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no.’
    â€˜Oah.’ Some pink appeared in Commissioner Powell’s cheeks but the rebuff merely emphasized the blueness of her ladyship’s blood and, therefore, her right to administer it. ‘Well there, I found him at least. The Sam Adams , you said in your note. And here she is.’ Mr Powell inserted a finger behind a bookmark and opened one of the ledgers. ‘American sloop, three hundred and eighty-five tons, eighteen guns, taken at Cap La Hague, December the third last year, surviving crew forty-one.’ Mr Powell ran his finger down a list. ‘And here he is, Forrest Grayle, Lieutenant.’ He looked up, a terrier dropping a bone in her ladyship’s lap.
    â€˜Where?’
    â€˜What? Oh.’ Mr Powell found more bookmarks. ‘Where’s that report of the action, now? Yere ’tis . . . nyum, “Exchange of fire . . .” nyum, nyum, “several hours . . .” Oh, a real battle, this one. “Badly holed but seaworthy . . . taken under tow.” Ah yes.’ Again Mr Powell was triumphant. ‘Plymouth. There’s a coincidence, isn’t it? Plymouth all over the place today. Yes, she was taken to Plymouth and the crew incarcerated in Millbay Prison. There’s lucky for them.’
    â€˜Really.’
    â€˜Indeed.’ He leaned forward. ‘It would be the hulks else and I won’t hide from your ladyship, whilst we do our best for these souls, what with French and Americans, let alone the occasional Spaniard, every prison in the country at our disposal is crowded out and hulks have to take the overflow. Believe you me, Millbay is better. It’s on dry land for a start.’
    He’s probably quite a nice little man, Diana thought, if undoubtedly Welsh.
    She said: ‘Obviously you have your problems, sir, and I am here to relieve you of one of them. I wish to arrange for Lieutenant Grayle to be exchanged.’ She added lazily: ‘One would be happy to pay for such an arrangement.’ For a while, she could still draw upon the Stacpoole bank account.
    â€˜Oah.’ Mr Powell sat up with surprise. ‘Exchange, is it? No, no. There can be no question of an exchange for American prisoners. Absolutely not. Nothing I can do for your ladyship in that quarter, do you see.’
    â€˜I do not see, I’m afraid,’ she drawled. ‘One was led to believe you gentlemen incorporated the exchange of prisoners of war in’—she waved a hand—‘whatever it is you do.’
    â€˜Prisoners of war, yes, prisoners of war , that’s right enough. But Americans aren’t prisoners of war, your ladyship, not like the French. We’ll be able to send French prisoners back in return for some of ours but strictly speak ing Americans are rebels against their lawful king. Captured in British waters attack ing English shipping, they are. Traitors, in fact. Felons, pirates.’
    â€˜Why not hang them, then, and be done?’ She was nettled by disappointment. It would have been nice to send Martha back her son.
    â€˜Oah, we can’t hang ’em.’ Mr Powell smiled. ‘No, no. Legally we could, mind, but I doubt there’s gallows enough in the country to take them all. Coming in by shiploads, they are. Might set a bit of a precedent, do you see? We wouldn’t want our brave lads captured by the Americans in America strung up in response, now would we?’
    The Dowager sighed. ‘Mr Commissioner, one is not concerned with causing an international incident, merely the fate of one miserable young man.’
    â€˜There’s sorry I am to disoblige, your ladyship, very, very sorry. I’m not saying we commissioners wouldn’t be happy, happy , to exchange the Americans—indeed, more than once we’ve lobbied their lordships to that effect. Difficult . . . dear, dear, you wouldn’t believe how difficult they are. More trouble with them, there is, than all the rest put