With All Despatch

13. Last Chance

THE footman took Bolitho's dripping cloak and hat and regarded them disdainfully.

'Lord Marcuard will receive you now, sir.'

Bolitho stamped his shoes on the floor to restore the circulation, then followed the servant, a heavy-footed man with stooped shoulders, along an elegant corridor. He was a far cry from the wretched Jules, Bolitho thought.

It had been a long and uncomfortable journey from Sheerness to London. The roads were getting worse, deeply rutted from heavy rain, and now there was intermittent snow, touching the grand buildings of Whitehall like powder. He hated the thought of winter and what it might do to his health. If the fever returned- he closed his mind to the thought. There were too many important matters on his mind.

When Wakeful had moored at the dockyard, Bolitho had left immediately for London. There had been a brief message awaiting his return from Marcuard. He would meet him on his own ground this time.

He heard sounds from the hallway and said, 'That will be my coxswain. Take good care of him.' He spoke abruptly. Bolitho felt past even common courtesy. He was heartily sick of the pretence and false pride these people seemed to admire so much.

He thought of the old admiral in Holland, of the great fortune amassed and ready to be used for a counterrevolution. It had seemed like a dream when he had outlined it; back in England the plan seemed utterly hopeless.

Bolitho's silent guides had conveyed him to the rendezvous on time but only with minutes to spare. Even in the darkness there had been shipping on the move, and the fishermen had almost given up hope when Wakeful's wet canvas had loomed over them.

Lieutenant Queely's relief had been matched only by his eagerness to get under way and head for open waters. He had confirmed Bolitho's suspicions; there were men-of-war in the vicinity, Dutch or French he had not waited to discover.

Some of Bolitho's anger at Tanner's involvement had eased on the journey to London. Noisy inns, with more talk of Christmas than what might be happening across the Channel. As the coach rolled through towns and villages, Bolitho had seen the local volunteers drilling under the instruction of regular soldiers. Pikes and pitchforks because nobody in authority thought it was necessary to train them to handle muskets. What was the matter with people, he wondered? When he had commanded Phalarope the navy's strength had stood at over one hundred thousand men. Now it was reduced to less than a fifth of that number, and even for them there were barely enough ships in commission and ready for sea.

He realised that the footman was holding open a tall door, Bolitho's cloak held carefully at arm's length.

Marcuard was standing with his back to a cheerful fire, his coat-tails lifted to give him all the benefit of the heat. He was dressed this time in sombre grey, and without his ebony silver-topped stick looked somehow incomplete.

Bolitho examined the room. It was huge, and yet lined on three walls with books. From floor to ceiling, with ladders here and there for convenience, like the library of a rich scholar. Queely would think himself in heaven here.

Marcuard held out his hand. 'You wasted no time.' He observed him calmly. 'I am needed here in London. Otherwise-' He did not explain. He waved Bolitho to a chair. 'I will send for some coffee presently. I see from your face that you came ready for an argument. I was prepared for that.'

Bolitho said, 'With respect, m'lord, I think I should have been told that Sir James Tanner was involved. The man, as I have stated plainly, is a thief, a cheat and a liar. I have proof that he was engaged in smuggling on a grand scale, and conspired with others to commit murder, to encourage desertion from the fleet for his own ends.'

Marcuard's eyebrows rose slightly. 'Do you feel better for that?' He leaned back and pressed his fingertips together. 'Had I told you beforehand you would have refused to participate. Not because of the danger, and I better than you know there is danger aplenty on either side of that unhappy border. No, it was because of your honour that you would have refused me, just as it was because of it that I chose you for the mission.'

Bolitho persisted, 'How can we trust that man?'

Marcuard did not seem to hear. 'There is an hypocrisy in us all, Bolitho. You offered your trust to Vice-Admiral Brennier, because he too is a man of honour. But a few years ago, or perhaps even next week, you would kill him if the need arose because war has dictated how you shall think, and what you must do. In affairs like this I trust only those whom I need. Tanner's skills may not appeal to either of us but, believe me, he is the best man, if not the only man, who can do it. I sent you because Brennier would recognise you as a King's officer, someone who has already proved his courage and loyalty beyond question. But what do you imagine would occur if I had directed others to Holland? I can assure you that the Admiralty of Amsterdam would have been displeased, and would have closed every port against us. They have cause to fear the French and would likely confiscate the Royalist treasure to bargain with them.'

Despite his hatred of the man, Bolitho thought of Tanner's words about the possibility of the vast hoard of jewels and gold being used to strengthen French power to be thrown eventually against England.

Marcuard said, 'You look troubled, Bolitho. What do you feel about this affair, and of Brennier's part in it?' He nodded very slowly. 'Another reason why I selected you. I wanted a thinking officer, not merely a courageous one.'

Bolitho stared through one of the tall windows. The sky was growing darker, but he could see the roof of the Admiralty building where all this, and so many other ventures in his life, had begun. Full circle. The roof was already dusted with snow. He gripped his hands together to try and stop himself from shivering.

'I believe that the prospect of an uprising is hopeless, m'lord.' Just saying it aloud made him feel as if he had broken a trust, that he was being disloyal to that old man in Holland who had been captured by Rodney at the Saintes. He continued, 'He showed me one of the chests. I have never seen the like. So much wealth, when the people of France had so little.' He glanced around at the fine room. An equation which should be learned here, he thought bitterly.

'Are you not well, Bolitho?'

'Tired, m'lord. My cox'n is with me. He is finding quarters for us.'

It was to sidestep Marcuard's question.

Marcuard shook his head. 'I will not hear of it. You shall visit here, while you are in London. There are some who might wish to know your movements. And besides, I doubt that there are many- quarters-as you quaintly describe them, freely available this near to Christmas.'

He regarded Bolitho thoughtfully. 'While you were in Holland, I too was forming opinions.'

Bolitho felt his limbs relaxing again. Perhaps it was the fire.

'About the treasure, m'lord?'

'Concerning it.' Marcuard stood up and tugged gently at a silk bell rope. There was no sound but Bolitho guessed it would reach one of the many servants who were needed for such an extensive residence.

Bolitho did not trust the so-called 'real-world' as described by Sir James Tanner, but he had learned a lot about people, no matter what their rank or station might be. From a tough fore-topman to a pink-faced midshipman, and Bolitho knew that the bell rope was to give him time, to test his own judgement before he shared any more secrets.

Marcuard said bluntly, 'There is no hope for the King of France.'

Bolitho stared at him, and was struck by the solemnity of his voice. While the King was alive there had always been hope that somehow things might return, halfway at least, to normal. In time, the murder of aristocrats and innocent citizens in the name of the Revolution might fade into history. The death of a King would have the brutal finality of the guillotine itself.

Marcuard watched him, his eyes smoky in the reflected flames. 'We cannot rely on Brennier and his associates. Until a counter-revolution can be launched, that vast fortune belongs in London, where it will be safe. I could tell you of lasting loyalties which would rise up against the National Convention once a properly

managed invasion was mounted.'

'That would cause a war, m'lord.'

Marcuard nodded. 'The war is almost upon us, I fear.'