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“No, sir, but the door cannot be locked, so I thought it best to ensure privacy.”

“Well, perhaps we can find someone to fix it tomorrow?”

“There is no lock, sir.”

“No lock?” repeated Darcy, dumbfounded.

“Only the master suite, which is occupied by the Hursts, has a lock,” said Finn woodenly.

“How singular!” replied Darcy, pulling on his breeches.

“Yes, sir.”

“And how do you find your own accommodations?” he asked as Finn approached with his cravat.

“They are adequate, sir.”

This did not sound too promising. But as Darcy was required to keep his chin still as his cravat was tied, he could not immediately enquire further and the topic passed away.

Stepping into the corridor afterwards, he came upon Miss Bingley exiting her stateroom and was obliged to offer her his elbow. Glancing back along the corridor towards the Hursts’ stateroom in the stern, Darcy saw that Caroline’s room was situated next to his and could only wonder why Bingley had not taken this room, allowing Caroline to be accommodated in the room next to her sister’s. They proceeded along the narrow corridor to the saloon and subsequent dining room, which apartments occupied the full width of the ship in the bows. A servant with a tray appearing from a hooded stairway revealed the galley lay below.

The French cook who came with the boat had outdone himself, for which Caroline took full credit. Darcy gave his compliments to Miss Bingley and frankly expressed his surprise to Charles, once the ladies withdrew to the saloon, that the Prince of Bavaria did not keep such a wizard about him.

“Apparently, he has a French chef associated with each of his residences and simply moves about them while the chefs stay put,” replied Charles. “I understand the chef’s commission is a substantial part of the hire. It cost a mint, but Hurst and I have agreed to split the additional cost with you to keep the ladies happy.”

Hurst, who had single-handedly eaten as much of the repast as his wife and the other two Bingleys, grunted in agreement with this statement and lit a cigar. Darcy, who had yet to enquire from Mr Trevor just exactly how much this extravagance had set him back made a mental note to do so. This prompted a question on another thing that had been worrying him.

“Charles, I do think it would have been better to lodge Caroline next to the Hurst’s cabin and for you to take the room next to mine.”

“I totally agree, Darcy, and so I told her. But she does not like the colours of that stateroom, though I cannot say pink frills suit me either. I shall just have to imagine I am in the boudoir of a lovely lady who should be lodging there, like Jane Bennet. That will give me pleasant dreams!”

“I thought you had decided not to pursue that avenue?” reminded Darcy.

“Well, perhaps I won’t,” said Bingley huffily. “Caroline wrote to Miss Bennet, but she did not write back. Women are so inconstant!”

“Perhaps it is for the best,” said Darcy, gripping his friend’s arm.

“Since when does Caroline not like pink?” asked Hurst, issuing a thin stream of smoke from his cigar through his nostrils. “I distinctly recall her telling Louisa last week that it was her favourite colour!”

“So did I!” concurred Charles. “But when I said so, she told me it was the wrong shade.”

As such a seeming reversal of opinion was so typical of Caroline, Hurst merely rolled his eyes and the conversation turned to the fish they had eaten for dinner that had been caught by the sailors that day. These were duly compared to English fish.

Once Hurst had finished his cigar, the gentlemen downed the rest of their port before joining the ladies in the saloon. The rest of the evening was whiled away in playing loo.

When Darcy retired, he found Finn filling in the time until he should appear industriously darning a rent in one of his waistcoats, which had split down the back when Darcy had helped two Dutchmen open a drawbridge.

“It really should be put in the poor basket, sir,” said Finn as he set the waistcoat aside to divest his master of his clothes. “But as we are travelling, I thought it best to keep it in reserve.”

“Sorry, Finn. I did think to take my tailcoat off,” apologised Darcy before casting about for some way to be more considerate to his long-suffering valet. “But were we not talking of your accommodations before dinner? Come, show me them before we retire. Perhaps I can do something to make you more comfortable.”

After pulling on his banyan and stepping into his slippers, Darcy followed Finn several doors down the hall towards the saloon. Opening a narrow door that Darcy had presumed to be a cupboard, Finn revealed a galley-like space clearly reserved for male servants. One wall was covered in cupboards while the other contained a series of closely stacked bunks. One of these was occupied by Mr Trevor, who was working on a ledger in the cramped space by the light of a single candle. The roar of the paddlewheel left no doubt that the engine room was housed behind the wall at the far end of the beds.

“Goodness!” said Darcy, momentarily at a loss as to what to say. The servants’ accommodations were clearly not of the quality Finn and Mr Trevor were accorded in their respective domiciles. As they had both been born gentlemen, they generally commanded a small but tastefully furnished room of their own.

“Well,” said Finn philosophically, “I suppose it is better than the hammocks that the sailors string up anywhere downstairs after dark.”

As Darcy had not ventured to the lower deck, he could not say, but it did suddenly occur to him that he could kill two birds with one stone.