Scandal and Secrets

by Christopher Hoare

  “Yes,” one of the admirals said. “Your steamships could run out of coal, but a sailing ship cannot run out of wind.”

  They all laughed.

  “Except in the doldrums, perhaps, Admiral. But that truth you speak to is the reason we termed the spiteful class ships to be coastal defence vessels. We need to use wind and not coal some of the time if we wish to remain on station in the Channel for more than four days.”

  “What then is the value of steamships when our frigates may stay at sea for months?” another of the captains demanded.

  “The plain answer, Sir, is this. Manoeuvrability. We can attack an enemy sailing ship from any point of the compass without regard for the wind. We proved in the action last July that the Spiteful could attack a French corvette from a direction of our choosing while the Frenchman was limited by the wind direction in his choices for escape.”

  No laughter followed these words, and they were still only halfway to Chatham when the two most open-minded officers, a white haired admiral who walked with a cane and a captain missing an arm, stayed to speak with her.

  The reception and dinner lasted until nine in the evening and then they all repaired to a ballroom for the rest of the festivities. Roberta tried hard to limit her exertions for she had been on watch the night before when they had arrived outside the mouth of the Medway to await a pilot to bring them in at dawn.

  She was able to sit for some of the evening with three ladies of the court, wives of the gentlemen ushers, and declined several invitations to dance before Mr. Holmes presented himself. It looked as if it was the only opportunity he would find to speak with her in private.

  She excused herself from the ladies as he bowed before her. “I hope none of the gentlemen will consider me flighty,” she said, “but my husband’s step-brother has been waiting to bring me news all day.”

  They went out onto the dance floor and joined two couples of aldermen and their wives. “What do you have for me?” she asked as they went heying down the group and found new places at the foot.

  “Bad news, I’m afraid,” he answered. “Julian was notified by letter from the Bishop of London that a request had been made to inspect the procedure of your nuptials aboard the Medusa.” He paused as the second couple arrived. “What did you write in that letter to the Marquess?”

  Roberta put her hand to her face . . . what had she written? She had been so angry that she could hardly remember. “I am not sure, but it was something that referred to the advice we received from Professor Marsh.”

  “Well, Julian says you have set the cat about the pigeons. We must ask the Medusa’s chaplain to let us examine the special license as soon as possible.”

  “But he is at sea,” Roberta said, and then it was their turn to go heying again.

  “You must do whatever it takes,” Mr. Holmes said as they settled again. “Can you ask Commander Worthington to request it when next he joins Medusa’s little flotilla?”

  “I will ask. Is that all?”

  “No, the next is worse.”

  Roberta felt her spirits sink. “I hardly know how it could be.”

  “Julian travelled through Swedish Pomerania with the diplomats for Switzerland. He is ensuring the security of the gentlemen as they travel and when they are in Bern.”

  “He has told me. It seems innocent enough.”

  “One of the agents he sent to Stralsund ahead of their arrival was Madame Timmins. She will be continuing her duties in Bern.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Audience

  It was ten of the morning next day before she was summoned to her audience with the Prince. He seemed to be nursing a sore head and she had been advised to speak quietly. She did note that out of yesterday’s uniform and in less formal, but looser, attire his good physique displayed all the symptoms of too much food and drink and too little exercise.

  “First tell me how Napoleon looked,” he said. “Did he seem ill . . . perhaps fearful . . . perhaps distracted from his troubles?”

  This question struck Roberta as somewhat dangerous to answer and so she pleaded ignorance, since this was the only time she had ever met him.

  “And how did your meeting come about? How did you come to meet him?”

  There was nothing for it but to begin at the wedding aboard Medusa and the matter of the stolen American passport. The Prince proved to be a very good listener and only occasionally interrupted with a request for clarification.

  She made sure to add every nuance that she could remember and when she came to the point where Fouché had introduced her to Napoleon as l’américaine he burst out laughing. “The sly fox outsmarted himself there, by jove. Yes, outsmarted himself, he did.”

  As she related the journey aboard the pyroscaphe, the Prince sat motionless with a glass of brandy untouched in his hand. He only became agitated when she reached the parade of ships and the boiler accident. “Good Heavens, was it sunk, were the crew killed?”

  “The colonel of the Genie Millitaire stood close to protect Madam Timmins and me from the blast, but I was able to see the wreckage and bodies thrown into the air. It was not an accident I had not seen before―”

  “You are familiar with such disaster?” The Prince’s brandy spilled as he gestured with the glass. “How do these things happen?”

  “In this case, Your Highness, the engineers had not allowed the build-up of steam an opening to escape when they reached the end of the parade route. In order to stop, they pinched down the volume of steam to the engines, and it had no place to go.”

  “These things do not frighten you? You have no fear of the monster steam beneath your feet?”

  “Steam is controllable, Highness, when one has made allowances for all situations and has a well-trained crew. I was able to judge the French progress with training their crews from this mishap. But if you still have interest, I had intended to relate what I saw of the French Leviathan, when Fouché took us from the scene.”

  “Yes. Describe the beast, and tell me of the ships being built to fight it.”

  After a footman arrived to mop up the spilled brandy and place another glass in the Prince’s hand, Roberta resumed her story, still wondering how she was to turn the recounting to the issue her husband wanted her to introduce.

  She reached the point in her tale where Elise had told her of Fouché’s pretence to let her escape while actually having her followed so she would lead his police to her husband, when the image of the two on their way to Switzerland came to her mind. Of the two―perhaps sleeping together whenever they chose. Her eyes filled with tears and she had to turn away with a sob.

  The Prince was immediately there offering a kerchief from his own pocket. “What is the matter, My Dear? What dread danger has filled your mind? You must have a glass of brandy to settle your composure.” He gestured to the footman. “Anton, bring a glass for the Lady.”

  “I must apologize, Your Royal Highness,” she said, but another sob prevented the rest of her apology.

  “Do not distress yourself, My Dear. Your bravery in the very midst of your enemies is unshaken, but its shadow has settled in your heart. You may speak of it if it will help. I assure you I am a good listener for such tasks. Yes, indeed, I have calmed many such disturbances.”

  Roberta dabbed at her eyes with the kerchief as the footman stood to hand her the glass. “My fears of France are not the cause of my distress, Your Highness. I must confess that it was an unjust accusation of my husband that came to me as I thought of that woman going to Switzerland with him.”

  “That woman? The woman you escaped from Antwerp with?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” Roberta raised the glass and took a sip. “She is a member of his security party who travel with the diplomats to meet with the Americans.” Roberta covered her face as she felt another sob attempting to erupt. “She is free to travel with him—indeed to make love as they will—while his father refuses me leave to even see him.”

  Nothing would serve but the r
elating of the whole tale of the Marquess’ refusal to accept her marriage. “He will not countenance my presence―he considers my birth as a commoner would Corrupt the Blood if I should be the mother of a future Marquess.”

  “Oh, what rot. There have been more commoners with less nobility than you, My Dear, who have mothered marquesses . . . and dukes too, if the truth were told.”

  “He holds the threat of disinheritance over my husband’s head to force him to accept this mensa et thoro that prevents us meeting.”

  “Disinheritance? What rot! The title is bestowed by the Crown, and only the Crown can entail it.”

  “I am told he has made a will that copies the method of the Baron Berkeley affair in the fifteenth century, Your Highness. He has named His Majesty the King as the successor to the marquisate.”

  “Oh no! My poor Father cannot be embroiled in this. No, that will never do. I refuse to countenance it. I will go to the Lord Chancellor. He will make short work of this nonsense.”

  Roberta’s heart seemed to miss a beat. As the Prince made to get up and waved his hand to summon someone, she realised she had succeeded in her task. She should throw herself on the Prince Regent’s feet in gratitude; but while she had done the right thing by law and custom, she had likely only prolonged the life of this unhappy marriage that she would rather be rid of.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  For those in Peril on the Sea

  After a lavish luncheon with the Admiralty and Royal contingents, Roberta was asked to be on the quayside in the official party bidding farewell to His Royal Highness when he boarded the Royal barge to return to London.

  “Actually, he is only going as far as Tilbury today,” Lord Paulit told her with a discreet smile. “I think he fancies inspecting the troops there―as did Queen Elizabeth some two hundred years ago when invasion threatened.”

  Roberta thought she might wag a finger at him, but decided it better to keep the pleasantry to herself. She was pleased when the Prince stopped in front of her in the line and whispered he had already penned the instruction for the Lord Chancellor. “Do not fret, My Dear Lady. Do not worry yourself.”

  “He can be a very fine gentleman when his heart is touched,” Lord Paulit said to her as the Prince shook hands with the First Lord and was helped down the steps onto the barge. “Your plea will be settled, I think.”

  “I am sure he would touch the hearts of the people if they could see him as I have.”

  “Yes. But all they see are the expensive buildings and festivities when everyone else has to scrimp to get through the war.” Lord Paulit shook a sorrowful head. “Ah, all will come right eventually. On another topic, My Dear, I wondered which of the officers spoke most about steam to you yesterday as the Royal Barge conveyed us to Chatham.”

  “Oh, that would be Admiral Pierce, who seemed quite amused at the novelty, and Captain Hawke, who sounded interested in the tactical points of ramming an enemy warship.”

  “I thank you for your thoughts, My Dear. We cannot leave Chatham until we have settled some administrative matters.”

  “Administrative matters concerning the spitefuls, My Lord?”

  “Yes. Within another month or two we will have quite a little fleet of spitefuls here. Your Commander Worthington has done excellently as a trainer of crews and in affording a steam patrol for the blockading ships off the Schelde, but he hasn’t the seniority to become squadron commander. We will be staying in Chatham until he returns from the present patrol―what are your plans?”

  “I will send my people to London on the steamer tomorrow, and then they will all take the train back to Glasgow. Lord Melville has asked me to stay in London a few days to see the progress with the two vessels being built on the Thames.”

  “Commander Worthington and the Spiteful should be returning very soon, should they not? The coal bunkers must be getting rather low.”

  “Quite true, My Lord, but he may have taken advantage of the same fair winds as we on our voyage down the East coast.”

  “Even so, we would hope to have our discussion of the future command structure completed this evening.”

  Roberta had plenty of time to think of the conversations and progress that evening after she had settled her people in accommodation ashore. She also had the time to speak more with Mr. Holmes about the investigation into her marriage aboard Medusa.

  “We have to suppose the Marquess undertook to ask the Church to look into the matter after he received your letter―and whatever you wrote in it. It is no small thing to investigate the action of an Archbishop of Canterbury.”

  Roberta shook her head. “I am not sure why I should want to verify the wording of the special marriage licence, Mr. Holmes. You were quite insistent in your advice that I should weigh my decision very carefully before considering an offer of marriage from His Lordship―a consideration my own intuitions were already strongly engaged in. I made a very foolish error and fear that I will be made the laughing stock of every young woman who smiles at my husband for the rest of my life. The annulment only worries me if it should bring some grave criticism and censure from the Church.”

  “It should not. We can easily prove that you were not engaged before the ceremony, that you were entirely passive.” He regarded her seriously. “But you do suppose he must be committing adultery with Madam Timmins as we speak?”

  “He committed adultery with her in Antwerp not four days after our marriage.”

  Mr. Holmes’ eyes widened. “Surely not?”

  “She admitted the sin to me, and excused herself to me by calling her complicity to be caused by great disappointment and jealousy when she learned we had married.”

  Their conversation was interrupted at that moment by the arrival of a panting Mr. MacRae.

  “Good heavens, Man,” Mr. Holmes demanded. “What is the reason for this great agitation?”

  “A ship has been sighted making for the Medway, My Lady. It seems to be the Spiteful, and it is towing a broken and dis-masted vesel behind it.”

  “Good Lord,” she said. “We must hurry to the quayside at once. Will they arrive before dark?”

  “But barely,” MacRae answered. “I spoke with one of the Admiralty captains and they are sending orders for every ship in the harbour to light their lanterns and send men in small boats to guide the vessels in.”

  When they arrived at a spot overlooking the anchorage, they could determine the location of the two arrivals by the sparks issuing from the Spiteful’s funnels as it entered the Medway against the falling tide. Of its tow, they could see nothing but a dark shadow.

  Lord Paulit arrived soon after them. “Lord Melville is calling out the crews of every ship in the anchorage as well as the surgeons of the Naval Hospital.”

  Roberta immediately worried the tow was Medusa. “Do we know the identity of the ruined vessel?”

  “Not at this time. The master of the ship that brought tidings of the sighting thought it was a seventy-four, but we may not know until they anchor. The tow is listing badly and might founder before they reach safety.”

  As they watched, the dockyard tug came into view making for the arrivals. They still had four miles to go before reaching the anchorage off Gillingham, and the assistance could make all the difference to the outcome.

  A little later, the watchers lost sight of both vessels when they passed behind one of the islands in the haven. By the time they came into sight again they could be seen only by the lanterns they carried. The anchorage soon became a veritable pool of illuminations as all the rowing craft manned by the naval crews went out to mark the safe channel with lamps held up by willing hands.

  From the direction of Chatham came a veritable flotilla of small craft. One of the longboats tied up at the steps near the watchers, and the First Lord joined them to speak with Lord Paulit. “I have sent orders by mounted messenger to the squadron in the Downs for them to prepare to sail to the post off Flushing as soon as they receive definite instructions in the morning. That is Co
mmodore Fancourt, is it not?”

  “It is,” Lord Paulit answered. “Three seventy-fours and two frigates. Can we send the Regent with them?”

  “If Farley is ready to up anchor with the tide tomorrow. They must meet off North Foreland.”

  “I will go to find Lieutenant Farley at once,” Lord Paulit said. “May I have your longboat?”

  “No, please find another. I intend to go aboard our crippled vessel as soon as it is loosed from the tow.”

  Roberta spoke up. “May I come with you, My Lord?”

  “Most certainly not, My Dear. It will not be a fit sight for your eyes. Why would you wish to witness such sights and such suffering?”

  “Because I feel sure that the tow is the Medusa.” She paused to calm her anxiety. “I have many friends aboard.”

  “It may well be, but do not jump to conclusions. You will serve me better if you and Mr. Holmes go to find Captain Hawke and go aboard Spiteful as soon as it anchors. Worthington must coal up as soon as possible. We need him to return to sea tomorrow as well. You must bring me his report of the action.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Grievous Losses

  Symington Holmes, with Lady Bond and Captain Hawke, waited on the windswept quay where Spiteful had customarily moored. When Spiteful dropped the tow and the stricken ship drifted farther to come to rest on a submerged mudbank, they could see that Commander Worthington was taking his vessel to moor against the coaling dock, while a swarm of small craft surrounded the wreck.

  “It is Medusa, I know it. Oh my poor friends,” Lady Bond wailed, and could barely cease her sobs no matter how anxiously her companions reassured her.