Chapter Twenty-Seven
Adieu, mes Americains and Spies
“Well, Gideon old chap, this looks rather like goodbye.” Lord Bond sat his horse beside the American’s as they watched the carriages of the American diplomats leave Schloss Reichenbach and turn into the highway to Basel: the easiest route back to France now the treaty was in their hands and only in need of ratification.
Paine offered his hand in farewell. “I can’t say I have always thought this, but you are a good partner . . . on the same side.”
Bond laughed as he took it. “So you will follow your grand officials all the way to Paris . . . or beyond? I assume they will take ship from La Rochelle.”
Paine shook his head. “It may be only habit, but I hesitate to discuss their itinerary with you.”
“Don’t worry, I expect Fouché already has it.”
“Yes, but France and America are allies.”
“For a little while longer, I expect,” Bond said. “I rather fancy Napoleon will be vexed when he learns his time has been wasted over the loan business.”
Paine turned his head to watch the carriages out of sight. “They want me to tail them a mile or two behind to watch for anyone following.”
Bond smiled and glanced about. “Well, it won’t be the English, but I wonder if our Swedes will try for something to earn their keep.”
“I agree. Do you suppose they will try in Switzerland or wait until the carriages pass Basel?”
Bond started to speak but then held up an arm to point. “I expect that fellow could tell us.” A man on horseback emerged from the trees a couple of hundred yards down the road.
Paine tightened his hands on the reins. “He’s riding to Bern. Can you tell who he is?”
“I would suspect the chappie who has been staying at the Metropole. Do you want to follow him?”
“What good would it do?”
“It would give you an opportunity to say goodbye to Madame Timmins. She is watching the French consulate, and may learn something of interest.”
Paine tightened the reins and his horse took a step backward. “Okay, I’m game. I wondered why she was in Bern instead of the chateau.”
Bond didn’t answer as he urged his mount into the road. The man on the horse was about to vanish behind a bend in the distance. He had known that someone had been watching the chateau ever since they began the negotiations, but Elise had never managed to catch where they went when they reached the city. Perhaps this would be the day they would succeed.
“Elise did mention she had seen you several times in the city,” Bond said. “Social visits, perhaps?”
“Who said I was meeting her?”
“Ah, I would not pry into personal matters, but the two of you have made up after she bashed you over the head with the wine bottle?”
“If you say.”
When they reached Bern, they closed up a little on their quarry to see where he went. He disappeared down a narrow alley between two tall buildings, one of which looked as if it could be the back of the block housing the French consulate.
By the straw and horse droppings on the ground it must lead to a stable.
They drew rein and sat the horses. “It probably won’t gain us anything to go down there,” Bond said. “That looks like the back of the consulate, so I wonder where Elise is?”
He had hardly spoken the words when a pistol shot echoed up the alley.
They both dismounted. “Give me your reins,” Paine said, tying the horses head to head as soon as he had both.
Bond took out his Jover and Belton and cocked the flintlock at the top touchhole before walking softly down the alley. Paine joined him with a single-shot flintlock in his hand.
Two stable lads dashed from a tall gateway and ran the other way when they saw Bond and Paine. Another figure followed them from the gateway―it was Elise, looking after the stable lads and wiping blood from her arm.
“Who was shooting?” Bond said sotto voce.
She turned sharply, a knife in her hand. She lowered it as she saw them.
They joined her at the gateway and looked in. The horseman they had followed lay in a doorway, his legs kicking and blood spraying in a fountain from his throat.
“Did you have to do that?” Bond grumbled. “The Swiss will take a dim view of your making such a mess.”
Paine went to her and put a hand on her arm. “Did he shoot you, or is that his blood?”
“It’s mostly his. That is powder burn on my sleeve.”
“All right, folks. We had better get out of here before official Switzerland appears.” Bond urged the other two along as they pored over Elise’s arm. “You can ride pillion with me until we get to the English consul’s house. What was the reason for all that?”
“He saw me watching as he put a message into a box on the stable wall,” Elise said. “If the knife wasn’t faster than the flintlock, that would have been me lying there.”
“Hmm. We will have to get you out of the city. Do you still have a passport with a Madam Paine on it, Gideon?”
“Oh no. You are not implicating me.”
“Yes, we are. What happened to the message in the box, Elise?”
“I have it.”
“Gideon, you are already implicated, that is blood on your sleeve. But that message might be an eye opener for your highly placed politicians. Elise, we will get your things from the consul’s house and then you can take my horse. Gideon, I hope you notice that Madam Timmins is an asset to any security detail. The two of you can take the mountain road to Belfort and meet your diplomats there―I feel quite sure that the agents will not move very quickly to follow the carriages, with that message in Elise’s hands.”
They helped Elise climb onto the horse behind him and lost no time in retracing their earlier route until they had circumnavigated the river road around the city.
When they stopped at the English consul’s house, Elise slid to the ground. “I don’t think it is safe for me to go to France,” she said.
“It will be, now you are an American . . . Madam Paine. As long as you don’t bump into Fouché.”
Paine dismounted and looked at him. “I don’t get why you want to palm her off onto me.”
“Item one, she still has that very expensive afternoon dress from Antwerp . . . it happens to have been bought with your money. I will see the Admiralty takes the price off the account. Item two, it would be very embarrassing for a British diplomatic mission to try to travel across the neutral countries of Europe with a suspected murderess in the party.”
“So why can America do it?” Paine said.
“As you mentioned, France and America are allies. She is a double agent―heaven knows she has acted for every government in Europe the whole time she was supposed to be working for me. I have no doubt but that she will serve you well.”
The British negotiators from Bern travelled without any spying companions on their way to Stralsund to catch a ship for England. Bond hurried them along as the moment for him to rejoin Roberta neared. Their status as diplomats earned them a small military escort as they crossed Bavaria, perhaps an indication that states in Napoleon’s Confederation of the Rhine were beginning to look for closer friends.
They spent only one night at Vienna before crossing Bohemia on their way to Prussian Silesia. The British ambassador to the Austrian Emperor, Frances I, called upon them in the hostelry that evening.
“So you are the Lord Bond the Prime Minister speaks so highly of,” Lord Aberdeen, the ambassador, said as they received him in a salon they had hired. “I suppose this place is free from spies, with your reputation.”
“As near as one can make it, My Lord,” he answered. Actually he had no good agents to secure their privacy without the services of Elise. He could hardly let van Ee watch over a meeting that seemed likely to involve political secrets. van Ee was more of a threat with his ready mouth than any spy behind a curtain. He had handed the two footmen and a secretary each a cavalry pisto
l and stationed them in the corridors leading to the room. They would have to do.
“I must introduce you to my companions, My Lord,” he said.
“I already know Sir Cedric,” Lord Aberdeen said. “How are you, my friend? But I do not know the admiral.”
“This is Admiral Sir Algernon Crowthorne . . . please meet Lord Aberdeen, Sir.”
“Pleased to meet you, My Lord. Were you a ward of the First Lord of the Admiralty when a young lad?”
“Aha,” Lord Aberdeen smiled. “You sailors have a jungle telegraph, I believe. I was actually a ward of the First Lord’s father, but we know one another well.”
“What do you have for us, My Lord?” Sir Cedric asked.
“Well, I rather hope you have something for me. The Austrians want to know when the blockade of American goods will end.”
“I cannot tell you a specific date, My Lord,” Sir Cedric said. “We have the details of the treaty hammered out, but they are still subject to ratification in the American States. I am given to understand that each colony—State as they are now—must ratify the agreements in their own capitol. It might take months.”
“But loosening blockade restrictions on American ships are a decision that can be made in Whitehall.”
“Yes, My Lord, you are, of course, correct. All I may offer is that we will be able to ask Lord Liverpool for a rapid adoption of the new situation.”
“The Admiralty can change the orders for the blockading ships within a matter of days,” Admiral Crowthorne said, “within hours for orders in the Channel. But if there is dispute over some other condition, delaying the loosening of trade is the government’s best weapon to have that state overruled.”
As it turned out, there was only one matter of direct interest for Lord Bond discussed by the ambassador. He drew Bond aside while the others were helping themselves to the refreshments. “I am notified by Whitehall that the Foreign Secretary is expected to visit the allied capitals quite soon. I have a letter for you from Lord Liverpool, but I can tell you the gist of the matter from my copy.
“While you are on the way to Stralsund to catch a ship, you must make preparations for Viscount Castlereagh’s travel on the continent, transport arrangements, security—perhaps local garrisons of our allies’ armies may be asked to provide escorts—all that sort of thing. You know the routine better than I, I expect.”
“Oh. Very well, My Lord, but I was hoping to have the chance to visit my wife once we reach England—family issues, you know.”
“I expect you will have to be very quick if you want to visit Tiverton.”
Lord Bond’s shoulders slumped. His thoughts of Castlereagh did not do that gentleman justice. “Actually she is in Scotland. Lady Bond is the daughter of Mr. George Stephenson . . .”
“Oh yes, we did hear something of the match, even here in Vienna. She is something of an expert with steam applications, I understand. Well, all I can advise is for you to not delay on your journey to Stralsund.”
For the rest of the journey Lord Bond was the positive tiger for not tolerating delay; the coachmen swore they had never been in such a race before. They swore much more than that . . . whenever Bond was out of earshot.
They arrived at Stralsund with smoke issuing from the wheels―according to some accounts, but all to no avail. The ship carrying Viscount Castlereagh was tying up at the wharf and a Foreign Office secretary informed them that His Lordship was anxious to see Lord Bond immediately to make plans for visiting Berlin at once.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Admiralty Has Plans
In the second week of April, when Roberta was in the throes of sending off the completed Urqhart and McArthur spiteful, HMS Wallace, to Chatham, she received a surprising letter from Mr. Holmes.
My Dear Lady Bond, this may be the last letter I can write to you for some little time as Their Lordships have designated me for a secret task not at all dissimilar to that which I carried out with my half-brother in September last year. You will, I expect, understand the nature of this business without my need to identify it.
It seems there is a great game afoot that could change the fortunes of the Country for the better if it should come off.
On another note, I must report that there is a growing controversy in naval circles whether the spitefuls should be based in the Downs for use only when the enemy threatens to arrive, or whether the tactic of your friend Commander Worthington in supporting the sailing warships on blockade should be continued. The First Lord is of the Worthington party but it may be necessary for him to surrender the bulk of the spitefuls to the Downs in order to keep the Antiochus and Ironside, the Laird built vessel, on station off the Westerschelde. I hope you will find time in your busy schedule to write Viscount Melville and add your own analysis to the argument.
One matter that promises to be of great import to your needs must also be considered―I have done as much preparation as is possible before I embark upon my own new posting. Young Chaplain Jenkins, of late ascension into our Dear Lord’s arms, left a father and several older siblings behind in this Earthly coil. The paterfamilias is the Vicar of Caunton, a benefice shared by its owner, the Bishop of Durham I understand, a parish of the village in Nottinghamshire quite close to the Great Northern Railway station at Newark upon Trent. It would not be completely inconvenient to you to stop there on your next journey south to London.
My investigations into the young man’s schooling and entry into the priesthood were entirely impelled by my curiosity into the reason for his request that all his papers should be thrown overside upon his demise. I have learned that he was indeed a very young student of theology at Oxford and the disconnect between his departure from the university and his arrival aboard Medusa as its Naval chaplain deserve further enquiry, that I would hope the senior Reverend Jenkins would be willing to satisfy.
Roberta reflected upon this information for several days until the new ships took up all her consideration. HMS Wallace had barely departed for Chatham when Roberta received a visit from Lord Paulit. She felt apprehension when they prepared for their first discussion in her office at the shipyard―his arrival must surely be in response to her evading the addition of the fifty marines aboard Antiochus.
“There are two issues that cause dissension in the halls of Admiralty this past week, my Dear Lady, and only one of them is a direct result of the actions of the management of the Stephenson Shipyard.”
She regarded him carefully as he spoke. It seemed to her that his mood was not entirely confrontational. “I realize you refer to my actions, My Lord. Please let me show you what I have done before we debate the matter. Would you like to walk with me to the slipway and see the vessel?”
“There is a ship to visit?”
“Yes, My Lord. We are framing up to the weather deck level and have enough deck plating done that we might walk in the area where I have―not disregarded―but altered the Admiralty’s instruction.”
He regarded her with an eye that reminded her of his raised finger of warning aboard Regent. “Very well―if you are able to show me your changes, we should go there to see them.”
As they walked to the slip, she imparted her most convincing reason for her disobedience. “I perceived that Their Lordships did not fully appreciate what following their instructions would mean in terms of operational factors. Adding the accommodation for fifty marines would require my replacing the space for fifty tons of coal with a barrack room for them. It would cut the projected time on station off Flushing from seven to six days.”
“The Antiochus has coal for a week on station?” Lord Paulit asked, surprised. “You did not offer such in your design plans.”
“No, My Lord. This has only been a realistic goal after the test runs of the first engine ashore here at the shipyard and further discussion on steaming with Commander Worthington.” Roberta smiled. “But adding that number of marines loses us a day.”
“But fifty marines would surely have to be giants to weigh fift
y tons.”
Roberta laughed with him as he concluded his remark with a smile. “The issue is not their weight but the amount of space they need to live in, My Lord.”
“Yes, I understand. You are a paragon for the utilization of every nook and cranny aboard your ships. Where do these men mess now?”
“Thirty of the Marines replace the original gunners, another twenty require some cramping in the accommodation of the deck crew, where they will mess. The officers aboard also lose some cabin space to accommodate these.” She ended this with a smile. “I fully expect the officers of the ship, when they see this loss, will be very ingenious in distributing these men elsewhere.”
Lord Paulit laughed. “I am sure they will―I have done as much myself in the past. However, that raises another matter―the need to produce another expert crew for a ship not yet on the water.”
“Indeed, My Lord,” Roberta said as they reached the slipway and looked up at the half-plated ship. Workmen moved about steadily, carrying, riveting, bolting frames, and hammering―an ant nest on a hot day. “I can see that you will require Stephenson people aboard for a number of weeks.”
Lord Paulit nodded as he looked about him. “Yes, I am sure you are correct. I see you are already adding some of the armour plate . . . is that wood I see behind the iron?”
“Teak backing, My Lord. It was an addition recommended by our tests at Woolwich with the artillerymen.” She paused to point to a series of ladders on the iron structures of the slipway, something of a cross between a monkey-puzzle tree and an iron maze. “We can make our way up there to reach the weather deck. Be careful stepping across the track for the dockyard crane.”
When they reached the skeleton of the uppermost deck, Roberta led him to the wooden planks she had set up to verify the visibility from her bridge structure. “The weather deck access from below will be closed by iron doors in action. There will be no need for the deck crew to access the masts and yards when we use steam power to attack the enemy. The watch officers and captain will be on a partial deck at the level of the top of the bridge deck unless they retire to the safer station in the armoured conning tower behind them.”
Scandal and Secrets Page 15
