She realizes as she steps in the room that she's made a mistake. This is Horatio's room, filled with books and papers and maps, littered with the distant smell of salt and gunpowder. There is nothing of hers in this room, nothing to take strength from, and, given who she is about to receive, she finds Horatio's surrounding presence nothing like strength.

She sits in one of Horatio's chairs, the hard leather cool against her back, and she feels the unfamiliar prickle of perspiration, of fear, shiver down her spine. Setting her jaw, she swallows everything down and dons the closest thing to a smile she will ever offer the woman being shown into the room.

"Mrs. Mason, Lady Hornblower."

Barbara rises carefully, offering a nod to Maria's mother. It is all so smooth and practiced, and her breeding and education mask the fear that flares up again at the sight of her here after all this time. "Mrs. Mason."

"Don't worry, Lady Barbara." Her words are rough, uncultured, and Barbara can hear the edges the drink has given to them. "I'm not here to tell your tale to your husband, the great Lord Hornblower."

Barbara waves off the butler, waiting until the door closes behind him. "I'm certain I don't know what you mean."

"You do." Mrs. Mason looks around the room, her cold eye no doubt calculating costs, tabulating a bill. Barbara imagines the money she had given Maria's mother to facilitate the transfer of Richard Arthur to her care is long gone, buried in bottles of rum or sherry or whatever else covers the smell of the dirty streets. "We both know you do."

"Very well." Barbara remembers the night, relives it in her head when things are difficult, when Horatio is difficult. Remembers the price she paid, remembers the price she took. "If you are not here for that, I can only assume you're here for money."

"Is that all you can assume, Lady Barbara?" She sneers her way through Barbara's name, making it sound like a curse. "Well, you're sorely lacking imagination then." Mrs. Mason settles more firmly in her chair, crossing her legs and planting her hands in her lap, a mockery of Barbara's position. "I'm here to see Archie."

The name jerks hard at Barbara's chest and she masks it a faint grimace. "There is no Archie in this house."

The feral snarl of a grin Mrs. Mason gives her nearly sends Barbara's hand to her throat, but she stills the impulse in time, clutching her hands together in her lap. "Stole that from her too, did you? She chose that name for him, you know, for Hornblower." Another sneer, another snarl, and never has Horatio's name sounded so base, so vile. "You ruined your chance with that. He used to speak it at night in his sleep, and Maria picked it for him. It meant nothing to her." The woman laughs, the sound nothing more than a coughing chuckle that dries up unexpectedly. "I want to see the boy."

"No."

"No." Fire sparks in Mrs. Mason's eyes and she leans in. "No?"

"We had an agreement."

"You paid me to give you the boy. You have him. I want to see him."

Barbara swallows and gets to her feet, moving toward the door. She signals, bringing one of the house girls over and whispers to her, instructions clear as she keeps one eye on the viper sitting in her nest. She nods and the girl hurries off, and Barbara makes her way carefully back to her chair, picking her way across the room as if every step might be a fatal one. "His name is Richard Arthur."

The chuckle comes again, followed by a rough cough. "Of course it is." Mrs. Mason leans back in her chair, a sly smile on her face. Barbara is aware that this is the woman who bought her husband for Maria, exacted a price that, though he says nothing, has worn Horatio down in more ways than one.

The nurse comes in the room, followed by Richard Arthur. His face is buried in her swirling skirts and it's only after gentle chastisement that he comes around, standing primly in front of her. Barbara watches Mrs. Mason's face, expecting vitriol, expecting bile to spill from her mouth. Instead, her face softens and she kneels down on the floor, tilting her head to look at the boy. Barbara wonders what she sees - does she see the sharp, prominent nose of Horatio? The deep, dark eyes that hide more than they ever show? Or does she see the shape of Maria's face? The shy but ready smile that he offers her, the one so like his mother's.

Barbara clears her throat as she stands, not gesturing for Richard Arthur to move from the protected place at his nurse's skirts. "Richard Arthur, this is Mrs. Mason. Say hello."

He nods and bows and stutters a hello, already the hint of too-long limbs that his father now wears so well. Barbara watches Maria's mother sharply, judging for any move that might give her the leverage to dislodge her from this house.

"How do you do?" Mrs. Mason's voice is soft now, gentle. Maria's voice when she stroked her belly, talked of the child to come.

"Mrs. Mason is a distant relative, Richard Arthur. Very distant." Barbara nods at the nurse who places a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Say goodbye now."

Mrs. Mason reaches out, her fingers gentle as they graze across his cheek. Barbara's chest constricts, her heart stopping, until the hand drops away and Mrs. Mason stands. "Good to meet you, lad."

"Goodbye, ma'am." He bows again and hurries out, the nurse ushering him along with appropriate speed. Barbara waits until the door is shut behind them to look at Mrs. Mason again.

"How much do you want?"

"You are well suited to your husband, Lady Hornblower." Mrs. Mason looks at her, eyes sharp as flint and nearly as dark. "Neither of you cared about my daughter, so long as you got what you wanted. And you did, didn't you?"

"I think it's time for you to leave. Just give me your sum, and our business will be done."

"Oh no, Lady Barbara. You go back to your life of luxury and the man my daughter loved. You live with it." She shakes her head, gathering the worn coat she'd held in her lap and putting it on carefully. "Today, though I doubt you know it for all that you paid for it to be etched in marble, is my daughter's birthday. I don't want your blood money. Yours or his. I just want you to know…want you to remember, today and every day, that someone knows what you did."

"What I…"