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In the late summer of 1777, anyone standing on the banks of the Gulf of Finland might have beheld a most spellbinding sight: a three-masted maritime marvel of polished wood and golden paint, its sails billowing in the northern wind. On the deck of the yacht, they might have spotted the lone figure of a woman, her eyes fixed on the course of the Neva river flowing towards St Petersburg. If they could have seen inside, they would have found contents as exotic as the ship’s story: a menagerie of animals, including small monkeys; an orchestra; two clergymen (a Catholic for the French crew and an Anglican who doubled up as publicist); a state room, a kitchen, a bathroom and decorative heaters, along with a priceless selection of silver, and art in a picture gallery. The beady-eyed might have caught the name of the ship on the side: the Duchess of Kingston.