Chapter Thirty-five
Changing Plans
Roberta spent the second day of her stay as a guest in Admiralty House going through the drawings she had brought for the yards who would build the two spitefuls on the Thames. The First Lord returned from Chatham on the second day, and after dinner he discussed his visit to the Spiteful and the plans with her in his library.
“Although in the past I have spoken with disfavour upon the acquisition of steamships for the Royal Navy, I must say that I was very impressed with your Spiteful, my dear. It is not a large ship, but you have achieved much with a great economy of space.”
Roberta looked up in surprise. “Disfavour, My Lord? I had formed an impression that you had a favourable opinion.”
“Of the use of tugs and other auxiliaries, yes. But not as warships—since I do not think it advisable to hinder our present pre-eminence in sailing warships. However, a special purpose squadron of your spitefuls for home defence in our present circumstance is quite a different matter. I was particularly struck by your coal bunkers forming enclosed spaces between the boiler rooms and the outer hull of the vessel.”
“Thank you, My Lord. It is hoped that the coal will stop any cannonballs that come through the sides of the ship in action and prevent the boilers from being burst open.”
“Good Lord, yes. A puncture would create a boiler explosion in the confined spaces of the boiler and engine rooms.”
Roberta glanced at the shelves of books lining the walls. “Did Commander Worthington introduce my shipyard members of the crew?”
“Most definitely—he accorded them pride of place. I must say I found your Miss Grandin a remarkable engine room chief . . . she is French, is she not?”
“A daughter of Émigrés from the Revolution, My Lord. I believe she was but a child when she came to this country.”
“I thought so. Her English is nearly perfect, with but a slight flavour of French.”
Roberta tilted her head. “You noticed? Very perceptive of you . . . her English is generally flawless.”
“Oh? Perhaps I noticed because I had not met her before. It made me wonder why Lord Bond did not consider her as a member of his covert intrusion into Antwerp. She seemed sufficiently proficient in the details of her trade that she could have made a fine contribution.”
Roberta nodded. “Most likely, My Lord, but her experience will also be of prime value in the training of crews for the squadron of spitefuls.”
“Yes. How are you coming along with them? I understand from my wife, the Viscountess, that you have been poring over drawings all day.”
“I had to bring the plans up to date first, My Lord,” she said, pointing out the engineering sketches she had added to the detailed drawings.
“Up to date, my dear? Surely the plans are only a few weeks old.”
Roberta smiled. “We had to make a number of changes last month, Sir. Firstly, these ‘A’ version plans did not show the changes we had made to the original Spiteful as a result of our Admiralty trials. Commander Worthington was good enough to oversee our yard work and helped sketch the modifications. In addition, there is now a ‘B’ version of the spiteful design which covers the changes made to allow the vessels to be built in two halves and conjoined at Grangemouth for towing to Tyneside.”
The First Lord shook his head. “I recollect what I was told about the reason for building the machinery on the Tyne, but was this drastic construction method really necessary?”
“It was far simpler and cheaper to move the halves through the Firth and Clyde Canal to go to the machinery than to transport the engines and boilers to Clydebank, My Lord. For the same reason I have proposed that the machinery for the Thames built ships should be wholly designed and built on the Thames.”
“And the Stephenson works loses money on them. Your honesty and loyalty to the country should be recognized . . . I will recommend the government take note of that.”
Roberta looked up at him from the drawings. What did he mean by that—some Royal recognition? A vote of thanks from Parliament? Her experiences were becoming more and more heady every day. “Thank you, My Lord, but we will come out quite well if we can hold the budget my father and I have set.”
“So, where will you be during all this construction?”
“Between us, my father and I will supervise the building on the Clyde as well as the machinery installation on Tyneside. I really do not see how we can be involved in the construction on the Thames as well. I would recommend, if I may be so bold as to make a suggestion on Admiralty affairs, that Commander Worthington might be a member of the supervising board, since he was of such great assistance in supervising the modifications to Spiteful.”
The First Lord inclined his head graciously. “I thank you for the advice and will certainly keep it under advisement.”
“But the greatest interruption of my schedule will be the involvement this month or next with Lord Bond’s spying. Are there really no other marine engineers who can take my place?”
The First Lord shrugged. “The choice was either to employ yourself or else an official of the Laird Yard who will be producing another design to our request for a ship to challenge the French ironclad. They really have no better expertise in steam engineering than you and even asked to use your assessment of the armour thickness needed. I discussed the matter in Cabinet and their preference was for you to be aboard the frigate of the blockading squadron.” He looked up and smiled. “You see—you have quite dazzled the whole country with your accomplishments.”
Roberta could feel the flush spreading from her neck. How would her modesty be possible to maintain with such a focus of attention on her? She had best beware lest she should get above herself, like a spoiled child. “Need I be at sea for long, My Lord? A week or two at the most?”
“Perhaps no more than a day to actually pronounce upon the stolen secrets, but between the sailing to the squadron, the waiting until Lord Bond reaches it with the information, and then the return to England, I would expect you to be gone at least two weeks.”
“Did you know that he had spoken to my father before he left Clydebank, to gain his approval to ask me to marry him?”
The First Lord looked up abruptly. “Did he, by gad? And what did you answer?”
“I left immediately for Tyneside and London as soon as I learned of his intention from my Aunt. He has had no opportunity to speak with me on the matter.”
“Good Lord. Do you intend—ah, no. Do not answer. I have no right to ask, but I must say I think your caution is advised. One should never rush into such a serious matter. I have always held that a young lady should have at least a year to consider a proposal of marriage—it is a decision not easily reversed.”
“Yes, I know. But on the matter of Lord Bond’s activities, do you know what answer he received from the artillery officer at Woolwich about the armour plate trials? I had six plates of two inch thick iron sent for them to shoot at.”
“He did mention it to me, but at that time he had no answer. I will contact Woolwich officially and have you and an accompanying officer visit to see what they have discovered.”
“Thank you, My Lord. And the Laird ship—since they will accept my assessment of the iron armour, I feel I should know something of their design.”
The First Lord looked down at the table a moment. “I should not say much, because of your involvement in Lord Bond’s activities, but they are proposing to take a two deck third rate and cut it down, plate the sides with iron, and provide steam propulsion.”
“I see.” Roberta frowned. “And the paddlewheels will be conventionally side mounted?”
“I understand so. I see you disapprove . . . the Admiralty also has reservations about the vulnerability of side paddles, but Lairds suggest your armour plate recommendations should be sufficient protection.”
Roberta felt the weight of responsibility on her shoulders increase. Yes, and should the paddles be shot to pieces even with armour they woul
d be able to blame her.
As evening fell, Lord Bond and the Count stood in the stern of Nederlander smoking clay pipes and discussing the night’s plans as they slowly pulled away from the anchorage. The Count was Auguste, Comte de la Marck, a Royalist ally of England who had recently travelled from Vienna to London. His presence had prompted the Admiralty to change Lord Bond’s plans and use the Royalists’ prior arrangements to secretly enter the Low Countries.
“The code words for ensuring the landing party is not betrayed are—”
“A confidential Arenberg family secret, Lord Bond,” the Count replied. “No one but my cousin will be able to offer the response.”
“But if your cousin—”
“Is not there? It would be a great problem. I think we had then be better to use the method of your original intention.”
“I see. All very well, as long as the landing party is not Napoleon’s, and with a sloop of war at readiness nearby.”
“It will be night. Your hoogaar should be able to sail farther inshore and escape even a small warship.”
Lord Bond allowed a grunt to be his answer. This French nobleman had spent too much of the war in safety in Austria. He seemed to consider practical considerations mere trifles. He had complained about everything—even the time taken to reach the rendezvous for the full moon. They were now but one night after the full moon, and there would still be light enough to approach an unknown beach in safety.
They had spent the day in a cove under the shelter of a French artillery battery—having carried out a charade for the watchers ashore. It had been easy to outrun the weed-encrusted gun brig supplied by the blockading squadron; and its distant misses from a nine-pounder bow chaser had been enough to convince the local commander that his refuge had saved a small trader vessel on Imperial service from capture by the English.
Lord Bond had urged his Dutchmen to sing and to call loudly during the hours they spent at anchor, and the officer had not bothered to send a subordinate by small boat to examine them.
The Count set aside his pipe. “How many people do you wish to transport to Antwerp, Lord Bond?”
“Three will do. I have a Dutchman who has worked in the city in recent years, as well as two Britons who speak French. It would seem that the French Royalist I had expected to provide a safe house in the city for them is a member of your network. You will be staying in the city also?”
Monsieur le Comte did not answer this question directly. “My business is with many correspondents, Lord Bond. My purpose is to strengthen the Royalist cause sufficiently that the restoration of a Bourbon king to France will see these lands become part of a future, greater France.”
“You expect to see Napoleon overthrown then?”
The Count laughed shortly. “I can tell from your own manner that you do not share the view. Perhaps understandable as you await a French invasion with great trepidation, but in Europe, we see the upstart hazarding his best army on an enterprise tres dangereuse—to which we ascribe credit to your ancestors who have foiled every such attempt since 1066. When Napoleon is sufficiently embroiled in England; Austria, Russia, and Prussia will stab him in the back.”
Lord Bond did not share the Count’s satisfaction. After years of sacrifice, his country would be the one to hold the line alone while its sometime allies seized the prize by stealth. Did Their Lordships of the Admiralty know of this intention? Did the Earl of Liverpool and his Cabinet know and approve the plan?
“And you, Lord Bond. Do you not wish to come ashore with me?”
“I have a member of my previous investigations in the Low Countries—who was left behind—to locate. Some useful lines of enquiry may already exist. I expect to use the Nederlander in the Westerschelde to search in several towns.” He did not wish to admit to Elise’s identity. Somehow he felt the admittance he relied upon a woman would only fuel the Count’s already palpable derision.
“As you wish. I expect finding horses and a guide to escort your three men will already present an imposition for my cousin’s followers. I will travel in a different party, of course.”
Lord Bond wanted to retort that having to await the Count and convey him to this coast was already an imposition for his plans, but knew that it would start their association badly—and for all he knew they might come to depend upon these Royalists more than he had reckoned before they were done.
It was an hour past a moon-bright midnight before they arrived offshore of the beach the Count had named for the rendezvous. Lord Bond had Bloggins take the Nederlander into the shallows as far as they dared its flat bottom to keep from grounding. An hour past a high spring tide could take them farther inshore than was safe, and going aground on a falling tide would leave them high and dry for Napoleon’s men to find in the morning.
One of the Dutchmen stood in the bow with a shuttered lantern to flash brief beams of light at the land that appeared to be no more than a cable’s length distant. The third flash was answered by a brief light from ashore. They waited longer in a drawn out silence until they heard the muffled creaks of the rowlocks of an approaching rowboat.
The Count went to the bow to call softly into the silver gloom. Bond did not catch the words, likely given in a local patois, nor the answer, but it must have been correct for the Count then spoke in clear French. Bond released the hammer of the pistol he had been holding, gently lowering it onto the priming pan and nodded to the others to set their weapons aside.
When the boat came alongside, their luggage was transferred while the Count and his cousin embraced and spoke quietly together. Lord Bond shook the hands of Mr. Holmes and Captain McNab, and clapped Cornelius van Ee on the shoulder. “Good luck, you fellows. I will see you in Antwerp in two or three days’ time.”
Holmes looked at him gloomily. “I thought you knew where Elise is?”
“I have an expectation, and if it is correct we will arrive a day earlier. Try to find where Monsieur le Comte is going. It may serve us well to learn his business also.”
He stopped speaking as he heard the Count step closer. “Are your men ready to embark?”
“Oui, Monsieur le Comte,” Holmes replied. “Apres vous, Seigneur.”
Chapter Thirty-six
Discomfort with Allies
Symington Holmes sat in the centre of the six-oared beach tender as its rowers pulled strongly for the shore. His companions, clearly visible in the bright moonlight, did not speak as they worked, though they breathed heavily and sometimes spat overside. He would have liked to speak with McNab, sitting on the thwart behind him, but conformed to the unspoken caution of silence holding in the craft. Were there only French Royalists awaiting them on the beach, or were Napoleon’s men also close at hand?
The Comte de la Marck sat in the stern with his kinsman, exchanging an occasional whisper that was drowned out by the creak of the oars in the rowlocks. All those not rowing looked about them continuously even though nothing could yet be discerned of the beach. He did not know whether their course was taking them closer to shore until a wave broke astern of them.
All at once, figures appeared on the beach. The breaking wave slopped water over the gunn’les and slewed the boat sideways. The beach party rushed into the waves to steady the craft before the next wave could break over their side. With this wave’s surge lifting them up they swept onto the beach and grounded with a clatter of shingle.
The guarded chatter of instructions and greetings in French from everyone heralded their arrival and disembarkation, and within a few minutes he found himself trudging up the beach with a Frenchman on either side. “Are the authorities expected?” he ventured in French.
The man to his right laughed. “The authorities are us tonight. Mais, speak not more until we reach the trees.”
He could see no trees. When he turned to look back down the beach he could see McNab and van Ee similarly escorted up the beach behind him. He tried not to entertain any apprehensions, but the thought that they were entirely dependent upon thes
e unknown men—and their true identities—for their lives and safety made his blood run cold. Le Comte de la Marck was accepted as an ally of England but was also a French aristocrat with the rank of general in the Austrian army. How many other loyalties and clandestine engagements did he have?
Holmes heard horses whickering before they reached the trees. All at once they were met by more men carrying muskets who greeted Monsieur le Comte, who appeared out of the shadows beside him, with enthusiasm and muted cheers.
“These men will take you to your transport,” the Count said. “I will be leaving first with my cavalry escort.”
“Will we have a guide, Monsieur le Comte?”
“The carter knows the way to Antwerp, but I can offer you a guide as well, if you need one.” The Count turned to speak at length with the leaders of these musketeers. Eventually a tall young man with a cavalry carbine over his shoulder came to them.
“I am Henri. I am told you have French cavalry identification . . . . I am also a lieutenant in Napoleon’s cavalry—and no more loyal to the Corsican than you. I will accompany you until closer to the city.”
“I thank you,” Holmes replied. “Do we leave at once?”
“I will take you to the farm where is the cart. We cannot begin on the road until Monsieur le Comte and his escort can reach the village Schoondijke. It is five kilometres in the French measure. We may rest and eat a little at the farm until depart.”
“Merci. Will Monsieur le Comte and his escort be on the road ahead of us?”
Henri cocked his head before answering. “I think not. Does that worry you? It is better that we split into many parties and take different roads.”
“Yes,” Holmes said. “Yes, of course.”
Once the beach craft with the Count and his three spies disappeared into the grey gloom, Lord Bond gave Bloggins instructions to get back into deeper water and head for Flushing, almost due north. He did not know if Elise had received his message to meet there, but it was the most logical place to start.
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