thunder could be heard like the far-off guns in the Admiral’s tale of Trafalgar.

“Why, bless me!” he cried. Like many naval officers, he was a weather-wizard, and had grown too enthusiastic in his storytelling, investing power in his words. “Here I am talking up a storm, and there it is! Truthful, please ring the bell for Hetherington. We must secure the place for a gale.”

“Batten the hatches?” asked Stephen, smiling.

The Admiral, his good humour further sustained by an excellent dinner, laughed and said, “Just so, my boy. Hetherington! Ah, there you are. We are about to have a storm upon us, and the shutters aren’t on! Have them brought to and fastened, and make sure James is with the horses. You know what to do.”

Hetherington almost brought his fist to his head to salute before remembering to bow instead. He had been the Admiral’s coxswain, and still found it difficult to play the butler rather than the petty officer he had been for twenty years. Retreating, his stentorian voice could be heard above the approaching storm, directing the footmen and maids to their tasks.

“Now, my dear,” said the Admiral jovially. “A storm is a good time to show your heirloom and its powers. A little advance glimpse of the stone that shall be yours when you turn twenty-one.”

“Twenty-one!” exclaimed Truthful. “I thought I wouldn’t inherit the Emerald till I am twenty-five.”

“Twenty-one, twenty-five, what does it matter!” cried the Admiral impatiently. “I can never remember the details. Your mother wore it so seldom, you see. Unlike my mother, who wore it on every possible occasion, and used it, too.”

He turned to look at the portrait above the fireplace behind him, which portrayed a stern-looking woman backed by dense stormclouds.

“That’s her there, lads. Truthful’s granmama, Héloise Newington, wearing the Emerald.”

“May I?” asked Edmund, indicating that he wished to look closer. The Admiral nodded, and Edmund got up, took one of the candelabra from the table, and raised it to the portrait.

The sudden light falling on the painting made two things leap out at the watchers: Héloise’s green eyes, and the glowing emerald that hung on a silver chain about her neck.

“Why,” said Edmund, “she has beautiful eyes. More beautiful than any gem.”

“She broke many hearts before my father caught hers,” chuckled the Admiral. “Though some say it was the Emerald that caught her, not father.”

“Oh no!” exclaimed Truthful. “Surely not!”

“No, my dear,” said the Admiral. “She loved the Emerald well, but it was not the stone that sealed the marriage.”

“It must be a remarkable gem,” said Stephen, who had got up to examine the portrait as well. “It is cut in an Oriental fashion, if I’m any judge.”

“Though what Stephen knows about such matters you could inscribe on the head of a pin,” remarked Robert, smiling to show he wasn’t serious.

“On the contrary, dear brother,” replied Stephen. “I have recently read a most learned monograph on the subject of the cutting and ensorcellement of gems, and have also in fact visited Messrs. Longhurst and Everett in London to see just such an operation.”

“Well, perhaps the head of a very large pin …” said Robert, gesturing with his arms to indicate a very large pin indeed.

“I didn’t know you were so interested in the subject,” said Edmund, turning from the portrait in surprise. “But then, it is no stranger than any other subject you have pursued.”

“And much more salubrious than the sorcerous enlargement of frogs,” added Robert, causing everyone to laugh, except Stephen, who exclaimed that it was very important work and that huge Anuran steeds might one day serve as amphibious cavalry.

“Enough of this talk of frogs!” interrupted the Admiral, to quell the laughter. “It’s Truthful’s birthday, and she must see the Emerald. Please wait here.”

With a grunt of exertion, he levered himself out of his chair, and crossed to a small and discreet door in the wooden paneling of the south wall. Opening it with a tiny key shot from a ring on his forefinger, he stepped within.

As he did so, lightning flashed outside, followed by thunder and the sudden din of rain. All around the house, those shutters still unfastened began to bang against the window-frames.

Another bolt of lightning struck, and everyone blinked. When they opened their eyes, the Admiral had closed the little door behind him.

“I always thought that was a cupboard,” said Robert. “It can’t open into the hall or into your parlour, Truthful.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Truthful. “I’ve never really thought about it. Papa rarely opens it, and I presumed it was a pantry to store his more precious port.”

The storm sounded again as the small door re-opened, and the Admiral’s emerging face was lit with a flash of lightning, closely followed by a resounding clap of thunder.

“By Jove, the storm’s closing fast. Bigger than I thought, too strong to quell now!” exclaimed the Admiral. “That last levinbolt damme near got the house, and the shutters still ain’t up!”

He crossed to the windows, and looked out into the heavy rain, much as he must have gazed from the heaving quarter-deck of a ship of the line.

“Where is Hetherington?” the Admiral asked peevishly, but before anyone could answer, his question was dramatically answered. The lightning flashed again, revealing an oilskin-clad Hetherington and several sodden footmen struggling up to the windows with a wheelbarrow stacked high with shutters.