”What happened?” asked the bandaged man in the berth.

“You were hit by a piece of the mast, Captain,” answered the ship’s surgeon.

That was puzzling. “Why?”

The surgeon looked nonplussed. “We had engaged a frigate.”

“You sound,” said the captain after detecting something in his tone that he could not quite place, “as if this was not a good idea.”

“This poor sloop, Captain…”

He looked around but there was nothing to give him any clues as to where he was. He could not tell he was on a sloop, or if it was one deserving their pity. “I have no idea what I am on. I cannot even remember having a ship. Have I had my own for years?”

“I doubt it, sir.”

“Hence your reservations about the sloop.”

“Your mind is sharp enough, not dulled by the blow, but your memory seems to have suffered. Any pains?”

“Lord, yes. That will explain it,” said the captain hopefully. When the surgeon turned away, the captain called after him. “What is your name? And come to think of it, what is mine?”

@~@~@~@

With the help of his crew the captain had repaired some of his memory. Or rather, he had memorised their version of events and understood he had accomplished a heroic feat in capturing the frigate. After a few days he had even been able to come on deck and see the French frigate with his own eyes. It was the first time he had laid eyes on it, he felt. He had certainly not recalled giving orders to attack it. He had accepted that it was so, however. What else could he do?

There were things he did remember, he reflected as he looked at the contours of the port and the lands behind it. That was familiar. He also remembered he had at least one brother and at least one sister, but he did not recall where they lived. That his brother lived in a pretty little house with an oak tree and a pond was of no help if he did not know the name of the village.

Someone in Plymouth might be able to tell him, but the captain felt he ought to be careful not to reveal that he did not actually remember the heroic battle. That was quite painful, after all.

There was a wound just under his hairline that was just as painful when he combed his hair and the entire insides of his skull thumped uncomfortably if he moved without care. Something had happened and they had said it had been a piece of the mast. He had checked, of course, and it was damaged indeed.

A terrible storm that lasted four days delayed his going into town. By the time he could finally go, the news of the Asp had already spread. The captain had the excuse of his poor health: he was not expected to frequent the taverns to boast of his achievements. Instead, when he limped across the quay – for his leg and side had been injured as well – with an uncomfortable expression on his face and a bandage around his head, other officers patted his back and offered help, instead of besieging him with questions.

He had a few thousand pounds and so he was comfortable staying on in Plymouth until he figured out where his brother might be hiding. His sister was somewhere at sea, he had gathered from people who had met her. Hopefully his brother was not expecting a letter first. It would be more convenient if he sent one to Plymouth before the captain was posted to another ship. The Admiralty might have been notified of his injuries, but it was more than likely that they would not care as long as he was able to stand upright.

@~@~@~@

The captain was a clever man. From conversations with others he gleaned much about his previous years, without revealing to them that he remembered very little. Whenever someone asked him a complicated question, it was enough to seize his head and plead a headache.

Apparently he was between three-and-twenty and seven-and-twenty, although one fellow also guessed he might be as old as thirty. This had caused the captain to give himself a good look in the mirror. It could not be. The Asp had been gone for a year or two and he could not have waited that long for his own ship.

He was apparently not married, which was both a disappointment and a relief. A nice young lady might be just the sort of medicine he needed, but it would not work well if he could not remember her. She might be insulted to be forgotten. And for as long as he did not know if he was truly unmarried, it would best to stay away from women.

After a few weeks in Plymouth and gathering enough information to be able to tell a convincing and true story about the Asp and the French frigate, a letter was delivered to his inn. It was from his brother.

@~@~@~@

It seemed his brother’s curacy was coming to an end in Monkford and Edward feared that the captain had therefore not sent a letter, but he was not quite done there yet and it was safe to come.

“Monkford,” the captain mused. Even when he repeated it, it did not sound very familiar.

When he asked around, however, it appeared to be two days away. That was good. He could be there pretty fast if he chose, before Edward moved on to his next home. From the letter he gathered that he had spent some time living in Monkford as well before he went to sea, but that he might not like to go back. He did not understand why.

But since there was not much to do here in Plymouth, he might as well convalesce in Monkford, boring as it apparently was with the unvarying society his brother mentioned.

@~@~@~@

The captain was pleased to find he recognised his brother. Edward had not changed much in the past two years. He wondered if the same applied to him.

“So you have another…er...I was going to say ship,” he said when he had been taken inside the parsonage. “But of course I mean curacy.”

“It is quite similar, actually. Two years a ship, two years a curacy. Let us hope our next postings may be longer.”

“And more profitable.”

“You did well, I read.”

The captain inclined his head. What his brother had read was only a little less than he remembered. He hoped he was not called upon to expand upon the story. “Not well enough. I shall be happy to go back to sea.”

“But not yet.” Mr Wentworth studied the bandage around his head. “Are you well enough to be taken into society, or would you rather not?”

“I met enough people in Plymouth, although I stayed away from the general pleasures and enjoyments that such a town has to offer, because I felt my injuries would not allow it.”

“But were it not for the injuries…” his brother began carefully.

“I might have drunk some,” the captain admitted. “Do you not treat the verger and the housekeeper to drinks after succeeding in not getting the parsonage burnt down when your curacy ends?”

“In that we differ,” Edward said with some trouble. “But I shall, of course, leave everyone properly rewarded. And I shall miss the enjoyments.”

The captain raised his eyebrows. “Enjoyments, here? Enjoyments, you?”

“Enjoyments, you?”

“I meant you.”

“I meant you too.”

“Truth be told,” said the captain. “I cannot give you an answer.”

“Why not!”

He decided to be frank. It had weighed on his mind that he had not shared the secret with anyone and it was really very exhausting to have to draw clues about himself from every innocent conversation. “Because I really do not remember. I remember Plymouth and there I did not succumb to any vices, as far as I know, for definitions may differ, but I do not remember a thing that happened before then. I do not even remember taking the frigate.”

His brother stared at him.

“I got hit on the head.”

“By whom?”

“By a mast. Or so they say.”

“You do not remember things?”

“Disjointed bits. Mostly from years back. I remember you, but I could not remember the name of this village or where it was situated. When they told me my name I thought they must be correct – it sounded familiar.”

“You did not know your name…”

“I am afraid that I did not, no.” He sighed. “Fortunately they told me I was a captain in the Navy. If they had told me I was an escaped axe murderer I might happily have continued murdering – because it would have been the only clue to hold on to.”

Mr Wentworth looked shocked.

@~@~@~@

Sailors travelling through Somersetshire were not rare, but sailors with bandaged heads were intriguing. Mr Wentworth asked his brother why he did not remove the bandage, but he was told there was a scar. Of course the captain wanted to avoid tricky questions and it was easier to do so with a bandage than with a scar.

“I cannot take you out in public like this,” Edward protested. “Every woman outside the house is going to be fawning over you, the poor, wounded sailor, if women inside the house are any indication. Or is that what you want?”

The captain gave no answer as he considered being fawned over by someone more suitable than the maid.

“I could perhaps tell them about the unsolved murders in Plymouth…” Edward said reflectively.

“Which unsolved murders?”

“I read about them.”

“And what are they to do with me?”

“Possibly nothing, but you do not remember not committing them, do you?”

“What vile game is this?” the captain demanded. “I remember everything from coming into port and I did not murder anyone then.”

@~@~@~@

The first appearance in public – not on the streets of Monkford or in church – came at the house of Lady Arabella Jackson, an old and wealthy widow. Mr Wentworth said the captain had met her before and that she was likely to want him to come along.

“Old, you say? Thirty? Forty?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of seventy or eighty.”

“There was someone on board who thought I might be thirty.”

“In which case he was probably twelve.”

“Who else will be there? Will they know me?”

“I did not receive the guest list, but Lady Arabella entertains frequently and usually indiscriminately.”

“Which means…”

“It might be anyone. Are there people you would rather not see? I could make discreet inquiries.”

“I do not remember any of them!” cried the captain. “Stay close, so I do not say anything stupid.”

@~@~@~@

“Are you certain you do not remember anyone?” asked Mr Wentworth as they approached the house on horseback and a carriage was just halting outside it. The carriage bore an admirable crest and was in good repair. It was also pulled by some very fine horses. Its occupant was surely a man of importance.

“No one,” the captain replied as a beautiful young woman was helped out of the carriage, followed by a handsome man. He followed them with his eyes as they were led up the steps and missed the last occupant alighting from the carriage.

“Not them?”

“Not at all.”

“That was Sir Walter Elliot and his two daughters. You have met them.”

“Tell me again inside. I am sure I shall have forgotten it by then.”

Mr Wentworth smiled and left his horse with a servant. “And that family there?” He gestured with his head at another carriage.

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“Mr and Mrs Eastwick and their son Simon. I am fairly sure you met them as well.”

“Do not spout all these names at me!” the captain complained. “It is too much.” He rubbed his bandage.

“Take off the silly bandage. You are not suffering from anything. Stuff it down your trousers or into a flowerpot for all I care.”

@~@~@~@

Inside, Lady Arabella greeted them most graciously. She was not like some rich people, who invited the lesser folk only as an act of charity, but she genuinely enjoyed the mixture of people herself. Whether all her guests did remained to be seen, but the majority were too well-bred to disclose their real feelings upon being seated next to a curate or a sailor.

At some point it was announced that Miss Anne was going to play. The captain had no idea who Miss Anne was. He had not been reintroduced to everyone, but Edward had greeted anyone nearby. Most people had said they remembered him indeed and they had asked about his ship and his bandage and – by Jove! – Edward had been right. How had he known ladies would be impressed by that piece of cloth? When had Edward gained such an intimate knowledge of women? The captain was in awe.

Miss Anne, whoever she was, played well, he was sure, but it hurt his head the way loud and chaotic conversations did as well. He quietly moved to the back of the room.

Edward followed him, of course. ”What is wrong?”

“I have a headache.”

His brother looked sceptic.

“It is true. I think I may not be ready for large groups of people and music.”

“But she plays well. You always thought so.”

“I did? I have never seen the girl before.” And he had still not seen her, except a glimpse of dark hair and a light blue gown. “But if you enjoy it, go back. I am comfortable here.”

@~@~@~@

He could still hear the music here, but it was less loud. As far as he could tell it was good, but it was simply too loud. He opened the doors to the garden and stepped out. The cool air and the absolute silence were a relief, although after a while he discovered it was not completely silent at all. There were small sounds like the rustling of leaves and he could see shadows moving.

It was fascinating to someone who usually spent his days and nights at sea. He quite forgot to return to the party, but he was determined to find out whether that was a fox there, at the other end of the lawn.

When he returned from his expedition – with no clear answer – he found a girl standing on the terrace, close to where he had left the house. He did not trust it, but it was the way he had to go to get back inside. The moonlight illuminated her. She looked like a ghost, pale and unmoving.

“Captain,” the ghost said in a peculiar voice.

“Am I dying? Is this a sign? Do they want the rest of me too?”

The ghost did not move, only her lips did. “Your brother said you had a headache.“

“My brother speaks to ghosts? Is that allowed? A man of the church?”

“Yes.” The ghost sounded even more peculiar now.

“But my having a headache is no reason to summon me back to the underworld. I am not yet ready to die. Tell the underworld, please, that they still have some things that belong to me.”

The ghost looked somewhat perplexed. She turned elegantly, however, and slipped back into the house.