Invasion

Kydd grinned. Fulton's enthusiasm was infectious and he raised his beer in salute. 'To Nautilus as will be!'

It was time. The plans were ready to present. Kydd and Fulton boarded the Canterbury coach to London. Kydd took rooms in the White Hart as before but Fulton rejected offers of assistance in the matter of lodging, insisting he preferred the independence and freedoms of more humble quarters in the Minories, on the pretence of it being close by America Square.

On the due day they waited together in a discreet anteroom of Somerset House, Fulton clutching his flat case of plans and in high spirits. 'Do you think one guinea a ton royalty an excessive figure?' he asked Kydd. 'Being a fraction of what it costs to build?'

'As you sense the mood of the meeting, I'd suggest,' Kydd replied, with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. No doubt the illustrious chairman would be taken with the novelty, the dockyard representative would be interested in the technology, the scientist with prospects for natural philosophy—but the one who stood capable of bringing down Fulton and his scheme was the representative of the Navy, Captain Popham. If, being creative and inventive in his own right, he took against Fulton for reasons of jealousy, or perhaps adopted a high moral stand, then he had the power to ruin the enterprise. Kydd was well aware of what that would mean to the courageous inventor.

The door to the meeting room opened. 'The committee will see you now, Mr. Francis,' a secretary said quietly. Kydd rose as well. 'This is a closed meeting, sir,' the man said firmly, ushering Fulton in and closing the door.

Kydd knew there was no real requirement for him to remain, his duties were mainly of a liaison nature, but he wanted to see the thing through and Hallum would be keeping Teazer in order for him.

There was not long to wait: in less than twenty minutes the presentation was over and the members streamed out, talking excitedly. Kydd stood—the major in regimentals had to be Congreve, a reclusive-seeming gentleman in thick glasses the man of science, and there was Popham, a strong-faced figure in naval uniform striding out and looking thoughtful, nodding gravely to Kydd as he passed.

When Fulton came out, he was beaming. 'A good meeting, my friend—they listened and learned, and when the sceptics opened fire I was ready. God, was I ready!' He chuckled.

'And?'

'I just told the fools that they're whistling in the wind—a submarine is not to be doubted for it's been built, proved. It's already happened. They'll be getting a much more advanced craft, is all.' He laughed again. 'Fair took the breeze from their sails—couldn't say boo to a goose after that.'

'So what happens now?'

'They go away and think about it, talk among 'emselves. Promised to get back to me without delay.'

'So you—' began Kydd, but a large, wealthy-looking gentleman walking painfully with an ivory stick had come out. It could only be Sir Joseph Banks.

'Interesting, damned interesting,' he said genially, regarding Fulton keenly. 'Not your common diving bell but a locomoting plunging boat. Fascinating.' With a quick glance at Kydd, he continued, 'It would gratify me much if you'd consent to come to my little gathering tonight. There'll be some present who'd be with child to hear of it—upon such short notice I know, but while you're in town?'

'Most certainly, Sir Joseph. Be glad to.'

'And your friend? I'll send my carriage. Where?'

'Oh, the White Hart in Charles Street, sir,' Kydd intervened, before Fulton could respond.

'Excellent. Shall we say six o' clock?'

It was only a small soiree but the Grosvenor Street mansion was of an intimidating quality.

'Why, Sir Joseph, your leg is still troubling you?' said a stately lady, solicitously, elegantly working her fan.

'The trials of age, my dear,' said Banks, then turned to Fulton. 'This American gentleman is Mr. Francis, and this is Mr. Kydd, his friend while in England.'

Kydd essayed his best bow—but Fulton's was deeper and more extravagant.

'Gentlemen, the Lady Broughton.' He continued, 'Mr. Francis is here for a particular and quite diverting purpose, Bethany. I'm sanguine you'll never guess it in a hundred years.'

The fan stopped. 'Mr. Francis, do tell. What is it brings you to these shores?'

'The conjuring of a submarine boat as will swim beneath the waves with the fishes, that will disport with the porpoise and sea lion and altogether put a frightener on our Mr. Bonaparte,' Fulton said, in lordly tones.

'I—I'm not sure I follow you, sir.'

Banks interjected: 'He means to say he is constructing a species of plunging boat that might creep along the seabed to rise up on unwary ships a-slumber at their anchor and explode them to atoms. Is that not so, Mr. Francis?'

'Indeed it is, sir. At home both in the Stygian depths and ranging the oceans looking for prey. But as well the intrepid crew might peer through their port and be witness to sights in the depths until now seen only by drowning sailors and Neptune himself . . .'

'Goodness gracious!' Lady Broughton said, staring at Fulton through her quizzing glass in awe.

'Ah, Toot, perhaps we should not bore the ladies with such talk,' Kydd said uncomfortably. 'Er, and is not the character of your work to be accounted secret?'

'Quite so!' Banks agreed. 'But the Lady Broughton here may never be thought your common French spy, Kydd. I can personally vouch for her, may I not, Bethany?'

'Why, thank you, Sir Joseph.' Then she pressed Fulton, 'But does not your submarine boat frighten the fishes? Or do they not recognise such a—a thing, and then you open a little door and spring out upon the poor unsuspecting creatures?'

Fulton replied in ringing tones that echoed around the room. Others came over to listen to the new-found social celebrity. Eventually Kydd and Fulton left with firm invitations to the theatre, a fete champetre in Hyde Park and various ill-defined assemblies—but Kydd was growing concerned by