France, eh?'
Dungarth shook his head and stood up. He began pacing up and down, stabbing a finger at Drinkwater from time to time to make a point.
'It is to the navy that we must look, Nathaniel, to wrest the advantage from France. We must blockade her ports again and nullify her fleets. God knows we can do little with the army, except perhaps a few conjoint operations, and they have been conspicuously unsuccessful in the past. But with the Navy we can prop up our wavering allies and persuade them to persist in their refusal to bow to Paris.'
'You think it likely that Austria will ever reach an accommodation with a republic?'
'There are reports, Nathaniel, that Bonaparte would make himself king and found a dynasty. God knows, but a man like that might stoop to divorce La Josephine and marry a Hohenzollern or a Romanov, even a Hapsburg if he can dictate a peace from a position of advantage.
'Yes, my Lord, you are right.'
'On land France will exhaust herself and it is our duty to outlast her.'
'But she will need to be defeated on land in the end, my Lord, and if our own forces…'
Dungarth laughed. 'The British Army? God, did you see what a shambles came out of Holland? No, the Horse Guards will achieve nothing. We must look to Russia, Nathaniel, Russia with her endless manpower supported by our subsidies and the character of Tsar Alexander to spur her on.'
'You purport to re-establish liberty, my Lord, with the aid of Russia?' Drinkwater was astonished. Enough was known of Holy Russia to mark it as a strange mixture of refinement and barbarism. Russian ships had served with the Royal Navy in the North Sea, their officers a mixture of culture and incompetence. Russian troops had served in the Dutch campaign and relations between the two armies had been strained, while Suvorov's veterans had established a name in Northern Italy as synonymous with terror as anything conceived in Paris. Only two years earlier Alexander's father, the sadistic Tsar Paul, had turned on his British ally and leagued himself with France in a megalomaniac desire to carve up Europe with Bonaparte. Although Alexander professed himself the friend of England and a Christian Prince, he was suspected of conniving at his own father's assassination.
'I am informed,' Dungarth said with heavy emphasis and a nod that implied a personal connection, 'that Tsar Alexander wishes to atone for certain sins and considers himself a most liberal prince.' Dungarth's tone was cynical.
'So Vorontzoff's man is of some use…?'
Dungarth nodded. 'Together with a certain Countess Marie Narishkine… Still, this is not pertinent to your present purpose, Nathaniel. It is more in the line of, er, shall we say, family news, eh?'
Drinkwater grinned. Clearly Edward was more than a courier and Dungarth had made him an agent in his own right. He wondered how Edward liked his new life and, recalling the man aboard the
'Doubtless St Vincent mentioned that the late and unlamented Peace afforded the French every opportunity to get ships away to cruise against our trade. This is the most dangerous weapon the French can bring against our sea-power. Look at the success enjoyed by privateers in the American War. Yankees, French and Irish snapped up prizes on our own doorstep, reduced our ports to poverty, raised insurance rates to the sky and induced the merchant classes to whine until the government rocked to their belly-aching. There won't be a captain in command of an escort like yours that don't bear a burden as heavy as that of a seventy-four on blockade duty. Mark me, Nathaniel, mark me. Loss of trade is loss of confidence in the Royal Navy and, bearing in mind the effort we must sustain for the foreseeable future, that augurs very ill.
'Now, to be specific, there are some whispers lately come from sources in Brittany that a number of ships, well armed and equipped, sailed north a year ago. They have not returned, neither has any news of them. Their most obvious destination is Canada where they may make mischief for us. But no news has come from the Loyalists in New Brunswick who keep a sharp eye on our interests. Neither have they been seen in American waters…'
'Ireland?'
'Perhaps, but again, nothing. The Norwegian coast provides ample shelter for privateers and was used by the Danes before Copenhagen but I am inclined to think they lie in wait for our whalers. Two disappeared last summer and although the loss of these ships is not remarkable, indeed they may simply have wintered in the ice, there is a story of some sighting of vessels thought not to be whalers by the Hull fleet last season.'
'You mean to imply that two whalers might have been taken by French privateers during the peace?'
'I do not know, Nathaniel. I only tell you this because these ships have not been heard of since they left France bound to the northward. It is a possibility that they have wintered in a remote spot like Spitzbergen and are waiting to strike against the whale-fishery on the resumption of hostilities. It is not improbable. French enterprise has sent letters-of-marque-and-reprisal to cruise in most of the areas frequented by British merchantmen. Opportunism may sometimes have the appearance of conspiracy and most of us knew the peace would not last.'
'Do you know the force of these vessels?'
'No, I regret I do not.'
Drinkwater digested the news as Dungarth sat down again. 'There is one other thing you should know.' Dungarth broke into his thoughts.
'My Lord?'
'Captain Palgrave did not leave his command willingly.'
'I heard he was indisposed.'
'He was shot in a duel. A very foolish affair which I heard of due to the loose tongue of one of the clerks here who is related to your first lieutenant. It seems that Palgrave had some sort of altercation with one of the captains of the whalers. Nothing will be done about it, of course; Palgrave cannot afford scandal so he has resigned his command and he has enough clout to ensure the facts do not reach the ears of the Court. But it is exceedingly unusual that a merchant master should incapacitate the captain of the man-of-war assigned to give him the convoy he has been bleating for.'
'Perhaps some affair locally, my Lord, an insult, a woman…'
'I grow damnably suspicious in my old age, Nathaniel,' Dungarth smiled, 'but since you speak of women, how is Elizabeth and that charming daughter of yours. And I hear you have an heir too…'
Chapter Two
The Corvette
Drinkwater leaned from the window of the mail-coach as the fresh horses were whipped up to draw them out of Barnet. Dusk was already settling on the countryside and he could make out little of the landmarks of his youth beyond the square tower of Monken Hadley church whose Rector had long ago recommended him to Captain Hope of the
From above his head a voice called, 'Why she flies like a frigate going large, sir.' Looking up he saw Mr Quilhampton's face excited by their speed, some eight or nine miles to the hour.
Drinkwater smiled at the young man's pleasure and drew back into the coach. Since his breakfast with Lord Dungarth it had been a busy day of letter writing and last minute purchases. There had been a brace of pistols to buy and he had invested in a chronometer and a sextant, one of Hadley's newest, which now nestled beneath his feet. They had seen the bulk of their luggage to the Black Swan at Holborn and left it in the charge of Tregembo to bring on by the slower York Stage.
He and Quilhampton had arrived at Lombard Street just in time to catch the Edinburgh Mail, tickets for which Quilhampton had purchased earlier in the day. He smiled again as he remembered the enthusiasm of Mr Quilhampton at the sight of the shining maroon and black Mails clattering in and out of the Post Office Yard, some dusty from travel, others new greased and washed, direct from Vidler's Millbank yard and ready to embark on their nocturnal journeys. The slam of the mail boxes, shouts of their coachmen and the clatter of hooves on the cobbles as their scarlet wheels spun into motion was one of affecting excitement, Drinkwater thought indulgently as he
