“Good evening, Julian. Just in time, I see.”
Roberta studied him as Lord Bond made the introductions. Not only tall but almost gaunt, with a not unpleasant, hatchet face and thinning black hair. With very formal gallantry he took her hand and kissed it when they were introduced.
In turn, he introduced his interlocutors. “Mr. Arthur Bentley and Mr. Mortimer Haigh, my card partners and Names at Lloyd’s—I must confess we were talking business.”
“Enough with that, Symington,” Lord Bond answered. “Tonight I shall expect you to help me amuse these two ladies from the North Country. Miss Stephenson, here, saved me from a long swim in the Channel.”
“Ah, Julian. You will get into these devilish scrapes.”
Mr. Bentley laughed and joined in. “I hear you had a shipwreck but neglected to have your journey insured.”
“I would have asked you for a quote; however I was not engaged upon slaving business.”
Symington Holmes slapped him on the shoulder. “Really? You must have raised the amount of the pittance you pay to your poor, long suffering, Bloggins to have foresworn slavery.”
Mr. Bentley frowned. “Slavery is becoming a poor investment. This past week we learned of two more ships seized by American privateers—both insured by Lloyd’s and with a significant exposure for myself.”
Mr. Haigh joined in. “Yes, please tell us, My Lord—what measures are your friends at the Admiralty taking to tighten the blockade on the American ports?”
Lord Bond shrugged. “The demand for ships and crews has far exceeded the Royal Navy’s ability to meet. Two huge blockades to be maintained at once—if the American war is not settled soon . . . well, I hate to think what will come of it.”
Symington Holmes smiled mischievously. “I swear I heard two Members of Parliament propose a new taxation levy upon the maritime trade and Lloyd’s. A measure to raise a source of funds for a subsidy to the Czar for a reinforcement in—”
The two Names drew back in shock. “A new levy? A tax upon Lloyd’s?”
Lord Bond laughed. “And all for a fleet of ramshackle Russian frigates? Symington—your jest is without credibility.”
Mr. Bentley shook his head angrily. “I should know enough not to take your bait, Mr. Holmes. I have absolute certainty of your integrity in saying nothing of Admiralty business in social circles. Two Members, indeed!”
Lord Bond turned to Roberta with a smile. “Mr. Holmes has a post in the Admiralty. A post for which you might consider befriending him—although I agree with Mr. Bentley’s suggestion that he is scrupulously careful of any business that has passed over his desk.”
Mr. Haigh turned to her. “He has a senior position in the financial affairs of Admiralty—signs notes for many thousands of pounds with as little qualm as a land holder might disburse a hundred.”
Symington Holmes chuckled. “It does not happen regularly, and I must own that it is easier to disburse when the specie is not mine.”
“You are the head accountant, Mr. Holmes?” Roberta asked.
He smiled at her. “Not exactly, Miss Stephenson—my post is actually as a technical advisor. I am a mathematician by education . . . a tripos at Cambridge. My duty for the Admiralty is to assess the services it acquires and to approve or deny the price the supplier has placed upon them.”
Lord Bond smiled broadly at her but said nothing. She hardly needed to ask his meaning—she was in the company of the gentleman who had the final word over the payment for the steamships the Stephenson Shipyard would supply the Royal Navy. Here was the man who might make or break her enterprise.
Lord Bond and the gentlemen led her and Aunt Nelly to some vacant couches under a window where they seated themselves just before the ensemble struck up the introduction and honours for a longways dance.
“Do you ladies know ‘Wildboar’s Maggot’?” Mr. Bentley asked.
Aunt Nelly inclined her head. “I assure ye that my niece and myself are well acquainted, Sirs, but I haf’ta observe that we have the lack of enough young ladies.”
Mr. Bentley smiled. “I do believe you are correct, but isn’t that your sister over there, Mr. Haigh? Perhaps she might join us.”
Mr. Haigh looked about. “Ah, I see her. Excuse me a moment.”
It took but a few minutes to welcome a rather tall and horsey young lady with her brown hair in ringlets to their company.
“Are we ready to join the dance?” Mr. Bentley said jovially, his eye on Miss Haigh. However, it seemed she had made a resolve to dance with her brother.
Lord Bond remained seated. “I’ll sit out the first dance, if you’ll do the honours for me, Symington.”
“Delighted,” he answered, offering his arm to Roberta. Which left Mr. Bentley no alternative but to smile gallantly at Aunt Nelly and escort her onto the floor.
An unspoken decision selected Mr. Holmes and Roberta as the senior couple, while Mr. Haigh and his sister took the next senior position. Roberta listened carefully for the fiddles and winds to reach the repeat of the opening bars for their entry into the dance while Mr. Holmes regarded her with an expectant expression. At last the repeat came and they set off heying down the group.
As they turned about Aunt Nelly and Mr. Bentley at the end to dance together back to the start position, Mr. Holmes smiled and said, “So you have known His Lordship a matter of weeks. I trust he has been good company . . . .”
They parted to their positions before Roberta could answer, leaving her with the question hanging. Was there some hidden meaning? Why had he asked Mr. Holmes to partner her in the first dance?
When next they had the chance to speak, Roberta claimed the first word. “Does Lord Bond suppose your company better than his own?”
Mr. Holmes smiled. “My company might be a little less constrained, although I fear I have the disadvantage of not having been rescued by the charming lady captain and her vessel.”
“Is that considered to be a better introduction than a courtesy call upon her father?” Roberta responded at the next opportunity.
“Decidedly more memorable. I fear I could never match Miss Stephenson in her charm and her manner of deportment.”
“I take it you suggest carriage, Sir?”
“Well taken. I wonder what beguilements I must needs offer to be entertained in the Stephenson Shipyards . . . .” The dance parted them before Roberta might answer.
The last repeat began, which would see them end back in the senior position. Roberta decided on boldness. “Am I to suppose you have an inclination to learn the secrets of steam, Sir?”
He chuckled. “I must tell you a secret first, Miss Stephenson.”
“Go on, by all means.”
“There is a rumour that the Admiralty is considering me as the person who might best observe the Frenchman’s nautical wonder.”
The dance ended with the dancers honouring their partners, and Roberta returned to her seat with Mr. Holmes. “Your words suggest to me that you have some familiarity with steamships, Sir.”
“Some, but not a great deal. I did resolve a dispute over the contract conditions of some harbour tugs, but I must confess that to be poor preparation for Lord Bond’s task.”
“He has spoken to me of visiting Clydebank to learn more at the Stephenson yard. Will you be coming too?”
“I do not know.” Holmes frowned. “He did not tell me that.”
Chapter Seventeen
At the End of a Rope?
Roberta had been plagued by periodic palpitations ever since boarding the train that morning. It had only become worse since they alighted at Tonbridge station and she took a carriage to the magistrate’s estate with Post Captain Montague and Lt. Worthington. The captain, sent by Their Lordships of the Admiralty, had been reassuring the whole way, but three days before, an official message had notified her that the enquiry into the death of the French spy had been well-nigh dismissed by the Lord Chancellor. The very fact that they were here standing on the threshold of the mansion told h
er that something was definitely not well at all.
The butler opened the door and guided them to Sir Totham Wootenbury’s justice room at the rear of the ground floor. “The people from the Admiralty, Your Honour,” he said as he ushered them in.
The Justice of the Peace was seated behind a large oak desk, wearing a white periwig on his head and a black gown wrapped around his spare frame. His dour face gave no sign of welcoming them. “We are here to investigate the report of the death by shooting of an unknown man at Chiddingstone Causeway on July 14th 1814, as reported by a Mr. Bateman in an affidavit I have to hand here.”
“Mr. Bateman rode in the next first class compartment aboard your train,” Captain Montague whispered to Roberta. “He undertook to carry out his citizen’s duty as required by the law of the land to ensure that a possible crime was investigated.”
Sir Totham frowned at the interruption. “Which of you was present at the affray?”
Lieutenant Worthington stepped forward, appearing as disturbed as Roberta felt, his face reddening. “I were present, Your Honour, as a witness to the affair . . . and as—”
“Name and occupation, if you please,” Sir Totham rasped.
“Royal Naval Engineer Lieutenant Alfred Worthington, stationed at His Majesty’s dockyard Chatham, My Lord.”
When Sir Totham finished writing this down in a ledger he looked up at Roberta. “The complaint about the shooting mentioned the presence of a young woman . . . are you that young woman?”
Roberta’s voice came out as a mere whisper. “Yes, Your Honour.”
“Speak up, speak up. Are you that woman?”
“Yes, Your Honour,” Roberta said loudly.
“State your full name and family heritage, if you please.”
“My name is Roberta Stephenson; I am the daughter of Mr. George Stephenson of Wallsend in the county of Northumberland; the inventor, railway engineer, and proprietor of—”
Sir Totham waved a hand. “Yes, Miss Stephenson,” he said as he wrote, “I believe I am familiar with your father’s business affairs.”
His face, that had almost seemed well disposed as he took her particulars, now turned dour again. “You do realise that I am bound by my duty as Justice of the Peace for this western borough of the county of Kent to determine if there is sufficient evidence to remand you in custody until the next Assize Court to answer for an indictable offense . . . namely that of murder?”
Captain Montague cleared his throat and stepped forward. “If you will permit me to lay before you the documents provided by the Lords of the Admiralty, Sir Totham, we can bring this investigation to a timely—”
“No Sir! Indeed, I do not give you leave. This is my court and it is not under the jurisdiction of any high London office, nor any department of Parliament and Crown save only the pleasure of His Majesty the King.”
“And, I presume, His Royal Highness the Prince Royal, as his father’s regent?” Captain Montague responded in a forceful voice. “It so happens that I have a letter here under his Royal Highness’ signature requesting the Civil Power to honour the concerns of Admiralty in the matter of Naval espionage and the good order of the service. If you will be so good as to read it.”
Sir Totham scowled, and delayed as long as was prudently possible before replying. “I will examine this letter, Sir, and take note of your own name and position.”
Roberta had been aware of the delicate relationship between the government in London and the civil powers, the regional magistrates in the counties, but had never understood the extent to which it affected the ministries actually at war. Now she did.
“I am Captain Howard Montague, assigned directly to the First Lord of the Admiralty, Viscount Melville, and responsible for domestic legal matters . . . such as those issues as may arise between the Admiralty and the various branches of the Crown.”
Roberta watched as Sir Totham received the letter from Captain Montague and settled a pair of spectacles on his nose to read it. The galling thing here was that the Justice was probably a Whig, like her father and all their family, using his local power and partisan instincts to discommode the organs of the Tory government. He seemed to read with exaggerated deliberation, as if memorising the letter’s contents and, by the motions of his eyes, re-reading a number of passages until satisfied as to their contents.
Finally, Sir Totham looked up from the letter. “You are alleging that the murdered man was engaged in some foreign espionage?”
“Yes, Sir Totham,” Captain Montague answered.
“Very well, I will have the witness give his account of the matter.”
Lieutenant Worthington drew himself upright and launched into his recollection of the affair. At one point he mentioned “His Lordship” and Captain Montague had to explain to the court that the identity of this person, in the Service of the Crown, was being withheld.
At the end of the recitation, Sir Totham fixed his eyes on Roberta. “Am I to understand that your part in the matter was as a person under the command of a senior officer of the Crown?”
“Yes, Your Honour.”
“Would it not have been more appropriate for the Naval Lieutenant to have been the armed person on guard against surprise intrusion?”
“Well, Your Honour,” Worthington spoke up, as if to take the onus upon himself. “I were not carrying a weapon, while . . . our senior officer . . . had h’ascertained that both he an’ Miss Stephenson was armed. They could bring down a brace o’ Frenchmen was his words . . . as I remembers.”
Sir Totham glared at them. “So the possibility of an affray was discussed?”
“Only because I had noticed these two men, two men of military bearing, watching us as we boarded the train, Your Honour. I believe neither Lieutenant Worthington nor . . . the other gentleman . . . took my concern seriously.”
“Hmm. Do you have any proof that these men were French spies, Captain?”
“I do, Your Honour. There were documents in cypher that appear to have been received from someone in an official position in London . . . and also some letters of identification that were discovered in their lodgings in Dover when, as a result of the interrogation of the other man, they were identified and searched.”
Roberta looked in some surprise as the documents were handed over. She had not been told anything of the later investigation of the man held in the prison hulk at Greenwich. Sir Totham regarded the papers with a frown, as if about to complain that they appeared to be in a foreign language. “Can you explain what the documents say, Captain?”
“The names of the two men are the first items underneath the crest of the French cavalry regiment; I understand the text officially records their being detached from the regiment at the Emperor’s orders, and that their pay will be the responsibility of the Minister of Foreign Affaires, Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord, prince de Bénévent until such time as they are reassigned to their regiment. This makes the documents very valuable to the Crown,” Captain Montague said as he took them back. “They are effectively passports to the Continent.”
From that point, Roberta’s nerves began to settle and the enquiry ended with the assurance that the local judiciary would take no further measures into the incident. The three of them took a glass of wine and some refreshments with the Justice of the Peace before leaving. But Sir Totham could not resist one last admonition to Roberta.
“I must impress upon you that, in future, your duty is to remain in your father’s house and pursue only maidenly graces and certainly never take it upon yourself to discharge a pistol at anyone, as long as there are able bodied gentlemen at hand to perform the task.”
Roberta thanked Sir Totham for his good advice.
Chapter Eighteen
Thinking of You
“There, my dear lady,” Captain Montague said as he left them at the Old Posting Inn on his way to catch the next train back to London, “I must relay these words of apology from Lord Melville at the distress this matter has caused you: ‘W
e are duty bound to respect all matters of law within the country we vow to protect, no matter how onerous and inconvenient.’ I can only assure you that you should have no further trouble from the civil authorities in this matter.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
He climbed back into the carriage and turned to speak. “I am entreated to inform you that Their Lordships will send out orders to all naval stations informing the commanders of your status as an officer of the crown in the matter of your assistance to the defence of the realm. We cannot, of course, commission you . . . . It would hardly be appropriate for one of the fair sex, but you will receive a special warrant that should accomplish much the same thing.”
Roberta inclined her head and shook the captain’s proffered hand. “Thank you, Sir,” she said again as the carriage door closed and the coachman shook the reins.
Lieutenant Worthington took her arm as they turned to go into the hostelry. “A warrant from th’ Admiralty. That should prevent any more o’ these troubles, Miss Stephenson. ’Tis sure this day have been most painful for you.”
They no sooner entered the hostelry than Aunt Nelly appeared with Mr. Holmes in her wake. “Ah, my dear girl . . . I was so worried . . . not that Captain Montague did not assure us it was but a formality.” She threw her arms about Roberta with enough enthusiasm as to almost prevent her breathing.
Mr. Holmes approached and bowed. “All’s well that ends well . . . eh? The officialdom is satisfied and you are a free woman again?”
She unwound herself from Aunt Nelly and gave a slight curtsey. “I believe so, Mr. Holmes, but I almost believe Sir Totham has warned me not to leave my father’s house without an armed escort of gentlemen, lest I should besmirch my reputation—with the magistracy, at least.”
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