Even so, Drinkwater thought as he made one of his daily inspections, he knew them to be unpopular commands.
However he cheered himself up with the reflection that
Even as Mr Matchett belayed the breechings of the intrusive six-pounders, muttering about the necessity of a warrant gunner, Drinkwater learned of the collapse of the Coalition. The Franco-Austrian armistice had ended, hostilities had resumed and the Austrians had been smashed at Hohenlinden. Suddenly the Baltic had become a powder keg.
Although Bonaparte, now first consul and calling himself Napoleon, was triumphant throughout Europe, it was to the other despot that all looked. Sadistic, perverted and unbalanced, Tsar Paul was the cynosure for all eyes. The thwarting of his ambitions towards Malta had led to mistrust of Britain, despite the quarter of a million pounds paid him to which a monthly addition of £75,000 was paid to keep 45,000 Russian soldiers in the field. When Napoleon generously repatriated, at French expense, 5,000 Russian prisoners of war after Britain had refused to ransom them, Tsar Paul abandoned his allies.
The Tsar's influence in the Baltic was immense. Russia had smashed the Swedish empire at Poltava a century earlier, and Denmark was too vulnerable not to bend to a wind from the east. Her own king was insane, her Crown Prince, Frederick, a young man dominated by his ministers.
When the Tsar revived the Armed Neutrality he insisted that the Royal Navy should no longer be able to search neutral ships, particularly for naval stores, those exports from the Baltic shores that both Britain and France needed. The Baltic states wanted to trade with whomsoever they wished and under the double-headed eagle of the Romanovs they would be able to do so; the British naval blockade would be rendered impotent and France, controlling all the markets of Europe, triumphant. With one head of the Russian eagle ready tensed to stretch out a talon to cripple impotent Turkey, the effect of the other's influence in the Baltic would finish Britain at a stroke.
So, inferred Drinkwater, argued Count Bernstorff, Minister to Crown Prince Frederick. And though Russia was the real enemy it was clear that the Royal Navy could not go into the Baltic leaving a hostile Denmark in its rear.
Drinkwater coughed as clouds of smoke erupted into the cabin from the bogey stove.
'I beg you, Mrs Jex, to desist. I would rather sit in my cloak than be suffocated by that thing.' He leant helplessly on the table, covered, as was usual, with papers.
''Twill not draw, Mr Drinkwater, 'tis the wind. For shame I will perish with the marsh ague if I do not freeze first.' She sniffed and snumed with a streaming cold.
'Perhaps madam, if you wore more clothes…' offered Drinkwater drily.
She gave him a cold look. Her early attempt to flirt with him had ceased when she learned of the bargain he had driven with her husband. He bent once more to the tedious task of the inventory, almost welcoming the interruption of a knock at the door, though the blast of icy air made him swear quietly as it blew papers from his desk.
'Beg pardon, sir…'
'Mr Willerton, come in, come in, and shut that door. What can I do for you?'
'We needs a leddy, sir.'
'A leddy? Ah, a
'Aye sir.'
Drinkwater frowned. It was an irrelevance, an expensive irrelevance too, one that he would have to pay for himself since he had spent the rest of Mr Jex's contribution on barrels of sauerkraut. He shook his head. 'I'm afraid that ain't possible, Mr Willerton. We have a handsome scroll and, in accordance with regulations, as I have no doubt you well know, ships below the third rate are not permitted individual figureheads. Most make do with a lion, we have a handsome scroll…' He tailed off, aware that Mr Willerton was not merely stubborn, but felt strongly enough to oppose his commander. Mr Willerton's almost bald head was shaking.
'Won't do sir. Bad luck to have a ship without a figurehead, sir. I was in the
Drinkwater met the old man's level gaze. There was not a trace of humour in his eyes. Mr Willerton spoke with the authority of holy writ.
'Well, Mr Willerton, if you feel that strongly…'
'I do, sir, and so does the men. We've raised a subscription of fifteen shillings.'
'Upon my soul!' Drinkwater's astonishment was unfeigned. Together with the realisation that his financial preoccupations were making him mean, came the reflection that the carpenter's request and the response of his motley little crew somehow reflected credit on the ship. He suddenly felt a pang of self-reproach for his tight- fistedness. If that shivering huddle of men he had seen on deck the morning he had read his commission at the gangway had enough esprit-de-corps to raise a subscription for a figurehead, the least he could do was encourage it. He tried to suppress any too obvious emotion, but the brief silence had not gone unnoticed. Mr Willerton pressed his advantage. 'I have ascertained, sir, that a virago is a bad tempered, shrewish woman what spits fire.' Drinkwater watched a slight movement of his eyes to Mrs Jex, who sat huddled in sooty disarray over the smoking stove. As the former madame of a brothel she would have had a choice phrase or two to exchange with the men in One of her less ladylike moods.
'I believe that is correct, Mr Willerton,' replied Drinkwater gravely, mastering sudden laughter.
'I have my eye on a piece of pine, sir, but it cost eight shilling. Then there is paint, sir.'
'Very well, Mr Willerton.' Drinkwater reached into his pocket and laid a guinea on the table. 'The balance against your craftsmanship, but be careful how you pick your model.'
For a second their eyes met. Willerton's were a candid and disarming blue, as innocent as a child's.
Chapter Four
A Matter of Family
Lieutenant Drinkwater was in ill humour. It was occasioned by exasperation at the delays and prevarications of the dockyard and aggravated by petty frustrations, financial worries and domestic disappointment.
The latter he felt keenly for, as Christmas approached, he had promised himself a day or two ashore in lodgings in the company of his wife. Elizabeth was to have travelled to Chatham with Tregembo and his own sea- kit, but now she wrote to say she was unwell and that her new pregnancy troubled her. She had miscarried before and Drinkwater wrote back urging her not to risk losing the child, to stay with Charlotte Amelia and Susan Tregembo in the security of their home.
Tregembo was expected daily. The topman who had, years ago, attached himself to young Midshipman
