“And that brings us to another matter,” Sir Joseph said. “We will soon have an invasion fleet of our own assembling in the Downs. We must place a British army on the continent as soon as possible. We must join our allies in the campaign ahead of us, even if we might be the smallest force, by comparison with the others.”
“But it is essential that Antiochus must be at sea to keep the French ironclad from attacking our ships,” the First Lord said. “Admiral Pearce and Captain Hawke will ensure that spitefuls will be constantly on station, subject to periodic returning to coal.”
“I believe Lady Bond’s design of the coal bunkers may allow us to coal from a collier vessel at sea,” Worthington said. “If the weather permits, we may attempt to do so.”
The First Lord nodded. “Very good. We also need to discuss the crewing of the ship. Captain Hawke has requested Miss Grandin as his chief engineer: he believes he will need to rely upon her expertise. Do you have a trained man who can fill the post for Antiochus?”
Worthington immediately looked at Roberta, but did not say anything.
She returned to the discussion. “The engines in Antiochus are by no means similar to those in the spitefuls, My Lords. I believe I am the engineer most qualified to oversee the work of the Navy’s officers and men until they should have received sufficient practical experience.”
Mr. Dundas looked at them both. “Does that suit the two of you?”
“Your father-in-law . . .” the First Lord began.
“We are aware of your . . . marital difficulties, My Lady,” Sir Joseph said in an apologetic voice.
Roberta thought it time to inform them that she might very well become a commoner again once she had decided how best to use the Reverend Jenkins’ information. He had explained that the actions of a Bishop’s Court were not cast in stone. The Church may well annul the marriage, but they could also order a new ceremony to replace the false one. The make-up of the court would be the deciding factor.
“Captain Worthington and I are colleagues, Gentlemen. We may be trusted together aboard the same ship, but I have to tell you that the information exists that can very well achieve the Marquess’ objective of annulling my marriage to his son. If such comes to pass, I will so inform you.”
Chapter Thirty-six
Meetings with Enemies
As soon as they had finished discussions with the First Lord, Roberta and Captain Worthington made their own plans for the Antiochus. “I will leave London for Chatham on the next steamer, My Lady, and will begin putting the crew together. When will you be in Chatham?”
“I have a message from Commander Ripley about a meeting tomorrow. I do not know what it is and may ask him to cancel it if you wish to steam immediately.”
“Their Lordships order me to join the spitefuls at Dover with Antiochus as soon as possible. I could steam to Dover with Miss Grandin as chief engineer, and you could take the train to Dover to join us.”
“Yes. I will write a note for her―you may take it with you. She will be staying at Dover to supervise the repairs to HMS Glasgow and can take her work crew aboard Antiochus.”
Roberta did not leave the Admiralty without seeing Commander Ripley. “I must discuss the spitefuls still under construction in Scotland, My Lady. The chief engineer of the Great Western Railway, Mr. Brunel, was here some days ago discussing the use of Archimedean screw propellers in place of paddlewheels, and several admirals expressed an opinion that one of the spitefuls might be changed on the slipway to prove or disprove the utility of that means of propulsion.”
“That is very like my father’s inclination, Sir. We would certainly be pleased to look at the practicality and cost of modifying the design―once our present duties allow.”
“Then I hope you might have the time to come to the Steam Directorate tomorrow and speak to a number of gentlemen on the topic.”
Since Captain Worthington had suggested her joining the ship at Dover, Roberta made arrangements to stay in the city for the night, using the suite her father kept at No.6 St. James’s Square. She had thought she might look at some plans and perhaps produce an engineering sketch or two to show Commander Ripley’s gentlemen, but at seven she received a note from her husband’s Aunt Caroline inviting her to come to Tiverton House for a few “discussions”.
In consequence, she alighted from a hansom cab at the door at a few minutes past eight. The butler met her at the door and guided her to a drawing room on the main floor. She entered the room far enough to see Lady Caroline sitting in a chaise near the empty fireplace―and then stopped.
At another chair further into the room a tall, gaunt, elderly gentleman scowled at her and began to get to his feet. “Who did you invite to visit, Caroline?” he demanded.
“Sit down, Lionel. And you, young lady, come in and take a seat. It is high time the two of you discussed this situation like adults.”
“I have nothing to say to—” both Roberta and the Marquess began to say, before stopping and shaking their heads in disgust.
“Good heavens, just look at the two of you,” Lady Caroline chided. “It is very fortunate that we do not have a brace of pistols over the mantelpiece or I should fear a duel in here.”
“What do you think this farce will accomplish?” the Marquess demanded.
Roberta found herself a seat where she might see both occupants of the room. She had been deliberating over her course of action since the discussion at the Admiralty―without seeing anything that promised success. Perhaps fate had determined her course.
“I have a document on my person which might give both of us the ending we desire, My Lord. All I ask for in return is your assurance that neither I nor any of my friends should suffer from your anger after this matter is settled.”
He shook his head dismissively. “There is no manner in which the matter can be settled. Lord knows I have tried. Take Julian and make whatever fool you wish of him, but you will not come into my home. Not as long as I have breath.”
“I do not want Julian. I would never have married him if he had not trapped me aboard the Medusa between loyalty to my friends and to my country. It was a mistake that I readily own to.”
The Marquess seemed to be about to speak, but shook his head instead.
“What is this document, My Dear?” Lady Caroline asked.
“A letter of confession from an errant son to his father,” Roberta said. “I would expect such a missive to be something familiar that you might judge soundly, My Lord.”
“Who is the father, and who the son?” the Marquess growled.
“The father is the father of the chaplain who performed the marriage ceremony for Julian and I aboard the Medusa. All I need is your word that you will use it to finish the matter honourably for all involved and you may have it.”
He sat silently looking up at the ceiling for some minutes. Then he said, “Let me see it.”
She delved into her indispensable and held out the paper to Lady Caroline, who looked at her with a shake of her head as she rose to fetch it and take it to her brother.
The Marquess read it silently, shaking his head several times before setting the paper down and looking at her. “This is not a sure thing.”
“The Reverend Jenkins said as much,” Roberta answered. “He said a Bishops’ Court could consider the inadmissible age of the celebrant a serious breach of Canon Law or an inconsequential mistake if I was to go forward with it. But you, My Lord, with friends and influence, might make a sure thing of it.”
The Marquess picked the letter up again and read for several more minutes. “I can certainly give it a try. You want nothing for it?”
“Only your word of honour as a gentleman, My Lord.”
The Army of Silesia had marched from the Rhine halfway to Paris, dropping off corps to besiege fortresses as they went, with hardly any sign of the French army that retreated in the face of overwhelming numbers. “It cannot last,” Lord Bond said to Count Rostov as they trotted up through the town of Bri
enne to the chateau on the hill.
“The Field Marshal thinks it can, my friend. And who are we to disagree?”
“Well, I will ask him at dinner,” Bond said. “The Austrians are miles behind us and travelling so slowly the cavalry might be carrying horses on their own shoulders. Both of our flanks are wide open. Does he not think this is too much of a temptation to keep Napoleon away?”
“Napoleon is at Boulogne. Did not your navy’s own dispatches say as much two days ago?”
“That was two days ago. A French army can come a long way in that time.”
Count Rostov smiled. “You English are too careful. Your ‘sepoy general’ as Napoleon calls him has won half of Spain because the French sentries fell asleep waiting for him to arrive.”
They reached the open gate to the chateau and clattered inside. A guard of Prussian line infantry and a horse line of cavalry horses marked the place as the headquarters of Field Marshal Blücher’s staff.
Colonel Müffling, the Quartermaster-General, greeted them as they dismounted. “Where are your Cossacks, Count Rostov?”
“I have two columns out, Colonel. One is on the road to St-Dizier, the other on the road to Bar-sur-Aube looking for Austrian cavalry scouts.”
“I see. The French have started to move. General Lanskoi and his brigade of Russian infantry were chased out of St-Dizier this morning.”
“What does the Field Marshal say, Colonel?” Bond asked.
Müffling smiled. “Forward, of course! What does he ever say? We have Sacken’s corps guarding the bridge over the Aube and Olsufiev’s detachment in the village, and for all I know we may have orders to march on Paris in the morning.”
“Is that realistic?” Bond said.
Müffling laughed and walked away. “You tell me that in the morning, My Lord.”
They walked into the chateau and looked around. The sounds of voices came from a corridor at the front of the house, and they walked that way. They found a number of officers talking and joking in a small breakfast room. Several half empty bottles stood on the table that had been pushed against a wall.
“What’s this?” one of the officers said when he saw them. “It’s the English Mi’laud and his keeper. What’s the wind in the Channel, Mi’laud?”
“Not a patch on the wind in here,” Bond said.
The men laughed and looked expectantly toward the one who had given the jibe. He shook his head ruefully. “Did you see the Austrians when you were out, Mi’laud? We have one here.”
They all moved aside to let an officer at the rear of the group come forward. He offered his hand to them. “Adolf von Rehnem, Gentlemen, with Count Pahlen’s advance cavalry.”
“The Count’s cavalry?” Lord Bond echoed after giving his own name. This was a bit embarrassing. The Austrian forward troops were near, and he’d joked about them not fifteen minutes past. “Are more of Marshal Schwarzenberg’s army nearby?”
von Rehnem laughed. “Not that we’ve seen. We would not have found you here if we had not met your Cossacks on the road from Bar-sur-Aube at mid-day.”
The sound of voices in the corridor came to them. Bond could identify the Field Marshal and Count Gneisenau, but there were several others; one had a pure French accent. Two of the officers went to the door to listen.
One of them turned to look at the others. “A prisoner, perhaps?”
“I expect he will tell us in good time,” said the officer who had poked fun at Bond.
“Oh yes. And send us out with orders for the army when dinner is served,” one of the others complained.
“Ah, a staff officer’s life is a hard one,” Bond said with a smile. “Why don’t we send someone down to the kitchens to see what can be had?”
The man had hardly left when sounds of cavalry boots rang down the corridor. “That’s some of mine, by the sound,” Count Rostov said. “Would you send them this way, My Lord?”
Bond went out into the corridor and saw two Cossacks trying the closed doors. “This way,” he said, waving.
They followed him to Count Rostov and an excited conversation in Russian ensued. After some steady arm-waving, Count Rostov turned to them. “They have seen large numbers of infantry marching this way down the road from St-Dizier. Infantry wearing bearskins.”
“Scheisse!” one of the officers said. “The Young Guard!”
“They were the other side of the Marne, last we heard,” another said.
Bond blew out a long breath. “They were, but now they are on their way to knock on our door.”
Count Rostov looked at him. “And that means Napoleon is with them.”
They all moved to the corridor, taking the Cossacks with them and knocked on the Field Marshal’s door. Count Gneisenau opened it and looked out.
“My Cossacks report a column wearing bearskins on the road from St-Dizier,” Rostov said.
“Yes. That makes sense,” Gneisenau said. “The dispatches with this captured officer were addressed to Napoleon, in St-Dizier. You had better all come in.”
The council of war that ensued exhausted a great deal more arm-waving by the staff officers as they all had a look at the captured dispatches. Bond noticed that the whole room was a bedlam—except at the far end where Field Marshal Blücher and Colonel Müffling spoke over an opened map.
Another officer burst into the room. “We see unidentified cavalry on the road about a mile north.”
Blücher turned to another officer Bond did not know. “Would these be your squadrons, Count?”
That man straightened his back before answering. “No, Herr FeldMarschall. I will go to the terrace to look at them.”
This must be Count Pahlen, Bond realised. He thought for a moment about joining the crowd who followed to the terrace but then thought it might be more interesting to stay with the Field Marshal, who was discussing the situation with Müffling and Gneisenau.
“Make out orders for Sacken’s corps. He must retire on Brienne. Ask Count Pahlen if he will take his squadrons north to screen Sacken’s withdrawal. Send some men down the Bar-sur-Aube road and look for Marshal Wittgenstein. We must ask Schwarzenberg to send us a couple of corps. I will retire to the high ground beyond La Rothiere. It will mean a battle with Napoleon.”
“Shall we move out immediately?” someone asked.
Blücher looked at him. “No, it is dinner time. We will look at the situation again after dinner. Will you all join me, Gentlemen?”
What followed was the most amazing dinner Lord Bond had ever attended. It started quietly enough once the orders were sent out and Count Pahlen left to take his squadrons north. By the time the soup course ended, they could hear the French guns firing from the north. While they were eating the next course, Olsufiev’s field guns on the hill below them began returning fire.
All those present at the dinner kept up a constant stream of stories and jokes. There was a lot of laughter and drinking, but soon cannonballs started hitting the chateau. Within ten minutes, panelling was falling from the walls and plaster fell from the ceilings. The local resident who seemed to be the official in charge of the chateau came in to remonstrate with the Field Marshal.
“Why do you worry so, Monsieur?” Blücher countered. “This is not your chateau, and it is solidly built. The cost of repairs will not be great, and in any case, you will not have to pay for them.”
Eventually Blücher set down his cutlery and rose to his feet. With the whole dinner party following, he walked out onto the terrace to look at the situation. It was growing dark and Count Pahlen had fallen back on Brienne, where Sacken’s men were marching through the town. Columns of French infantry could be seen advancing on the town from the north, and a body of the Young Guard stood in the open on the French left flank.
Blücher took everything in, gave a few more orders, and went back inside for his coffee. Count Rostov looked at Bond. “I see nothing useful we might do here. We might get our horses and see if we can find my Cossacks on the south road to St-Dizier.”
>
“A good idea,” Bond said. “We can find out which way General Lanskoi and his brigade retreated from St-Dizier as well.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Picking up the Pieces
The night became totally black and the road just a half-visible track as Lord Bond and Count Rostov galloped past scores of soldiers fleeing from the battlefield. They had not left the chateau of Brienne until Count Pahlen and his cavalry had attacked the poorly placed Young Guard in the open left flank of the French advance and the Field Marshal had been pleased to “teach them a lesson”. Then they had taken the south road toward St-Dizier to look for the Cossacks.
They soon passed the last of the scattered infantrymen and then had to ride slowly lest they should come across French troops on this road. The moon lowered itself into the trees and the only guidance they had were occasional glimpses of the stars between racing clouds.
“Do you think they came this far?” Bond asked. “When they saw the marching columns of the Young Guard, they surely turned away from the road and went south to look for allied units.”
Count Rostov shook his head. “They sent the two back to Brienne to report so they could remain in ‘no man’s land’ between the armies for a purpose.”
“They wanted to look for loot? Surely the whole allied army knows it is forbidden. The generals do not want to stir up the French citizenry against us.”
“Cossacks are Cossacks,” Rostov said. “That is why we are here to watch them.”
“Then we will never find them tonight,” Bond said. “We should go back before we blunder into a French cavalry screen.”
“You are probably correct, but it is a matter of pride for me.”
“How much is your pride worth? A French cavalry lance up your arse?”
Rostov drew rein. “You have a very persuasive manner of speech, my friend. What do you suggest?”
Scandal and Secrets Page 21
