For Paulette, the examination of Mrs Burnham's seating charts was usually an exercise in misery: coming as low as she did in the order of social precedence, it almost always fell to her to be seated amidships – or beech-o-beech, as the BeeBee liked to say – which meant that she was usually placed between the least desirable guests: colonels who'd been deafened by gunpowder; collectors who could speak of nothing but the projected revenues of their district; lay preachers who ranted about the obduracy of the heathens; planters with indigo-stained hands, and other such nincumnoodles. Such being her experience of the Burnham burra-khanas, it was with some trepidation that Paulette asked: 'Is this a special occasion, Madame?'

'Why yes, Puggly,' said Mrs Burnham, stretching languidly. 'Mr Burnham wants us to put on a tumasher. It's for Captain Chillingworth, who's just arrived from Canton.'

Paulette glanced at the slate and saw that the Captain had already been placed at the BeeBee's end of the table. Glad of an opportunity to show off her knowledge of memsahib etiquette, she said: 'Since the Captain is next to you, Madame, must not his wife be placed beside Mr Burnham?'

'His wife?' The tip of the chalk withdrew from the slate in surprise. 'Why, dear, Mrs Chillingworth has been gone many a long year.'

'Oh?' said Paulette. 'So he is – how do you say – a veuf?'

'A widower do you mean, Puggly? No, dear, he's not that either. It's rather a sad story…'

'Yes, Madame?'

This was all the prompting Mrs Burnham needed to settle back comfortably against her pillows. 'He's from Devonshire, Captain Chillingworth, and bred to the sea, as they say. These old salts like to go back to their home ports to marry, you know, and that's what he did: found himself a rosy-cheeked West Country lass, fresh from the nursery, and brought her out East. Our country-born larkins weren't mem enough for him. As you might expect – no good came of it.'

'Why, Madame? What was it that came to pass?'

'The Captain went off to Canton one year,' said the BeeBee. 'As usual, months went by and there she was, all alone, in a strange new place. Then at last there was news of her husband's ship – but instead of the Captain, who should turn up at her door, but his first mate. The Captain had been struck down by the hectic-fever, he told her, and they'd had to leave him in Penang to convalesce. The Captain had decided to arrange a passage for Mrs Chillingworth and had deputed the mate to see to it. Well, dear, that was that: hogya for the poor old Captain.'

'How do you mean, Madame?'

'This mate – his name was Texeira as I recall – was from Macao, a Portuguese, and as chuckmuck a rascal as ever you'll see: eyes as bright as muggerbees, smile like a xeraphim. He put it about that he was escorting Mrs Chillingworth to Penang. They got on a boat and that was the last that was seen of them. They're in Brazil now I'm told.'

'Oh Madame!' cried Paulette. 'What a pity for the Captain! So he never remarried?'

'No, Puggly dear. He never really recovered. Whether it was because of the loss of his mate or his wife, no one knows, but his sea-faring went all to pieces – couldn't get along with his officers; scared the cabobs out of his crews; even turned a ship oolter-poolter in the Spratlys, which is considered a great piece of silliness amongst sailing men. Anyway, it's all over now. The Ibis is to be his last command.'

'The Ibis, Madame?' Paulette sat up with a jolt. 'He will be Captain of the Ibis?'

'Why yes – didn't I tell you, Puggly?' Here the BeeBee cut herself short with a guilty start. 'Look at me, rattling on like a gudda when I should be getting on with the tumasher.' She picked up the slate, and scratched her lip pensively with the tip of the chalk. 'Now tell me, Puggly dear, what on earth am I to do with Mr Kendalbushe? He's a puisne judge now you know, and has to be treated with the greatest distinction.'

The BeeBee's eyes rose slowly from the slate and came to rest appraisingly on Paulette. 'The judge does so enjoy your company, Puggly!' she said. 'Just last week I heard him say that you deserve a shahbash for your progress with your Bible studies.'

Paulette took fright at this: an evening spent at the side of Mr Justice Kendalbushe was not a pleasant prospect, for he invariably subjected her to lengthy and disapproving catechisms on scriptural matters. 'The judge is too kind,' said Paulette, recalling vividly the frown with which Mr Kendalbushe had affixed her on seeing her take a second sip from her wineglass: ' "Remember the days of darkness," ' he had muttered, ' "for they shall be many…" ' And of course she had not been able to identify either the chapter or the verse.

Some quick thinking was called for and Paulette's wits did not fail her. 'But Madame,' she said, 'will not the other Burra Mems take offence if someone like me is placed beside a man so puisne as Judge Kendalbushe?'

'You're right, dear,' said Mrs Burnham after a moment's consideration. 'It would probably give Mrs Doughty an attack of the Doolally-tap.'

'She is to be present?'

'Can't be avoided I'm afraid,' said the BeeBee. 'Mr Burnham is set on having Doughty. But what on earth am I to do with her? She's completely dottissima.'

Suddenly Mrs Burnham's eyes lit up and the tip of her chalk flew down to the slate again. 'There!' she said triumphantly, inscribing Mrs Doughty's name on the empty seat to Captain Chillingworth's left. 'That should keep her quiet. And as for that husband of hers, he'd better be sent off beech-o-beech where I don't have to listen to him. I'll let you have the windy old poggle…' The chalk came down on the blank centre of the table and seated Mr Doughty and Paulette side by side.

Paulette had barely had time to reconcile herself to the prospect of making conversation to the pilot – of whose English she understood mainly the Hindusthani – when the tip of the BeeBee's chalk began to hover worriedly once again.

'But that still leaves a problem, Puggly,' the BeeBee complained. 'Who on earth am I to lagow on your left?'

A bolt of inspiration prompted Paulette to ask: 'Are the ship's mates to be invited, Madame?'

Mrs Burnham shifted her weight uncomfortably on her bed. 'Mr Crowle? Oh my dear Puggly! I couldn't have him in my house.'

'Mr Crowle? Is he the first mate?' said Paulette.

'So he is,' said the BeeBee. 'He's a fine sailor they say – Mr Burnham swears that Captain Chillingworth would have been all adrift without him these last few years. But he's the worst kind of sea-dog: piped out of the Navy because of some ghastly goll-maul with a foretopman. Lucky for him the Captain is none too particular – but my dear, no mem could have him at her table. Why, it would be like dining with the moochy!' The BeeBee paused to lick her chalk. 'It's a pity, though, because I've heard the second mate is quite personable. What's his name? Zachary Reid?'

A tremor passed through Paulette, and when it ceased it was as if the very motes of dust had ceased their dance and were waiting in suspense. She dared not speak, or even look up, and could only offer a nod in answer to the BeeBee's question.

'You've already met him, haven't you – this Mr Reid?' the BeeBee demanded. 'Wasn't he on the schooner when you went over to take a dekko last week?'

Having made no mention of her visit to the Ibis, Paulette was more than a little put out to find that Mrs Burnham knew of it already. 'Why yes, Madame,' she said cautiously. 'I did have a brief rencounter with Mr Reid. He seemed aimable enough.'

'Aimable, was he?' Mrs Burnham gave her a shrewd glance. 'The kubber is that there's more than one young missy-mem who's got a mind to bundo the fellow. The Doughties have been dragging him all over town.'

'Oh?' said Paulette, brightening. 'Then maybe they could bring Mr Reid with them, as their guest? Surely Mr Crowle need not know?'