“His Lordship has expressed intentions toward her—?” He stopped abruptly in embarrassment. “I did not mean to be rude, Sir. I apologize. I had no right to ask such.”
“No, my good fellow. Do not apologize. I feel bound to trespass on your own kind feelings in my turn. I must inform you that His Lordship’s designs upon my daughter only appear to have been as a participant in this expedition to the Continent . . . although he tells me that the First Lord of the Admiralty is himself in disapproval of such an intention.” Mr. Stephenson reached out to take him by the arm. “But in all this, he has never once expressed a gentlemanly concern for her modesty and reputation.”
“I feared as much, Sir. It have been my observation that Lord Bond shows very little regard for propriety, and a great deal of enthusiasm for his covert occupations.”
Mr. Stephenson leaned forward and took hold of his other arm as well. “I would feel much reassured if . . . when she is out of my presence, and likely closer to yours, that you would keep an eye out for her safety. If it would be possible, I should welcome a communication from you imparting your concerns. Perhaps more . . . I might welcome your participation . . . as if a responsible member of the family . . . should there be no time for such a letter to reach me and be answered. Could you consider offering such . . . great . . . assistance?”
“I most certainly would, Sir. You may count on me.” He felt almost uplifted by these words and expressions of trust—gratified that his honour should be so readily accepted. But . . . it did seem that the father’s trust and good opinion regarded him in the manner of a blood relative . . . perhaps as a brother—while his own feelings were of a more passionate nature.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Spying Action
The parish church at Old Kilpatrick was unaccustomedly crowded on Sunday; accounted for by the presence of Captain McNab and his company of the 92nd Regiment of Foot. Roberta stood with Father and Aunt Nelly at the door watching the soldiers come marching up the road and then accepted the Captain’s invitation to come with him when he inspected them before entering the church.
The soldiers seemed very smart to her, but somehow the Captain and his Sergeant Major found enough deficiencies to form a lengthy list of miscreants for extra duties over the next few days. She looked into about a hundred faces and felt it rather creepy how their eyes slid about to regard her while their heads aimed up at the far horizon.
“Are these soldiers all going to be stationed in the Stephenson Shipyard today, Captain?”
“Nae, Miss Stephenson. A third ay them are on duties in camp; anither third are awa’ tae th’ Urquhart Yard. We shall hae a single platoon fur yer yard.”
“I see. What time do you want me to help place the sentries?”
“Nae at all, Miss. Ah shall use th’ advice given at th’ other yard tae guide mah placement of th’ men. Laird Bond an’ Ah agreed ye should nae expect where tae find them when ye come wi’ us on th’ day.”
“Oh. I see.” She didn’t see why at all . . . unless Lord Bond expected to judge her own spy-craft in the exercise. But it explained the invitation for her to join Captain McNab in the inspection . . . now all the soldiers would recognise her again.
She left the soldiers as the Sergeant Major began to march the ranks into the church in single file, and stood with Father and the officiating minister at the door. “A fine congregation, Miss Stephenson,” that worthy observed as each man doffed his bonnet before entering.
“Indeed, Reverend Sir. I trust the walls will withstand the power of so many lungs.”
The minister chuckled. “The old kirk has stood a few hundred years; I’m sure the Lord’s stormy winters have tested it as much before.”
The following day Roberta barely had time to oversee the progress toward making a mock-up of the new engine before Lord Bond called for her. “If you have a warm cloak or a travelling cape, I suggest you bring it, my dear. We will begin our intrusion on the water.”
“Indeed, My Lord? Are we to go fishing for our information?”
“In a way, we are.” Lord Bond smiled. “Fishing makes an excellent cover for a spy, since everyone living near a waterway must of necessity fish for his supper. In this case, it will also lead to a certain degree of uncertainty among the defenders as to the intended site of our intrusion.”
“I see. I must say I find your training of me as a spy to be very thorough, but I was given to understand that Lord Melville had expressly forbidden my participation.”
Lord Bond laughed. “Do not fret, my dear. I must admit to being somewhat fanatical about my preparations for a spying mission, but I will be using the documents we took from the French spies to insert two men into the Low Countries. I think you would be equally distressed if I requested that you should be disguised as a cavalryman.”
She paused to reach into her office cabinet for a weatherproof cape she used about the yard on rainy days. “I thank you for your reassurance, My Lord.”
“However, I do hope that you will be, at times, close to our area of operations—aboard a Royal Navy vessel perhaps—in order to pronounce upon the value of our information. It would be particularly vital should there be some lack in need of rectification.”
“But I shall be working here at Clydebank, My Lord.”
His expression changed, as if he knew something she did not. “Yes. You likely will.”
It was a cool day for August on the water, with a rain shower threatening to sweep up the estuary toward them. Lord Bond had his hired boatmen take them past both shipyards as they trolled over the stern. They merged with the other river traffic and had caught several fish before he had them turn back and land them between the yards.
She and Captain McNab were to set out on foot for the Stephenson Yard. Lord Bond did not explain what had caused him to change his mind but merely asked that she would accompany the captain to see the intrusion from the defender’s perspective.
“Please give us half an hour before passing through the main gate, if you will,” Lord Bond asked. “We will be taking a more circuitous route for our own entry.”
Roberta felt she had been duped into preparing to engage in a covert intrusion and then asked to watch it from inside her own yard. He had not even informed her which of the two yards was to be subject to the exercise. “You will be spying on the Stephenson Yard, then, My Lord.”
He smiled mysteriously. “You shall see what you see.”
She turned away from him abruptly. Really! He could be so arrogant. “Well, we had better follow our marching orders, Captain. I assume you carry a pocket watch.”
“Aye, Miss Stephenson. We micht make a leisurely stroll ay it. It being a short way.”
She fumed the whole way to the main gate. How would this train people to spy on an actual enemy shipyard? They would have no knowledge of its name nor extent; Lord Bond had admitted being unable to approach it before at the meeting in the Admiralty. If this was a sample of his method, she was well out of it. She felt sorry for Mr. Holmes and Lieutenant Worthington, but the latter would surely not be involved in the actual mission—he already had his orders to command the Spiteful at Chatham.
Would His Lordship and Mr. Holmes undertake these tasks on their own? How then was she expected to receive word of their spying aboard a Navy ship offshore? There had been word of Dutch patriots opposed to Napoleon’s rule . . . so were they in need of instruction in gaining information in a strange shipyard as well? He had the two young cabin boys on his yacht—they were either Dutch or Flemish, but they were not here yet and time was running out. The whole enterprise was far too disorganized for her liking.
They spent a little time in the yard’s gate office, speaking with the Captain’s sentries and her gateman and his clerk, who noted down all arrivals and departures of people and waggon loads. Captain McNab took out his pocket watch and opened it. “I think oor time is up, Miss Stephenson. Shall we inspect the sentries?”
“Yes, if you wish. I should like to wat
ch the building slipways and the graving dock first.” With a thought to the information from Antwerp she most needed, those seemed the most likely places in a shipyard to learn it.
Her workers all gave her little more notice than a hand to forelock as they passed them, while Captain McNab’s sentries jumped to attention and saluted as he approached. It seemed that none of them had noticed any suspicious movement.
The slipways were a hive of activity. The construction of the two ships had been commenced a mere two days apart and the two construction gangs had taken it as a matter of pride to undertake the building as a race. The riveting hearths in the slip with the first spiteful being built whole were pouring out clouds of acrid smoke as the rivet carrying boys ran to and fro with their white-hot loads for the riveters. The banging of the hammers was near deafening. In the other slip the two parts of the ship were slowly gaining their keels as the double bulkheads were being set in place. Here, the riveting had not begun, but men bustled about with forge fuel and rivet blanks in readiness.
They walked to the riverside end of the first slip where Captain McNab instructed his sentries to be on their guard. “If ye see any comin’ frae the river tae enter th’ buildin’ area, he main be ain of our observers.”
“What main us do, Sirr? Seize him an’ truss him up like a goose?”
“Heavens, no,” Roberta burst out.
“Nae, laddie. Ye shall respectfully approach him an’ ask his business. If he cannae answer, ye main ask him tae accompany ye tae th’ sergeant at th’ gate.”
“The intruders are all gentlemen,” Roberta said. “They will accept your questioning them as the completion of their tasks.” She turned to McNab and gestured toward the men’s muskets. “These are not loaded, Captain?”
“Nae, Miss. Powder an’ shot has ne’er been issued.”
A slight tremble ran down her spine . . . in the real spying mission the muskets would all be loaded and nervous sentries might shoot on sight. She decided to move to the graving dock, where the Spiteful’s work was nearing completion. Perhaps it would be a good idea to quell some of the over-enthusiasm of the 92nd Regiment of Foot on guard there.
As they walked in that direction a corporal came marching rapidly to the captain. “There is a strange fellow bin pokin’ abit in th’ cargo barges, Sir.”
“Have ye caught him?”
“Nae, Captain. He slipped awa.”
“I would lay odds that is Lord Bond,” Roberta said.
“Likely you’re right, Miss. I will go there richt away.”
Roberta continued to the graving dock and spoke to the soldiers herself. Some of the lads had seen a man enter the area from the river but had not been close enough to challenge him.
“Which way did he go?” she asked.
A very young soldier with red hair and a ruddy face pointed at the slips and made an answer in such a broad highland accent that she just nodded and said “thank you” before leaving in that direction. She pointed her steps toward the mid-point of the nearest slip and arrived just in time to see two soldiers half carrying a very wet and bedraggled man up the slipway from the river. She could not recognize who they had caught until she was almost close enough to lay a hand on the man’s arm. It was Mr. Holmes.
“Good heavens, Mr. Holmes. You are soaking wet . . . quite covered in mud.”
He regarded her soberly. “Indeed, Miss Stephenson. It seems that I have mostly learned that shipyards are veritable traps for the unwary. A careless foot might easily step off a plank and land in three feet of mud and water.”
“Oh dear. Have you seen anything of the construction work?”
He nodded his head toward the hull slowly taking shape on the slip as they passed. “Only since the soldiers have rescued me. I hope His Lordship and the Lieutenant have more success.”
“I believe Lord Bond has been seen among the iron shipments on the barge jetty. Captain McNab has gone that way to look.”
Holmes scowled. “I hope they duck him in the river.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Post Mortem
Roberta walked with the soldiers helping Mr. Holmes along, guiding them to the blacksmiths’ shop where he might dry out in front of a red hot hearth. “I’m sure one of the men might find you some overalls to wear while your clothes dry, Mr. Holmes. I would caution you not to remove your boots, however. There could be red hot or sharp metal scattered about from the work at any time.”
Even as she spoke, two men pushed a white hot ingot in front of a powered cutting wheel and a shower of sparks flew across the shop floor to the accompaniment of an ear-splitting shriek of tortured metal. They moved farther away and watched until the ingot had been cut in two.
Holmes regarded her gloomily. “Thank you for your assistance, Miss Stephenson. I think I will do as you suggest, once you have left. Where will you be going?”
“I believe Lord Bond suggested meeting at the gate office for a discussion. I will see you there.”
She met Lieutenant Worthington strolling along the main shipyard artery as if out for his constitutional. He wore a tunic and breeches loaned by one of her father’s gardeners, a flat workman’s cap, and had an iron-workers’ leather apron over his breeches and stockings. “Are we finished, Miss Stephenson? I think I has completed my part of the exercise.”
“Soon, I believe. I just left Mr. Holmes drying his clothes in the forge . . . he was unfortunate enough to miss his footing and fall in the river.”
Lieutenant Worthington looked at her with a grin picking at his lips, and they both quickly looked away from one another. “How unfortunate,” he said, after a minute. “I suppose . . . he were unable to complete his assignment?”
“He was being assisted by the two soldiers who pulled him to dry land when I joined them. He said he had not reached the ships on the slipways.”
The lieutenant pulled a straight face. “Have you seen Lord Bond?”
“Captain McNab was called by his sentries to the barge quay. They said some stranger had been seen there.”
“Hmm. I thinks I had an easy run of it. Everyone who saw me assumed I was about my normal duties, I dare say.”
Lord Bond, in the company of Captain McNab, arrived at the gate office about ten minutes after Roberta and Lieutenant Worthington. “Have some tea, My Lord,” Lieutenant Worthington offered. “It is not Lapsang Soochong I’m afraid, but ’tis a welcome sup nevertheless.”
Lord Bond accepted the mug and joined them at the office table. “Have you seen Mr. Holmes?”
Roberta felt a fit of giggles coming on and quickly hid her face behind the tea mug. Lieutenant Worthington gallantly stepped into the breach. “He is at the forge, My Lord, dryin’ out. Miss Stephenson says he was unfortunate enough to miss his footing amid the clutter at the slipways and fell into the river.”
Lord Bond scowled and pushed out a loud sigh. “Ah, he always was a clumsy child. No better now, by all accounts.”
Roberta caught Worthington’s eye. That was strange . . . it suggested they had known one another for many more years than she had assumed. Some of Mr. Holmes’ comments about the Marquess took on an added meaning. “What did you make of the exercise, Captain?” she asked McNab in order to change the topic.
“I think my lads ha’ done a good job, Miss. It has’na been an easy mark fer o’er intruders.”
Roberta did a double take—she had hardly expected such a diplomatic reply. “What do you think, My Lord?”
Lord Bond had been staring at the captain with a calculating look. “Very mixed results, I fear, but we will take stock when Mr. Holmes joins us.”
Mr. Holmes arrived fifteen minutes later and declined the offer of the tea. “The fellows in the forge have already plied me with enough to float the Spiteful away. Do you know how much tea they consume, Miss Stephenson?”
She laughed. “At lot—I see it in the accounts. But it is hot and hard work in that shop and I believe they work all the better for the refreshment.”
Lord Bond regarded him down his nose. “What did you discover, Symington?”
Mr. Holmes squared his shoulders as if receiving a challenge. “I learned that shipyards are dreadfully confusing for fellows who do not know them; and that the Clyde is both dirty and cold. If I make such a walk again I will be doubly careful of planks that appear to have been dropped at random . . . and actually perform the duties of a bridge over a gouge in the mud of the riverbank. On the other hand, I have determined that for my part, I should learn far more from a conversation with a carefully chosen local workman than I might from a visit in person.”
Lord Bond nodded. “That must be considered. But let us look at Lieutenant Worthington—who is every inch the image of a workman who belongs in the yard. What would you say, Captain McNab?”
“I maun agree, My Lord. I would’na taken more attention if he had walked past me than I would of a gatepost.”
“So there is a valuable lesson we have learned. Did your disguise earn you a prize, Lieutenant?”
Worthington reached into his smock and withdrew a piece of paper. “It is a rather hasty sketch, My Lord, but I believe it shows all the particulars.”
Lord Bond glanced at the paper and then handed it to Roberta. It was a very clear, if rough, sketch of the mock-up of the new engine design. She looked up. “You were in the tool room and saw the newly completed model?”
Worthington smiled. “That I was, and I must say I had to admire the design. I do not know how I would’ve been regarded in a strange shipyard, however. I feel those workin’ there had seen me about the shipyard on other days.”
Steam & Stratagem Page 16
