‘Why, what a surprise! Walter, it’s Cecilia come visitin’, dear,’ she called to her blind husband. ‘Come in, come in, darlin’.’
Her mother fussed over her, getting her room ready and sending for her luggage at the Angel, then Cecilia sat cosily beside the fire as family events were caught up on.
‘You’ve just missed Thomas, dear – he came up fr’m Portsmouth t’ tell us of his voyagin’ with Lord Nelson,’ Mrs Kydd said excitedly. ‘All over th’ world they were. Did you hear of Nelson’s grand chase a-tall?’
‘No, Mama,’ Cecilia said. The wild rumours in London didn’t really count, and in the short period she’d been in England she had not found time for the newspapers.
But Mrs Kydd had. Proudly she told of the famous pursuit across the Atlantic from the breathless details she’d read, sparing none of the sensational elaboration. ‘An’ after all that, th’ rascals are back safe in their harbours. Such a shame.’
‘So where is Thomas’s ship now, Mama?’
‘Didn’t y’ notice, dear? The town is near empty wi’ everyone going t’ Portsmouth to see off Nelson. He’s news o’ Boney and he an’ Thomas is sailin’ to a grand fight to settle ’em for good an’ all.’
Cecilia went pale. ‘You’re telling me Thomas and – and his ship are about to set sail against Bonaparte?’
‘Well, he said as how they’ve got t’ finish th’ British Navy afore ever he c’n invade, and he says as now’s the time.’
‘Yes, Mama,’ Cecilia said, in a low voice.
‘Oh, I nearly forgot, darlin’ – there’s a letter f’r ye.’ She rummaged about in the sewing basket. ‘I didn’t know when ye’d be home. Isn’t it fr’m that nice Mr Renzi an’ all?’
Cecilia took it – and her heart stopped. There was no mistaking the neat, elegant hand, yet a sixth sense warned her that this was no commonplace communication. She quickly slipped it into her pocket and excused herself in tiredness after her journey.
In the privacy of her bedroom she tore the letter open. It was too much: the words were kind and thoughtful but to the point. A lump rose in her throat and tears stung. As she read on, choking sobs overcame her.
Barham received the news calmly even if what was contained in Collingwood’s dispatch was the worst that could be imagined. He took a deep breath and sat down slowly, still holding the dread lines. It had been urgently brought by one of the frigate captains, Blackwood, who had added personal detail of the shocking event, none of it calculated to lessen its severity.
Not only the first lord but other naval commanders, including Lord Nelson, had assumed that after his confused engagement with Calder off Finisterre, Villeneuve’s turn aside into Ferrol would be a temporary setback only. Sooner or later he would emerge and join with Ganteaume’s fleet in Brest across the bay.
Commanders further south had therefore been ordered to send reinforcements to Cornwallis at Brest, including Collingwood, still patiently watching Cadiz.
However, Villeneuve had sailed south and contemptuously forced aside Collingwood’s three ships-of-the-line to enter Cadiz and join the Spanish waiting there. As frigates had then confirmed, there were at least thirty-three of the enemy massing in the port, more than enough to overwhelm any British squadron afloat.
The French had achieved their object: they were now in numbers sufficient to begin the process of storming north, picking up more and more ships as each blockaded port was passed, secure in the knowledge that their strength would ensure they could reach the Channel and sweep on to the invasion beaches.
‘I conceive that unless we can stop Villeneuve, this is the last act, my lord.’ Boyd, who had been retained as flag-captain to the new first lord, spoke softly, as if in thrall to the fearful news.
‘It does appear so,’ Barham said absently, staring intently at the chart. ‘You’ve heard Napoleon is at this moment at Boulogne in readiness?’
‘So I understand.’
‘Yet there are complications for our Mr Bonaparte. The prime minister’s efforts over the year to forge the Third Coalition look to have succeeded. The tyrant therefore now faces a foe assembling on his frontier to the east. He simply cannot afford to wait for this phase of the invasion plan to complete, and both rumours and intelligence suggest that before long he must strike camp and march east to meet the threat.’
‘We’re saved?’ Boyd said, without conviction.
‘No. The cynic in me is saying that with his usual deadly swiftness he will easily deal with the Austrians – after all, he has the largest army yet seen and one that has conquered most of Europe. The result will be defeat for the Coalition, undeniably. And that will mean the situation regarding invasion is even more perilous.’
‘Sir?’
‘Why, can you not see? His invasion flotilla remains unused and therefore ready. Presumably his battleships will wait it out in harbour and he will be able to return to the task in the spring, this time with no threat to his flank and able to take risks.
‘No, sir, there is only one sure way to put a stop to the invasion – Villeneuve’s fleet must be destroyed. Not simply a victorious battle but destruction, extermination. Then there’ll no longer be the numbers available to Bonaparte to force the Channel. As plain as that!’
‘Sir.’
‘And I have an idea who I’ll send for to achieve just that.’
‘The Hero of the Nile.’
‘Quite. We must match Villeneuve’s numbers without depriving blockade squadrons at other ports but, within that, Lord Nelson is granted whatever forces he desires. I do so regret intruding upon his rest but the man knows his duty and will not decline. I will appoint him reigning commander-in-chief in the area – and he’ll get
‘And if they don’t sail?’
