She smiled and Drinkwater noticed that her eyes lit up rather prettily.
'I had hoped, sir, that you had come to see me as a friend and were not calling upon me as your admiral's wife…'
The blow was quite sweetly delivered and Drinkwater recognised a certain worldly shrewdness in her that he had not thought her capable of. It further reassured him in his purpose.
'Nothing was further from my mind, ma'am. I came indeed to see you and the matter has no direct connection with your husband. I come not so much as a friend but as a supplicant.'
'No direct connection, Mr Drinkwater? And a supplicant? I will willingly do anything in my power for you but I am not sure I understand.'
'Lady Parker forgive me. I should not have importuned you like this and I do indeed rely heavily upon having been able to render you assistance. The truth of the matter is that I have a message I wish delivered in London. It is both private and public in that the matter must remain private, but it is in the public interest.'
She lowered her cup and Drinkwater knew from the light in her eyes that her natural curiosity was aroused. He went on: 'I know I can rely upon your discretion, ma'am, but I have been employed upon special services. That is a fact your own father could verify, though I doubt your husband knows of it. In any event please confirm the matter with the recipient of this letter before you deliver it, if you so wish.' He drew out the heavily sealed letter from his coat and held it out. She hesitated.
'It is addressed to Lord Dungarth at his private address…'
'And the matter is in the public interest?'
'I believe it to be.' His armpits were sodden but she took the letter and Drinkwater was about to relax when the sound of raised voices came from the other room. He saw her eyes flicker anxiously to the door then return to his face. She frowned.
'Lieutenant Drinkwater, I hope this is not a matter of spoiling my ball.'
'I am sorry ma'am, I do not understand.'
'Certain gentlemen are of the opinion that it would be in the public interest if I were not to hold a ball on Friday, they are urging Sir Hyde to sail at once, even threatening to write to London about it.'
'Good heavens, ma'am, my letter has no connection with the fleet. I would not be so presumptuous…' He had appeased her, it seemed. 'The matter is related to affairs abroad,' he added with mysterious significance, 'I am sorry I cannot elaborate further.'
'No, no, of course not. And you simply wish me to deliver this to his lordship?'
'Aye, ma'am, I should consider myself under a great obligation if you would.'
She smiled and again her eyes lit attractively. 'You will be under no obligation Mr Drinkwater, provided you will promise to come to my ball.'
'It will give me the greatest pleasure, ma'am, and may I hope for a dance?'
'Of course, Lieutenant.' He stood. The noises from the other room sounded hostile and he wished to leave before the door opened. 'It would be better if no one knew of the letter, your ladyship,' he indicated the sealed paper on the table.
'My dressmaker comes soon…' She reached for her reticule and hid the letter just as the door burst open. As Drinkwater picked up his hat he came face to face with a short florid man in a grey coat. He was shaking his head at someone behind him.
'No, damn it, no… Ah, Fanny, my dear,' he saw Drinkwater, 'who the deuce is this?'
'May I present Lieutenant Drinkwater, Hyde dear.' Drinkwater bowed.
'Of which ship, sir?' Parker's eyes were hostile.
'Virago, bomb-tender, sir. I took the liberty…'
'Lieutenant Drinkwater took no liberties, my dear, it was he who rescued me from the mob in the Strand last October. The least I could do was present him to you.'
Parker seemed to deflate slightly. He half faced towards the man in the other room, whose identity was still unknown to Drinkwater, then turned again to the lieutenant.
'Obliged, I'm sure, Lieutenant, and now, if you'll excuse me…'
'Of course sir. I was just leaving…' But Lady Parker had a twinkle in her eye and Drinkwater, grateful and surprised at the skill of her intervention, suspected her of enjoying herself.
'Lieutenant Drinkwater served under father at Camperdown, Hyde, I am sure he is worthy of your notice.'
Parker shot him another unfriendly glance and Drinkwater wondered if the admiral thought he had put his wife up to this currying of favour. Clearly the other man was forming some such notion for he appeared disapprovingly in the doorway. The shock of recognition hit Drinkwater like a blow. If he thought Parker saw him in a poor light it was clear Lord Nelson saw him in a worse.
'If you want your dance, Sir Hyde, and your wife wants her amusements, then the fleet and I'll go hang. But I tell you time, time is everything; five minutes makes the difference between a victory and a defeat.'
Chapter Ten
Truth in Masquerade
10-11 March 1801
Drinkwater began Tuesday afternoon pacing his poop as the sky clouded over and the wind worked round to the west. The encounter with Lord Nelson had made him resentful and angry. He paced off his fury at being taken by his lordship for one of Lady Parker's amusements. The sight of the little admiral, his sleeve pinned across his gold-laced coat, his oddly mobile mouth in its pale, prematurely worn face, with the light of contempt in his one good eye had had an effect on Lieutenant Drinkwater that he was still trying to analyse. It had, he concluded, been like receiving raking fire, so devastating was Nelson's disapproval. The second and more powerful emotion which succeeded in driving from his mind all thoughts of his brother, was the despair he felt at having earned Nelson's poor opinion.
He found Sir Hyde Parker's assurance of 'taking notice of the Lieutenant's conduct to please my wife', which ordinarily ought to have been a matter for self-congratulation, brought him no comfort at all. Nelson had cut him as they both left the Wrestler's Inn and Drinkwater felt the slight almost as intensely as a physical wound.
Drinkwater began to realise the nature of Nelson's magic. He had glimpsed it two years earlier at Syracuse animating a weary fleet that had been beaten by bad luck, bad weather and compounded the break-out of the French through their blockade of Toulon by an over-zealous pursuit that had made them overtake the enemy without knowing it. Yet Nelson had led them back east to smash Brueys in Aboukir Bay in the victory that was now known as The Nile. Now Drinkwater stood condemned as the epitome of all that Nelson despised in Parker and Parker's type.
And because it was unjust he burned with a fury to correct Nelson's misconception.
As he paced up and down he realised the hopelessness of his case. He began to regret asking Dungarth for his own command. What hope had he of distinguishing himself in the old tub that Virago really was? Those two mortars that Tumilty had so slyly placed in their beds were no more than a charade. There would be no 'opportunity' in this expedition, only drudgery, probable mismanagement and a glorious debacle to amuse Europe. No fleet orders had been issued to the ships, no order of sailing. All was confusion with a few of Nelson's intimates forming a cabal within the hierarchy of the fleet which threatened to overset the whole enterprise.
Added to the demoralisation of the officers were the chills, fevers, agues and rheumatism being experienced by many of the seamen. The much publicised Baltic Fleet had the constitution of an organism in an advanced state of rot. Drinkwater's own condition was merely a symptom of that decay.
Only that morning on his return from the shore Rogers had brought a man aft for spitting on the deck. Although Drinkwater suspected the fellow had fallen into an uncontrollable fit of violent coughing he had ordered the grating rigged and the man given a dozen lashes. It was only hours later that he felt ashamed, unconsoled by the reflection that many captains would have ordered three dozen, and only recognising the unpleasant fact that events of the last few days had brutalised him. He had watched Edward's face as Cottrell had been flogged. Only once had his brother looked up. Nathaniel realised now that he had flogged
Cottrell as an example to Edward, and he cursed the rottenness of a world that penned men in such traps.
But Lieutenant Drinkwater's wallow in the mire of self-pity did not last long. It was an unavoidable concomitant of the isolation of command and the antidote, when it came in the person of a midshipman from Explosion, was most welcome. He was invited to dine on the bomb vessel within the hour. The thought of company among equals, even equals as bilious-eyed as Martin, was preferable to his own morbid society.
It proved to be a surprisingly jolly affair. After a sherry or two he relaxed enough to cast off the 'blue-devils'. If they were going to war he might as well enjoy himself. In a month he might be dead. If they ever did sail of course, and it was this subject that formed the conversation as the officers of the bomb vessels gossiped. The fleet was buzzing with a rumour that delighted both the naval and the artillery officers crowded into Martin's after cabin. Lord Nelson, it was said, had written direct to Earl St Vincent, the First Lord. Lady Parker's ball and the delay it was causing was believed to be the subject of his lordship's letter. Among the assembly an atmosphere of almost school-boy glee prevailed. They waited eagerly for the outcome, arguing on whether it would be the super-cession of Parker by Nelson or an order to sail.
Drinkwater exchanged remarks with two white-haired lieutenants who were in command of the other tenders and normally employed by the Transport Board. They were both over sixty and he soon gravitated towards Tumilty and the other artillery officers who were more his own age. The merry-eyed Lieutenant English, attached to Explosion, sympathised with him over Martin's apparent animosity and cursed his own ill-luck in being appointed to the ship. Fitzmayer of the Terror and Jones of the Volcano seemed intent on insulting Admiral Parker and had embarked on a witty exchange of military double entendres designed to throw doubts on the admiral's ability to be a proper husband to his bride. The joke was becoming rather stale. From Captain-Lieutenant Peter Fyers of Sulphur he learned something of the defences of Copenhagen where Fyers had served the previous year in a bomb vessel sent as part of Lord Whitworth's embassy. Captain-Lieutenant Lawson, attached to Zebra, was expatiating on the more scandalous excesses and perverted pastimes of the late Empress Catherine and the even less attractive sadism of her son Tsar Paul, 'the author', as he put it, 'of our present misfortune, God-rot his Most Imperial Majesty.'
'There seems a deal of hostility to kings among these king's officers,' remarked Drinkwater to Tumilty, thinking of the regicide tendencies of his own surgeon.
'Ah,' explained Tumilty with inescapable Irish logic, 'but we're not exactly king's officers, my dear Nat'aniel, no we're not. As I told you our commissions are from the Master General of the Ordnance, d'you see. Professional men like yourself, so we are.' He paused to drink off his glass. 'We're pyroballogists that'll fire shot and shell into heaven itself if the devil's wearing a general's tail coat. Motivated by science we are, Nat'aniel, and damn the politics. Fighting men to be sure.'
Drinkwater was not sure if that was true of all the artillery officers mustered in Explosion's stuffy cabin, but it was certainly true of Lieutenant Thomas Tumilty whose desire to be throwing explosive shells at anyone unwise enough to provoke him, seemed to consume him with passion so that he sputtered like one of his own fuses.
'And I've some news for you personal like. Our friend Captain Martin has heard that our mortars are mounted. I'd not be surprised if he were to mention it to you…' Tumilty's eyes narrowed to slits and the hair on his cheeks bristled as he sucked in his cheeks in mock disapproval. He took another glass from the passing mess-man and turned away with an obvious wink as Captain Martin approached.
The commander's appearance as though on cue was uncanny, but Drinkwater dismissed the suspicion that Tumilty intended anything more than a warning.
'Well, Mr Drinkwater, itching to try your mortars at the enemy are you?'
'Given the opportunity I should wish to render you every possible assistance in my power, sir,' he said diplomatically.
'Were you not ordered to strike those mortars into your hold, Mr Drinkwater?' asked Martin, an expression of extreme dislike crossing his pale face.
'No sir,' replied Drinkwater with perfect candour, 'the existence of the mortar beds led me to suppose that the mortars might be shipped therein with perfect safety. The vessel would not become excessively stiff and they are readily available should they be required by any other ship. Struck into the hold they might have become overstowed by other…'
'Very well, Mr Drinkwater,' Martin snapped, 'you have made your point.' He seemed about to turn away, riled by Drinkwater's glib replies but recollected something and suddenly asked, 'How the devil did you get command of Virago?'
'I was appointed by the Admiralty, sir…'
'I mean, Mr Drinkwater,' said Martin with heavy emphasis, 'by whose influence was your application preferred?'
Drinkwater flushed with sudden anger. He appreciated Martin's own professional disappointments might be very great, but he himself hardly represented the meteoric rise of an admiral's eleve.
'I do not believe I am anybody's protege, sir,' he said with icy formality, 'though I have rendered certain service to their Lordships of a rather unusual nature.'
Drinkwater was aware that he was bluffing but he saw Martin deflate slightly, as though he had found the justification for his dislike in Drinkwater's reply.
'And what nature did that service take, Mr Drinkwater?' Martin's tone was sarcastic.
'Special service, sir, I am not at liberty to discuss it.' Martin's eyes opened a little wider, though whether it was at Drinkwater's effrontery or whether he was impressed, was impossible to determine. At all events Drinkwater did not need to explain that the special service had been as mate of the cutter Kestrel dragging the occasional spy off a French beach and no more exciting than the nightly activities on a score of British beaches in connection with the 'free trade'.
'Special service? You mean secret service, Mr Drinkwater,' Martin paused as though making up his mind. 'For Lord Dungarth's department, perhaps?'
'Perhaps, sir,' temporised Drinkwater, aware that this might prove a timely raising of his lordship's name and be turned to some advantage in his plan for Edward.
Real anger was mounting into Martin's cheeks.
'I am quite well aware of his lordship's activities, Drinkwater, I am not so passed over that…' he broke off, aware that his own voice had risen and that he had revealed more of himself than he had intended. Martin looked round but the other officers were absorbed in their own chatter. He coughed with embarrassment. 'You are well acquainted with his lordship?' Martin asked almost conversationally.
'Aye sir,' replied Drinkwater, relieved that the squall seemed to have passed. 'We sailed together on the Cyclops, frigate, in the American War.' Drinkwater sensed the need to be conciliatory, particularly as the problem of Edward weighed heavily upon him. 'I beg your pardon for being evasive, sir. I was not aware that his lordship's activities were known to you.'
Martin nodded. 'You were not the only officer to serve in his clandestine operations, Mr Drinkwater.'
'Nor, perhaps,' Drinkwater said in a low voice, the sherry making him bold, 'the only one to be disappointed.' He watched Martin's eyes narrow as the commander digested the implication of Drinkwater's remark. Then Drinkwater added, 'You would not therefore blame me for mounting those mortars, sir?'
For a second Drinkwater was uncertain of the result of his importunity. Then he saw the ghost of a smile appear on Martin's face. 'And you are yet known to Lord Dungarth?'
Drinkwater nodded. The knowledge that the lieutenant still commanded interest with the peer was beginning to put him in a different light in Martin's disappointed eyes.
'Very well, Mr Drinkwater.' Martin turned away.
Drinkwater heaved a sigh of relief. The antagonism of Martin would have made any plan for Edward's future doubly hazardous. Now, perhaps, Martin was less hostile to him. He caught Tumilty's eye over the rim of the Iris
hman's glass. It winked shamelessly. Drinkwater mastered a desire to laugh, but it was not the mirth of pure amusement. It had the edge of hysteria about it. Elizabeth had been right: he was no dissembler and the strain of it was beginning to tell.
Drinkwater returned to Virago a little drunk. The dinner had been surprisingly good and during it Drinkwater learned that it had been provided largely by the generosity of the artillery officers who had had the good sense to humour their naval counterparts. It was only later, slumped in his carver and staring at his sword hanging on a hook, that the irrelevant thought crossed his mind that it had not been cleaned after the fight with the French luggers. He sent for Tregembo.
When the quartermaster returned twenty minutes later with the old French sword honed to a biting edge on Willerton's grindstone he seemed to want to talk.
'Beg pardon, zur, but have 'ee looked at they pistol flints?'
'No, Tregembo,' Drinkwater shook his head to clear it of the effects of the wine. 'Do so if you please. I fancy you can re-knap 'em without replacing 'em.'
'There are plenty of flints aboard here, zur,' said Tregembo reproachfully.
Drinkwater managed a laugh. 'Ah yes, I was forgettin' we're a floating arsenal. Do as you please then.'
Tregembo had brought two new flints with him and took out the pull-through. He began fiddling with the brace of flintlocks. 'Do 'ee think we'll sail soon, zur?'
'I hope so, Tregembo, I hope so.'
'They say no one knows where we're going, zur, though scuttlebutt is that we're going to fight the Russians.' He paused. 'It's kind of confusing, zur, but they were our allies off the Texel in '97.'
'Well they ain't our allies now, Tregembo. They locked British seamen up. As to sailing, I have received no orders. I imagine the government are still negotiating with the Baltic powers.'
Drinkwater sighed as Tregembo sniffed in disbelief.
'They say Lord Nelson's had no word of the fleet's intentions.'
'They say a great deal, much of it nonsense, Tregembo, you should know that.'
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