"Beneath the aurora" - читать интересную книгу автора (Вудмен Ричард)

CHAPTER 3 Arrivals

There was a clever simplicity in Bardolini's revelations. Not only was their substance of crucial importance to the survival of Great Britain, but the plan was cunning in its construction, satisfying both political and economic needs. For while raising rebellion and absorbing Canada in the Union would placate the war-hawks in the American Congress, it would also compensate the United States' treasury for the loss of British gold now paid for the grain being sent to Wellington's army in Spain. For Britain herself, the loss of American supplies was more important than the saving to her exchequer. It was well known that the Americans were happy to export to both contending parties in the great war in Europe, and that they sold wheat to the British with whom they were themselves at war! But a greater irony existed if the arms they were to buy from the French were paid for with gold sent to the United States by Great Britain in the first place.

This vast and complex circulation wormed its way into Drinkwater's tired brain as the buffeted chaise passed Chelmsford and rumbled on towards London. He mused on the tortuous yet simple logic, aware from his own experience with Yankee privateers that American ambition was as resourceful as it was boundless. There was, moreover, an insidious and personal reflection in his train of thought. In all the weary months he had spent at the Admiralty's Secret Department, he had hoped for some news like Bardolini's. He had not the slightest doubt that the Neapolitan colonel had been delivered into his hands by Providence itself, nor that it was not Joachim Murat's secret overtures that were the most important feature of Bardolini's intelligence.

The fantastical image of Napoleon's great cavalry leader was a tragi-comic figure in Drinkwater's perception, a man raised to such heights of pomp and pride that violent descent could be its only consequence. The very weakness of the parvenu king's position, his desire to maintain friends on both sides of the fence, so that when he tumbled from it there would be waiting arms to save him, was too ridiculous to be treated seriously.

King Joachim's secret earnest of good faith, the revelation of the bargain struck between the French Emperor and the Americans, was clever enough, for it was invaluable to Great Britain, but its defeat, if the British chose to act, left King Joachim untouched and would hurt his brother-in-law enough to incline fate to favour the Allied cause. Nor was its betrayal a serious enough treachery to deprive Murat of his kingdom if Napoleon defeated his enemies in detail. The French Emperor was not a man to deprive the husband of his favourite sister of his crown for a mere peccadillo!

Nor could Drinkwater ignore the consequences of success for Napoleon himself. If the Emperor of the French did succeed in forcing the British to withdraw Wellington's army for service in America or Canada, such a move would not only remove the threat to southern France, it would also release battle-hardened troops under his most experienced marshals to reinforce the ranks of the green 'Marie-Louises' now opposing the combined might of Russia, Prussia and Austria.

As Drinkwater nursed an aching head and the beginnings of yet another quinsy, as he slipped in and out of conscious thought, nodding opposite the now sleeping Bardolini, his resolve hardened round the central thought that this was without doubt the event for which Lord Dungarth had named Nathaniel Drinkwater his successor in the Secret Department of the British Admiralty.

In his tired and half-conscious state, Drinkwater found nothing incongruous in attributing Dungarth with such prescience. The earl had possessed a keen and analytical brain and had been quite capable of sensing some innate ability in his ageing prot#233;g#233;. But for Drinkwater it was to prove a dangerously deluded piece of self-conceit.

Drinkwater was at his desk by three o'clock that afternoon. When they changed horses at Brentwood he had instructed the post boy to take them directly to his home in Lord North Street. Both he and Bardolini were jerked rudely awake when the chaise finally stopped outside the terraced house.

The place had been left to Drinkwater by Lord Dungarth with a pitifully small legacy for its upkeep and the continued maintenance of its staff. It was a modest house, the austere earl's only London establishment, which had become home for Drinkwater now that his new post detained him so much in the capital. Ideas of a convenient pied-#224;-terre for Captain and Mistress Drinkwater had proved impractical. Elizabeth, never entirely at ease in town, had almost conceded defeat, and contented herself with running the small Suffolk estate, while Drinkwater led his own miserable and unhappy existence dragging daily to Whitehall.

He had done nothing to the interior of the house and it remained as it had been when Dungarth occupied it. He had even ordered Williams, Dungarth's manservant, who had performed the joint offices of butler, valet and occasional secretary to the earl, to retain the black cr#234;pe drapes over the full-length portrait of Dungarth's long-dead countess which hung above the fireplace in the withdrawing-room. The gesture had earned Williams's approval and the transfer of loyalty to Captain Drinkwater had thereafter been total.

'He's very like his Lordship in many ways,' Williams had confided to his common-law wife who, as cook and house­keeper, formed the remainder of the staff.

'Yes, he's a gennelman all right,' she agreed.

'Not quite in the same way as Lord John was,' Williams added, his notion of the finer distinctions of society more acute than that of his spouse, his terminology uttered with an unassailable familiarity, 'but inclining that way, to be sure.'

'To be sure,' agreed his wife docilely, aware that her own status was as much a matter of delicate uncertainty as Captain Drinkwater's, and always anxious to avoid the slightest disturbance to her husband's tranquillity of mind which, he had long ago assured her, was of the utmost importance in their relationship.

Williams now met Drinkwater and took his instructions. The strange colonel was to be given every comfort; a meal, a bath and, if he wished, an immediate bed after his long and tedious journey.

Williams's long service had conditioned him to odd arrivals and departures. He was well aware of the nature of the business of his employers, past and present, and the moustachioed figure was but one of a succession of ill-assorted 'guests' that he had accommodated. Having instructed Williams, Drinkwater turned to Bardolini.

'My dear Colonel, please accept my hospitality without my presence. Williams here will see to your wants. You must, as we say, make yourself at home.' He smiled at Bardolini who, as he removed his cloak, looked round with an air of curiosity, then gravely bowed a courtly acknowledgement. He looked every inch the plenipotentiary in his scarlet, white and silver.

'Thank you, Captain.'

'I shall leave you for a matter of a few hours. We will dine together tonight, when I hope to have news for you. In the meantime I will announce your arrival.'

'You wish to see my accreditation?' asked Bardolini, recovering his dangling sabretache on its silver-laced straps.

'Indeed, I do.'

'I am trusting you, Captain, with my life,' Bardolini said solemnly, handing over the heavily sealed paper which Drinkwater opened and scanned briefly.

'It is not misplaced, I assure you,' said Drinkwater, turning to Williams. 'See Colonel Bardolini wants for nothing, if you please, Williams. I shall be back for dinner at eight.'

Thus Captain Drinkwater was at the Admiralty before the clock at the Horse Guards struck three hours after noon.

Templeton met him as the Admiralty porter stirred himself from his chair.

'Good to have you return, sir,' said Templeton with a curtness that drew Drinkwater's attention to the fixed and unhappy expression on his face. 'Shall we go up directly?'

'As you please, Templeton,' said Drinkwater, somewhat nonplussed by his clerk's obvious discomfiture.

'What the devil's the matter?' Drinkwater asked, the moment they were inside his room. They had met but one other clerk upon the stairs and he had drawn aside with an unusual display of deference as Templeton had sped past, so that Drinkwater became alarmed at what news had broken in his absence.

'Barrow is the matter, sir. He has closed us down without further ado and in your absence. The matter is most improper.' Templeton fidgeted with an unhappy agitation, his face pale and anxious. 'The guard books are to be transferred to the Second Secretary's office, sir, and I,' Templeton's voice cracked with emotion, 'I am to be returned to the general copy room.'

It was not the worst fate that could befall an Englishman, Drinkwater thought, Templeton could be press-ganged, but he forbore from pointing this out. Nevertheless, it was clear that this humiliation had hurt the clerk, for news of the projected closure had come as no surprise. The thought sowed a seed in Drinkwater's over-stimulated brain but, for the moment, he confined himself to a sympathetic concern.

'My dear fellow, that is bad news, but don't despair, perhaps ...'

Templeton shook his head. 'I have remonstrated with Barrow, sir. He is adamant that our activities can be subsumed by his own office and that my own personal expertise is of little consequence.' Templeton paused to master his bitterness, adding, with a touch of venom, 'I think he is jealous of our independence.'

'I shouldn't wonder,' Drinkwater temporized, pondering on how best to further matters in so far as Bardolini's news was concerned.

'I assured him that, notwithstanding our lack of recent progress, there were indications that matters of importance would shortly come to a head and that your own absence testified to this.' Templeton fell ominously silent. There was obviously an element of deep and significant drama, at least as far as Templeton was concerned, in this exchange.

'What did Mr Barrow say to that?' Drinkwater prompted with a tolerant patience he was far from feeling.

'He said', Templeton began with an evasive air, as if he found the admission distasteful, 'that it did not seem to much matter these days whether you were in or out, sir, but that on balance your achievements in the past had proved rather more effective in the public service when you were out, preferably at sea, sir.'

Drinkwater suppressed an outburst of laughter with a snort that Templeton construed as indignation. In all justice Drinkwater could not find much flaw in Barrow's decision, given that Barrow knew nothing of the events of the last two days, but in consideration of Templeton's feelings, he kept his face straight.

'It is my fault, I'm afraid, Barrow has never liked me ...'

'I find it difficult to see why, sir.'

'Thank you, but we disagreed some years ago and I think he has seen my installation here as something to be terminated when the opportunity arose. I do not believe he wanted the department to outlive Lord Dungarth. Anyway, I think it is no matter now

'Oh, yes ... forgive me, Captain Drinkwater, I have been so unseated by this unpleasant matter

'Of course, Templeton, of course. I take it you do not wish to return to the copy room?'

'The loss of emolument, sir ...' Templeton looked aghast.

'How attached are you to my person, Templeton? Sufficient to go a-voyaging?'

'To sea, sir?' Templeton asked incredulously.

'That is the purpose of Admiralty,' Drinkwater replied drily.

'Well yes, sir, I understand, but my widowed mother…' Templeton was deathly pale.

'Never mind, then,' Drinkwater said brusquely, 'go at once and inform Mr Barrow of my return and my desire to speak with Mr Croker. Then, if you please, find out for me the ships and vessels currently at anchor in roadsteads on the east coast, from the Downs to Leith. A list of guardships and convoy escorts, that sort of thing, do you understand?'

'Perfectly.' The clerk's voice was not above a whisper.

'Good, then bring that to me, wherever I am in the building.'

Barrow received Drinkwater in his spacious office. Neither man had alluded to their disagreement some six years earlier. [See Baltic Mission.] Indeed Drinkwater supposed Barrow had long ago forgotten about it, for it was Drinkwater himself who had been the more angered by their unfortunate encounter. Nevertheless, since his posting to the Secret Department, memory of the matter had disinclined Drinkwater to force his presence on the Second Secretary and he had preferred to rely upon written memoranda to communicate with the Board.

'Pray sit down, Captain Drinkwater. Mr Croker has taken his seat in the House today and I have therefore taken the liberty of asking you to see me. I think I know why you wish to speak with the First Secretary and I apologize for the manner in which you learned of our decision to incorporate Lord Dungarth's old office with my own. I am sure you can see the logic ...'

'I perfecdy understand the logic, Mr Barrow,' Drinkwater broke in, 'and it is not what I have come to discuss with either Mr Croker or yourself.'

'Oh, I see, then what may I ask ...?'

'Templeton is somewhat anxious about his future as, I admit, I am for my own.'

Barrow was immediately deceived by Drinkwater's opening. He was used to self-seeking, whether it was that of clerks or sea-officers, but it was crucial to Drinkwater that he should know whether or not the Admiralty had any plans for himself.

'We thought perhaps some furlough; you have not had the opportunity to spend much time on your estate, nor to enjoy the society of your wife and family.'

'You have no plans for me to have a ship?'

'Not immediately, Captain, no. There are Edwardes and Milne both clamouring for release from the American blockade, and when Green returns from the West Indies…'

'I am not anxious for a seventy-four.'

'No, quite, blockade is a confoundedly tedious business, I'm told.' Barrow smiled. 'Since you're too old for a frigate,' he added with a laugh, 'it looks as if your Suffolk acres will have to serve you for a quarterdeck.'

Drinkwater ignored the mockery and changed the subject. 'I have been away, Mr Barrow, and I desire you to communicate a matter of some importance to the Foreign Secretary directly.'

'And what is that?' Barrow asked with unfeigned surprise.

'I have, in my custody, a Colonel Bardolini of the household cavalry of King Joachim of Naples. The King, if that is what he is, wishes to secure a guarantee from His Britannic Majesty's government that, irrespective of the fate of the Emperor of the French, Joachim Napoleon will remain King of Naples.'

'But King Ferdinand ...'

'I have explained all the ramifications attaching to the matter,' Drinkwater said wearily, drawing from his breast pocket Bardolini's diplomatic accreditation and laying it on the desk before Barrow. 'Moreover, I am of the opinion that King Joachim is a reed awaiting the stronger breeze. Nevertheless, Bardolini has been invested with plenipotentiary powers and sent here on a mission to the Court of St James's.'

Barrow leaned forward and drew the document towards him. 'Murat,' he murmured, reading the paper, 'well, well.'

'There is another matter, Mr Barrow,' Drinkwater began, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

'Come,' Barrow called, without looking up from Bardolini's paper.

Templeton approached across the carpet and held out a sheet of paper. Drinkwater took it and stared at it. Templeton had written: The Downs, The Nore, Ho'sley Bay, Yarmouth, The Humber, Tyne, Leith, and under each the names of one or two ships.

'What is that? What do you want, Templeton?' Barrow looked up, frowning at the intrusion.

'My fault, Mr Barrow,' Drinkwater put in quickly, 'I asked Templeton to bring me a list of ships in the ports of the east coast...'

'What on earth for ...?'

'Thank you, Templeton, kindly wait for me in my room.'

'Very well, sir.' Reluctance was in every step of the clerk's retreat.

'Captain, if you please, explain ...'

'Of course, Mr Barrow, of course. There is another matter arising out of this approach from Marshal Murat…'

'I presume this other matter touches us ... I mean their Lordships, rather than the Foreign Secretary?'

'You are an astute man, Mr Barrow.'

Drinkwater explained, repeating Bardolini's revelation and adding the corroborative evidence from Herr Liepmann at Hamburg sent through the British-held island of Helgoland. When he had finished, Barrow was silent for a moment. 'I recollect', he said gravely, 'your report on the destruction of the American privateers, and the concomitant matters you raised.' Barrow frowned, deep in thought. 'You are uniquely placed to understand the importance of this intelligence, are you not?'

'Hence this paper, Mr Barrow.'

'The paper?' Barrow frowned again, but this time with incomprehension.

'I want two things, Mr Barrow ...'

'You want... ?'

'You give my office a brief stay of execution and you give me', he looked down at the paper Templeton had brought to where his thumb lay adjacent to the note Leith, 'the frigate Andromeda.'

'But I ...'

'Come, come, I have been here long enough to know Lord Melville will put his name to anything you recommend, as will Mr Croker…'

Barrow grunted, fell silent, then said, 'But is one frigate enough, Captain? You had a flying squadron at your disposal before.'

'Another thing I have learned is that we have few enough ships to protect our own trade, Mr Barrow. How many can you spare me? The cutter Kestrel used to be at Lord Dungarth's disposal, but she has long since…'

'No, no, you may have her, if you wish, as a tender or dispatch vessel.'

'And I may write my own orders?'

'You may draft your own orders, Captain,' said Barrow smiling, 'and you may retain Templeton to do it...'

'I was thinking of taking him to sea.'

'A capital idea.'

'I think their Lordships might permit me the luxury of a secretary.'

'I think they might be persuaded.' Relief at having the problem of Templeton so neatly resolved delighted Barrow.

Drinkwater rose. 'What of Bardolini? He is safe enough with me for a few days and I shall want a week to make my preparations, but after that he will be an encumbrance.'

'Give me a day or two, Captain Drinkwater, and I will let you know — by, say, Thursday?'

Drinkwater nodded. 'What d'you think Castlereagh will do?'

'I would imagine almost anything to string Murat along and prevent him giving his wholehearted support to Bonaparte.'

'So we will send Bardolini back with a diplomatic humbug?'

'It is not for me to say, but I would imagine so.'

'Poor fellow.'

' C'est la guerre, n 'est-cepas? You may send him to Helgoland in the Kestrel. He may then be landed near Hamburg and rejoin his master at Dresden.'

Drinkwater nodded. 'Very well. I shall hear from you by Thursday?'

'Of course.'

Whether or not Barrow recalled their past disagreement, Drinkwater had forgotten it as he left the room.

Templeton was not in his room when Drinkwater returned to it, and he sat and contemplated the papers on his desk. A dozen dispatches and reports had come in in his absence, an unusual amount for two days and ironic in the light of the imminent demise of his office. The sheets were neatly minuted in Templeton's impeccable script and, where necessary, additional sheets of paper were pinned to the originals, decryptions of enciphered text.

He riffled through them. They were tediously routine: a deciphered message from a Chouan agent in Brittany recounting the numbers of French warships in Brest which would serve merely to corroborate the sightings of the blockading frigates off Ushant; a report from St Helier in the Channel Islands about a small convoy which would have reached its destination by now; and a report from Exeter concerning the escape of a score of American prisoners-of-war from a working detail sent out from Dartmoor prison.

Templeton entered the room at that moment. 'I'm sorry, sir, I...'

Drinkwater waved aside the man's apology. 'No matter. How do we come to receive this? This is a matter for the civil authorities.' He indicated the report concerning the American prisoners.

'They were seamen, sir, and therefore we were notified. We usually inform the Regulating Captains ...'

'And they try and pick them up for service in our own fleet, eh?'

'I believe so, sir. They are more productive serving His Majesty at sea, rather than being detained at His Majesty's pleasure ashore!'

'A vicious habit, Templeton, which don't make the life of a sea-officer at all comfortable, and a pretty extremity to be driven to.' Drinkwater pulled himself up short. Templeton was not to blame for such matters, though it would do him good to see something of life's realities. 'Besides,' he added, 'they were not idle when they escaped, they were building dry-stone walls.'

'Yes, sir,' Templeton said resignedly, leaning forward and drawing a last letter to Drinkwater's attention. 'There is a post scriptum to the affair.'

Drinkwater took the letter and read it. 'So they melted into the countryside. Does the fact seem the least remarkable to you, Templeton? Wouldn't you have done the same?'

'It is customary to have a few reports of sightings.'

Drinkwater dropped the letter. 'Pass these to Mr Barrow's people. We have other work to do. Do you draft orders, in the usual form, to the officer commanding HMS Andromeda ...'

'He is not on board, sir, having been lately called to Parliament.. .'

'Then that is his damned bad luck, who is he?'

'Captain Pardoe. He is the Member for Eyesham.'

'Well, so much the better for Eyesham. An order for his replacement, my commission ... where is Kestrel?'

'Kestrel, sir? Er, she is a cutter…'

'I know what she is, I want to know where she is.'

'Laid up, I think,' said Templeton frowning, 'at Chatham, I believe.'

'Find out. Let me know. Now I shall write to my wife. We have less than a week before we leave London, Templeton.'

'We, sir?'

'Yes. You are appointed my secretary.'

Templeton stared blankly at Drinkwater and opened his mouth to protest. It had gone dry and he found it difficult to speak, managing only a little gasp before Drinkwater's glare dissuaded him from the matter and he fled. To lose all hope of elevation and suffer the ignominy of virtual demotion was enough for one day, but to be a pressed man as well was more than flesh and blood could stand. Templeton reeled out into the corridor dashing the tears from his eyes.

He left behind a chuckling Drinkwater who drew a clean sheet of paper towards him, picked up his pen and flipped open the inkwell.

My Darling Wife ... he began to write and, for a few moments, all thoughts of the war left him. As he finished the letter he looked up. It was almost dark and the unlit room allowed his eyes to focus on the deep blue of the cloudless evening sky. The first stars twinkled dimly, increasing in brilliance as he watched, marvelling.

He would soon see again not merely those four circum­scribed rectangles, but the entire, majestic firmament.

It was almost a cruelty to bring Elizabeth to London for a mere three days, but two in the society of Bardolini, who insisted on continually badgering his host for news, was a trial to Drinkwater for whom the wait, with little to do beyond a brief daily attendance at the Admiralty, was tedious enough.

Difficulties began to crowd him within an hour of his wife's arrival. Bardolini insisted upon paying her elaborate court, depriving her husband of even the chilliest formality of a greeting, but then a more serious arrival in the shape of the young Captain Pardoe threatened to upset Drinkwater's humour still further.

'I understand, sir, that it is largely upon your intervention that I have been deprived of my command,' Pardoe had expostulated on the doorstep.

'Whereas I understand the demands of party expect you in Westminster, sir, where, happily, you are,' Drinkwater replied coolly.

'Damn it, sir, by what right do you ...?'

'You are making a fool of yourself, Captain Pardoe, pray come inside ...' Pardoe was admitted and confronted with the uniformed splendour of Colonel Bardolini. Introductions were effected to both the Neapolitan and Elizabeth, hushing Pardoe. At an opportune moment, Drinkwater was able to draw him aside and whisper, 'Colonel Bardolini is an important diplomatic envoy. Your ship is wanted for a mission of some delicacy, such that an officer of my seniority must assume command. It was thought better all round by the ministry that you should take your seat, I believe you are warm in the government's cause, and I should take command.'

Drinkwater's dark dissimulation appeared to have a swiftly mollifying effect. 'I see,' said Pardoe. 'Of course, if that is the case, I am naturally happy to oblige.'

'We knew you would be, Pardoe,' Drinkwater smiled, hoping Pardoe connected all the insinuations and believed Andromeda to be bound for the Mediterranean.

'D'you care for some tea, Captain?' asked Elizabeth soothingly, and the awkward incident passed, dissolving into the inconsequential small-talk of the moment. Elizabeth delighted in talking to a man who seemed to be at the heart of affairs and Drinkwater unobtrusively observed the pleasure she took in the company of Pardoe and Bardolini.

When, at last, they were alone together in their bedroom and Elizabeth had unburdened herself of news of the farms and the well-being of family and tenantry, he asked, 'Have you seen James Quilhampton recently?'

'Yes. He was dandling his son on his knee,' Elizabeth said pointedly.

'But was anxious for employment?'

'He did not say.'

'Bess, I ...'

'You said you would not be going to sea again, not that it matters much since I think I would rather you were as sea than languishing in this gloomy place.'

'I thought you liked this house?'

'When it was Lord Dungarth's, I did; as your London establishment, I don't care for it at all.

'Johnnie died in this room, didn't he?' His wife's familiar reference to the dead Dungarth discomfited Drinkwater. She had been as fond of him as he of her, and the difference between the sexes had led to an easing of the formalities that bound her husband. He changed the subject.

'I have to go, Bess ...'

'I know, affairs of state,' she sighed, then resumed, 'though I wonder what important matters demand the presence of so obscure an officer as my husband.'

'Perhaps I am not so obscure,' he said, in a poor attempt to jest, or to boast.

'Try persuading me otherwise, Nathaniel.'

'There is Colonel Bardolini.'

'He is pathetic and rather frightened.'

'Frightened? Why do you say that?' Drinkwater asked with sudden interest.

Elizabeth shrugged. 'I don't know; he just gives that impression.'

'Well, he's safe enough here and, for the few days we have, you can look after him.'

'Thank you, kind sir,' she said. 'But you have changed the subject. I want to know more of this proposed voyage. I suppose you wish me to carry orders to James when I return in the same way that I carried your sea-kit up to London.'

'You rumble me damned easily, Elizabeth.'

'You shouldn't be so transparent. I suppose you cannot or will not confide in me.'

'It is not...'

'A woman's business, I know.'

'I was about to say, it is not easy to explain.'

'Try.'

And when he had finished Elizabeth said, 'I hate you going, my darling, but knowing why makes it bearable. I know I shall never have you to myself until this war is over and anything that brings peace nearer is to be welcomed. I can only pray that God will spare you.'

He bent and kissed her, but she yielded only a little, pushing him gently away. 'Must you take James? Catriona has waited so long for him and you summoned him before, then left her to bear the child alone.'

'Bess, you know James has no means of support beyond his half-pay; he yearns for a ship…'

You promised him his swab, Nathaniel, yet he remains on the lieutenants' list.'

'You know I recommended him, but…'

'The matter proved only your obscurity,' Elizabeth was quick to point out.

'Touch#233;,' he muttered. 'Well, I can't guarantee him his swab, but I can put him in a good position to earn it. He can have the Kestrel, d'you remember her?'

'She's only a little cutter, isn't she?'

'Yes, but she provides him with an opportunity,' countered Drinkwater, increasingly desperate. You know too damned much about naval affairs, Elizabeth,' he said, rising from the bed and tearing testily at his stock.

And though they lay in each other's arms until dawn, they were unable to find the satisfaction true lovers expect of one another.