Deadly Shores (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 11)

by Andrew Wareham

  Bosomtwi took a letter to the prize-agents, came back three hours later bearing a purse of guineas.

  “The man himself will be here tomorrow, isn’t it, sir, to give an accounting.”

  “Very good.”

  Aggers left to discover the times of the Night Mail and hopefully book an inside seat.

  There was a knocking at the door, the butler sweeping to his place in the hall.

  “Lord Turner, Sir Frederick, and a medical gentleman.”

  “My dear Sir Frederick! To see you brought so low almost unmans me. Doctor Findlater is a gentleman whom I can recommend without hesitation, Sir Frederick. May I beg you to take advantage of his services?”

  Frederick was pleased to do so, retired to privacy with the doctor and Bosomtwi.

  Doctor Findlater peered at the stump, gently touched the scar tissue and suggested that healing was well advanced, the wound in a very pretty state.

  “You will benefit, Sir Frederick, from a strengthening of the new skin. The application of warmed salt-water compresses may well do great good. I shall show your man how to make them up and apply them twice daily. You have been long at sea, sir, and will benefit from a more varied diet on land. Fruit, sir, and green vegetables should be eaten every day. London has the advantage of copious supplies of good food – provided one has the money to purchase it. Red meats in moderation, sir, but chicken and goose may be much eaten. Little of alcohol, I would suggest, but tea or coffee may be taken in its place. You will wish, no doubt, to spend much of the winter in the country, where the air is so much fresher. A year, sir, and you will be robust; two and you will take the sea again, if you truly wish. I must recommend you to find employment, sir – do not sit in idleness, fretting that you are unwell. The management of your estates, perhaps, or a place under the Crown in a public office, either could keep you properly busy, sir.”

  “Your nostrums seem highly palatable, Doctor Findlater, particularly that relating to idleness – I cannot sit at leisure, I fear, have never been able to. A month or two of holiday and I shall seek work, do not doubt that, sir.”

  “I am glad to hear so, sir. I would wish to attend you once more, Sir Frederick, to make a final check on the wound, in a fortnight. Do not hesitate to call for me, night or day, should the need arise, sir.”

  Doctor Findlater left, assuring Lord Turner that all was well.

  Frederick broached the question of Mr Otis, wondering how he had been sent to the squadron.

  “Your report, Sir Frederick, sent in your little schooner, crossed with an urgent missive from the office at the Admiralty. I heard the gentleman had gone to you in perfect belief in his probity, wondering only why he had suddenly decided to go back into the field. I had decided that he was bored with the London existence, and could sympathise with that. Then, out of the blue, one might say, an investigation into the loss of a valuable contact at the French Embassy turned up Mr Otis’ name as having some contact with a young gentleman known to us in the Foreign Office as unreliable and possibly involved in the affair. Surprising, but he might well have been investigating another issue involving this treacherous fellow. We all tend to keep our business to ourselves – the fewer who know what we are doing, the fewer to accidentally let something slip. But then another, quite unrelated, leakage of information was discovered, and the conduit, the man taking the letters in this instance, was questioned and implicated Otis. Further investigation disclosed him to have been seen in several houses where he should not have been, known to be sources of indiscretion at least. One of the disadvantages of being very large is that one may remain in the memory of casual observers, footmen and such, Sir Frederick.”

  Sir Frederik, conscious that he was rather small, smiled his agreement.

  “It rapidly became more than probable that Mr Otis was a traitor, and we sent a despatch to you warning you of his nature and begging you to have him taken up and returned to Gibraltar where he might be questioned. Your report told us that he had been discovered to be false already. It was inevitable, but a pity, that his inquisitors asked nothing of his activities in England.”

  Frederick shuddered, the memory distasteful.

  “They extracted a confession that he was playing them false and sought no more before they killed him, brutally, Lord Turner. They acted without contact with me, believing me to have too weak a stomach to take the action they considered proper.”

  “Inevitable, as I said. Whilst referring to gentlemen of an ambiguous status, did you meet up with a captain of the Guards while you were in or near Barcelona, Sir Frederick?”

  “Captain Fastun? Yes, last heard of on shore and trying to play the go-between; he spoke for the Spanish peasantry under arms and the army, and seemed to be in the confidence of both sets. He was a very active little chap, but we had no opportunity to seek him out after we had taken the convoy and the French squadron.”

  Lord Turner seemed unsurprised at that.

  “Ah! An interesting gentleman. English, of course, but the Brigade of Guards has never heard of him. We think he may have been recruited by Mr Pitt’s office, perhaps a decade or so back, and to have been working in the Germanies before gravitating to Spain. Who he reports to now is unclear, but he is thought to be loyal, even if unpredictable. I wish I knew where he obtains his income, just who in London is paying him. It would be pleasant to know exactly who he is loyal to. His name is thought to be Bloggs, by the way.”

  Frederick managed a laugh – Fastun was far more aristocratic – the gentleman was seeing to his own promotion.

  “Is it ever possible to be quite certain of the people in the spying trade, Lord Turner?”

  “No, Sir Frederick – that is what makes it so fascinating!”

  “Unbelievable, sir – beyond my comprehension.”

  The butler responded to another summons at the door.

  “A note from Lord Alton, Sir Frederick.”

  Lord Alton was busy, distressed to hear of Frederick’s wound and begged permission to wait on him next day. He said that he had heard much that was good about the squadron’s activities.

  The butler reappeared.

  “Mr Russell, Sir Frederick.”

  Mr Russell swept into the room, much upset to see Frederick so mutilated.

  “No, my dear Sir Frederick, you must not attempt to rise! You must protect yourself, sir – though indeed, a man in your profession most lamentably cannot do so. Are you healing, sir? You are so pale in the face that one must still fear for you – though I must not say such a thing! What am I, to say that you seem at death’s door?”

  Frederick conjured a smile, tried to reassure Mr Russell that the worst was over, the wound was old enough now that the gangrene was no longer to be feared.

  “All I face now, Mr Russell, is the most appalling tedium. Month upon month of slowly regaining my strength, and then of learning to ride again, and of finding the trick of eating in company – there will be a poser! How does a man cut his beefsteak with but one arm? The amputation is too high to ship a hook, as Lord Turner has so successfully achieved. Luckily the wound this time is to the left, so I have less to relearn. It is still a source of annoyance and frustration to me, and I suspect may long be so.”

  “I cannot imagine how you will cope, Sir Frederick. And your poor wife! Lady Harris will be so upset, doting on you as she does!”

  “You are very right there, sir.”

  Frederick scowled, unable to think of any possible way of easing the blow, of making his lady easier.

  “I must do my best, Mr Russell. There is one service you might do me, if you would be so kind. I shall be ashore for two years at least and must be seen in public. I shall need a man, a gentleman’s gentleman, a valet, in short. I suspect, sir, that you might be able to find me the ideal person. Bosomtwi will continue to be my factotum, but he would be first to admit that the care of a gentleman’s wardrobe is not his first skill.”

  Mr Russell was flattered to have his own skills recognised and delig
hted that Sir Frederick – so dear a friend – should call upon them.

  “What is the time of day, Sir Frederick? Four of the afternoon? I shall pass the word tonight, and there will be a response tomorrow, I doubt not, from men wishful to take the post. The day after to speak to them, to winnow out the best, as it were, and the day following will see my candidate beating upon your door, sir. Not the easiest of tasks, to dress a naval man with but one arm, sir, so that he may take his proper place among us – but it shall be done! Tell me, Sir Frederick, what is this whisper I heard only yesterday of your rightful prizes being handed over to the Spanish?”

  Frederick explained, still more than a little indignant.

  “Shocking! Unacceptable, in the extreme. If the deed was to be done, were the ships to be handed across, then it should have been a public gesture of generosity, bands playing and flags flying, not some hole-in-the-corner, back hand sort of bribe to the Spanish to be good. I shall ensure that the word reaches Number Ten, Sir Frederick, and that public opinion shall rumble against such doings. The First Lord shall express his displeasure, or I and his many other supporters will know the reason why. The Order of the Bath, I think, Sir Frederick – that will make our opinion felt!”

  Lord Turner, who hardly knew Mr Russell, and disliked the little he had heard of him, was impressed by his nearly-tearful sincerity, volunteered to join him in creating a subdued noise.

  “Not a great clatter in the newssheets – or not yet, Mr Russell – more of a refined buzz in the salons of Mayfair. In the first instance, that should suffice. If it does not, then we can have great fun in raising Cain, sir!”

  “We shall indeed, Lord Turner. If we really must, then you can speak in the House of Lords, while I ask pertinent questions in the Commons. We may both speak to the pamphleteers immediately. A street song or two, as a starting point, would you say, sir?”

  Lord Turner thought that to be an excellent idea, perhaps on the line of ‘Nine Green Bottles’.

  Mr Russell was not quite sure till Lord Turner began to sing.

  “Nine great prizes,

  Sat in Gibraltar Bay…”

  Mr Russell was instantly convinced – ‘Given to the Spanish, who took them all away’! He would speak to a friend that very evening, a songwriter for the Opera House and for Drury Lane and used to dashing off topical verses to amuse the audience for a farce.

  They left in earnest conversation, leaving Frederick in some slight dismay; he did not like politics in its robust, ruder forms. He thought of saying that there were only eight prizes, but suspected that would be seen as mere nit-picking.

  Sir Iain returned in time for dinner, having left the First Lord very content with the squadron’s service.

  “The opinion from Spain is much in your favour, Sir Frederick, and the word from the Palace of St James is even more so. You are to call upon his Lordship on an early day, but not before you are well-healed and able to move about in safety. You are to go to the Hurt and Sick list immediately, on half-pay, of course, but you are to be found some sort of sweetener as well. I pointed out that you were already a Colonel of Marines, which is one of the simple little presents, and he is to discover something else appropriate. I have come out of the business in very good odour, I am pleased to say, and have a Colonel’s place myself and four pounds a day for life, which is not to be sneezed at! I am to go to half-pay, but for not longer than a year in all probabilities. Captain of the Mediterranean Fleet may well come vacant in twelve months or so, or a similar post elsewhere – one of the most senior available to a captain!”

  Frederick offered his congratulations, wondering what might come his way. He sat picking at his dinner, cut up small for him by Bosomtwi, the fat carefully trimmed away from his mutton as certainly bad for his health.

  Mr Critchel appeared soon after noon next day, in company with a gentleman unknown to Frederick, in rich but not ornate civilian dress.

  “Mr Jerningham, Sir Frederick, who is a very senior gentleman in the Board of the Honourable East India Company, and who wishes to have converse with you.”

  Mr Jerningham bowed and begged Frederick to remain seated.

  “The Honourable Company has twice now found itself indebted to you, Sir Frederick, for the remarkable performance of your duty. You are to remain in England for the while, that is unavoidable, and that renders this the best of occasions to beg you to take a place upon the Board. You would not be expected to take a part in the ordinary, everyday affairs of the Company, but would be consulted, probably by letter, in case of any purely naval eventualities that affected our interests. Your place is for life, of course, and carries with it the right to make nominations to the Company’s College in England and to bring deserving young men to our attention.”

  That was a substantial degree of patronage in itself, and effectively gave Sir Frederick a leading place in his County. He would be begged to find a profitable career in India for one or two second sons every year, or place a less able youth into Addiscombe College, to embrace a military existence in the Company’s Armies. He would be able to whisper in the ears of the Members of Parliament for the County, and be listened to, most respectfully. John Company was a power in the land, and members of its Board basked in its reflected glory.

  “There is a substantial remuneration associated with the post, of course, Sir Frederick, and you will find yourself in possession of commercial information that will allow you to do very well in London. We are talking of a matter of some five thousand guineas per annum, sir.”

  Frederick was very pleased to accept the kind offer.

  Mr Critchel smiled, commented that such an income would no doubt assist him to maintain the proper state of a baron when the time came.

  “My lady will be so very delighted if that should eventuate, sir. I must as well confess that I shall not dislike it!”

  Mr Jerningham smiled benignly, pleased with the modest wit of the gentleman.

  “Will you ever return to the sea, Sir Frederick? You are a very senior man now, and might find yourself with many other demands upon you.”

  “I should much like to take a fleet to sea, Mr Jerningham, but all will depend on Their Lordships of the Admiralty. I feel that in time of war, if I am called upon to serve, then I must not refuse while I am well enough to do my duty. That sounded very pious, I fear, priggish perhaps, but I owe my whole existence to the Navy – I am sat in this comfortable house because the Navy has been so very good to me.”

  “A sense of duty is difficult to deny, Sir Frederick. I respect it, and you, sir.”

  Mr Jerningham had business he must see to and left Mr Critchel behind to sit with Frederick.

  “You have made a very fine impression upon that gentleman, Sir Frederick. He is a most powerful man, incidentally, a very good friend to make.”

  That had seemed to be the case to Frederick.

  “Like so many men of influence, he seems a very quiet and courteous sort of gentleman, sir.”

  “He has no need to bluster, Sir Frederick. He knows what and who he is, and cares not at all for others who do not know him. Every man who is of importance knows of Mr Jerningham.”

  Frederick had wondered if that was so – but it was so much easier when men wore uniforms with clear distinctions of rank upon them.

  “It is a different world, Mr Critchel.”

  “It is a world to which you now belong, Sir Frederick. You will remember Major Paget, by the way, who stood with you in that embarrassing affair with the unlamented late relative of your lady wife, the remarkable Lord Partington?”

  “I do not believe I have seen Major Paget since those few days, Mr Critchel.”

  “He was sent to the Embassy in St Petersburg as an attaché, and then to the Sublime Porte, but he is in London now and would wish to bring himself to your attention again. No doubt he will call of a morning.”

  “He will be very welcome – I found a great liking for him in our short acquaintance.”

  “A very pleasant
soul, Sir Frederick. Not one who will rise to the heights, but a gentleman who will do good service for his country and his family.”

  Frederick remembered then that the Pagets were one of the great families of the land, rarely in the forefront of the public eye, but commonly to be consulted on matters of importance. He was, by marriage to his first wife, related to the Pagets – the husband of a distant and dead cousin, but nonetheless, one of the clan.

  “He will become a colonel soon, Sir Frederick, and in good time, a general. I doubt he will grace the field of battle, for having been so long absent from regimental duty, but he will hold places of importance at Horse Guards before retiring to the little farm in the country that is his whole inheritance. He is one of the many who will serve well and be modestly, but not poorly, rewarded. In some ways, I could envy his existence!”

  That seemed a very unlikely statement. Mr Critchel was one who thrived on intrigue and the clandestine exercise of power, and would sit spider-like in his lair until the day he died, pulling strings and whispering gently in the ears of those who seemed to administer the country.

  Mr Critchel spotted the expression crossing Frederick’s face, laughed quietly, always understated.

  “I agree, Sir Frederick! I would die from the sheer tedium in my second day of rural retirement. The very thought of planting a turnip turns my blood to water! There are those who are suited to the existence, and many of them surprisingly able, too! I am not one. I doubt you are, either, sir!”

  It was Frederick’s turn to smile ruefully, to say that the worse part of his wound – now that the first pain was gone – was the prospect of two years in idleness.