“Let’s take the Brit first. Montague Yeats-Brown—I’ll just call him Brown, to keep it simple—lives at a romantic little hilltop castle overlooking the sea thirty miles down the coast from here at a quaint fishing village called Porto Fino. He is well regarded and very influential in the diplomatic community. Brown’s owned the castle for seven years, having bought it as a rundown ruin from the state of Liguria for seven thousand lire—that’s about five hundred dollars—after he fell in love with it from the deck of his yacht, the Black Tulip. ”
“Well-to-do nobility back in England?”
“I should say. He is grandson of the second Baron Erskine and great grandson of the Lord Chancellor to King George III. He also has some pretty solid American ancestors. He was consul in Boston at one point and likes Americans. I think you’ll get along with the man.”
Wake agreed that the Brit sounded intriguing.
“There’s more,” added Davis. “Four years ago, Brown married Agnes Bellingham, the lovely daughter of Sir Alan Bellingham, third Baronet of Bellingham Castle in County Louth, Ireland. The lady’s proven to be a charming hostess for Brown’s soiree’s, which are the most impressive around here.”
“I suppose I should brush up on my manners, then, in the off chance I have to attend one of these fancy affairs. Though I would imagine I am far too low-ranking for that.”
“Ordinarily, yes, you would be too junior. But now you may very well get that chance, Peter, since you’re our senior naval representative in these parts. So yes, practice your diplomatic skills. Brown’s gatherings are famous for including those who are at the very top of the social list. People who make, or influence, major political decisions. Because Castello Brown is so remote, guests usually stay the night—the most valued within the walls, the others at inns close by. Big honor to get invited.”
“What’re the circumstances of Strom?”
“Circumstances? How very genteel, Peter . . .”
Wake laughed. “I’m trying, Dan.”
“You’re doing pretty well! About Strom, he’s the most genuine person I’ve ever met. Can be a best friend or worst enemy—and there’ll be no doubt which he is to you. He made his money the old-fashioned way—he inherited it when his father died before the war. Then our Beau did something really smart. He put it all in New York banks under a corporation’s name in April of sixty-one. Hid it during the war. He fought, with the rest of his family, in the Tenth Louisiana, an infantry regiment that served under Lee in Virginia. Took horrible casualties—out of six hundred men that started out in the fall of sixty-one, only thirteen enlisted men and four officers made it to the surrender four years later. Strom was one of those. He’s told me that everything in life is easy after living through that hell. Gave him a sense of perspective about trials and travails, he says.
“After the war he got his money back, made a few investments in land and hooked up with Longstreet in Louisiana. Became a Republican and helped Grant out. Grant gave him this job as a thank-you. Happens all the time, but we were lucky in getting him. Unlike many political appointees, he’s got spine and he’s got brains. Oh, Strom plays the bon vivant all right, but he can cut through the dung in a second and tell it like it is. He likes you, by the way. Says you have ‘old eyes’ and that means you’ve seen a lot in life.”
“And the Spanish diplomat? What of him?”
“The Spanish consul general is quite a work of art, too—in the opposite direction. Colonel Ramon Burgos, de something or other, has been here about a year. He recently declared himself to be one of the Carlists who are trying to reestablish the throne, but only with their guy on it, though everyone suspected he was for a long time. He fought for the crown in sixty-eight and is a friend of that Spanish general who butchered the Americans and Brits in Santiago. Keeps defending him.”
“He’s a Carlist? But he represented the Republican government here.”
“They’re all inter-mixed. And they change sides with the wind.”
“Must make it difficult to keep track of who’s on what side,” suggested Wake.
“It does. But we always knew Burgos was anti-American. No confusion there. Burgos never lets an occasion go by without indelicately suggesting that Spain needs to bloody the yanquis’ nose over Cuba once and for all so the U.S. will stop supporting the revolutionaries. Said our navy was a joke and the Spanish were tired of hearing about it. One night Strom suggested that Burgos should just go there to Cuba so he could be first on the front lines if it did come to blows. Burgos answered that he’d already been in Cuba and killed a bunch of ‘the revolutionary swine,’ which he considered nothing more than American puppets, and he would go wherever needed once the shooting started.
“Peter, just wait till you meet that fella wearing your nice blue yanqui navy uniform. That’ll be fun to watch. Oh, and just so you know, your admiral hates his guts.”
Wake wanted to ask about his new commander, Rear Admiral Augustus Ludlow Case, but knew that would be inappropriate. Davis wasn’t in the navy and Wake couldn’t give the impression of gossiping about naval officers. Instead he inquired about the man in the carriage.
“What about the French consul?”
“Ah yes, Monsieur Henri Faber de Champlain. Hero of the Siege of Paris, adventurer and entrepeneur, and defender of the new French Republic. One of the most interesting and least likable in our little cast of characters. He made his fortune through old family money
