‘Sir, the country cannot engage the Americans too. We will be pressed hard to fight the French, as you are too well aware. What will you do with this knowledge, sir?’
‘That is a matter for my government, Mister Vizzard. You are here to receive my thanks for the performance of a dangerous duty. However, I can tell you I intend to do all in my power to prevent the French being supplied with grain from the Americas. I will have discussion, and no doubt protracted debate, with my colleagues and see how best to counter this threat. I dare say you will find you are involved in some manner, have no fear.’
‘What of the Frenchwomen, D’Aubusson, sir? Do you have word?
‘Ah, yes. She has returned to her own country, Lieutenant.’ Pitt’s eyes drilled into Jack’s, the unspoken question evident there.
‘She works for me, Lieutenant. Did you not know? Even now I receive messages from her and her acquaintances. She is a most valuable ally of ours. I hope soon to receive more news of the French plans. That convoy must be destroyed, Vizzard.’
Jack realised his mouth was open and closed it rapidly. Pitt’s explanation was plausible, likely true indeed, but Jack was incredulous.
‘I trust you will relay my thanks, sir,’ he nearly stammered, ‘the next time you have occasion to communicate with her.’
The images of former occupants of the house stared accusingly at William Pitt, challenging him, exhorting him to follow their example for better or worse. The simple truth, as Pitt understood clearly, was Britain had at her disposal only one strategic fleet; the Channel Fleet commanded by Richard, Earl Howe, and presently it was under-manned and almost certainly insufficient to meet the new French threat. He was acutely aware of the fact.
‘However, since you have performed your country such valuable service,’ Pitt continued, ‘the Channel fleet must prevent the French from landing their imports; I will have their fleet destroyed first. I would see them burned or sunk or taken captive. It matters little to me, but the evil that is the new French nation must not be permitted to flourish. We owe our present happiness and prosperity, Mister Vizzard, which has never been equalled in the annals of mankind, to a mixture of monarchical government. Not the invidious, atheist domination of a people such as we now witness across The Channel. Thank God those waters keep our country remote from such evil.’
Pitt leaned forward in his chair, the determined gaze lighting up for a moment.
‘Now, Lieutenant, I understand you grow tired of my game of espionage and seek a return to er, more orthodox duties. I have a meeting with some naval officers who may be willing to assist you. Where are you lodging? Would you care to join us at m’club? Make up a four at a table?’
‘Sir, I would be most honoured. I will stay at The Turk or Evans Hotel; I have used both before.’ Many years ago now he thought. ‘Who are the officers?’ he said aloud. ‘You refer to White’s, sir?
‘Indeed I do, White’s is where I take some leisure although less frequently now and pray, patience, Mister Vizzard. “How poor are they that have not patience”. May I suggest we meet at eight? I shall leave word at the door you are my favoured guest.’
Jack accepted the polite dismissal with grace and left the decaying building, hailing a cab once he reached Whitehall. As in years past, Jack was awed by the bustle and noise of the city. Rarely had he seen so many animals and people in congregation before and he longed for the tranquil green rolling pastures and streams of Gloucestershire.
The cab crawled along the hardened, rutted road, conscious of the falling temperatures, as the city business life drew to a close and gentlemen returned to their homes or their clubs or their favoured bagnio.
The cab halted outside the Evans Hotel in the north-west corner of Covent Garden. The fine red-brick building amused him. The frontage resembled the forecastle of a ship, which is what Jack now wanted. He had wearied of stealthy landings on alien soil, of spending too long slithering in ditches and watching ports and harbours for endless hours.
‘A room for two nights, if you please’, Jack said to the smartly dressed man who approached, ‘one to the front if you will.’
‘Yes, sir. Please follow me, your honour.’
The man escorted him to the first floor, the wide, sweeping staircase rising slowly around the periphery of the large entrance hall. Jack heard the voices in the dining room rising as more and more joined the throng seeking supper and musical entertainment for the evening. His head ached after the strain of travel and interrogation by the King’s prime minister. Now he faced an evening of cards with some naval officers. He played, one had to, but he hated losing, which he did rarely.
The room was comfortable if compact. An iron bed was set against a wall, a chair neatly positioned by the solitary window and paper lining the walls; a neo-classical style with Grecian urns and goddesses in a flock finish.
Jack sat at the window and stared out into the evening, thoughts of Giles’ death filling his mind. As ever, he questioned his actions, or his failures. Could he have known of the assassin’s presence? Should he have observed him en route? The enemy was everywhere it seemed and his lack of awareness, his inattention, had led directly to the death of his best friend. In that moment he vowed revenge on every Frenchman he encountered. The anger burned within him.
* * * * *
Two hours later, rested but melancholic, he climbed the steps to the entrance to White’s, the club popular with Billy Pitt, as members of the public often referred to the King’s minister.
The gaming room was already filling as the Master, Griffin, firstly approved Jack with a distinct air of obsequiousness, before being pointed in the direction of the Pitt’s table, in the far corner behind a draped heavy curtain.
Jack walked slowly with as much nonchalance as he could muster, regretting his acceptance of the offer as he realised the extent of wealth and personage occupying the room this evening. It had been said as many as eight dukes could be found dining in the club, and one or two of the bewigged old men could pass for such eminences; Jack had rubbed shoulders with minor aristocracy since boyhood, but the gentlemen members of White’s were known to be amongst the most wealthy and influential in the kingdom. He could not remove a small sense of awe.
Almost before he realised he was standing behind Pitt, facing a naval officer of ruddy complexion and greying hair, with eyes narrowed at Jack’s approach.
Pitt placed the cards face down and turned his head.
‘Ah, Vizzard. So good of you to come! Harvey, Berkeley, I have the pleasure and honour to introduce Lieutenant Vizzard of His Majesty’s marines. Vizzard; Captains Harvey and the Honourable George Berkeley. I forget their ships; no doubt they will apprise you of their respective commands. Gentlemen, this officer is largely responsible for the plans m’brother and I have been developing with my Lord Howe.’ Pitt slowly consumed the contents of the claret glass by his cards and continued. ‘And the thing is gentlemen the fellow seeks an appointment afloat. Seems little enough reward for the trials he has endured on our service. Pray, do take a seat, Vizzard.’
‘I’m obliged, sir’ Jack said, nerves pulling at his brain as he sat on the spoon-back chair next to two post captains of the Navy.
‘Vizzard, d’you say?’ said Captain George Cranfield Berkeley, pouring from one of several bottles on the table. ‘Not related to the lawyer in Woodchester, are you? Sir Henry Vizzard?
‘My father, sir’, Jack replied.
‘I see. I met him last year as I recall. Your father was of help to my cook when she was … well, no matter. Wouldn’t take payment for his work, which struck me as odd behaviour for a lawyer!’ He laughed.
Jack smiled. ‘Father will work pro bono on occasion, for a worthwhile cause, sir.’ He relaxed. A little.
‘I thought it most decent in him, so I sent him a brace from the castle and a case of Warres’ port. Least I could do.’ Berkeley was the owner of the castle in Gloucestershire, close to the banks of the river Severn, which had been in his family since th
e twelfth century. Captain Berkeley continued to gaze on the younger man before him, wondering exactly what it was had brought him approbation from such a person as the King’s premier minister.
‘Didn’t realise your people were of the legal sort, Vizzard’, Pitt said. ‘I read at Pembroke, you know.’
‘Indeed, sir, I am aware of your family’s preference for Cambridge. I followed my father to Oriel and was called in ’84. I practiced for only a short period I have to confess, before taking my commission.’
‘A most curious… how would you gentlemen say… a change of wind?’
‘A tack, sir,’ said Berkeley, ‘we change tack in order to alter course, depending on the direction of the wind and the desired course.’
‘Alternatively, sir, we are known to wear; but only should a change of tack be impossible or impractical,’ said Harvey.
‘All Greek to me I’m bound to say’, said Pitt. Now the reason I am here, gentlemen, other than the conviviality of your company, is to seek your support for m’friend here. I am in his debt. Indeed, England will owe him too, should his recent endeavours and ahem, the intelligence he has gathered prove accurate. The Admiralty will increase the establishment of the Corps of Marines, and will dispose of officers as they deem necessary, but I did hope one of you fellows would find room for an officer of some resource?’
‘Sir,’ said Captain Harvey, ‘it appears I lack sufficient lobster-backs, but I am given to understand I could have a Captain.’
‘Fiddlesticks and nonsense, Harvey. Another officer, of whatever rank, will be welcome on your ship I have no doubt. I will pass a note this evening and we may consider it arranged. I trust the arrangements are satisfactory, Vizzard?’
Jack inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘I am obliged to you, sir, should it meet with Captain Harvey’s approval.’
‘As you gentlemen will soon learn, I mean to cause the French good reason to pause and reflect on the aggressive position they have adopted.’
‘May I enquire how it is to be achieved, sir?’ enquired Harvey.
‘You will learn soon enough and through your Commander In Chief, Earl Howe. Plans gentlemen, take time to formulate and implement. Suffice it to say you will be back with your ships sooner than you may believe at present.’
Two pairs of eyes raised slightly, the news welcome to their owners’ ears. As captains in the Channel Fleet, they had spent too long cruising the waters around the French coast with nothing to show for their labours, save tired crews and wear to the fleet’s ships.
They now wanted to prove the superiority of both.
CHAPTER 14
‘I have a week, at best, Mary; that is all. Then I am required to report to Portsmouth. I join the Brunswick, after all.’
‘Oh Jack, it is so unfair. You have been in so much danger of late and now you choose to go to sea and… I know, I hate it. I simply loathe the service at times. I see so little of you as it is my dearest.’
‘My darling Mary’ he said, handing his son back to his wife, ‘we are at war with our ancient enemy, and the threat to our nation is patently real. I have learned much this last twelve-month. This revolution is as brutal and despicable as anything history has shown us. Johnny Crapaud is building a fleet of invasion vessels across the Channel. I know this to be true, for I have seen them and, indeed, on one occasion, destroyed many of them.’ He stood up and paced the room in his anxiety. ‘Would you wish to see the French invading our England and young Freddy here being taught the French at his school?’
He thought back to the night with the fires burning and barrels of powder exploding with fearsome power. Two men had been lost that night and three more injured, never to fight again.
Mary snorted her disdain and exclaimed, ‘I forgot!’ Mary explained. ‘Mister Brice sent a note for you some days ago, in the hope you would have some time at home. He has been devastated at the news of poor dear Giles and asks if you would see him on your return.’ She passed a note to him, the black ink in a shaky, unpractised hand.
‘Yes, he will be grieving, as are we all. I had half-forgotten Old Brice. He was a sea-daddy to us when young. I should see him’.
‘You should, my love. Go this evening before dinner. But do not stay late. I know how you can be distracted so in his company.’
* * * * *
Within a few minutes he had saddled his old horse, Humbert, donned a woollen cloak and was gently riding down the hard, rutted lane to the inn of fond memory.
Brice’s glum features opened and a thin, sad smile appeared on his face as Jack strode through the room, arms extended.
‘My dear friend’, he said, as the old man held him close, breathing heavily and smelling of ale and cider, a heady mix caught Jack’s nostrils with an instant memory. He felt at home here.
‘Master Jack, my dear boy. So happy I am to see you again.’ The old man took him to a corner table, nodding at the barmaid, who noted the silent order and poured a golden liquid into two large pewter tankards. ‘Here we are your table, Master Jack. You and he always sat here in the old days.’ His eyes moistened and he casually knuckled the corner of his left eye. ‘Here’s young Sally with an ale. I’ll let thee have a pull or two then I needs to `ear the story; or as much of it as you can tell me’.
Requiring no further instruction, Jack drank several large gulps of the light, honey coloured ale, licked his lips and sat back in the chair.
‘He died saving my life, Bricey. A nobler friend a man never had.’ He spoke softly, swallowing a lump rising in his throat. ‘We were followed by a traitorous spy, a former comrade in the Corps and my superior officer, but a spy in the pay of the French none the less. I tried to kill him before, the bastard; I had discovered his treachery in France, when he would have had me executed in Paris, handed over to Madame Guillotine!’
‘When you were in France’, said Brice. ‘What were you doing in…’
‘I cannot answer you, Bricey. It was on government business, is all I can tell you. I miss him greatly. He was planning on joining the Corps, as he wished to see more action.’
‘Well I dunno about you lads muckin’ about in France, but I hopes you caused `em a headache or two. It were them bastards did fer me leg’, he said, rubbing the left knee. ‘I remember the two of you and your brother George…’ Brice hesitated at the sharp look thrown at him.
Jack shrugged, dismissing the thought, chasing the ghost of his missing brother from the conversation.
‘Now here is the thing, Bricey, I’m worried Major Squires, for such is who he was, indeed my company commander, did not work alone. A French woman who escaped from France with me, but who I fear I cannot trust, aided me. We parted company at Deal and I have not seen her again. By extraordinary circumstance she even met our Billy Pitt.’
Jack pulled a small tin from his pocket, extracted a cigar and lit it from the candle on the table. He explained, briefly, the events of the night he was captured at the beach and how Vanessa d’Aubusson had saved him from Squires.
‘You see, Bricey, Mr Pitt confides the lady is one of his agents. But perhaps I ain’t as convinced of her loyalty as he. We parted with Mr Pitt taking it upon himself to assist her but I fear she may now be searching for me and I am uneasy in my mind. Even now I cannot be certain as to her true allegiance, her intentions or motives. She may be what she claims and Billy Pitt believes; then she is also capable of duplicity and if she should discover my whereabouts, Bricey… well, you understand my anxiety, I am sure.’ Jack glanced around the dimly lit room, as if half expecting the subject of his anxiety to appear.
‘Indeed I can, but why if she shot your Major Squires?’ Brice reasoned.
‘Because, my friend, I now believe she had decided he was compromised and with his identity known, would be of no further use to her; so I have reasoned in my own mind, as I offered her the opportunity to travel to London. In truth, I do not know the answer. She may be entirely authentic yet… yet there exists a doubt, something intangible, perhaps no
more than the mystery that enhances any woman of beauty; for my friend, she is certainly a beautiful woman.’ He blew a circle of smoke toward the ceiling.
‘Master Jack, no French sounding woman would go un-noticed in these parts. The county is nervous as buggery at the thought of a fleet of Frenchies swimming up the Severn, never mind a foreign talking lass. Do not fret on it now; I will keep my eyes and ears wide open and spread the word in the right quarters, have no fear of that, boy.’
He stole a casual look around the room, as if also half expecting to see the object of their conversation walk boldly into his beloved inn.
‘Beg pardon, Master Jack. Should call you sir now, you holding the King’s Commission an’ all.’
‘We must be prepared, Bricey. We live in dangerous times and the enemy may be in our midst even now. Be alert to any strangers, old friend; all may not be as they, or she, might appear. Her English is good, with barely a trace of accent, so we cannot be fools and expect her to arrive with a tricolour flag and singing La Carmagole!’
‘Singing what, Master Jack?’ said Brice.
‘Never mind, Brice, never mind. It’s a song of the Frog’s revolution; it’s a sailor’s song from Marseille and the sans-culottes sing it their taverns – and we will not hear it in England. Not if I have any say in things.’
* * * * *
The parish church of Saint Mary in Painswick was very old. Jack recalled from his studies at King’s the church having been recorded in Domesday. The spire, weathered as it was from its exposed position and pointing the way to heaven was pockmarked; Cromwell’s forces had occupied the church against those of Royalist forces during the siege of Gloucester, and the damage had never been repaired. The spire laid a shadow across the churchyard as the sun failed to warm the congregation stepping with lowered heads through the gallery to the north aisle.
THE GLORIOUS FIRST: The first fleet action of the French Revolutionary War (The Jack Vizzard Chronicles Book 2) Page 17
