I regret to inform you, however, that on this occasion you have not been successful. The Royal Navy receives a great many offers from young ladies wishing to serve king and country, motionless and crusty, at the prow of a fighting ship. Nevertheless there are simply not enough opportunities for every aspirant mermaid or goddess of the sea equipped with a décolletage to shiver the timbers of any passing buccaneers or Napoleonic apologists.

While our selection panel noted your visits to the spa in Bath, you should understand that we’re looking for women as tough as Malabar teak, women who don’t flinch in the face of a southwesterly, who don’t respond when some not-so-jolly Jack Tar spews up his biscuit over their tresses. We need women who can embody the soul of a ship for its company of seadogs, who can look down on them with pity and consolation as they flounder and drown in the briny deep.

All we can offer such women is the likelihood of rotting on a seabed, surrounded by cannon and bones, being nibbled by sharks and manta rays; or possible retirement on a wall in the National Maritime Museum. While we do not feel that a figurehead role is right for you, Miss Austen, we noted the fluency of your application and wonder whether you might pen something light and amusing to entertain ladies like yourself, though obviously nothing taxing.

We remain

Your obedient servants

The Royal Navy