Steam & Stratagem

by Christopher Hoare

  “I am Miss Pollard, until recently governess for the grandchildren of Lord Arundell, My Lady—oh, and this is my sister who also served in the same household.”

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Pollard—Miss—”

  “Mrs. Milton, My Lady. Lady’s maid to the late Countess.”

  “Mrs. Milton.” Roberta responded to this lady’s courtesy. “I must confess to not meriting the title My Lady, as I am a commoner—the daughter of Mr. George Stephenson the railway locomotive engineer.”

  “Oh.” The two sisters exchanged knowing looks. “Then, His Lordship . . . ?”

  “Lord Bond and Lieutenant Worthington were accompanying me to London on Admiralty business when we were assailed by those two French spies.”

  The two ladies’ eyes went round as they found their seats. The sound of the improvised steps being removed came from outside and the train guard appeared in the opening, reaching up for the door handle. “If everythin’ is in order, Ladies. I will close the door—the train will be departin’ in another two minutes.”

  Roberta smiled at him. “Yes. All in order, but you might be so good as to take Lieutenant Worthington the pot of tea he bought at Tonbridge. I fear he was not able to drink a single drop.”

  “Right, Miss. Us can hot it up in the guard’s van.”

  When they were left alone, Mrs. Milton took up the question that had clearly been burning on her tongue. “French spies, Miss Stephenson? How terrible. Did they . . . ?”

  Roberta smiled slightly, still piqued at the thought Lord Bond had considered her in need of nursemaids, but acknowledged she would be pleased at the resulting opportunity for conversation. “The brutes did not succeed in gaining an entrance—although one of them tried—” Here she stopped at a resurgence of the nervous distress she thought should have left her.

  Miss Pollard immediately rose to her feet and came to her. “There, my dear, it’s all over now. Dear me, you’ve gone quite white.”

  “I have some smelling salts,” Mrs. Milton said, proffering a small cut glass vial.

  “Oh, I don’t think it necessary. I will be perfectly recovered in a moment.”

  “No, my dear,” Miss Pollard said, taking the vial from her sister and opening the cap. “Take a sniff of this.”

  Roberta did, and immediately sat back to cover her face with a handkerchief as she sneezed and spluttered. The locomotive had whistled by the time she recovered her composure and the train set off on its delayed journey once more.

  “There now,” Mrs. Milton said, “that’ll set you to rights. It always worked for the dear, late Countess.”

  “I suggest we do not discuss these intruders any further, my dear,” Miss Pollard decreed. “It will be better to take your mind off the whole distressing business. I wish we had a tot of spirits to offer you. It might do a power of good.”

  “Perhaps you are right. His Lordship has a small silver flask in the pocket of the overcoat on the rack. He offered me as much as I needed—we had a tot aboard our Stephenson Company vessel in the Channel last night.”

  Mrs. Milton stood and turned around to put a hand up to Lord Bond’s heavy frock coat. “In here? I hope he will not miss a drop for us all.”

  Roberta laughed. “He did suggest he would have offered my crew and myself a whole cask of brandy, but unfortunately it went down with his yacht.”

  Mrs. Milton turned with the silver flask in hand. “His yacht?”

  Miss Pollard craned her neck, her eyes gleaming. “Your crew? I hope you do not mind our impertinence, but it seems that you have been in a great adventure. Do tell.”

  Roberta imparted as much of the adventure of the past twenty-four hours to her listeners as discretion advised—and they sat in rapt silence. They wiped the blue willow pattern cups and each sat sipping at a small measure of His Lordship’s generosity.

  “And His Lordship’s yacht was wrecked?” Mrs. Milton exclaimed.

  “Sunk by the cannons of a French sloop of war in the middle of the English Channel.”

  “The beasts,” Miss Pollard said as she clenched her fists. “I hope the Good Lord will punish them for their outrage.”

  Roberta shrugged. “When last we had seen them they were in longboats rowing for home—not a certain journey. Their sloop was rolling bottom up in preparation to joining many of its fellows in Davy Jones’ locker.”

  “Indeed? The Royal Navy came to your rescue?”

  “I cannot say much more of the affair, but our ship, the Spiteful, put paid to the Frenchman—before we hurried to the stricken yacht to rescue its crew before it too vanished below the waves.”

  “Your ship? It must be a ship of war, then.”

  “Of a new and secret kind—of which I cannot speak.”

  “And your father was the commander—?”

  “Or perhaps, Lieutenant Worthington?” Mrs. Milton broke in.

  “Actually, I am the principal officer of my Father’s shipyard. The executive position aboard was mine . . . ,” she offered a slight smile. “I must suppose the Admiralty will record the Captain of the victorious vessel as myself.”

  “Well I never,” the two ladies said almost in unison.

  Chapter Ten

  Noon Appointment

  Lord Bond rejoined Roberta in the First Class compartment at Reigate station—the sisters would have returned to their previous compartment, but he assured them he had already upgraded their tickets for the previous part of the journey.

  “Thank you, My Lord,” Miss Pollard replied. “I hope we are not trespassing upon your privacy.”

  “Not at all. You do us a great service by remaining—since Lieutenant Worthington has remained in the goods van in charge of the prisoner and escort.”

  The two sisters glanced from His Lordship to her, but made no comment about their new role as chaperones.

  “What business do you ladies travel upon,” Lord Bond asked conversationally.

  “Our previous employer, Lord Arundell, has given us our liberty to engage upon a family matter, My Lord,” Miss Pollard replied. “Our brother has been the proprietor of a haberdashery in Woolwich for a number of years. Recently he has been unwell—he is much older than us—and has asked that we should come to help him in the business.”

  “Indeed. I hope your arrival will aid considerably to his recovery.”

  Roberta listened to the pleasantries with only half an ear as the train reached some new building activity at Purley. Mrs. Milton joined her to look out of the train window.

  “More new houses! How the countryside does change, so.”

  Lord Bond nodded. “Indeed. If you watch as we enter the city you cannot fail to see how the city grows. Every one of the towns and villages is spreading its habitation along the railway, so that it appears likely that eventually they will all meet as if one enormous city.”

  “And has the railway done that?” Miss Pollard asked.

  Roberta took up her father’s explanation. “It happens wherever the railway extends. More people can make longer journeys than ever before. They can even work in more distant communities—they can live in the country while attending to their business affairs in the city.”

  Lord Bond’s expression soured. “I agree. It must be of great advantage to them, but I fear the countryside is becoming far too crowded in the process. The coverts are either cut down or filled with folk out walking. It is becoming difficult to find a place to shoot.” He forced a smile. “No doubt the pheasants and partridge consider it a great boon.”

  Roberta decided their ongoing plans needed discussion. “Will Lieutenant Worthington not join us in the city?”

  “Eventually, he will. He will be taking our prisoner for incarceration aboard a prison ship moored in the Thames. I propose to hire him the growler for his task—it will be sufficient for him, the prisoner, and part of the escort. The petty officer will convey the other Frenchman . . . ,” he paused to peer carefully at her, “to St. Mary’s Churchyard on Congreve Street.
”

  Roberta looked casually away. She no longer felt disturbed by the recollection, but why did His Lordship and the two sisters watch her so intently? “Do we ride alone to the Admiralty?”

  “If you would permit me to accompany you—it will be busy in the city in the late fore-noon. I believe these ladies will not wish to cross the river, since their destination is on the Southwark side.”

  Miss Pollard looked apologetic. “If that would suit you, my dear.”

  Roberta considered the propriety. Walking a city street in His Lordship’s company would not be a cause for scandal—so sharing a hackney in broad daylight would hardly ruin her reputation.

  “I dare say the convenience would suggest my approval. I was hoping to arrive at the Admiralty in the Lieutenant’s company as he is personally acquainted with the Engineer Officer we must meet.”

  “I doubt he will arrive long after us. If I know my Admiralty, it will take a great deal of waiting before you are passed from clerk to clerk and eventually meet with the responsible party. I will do as I can to smooth your passage, but my business is with . . . ,” he glanced at the ladies, “an inner cabinet at Admiralty House.”

  The train continued through the suburbs and between the rows upon rows of new-built housing adjacent to the track until it reached the city proper at Peckham. The locomotive slowed as it threaded through goods yards and engine houses on its way to the terminus. Here the single track of the main line became three, and even as many as four lines; where she saw the Dover bound train waiting for the transfer of the staff to move onto the track they vacated.

  The terminus of the South Eastern Railway was shared by other main lines beside theirs and so the platforms were thronged with waiting passengers, sightseers, and friends awaiting departures so they might wave farewell to the travellers. When they met Lieutenant Worthington, Roberta was pleased to see the sailors had fashioned a light wooden box for the . . . deceased, and had it on a railwayman’s cart to push through the streets.

  Lord Bond handed the Lieutenant enough money for the transportation and a few shillings for his naval escorts. “Please join us at the Admiralty when you have handed over the prisoner. Please impress upon the prison ship’s commandant to make all diligent care to secure the prisoner—who has, doubtless, much more information to impart before he makes his rendezvous with the hangman.”

  “Aye, My Lord. The hulk is moored at Greenwich, so I may be late in the city. I wonder if we should arrange an appointment for tomorrow, Miss Stephenson?”

  “I expect to wait upon the convenience of the Admiralty, Lieutenant. I doubt Their Lordships of the Board will consider our business as pressing as Lord Bond’s.”

  The two sisters came to say goodbye, having found room upon a horse-drawn omnibus that could take them to Woolwich. She stood beside the omnibus outside the station portico speaking with them while His Lordship found a vacant hackney. She looked across the street at the station’s namesake, an imposing hostelry under the sign of the Bricklayers’ Arms—the armorial badge presented when the guild had been founded.

  The party split up to go their separate ways, and Roberta followed a porter, conveying her and Lord Bond’s luggage, to the hackney at the front of the line at the kerb on the Old Kent Road. She was surprised to see it was one of the newest two wheeled carriages with the driver located behind and above the passengers, affording them a fine view of their progress over the withers of the draft horse.

  They set out up the Old Kent Road for Great Dover Street and London Bridge in a veritable Derby Day throng of cabs, coaches, and drays. Roberta felt quite the lady sitting beside His Lordship, who regaled her with his knowledge of the premises and districts as they passed through them. As they started across the river, a brisk wind gave her quite a chill. Lord Bond produced a travelling blanket from under the seats to spread across her person. Her gratification became interrupted by concern and embarrassment as his hand rested a moment on her knee, but her alarm lasted but a second before he smiled and moved it to smooth the folds.

  Over the bridge they entered the city proper. Roberta tried to find a name but could not remember one. “This is . . . ?”

  “Eastcheap, home to more than eight hundred thousand souls, my dear.”

  It seemed as if they must all of them be riding today in cabs and coaches that came swerving past as Roberta stared fascinated at the passing scenes, and while their hackney carriage made its way through the thronged streets of the city.

  A smartly dressed man—a foreigner by the look of his dress—stopped to look at something in a window and a porter, running behind, bumped into him. The man did shout a “by your leave,” but far too late to prevent a crash. It was a wonder she heard the words—uttered in a momentary lull in the racket of carriage wheels—through the din and clamour of hundreds of tongues, postman’s bells, street organs, fiddlers and tambourines of itinerant musicians, and the cries of vendors of hot and cold food on every street corner.

  On another street a crowd of beggars, sailors, and urchins came around a corner. A stout gentleman leaning on a cane shouted, “Stop, thief!” Everyone ran to press forward, perhaps to catch the thief, perhaps to steal a watch or a purse themselves. A young woman appeared from a doorway to accost a rich man in cravat with lace in his cuffs. The bawd smiled and said something Roberta could not hear, but when she took him by the hand and he turned to follow, she did not need to hear the words.

  At the next corner the rattle of carriages and drays ceased momentarily behind a drove of oxen—the gilded carriages of the aristocracy and the coal wagons with their blaspheming draymen all brought to the same immobility in a street darkened by a floating pall of congealed smoke. So they moved slowly until the animals turned off to Smithfield and their hackney became freed to climb the hill to St. Paul’s.

  Down Fleet Street toward the Strand they met another delay under the arch of Temple Bar. “Would you rather walk?” Lord Bond asked. “We are quite close to St. James now.”

  Roberta smiled. “I would, but I can see more from here. I was a child when last I came to London—it frightened me with its turmoil and didn’t strike me as such a fascinating sight as it does today.”

  Lord Bond returned her smile and placed a hand gently over hers. “Then enjoy it all, my dear. I feel as if I have never seen the city in its true glory before, as I do with the guidance of your eyes.”

  Roberta took great notice at his words—and at his hand on hers. She did not attempt to have him remove it.

  She hardly noticed their passage through the traffic and into Whitehall with her mind on Lord Bond and his attempt at gallantry. What did it signify—a genuine regard or some passing fancy? Oh! All this consternation because they were never properly introduced and given her father’s approval of the growing friendship. For friendship it must certainly be named—his actions far exceeded the requirements of common politeness.

  And what was she that his attention should so discommode her? What was his title, after all? She knew good, honest young fellows on Tyneside whose address was every bit as gentlemanly and who didn’t attempt to hasten their acquaintance. No. She must be firm. She moved her hand away from his.

  At that moment their driver called down to them. “Here’s the Old Admiralty, My Lord—or dos’t want Admiralty House?”

  “Stop beside the main entrance to Robert Adam’s screen. I must first escort the lady to her appointment.”

  Roberta was pleased to have him assist, but felt she was interfering with his duty. The hackney stopped and Lord Bond alighted and turned to offer her his arm. “Thank you, My Lord, but I must not delay your own business. Please leave me at the entrance hall to make my own enquiries.”

  He seemed to agree but escorted her through the gate and across the courtyard, greeting several gentlemen by name as they passed them. Once inside he took her to the central desk and insisted the clerks should send word for the Commander of the Engineering Directorate.

  Only when a clerk arrived
to escort her to the correct office did he take his leave and hasten to the doorway leading to Admiralty House, the residence of the First Lord of the Admiralty. She watched him disappear within as if he were a customary resident—perhaps he was—and she felt suddenly smaller and less sure of herself at his absence. She was, after all, only a suppliant here—attempting to convince the Board of Admiralty of the benefit of her invention—as so many had done before her.

  By an hour after noon she was glad to have spoken with a dozen clerks and attained an appointment to see Engineering Commander Ripley at noon the following day.

  Chapter Eleven

  Their Lordships

  After breakfast the next day, Roberta prepared herself for the interviews by selecting a conservative Polonaise dress of dark red gabardine, ankle boots buckled at the front, and added just a dash of femininity with a jaunty bergere hat with coloured lappets in red and blue. She had found the hat in a milliner’s on Pall Mall the previous afternoon.

  Promptly at eleven, Lieutenant Worthington called for her—they had decided to walk to the Old Admiralty, it being a fine summer day. Crossing Pall Mall they followed a footpath to St James’s Park and entered the Admiralty through the Park entrance. They waited in an anteroom to the offices assigned to those ill-favoured practitioners of steam and coal until Commander Ripley sent a clerk to fetch them.

  They had barely entered his office and seated themselves when he looked at them across his desk with a small degree of agitation. “I would start our interview at once—except I have been notified of a change in venue. It really is most unusual, but I hope it signifies that our business is regarded with somewhat more favour than matters of steam propulsion usually receive.”

  Roberta well knew the Admiralty was the abode of salt water sailors who had a great reverence for masts and sails, and little regard for the dirt and grime of coal and steam. She inclined her head and smiled. “Indeed, Commander. What is the nature of this change?”