Beneath the aurora nd-12 Page 6

  Drinkwater rose. 'What of Bardolini? He is safe enough with me for a few days and I shall want a week to make my preparations, but after that he will be an encumbrance.'

  'Give me a day or two, Captain Drinkwater, and I will let you know — by, say, Thursday?'

  Drinkwater nodded. 'What d'you think Castlereagh will do?'

  'I would imagine almost anything to string Murat along and prevent him giving his wholehearted support to Bonaparte.'

  'So we will send Bardolini back with a diplomatic humbug?'

  'It is not for me to say, but I would imagine so.'

  'Poor fellow.'

  ' C'est la guerre, n 'est-cepas? You may send him to Helgoland in the Kestrel. He may then be landed near Hamburg and rejoin his master at Dresden.'

  Drinkwater nodded. 'Very well. I shall hear from you by Thursday?'

  'Of course.'

  Whether or not Barrow recalled their past disagreement, Drinkwater had forgotten it as he left the room.

  Templeton was not in his room when Drinkwater returned to it, and he sat and contemplated the papers on his desk. A dozen dispatches and reports had come in in his absence, an unusual amount for two days and ironic in the light of the imminent demise of his office. The sheets were neatly minuted in Templeton's impeccable script and, where necessary, additional sheets of paper were pinned to the originals, decryptions of enciphered text.

  He riffled through them. They were tediously routine: a deciphered message from a Chouan agent in Brittany recounting the numbers of French warships in Brest which would serve merely to corroborate the sightings of the blockading frigates off Ushant; a report from St Helier in the Channel Islands about a small convoy which would have reached its destination by now; and a report from Exeter concerning the escape of a score of American prisoners-of-war from a working detail sent out from Dartmoor prison.

  Templeton entered the room at that moment. 'I'm sorry, sir, I...'

  Drinkwater waved aside the man's apology. 'No matter. How do we come to receive this? This is a matter for the civil authorities.' He indicated the report concerning the American prisoners.

  'They were seamen, sir, and therefore we were notified. We usually inform the Regulating Captains ...'

  'And they try and pick them up for service in our own fleet, eh?'

  'I believe so, sir. They are more productive serving His Majesty at sea, rather than being detained at His Majesty's pleasure ashore!'

  'A vicious habit, Templeton, which don't make the life of a sea-officer at all comfortable, and a pretty extremity to be driven to.' Drinkwater pulled himself up short. Templeton was not to blame for such matters, though it would do him good to see something of life's realities. 'Besides,' he added, 'they were not idle when they escaped, they were building dry-stone walls.'

  'Yes, sir,' Templeton said resignedly, leaning forward and drawing a last letter to Drinkwater's attention. 'There is a post scriptum to the affair.'

  Drinkwater took the letter and read it. 'So they melted into the countryside. Does the fact seem the least remarkable to you, Templeton? Wouldn't you have done the same?'

  'It is customary to have a few reports of sightings.'

  Drinkwater dropped the letter. 'Pass these to Mr Barrow's people. We have other work to do. Do you draft orders, in the usual form, to the officer commanding HMS Andromeda ...'

  'He is not on board, sir, having been lately called to Parliament.. .'

  'Then that is his damned bad luck, who is he?'

  'Captain Pardoe. He is the Member for Eyesham.'

  'Well, so much the better for Eyesham. An order for his replacement, my commission ... where is Kestrel?'

  'Kestrel, sir? Er, she is a cutter…'

  'I know what she is, I want to know where she is.'

  'Laid up, I think,' said Templeton frowning, 'at Chatham, I believe.'

  'Find out. Let me know. Now I shall write to my wife. We have less than a week before we leave London, Templeton.'

  'We, sir?'

  'Yes. You are appointed my secretary.'

  Templeton stared blankly at Drinkwater and opened his mouth to protest. It had gone dry and he found it difficult to speak, managing only a little gasp before Drinkwater's glare dissuaded him from the matter and he fled. To lose all hope of elevation and suffer the ignominy of virtual demotion was enough for one day, but to be a pressed man as well was more than flesh and blood could stand. Templeton reeled out into the corridor dashing the tears from his eyes.

  He left behind a chuckling Drinkwater who drew a clean sheet of paper towards him, picked up his pen and flipped open the inkwell.

  My Darling Wife ... he began to write and, for a few moments, all thoughts of the war left him. As he finished the letter he looked up. It was almost dark and the unlit room allowed his eyes to focus on the deep blue of the cloudless evening sky. The first stars twinkled dimly, increasing in brilliance as he watched, marvelling.

  He would soon see again not merely those four circum­scribed rectangles, but the entire, majestic firmament.

  It was almost a cruelty to bring Elizabeth to London for a mere three days, but two in the society of Bardolini, who insisted on continually badgering his host for news, was a trial to Drinkwater for whom the wait, with little to do beyond a brief daily attendance at the Admiralty, was tedious enough.

  Difficulties began to crowd him within an hour of his wife's arrival. Bardolini insisted upon paying her elaborate court, depriving her husband of even the chilliest formality of a greeting, but then a more serious arrival in the shape of the young Captain Pardoe threatened to upset Drinkwater's humour still further.

  'I understand, sir, that it is largely upon your intervention that I have been deprived of my command,' Pardoe had expostulated on the doorstep.

  'Whereas I understand the demands of party expect you in Westminster, sir, where, happily, you are,' Drinkwater replied coolly.

  'Damn it, sir, by what right do you ...?'

  'You are making a fool of yourself, Captain Pardoe, pray come inside ...' Pardoe was admitted and confronted with the uniformed splendour of Colonel Bardolini. Introductions were effected to both the Neapolitan and Elizabeth, hushing Pardoe. At an opportune moment, Drinkwater was able to draw him aside and whisper, 'Colonel Bardolini is an important diplomatic envoy. Your ship is wanted for a mission of some delicacy, such that an officer of my seniority must assume command. It was thought better all round by the ministry that you should take your seat, I believe you are warm in the government's cause, and I should take command.'

  Drinkwater's dark dissimulation appeared to have a swiftly mollifying effect. 'I see,' said Pardoe. 'Of course, if that is the case, I am naturally happy to oblige.'

  'We knew you would be, Pardoe,' Drinkwater smiled, hoping Pardoe connected all the insinuations and believed Andromeda to be bound for the Mediterranean.

  'D'you care for some tea, Captain?' asked Elizabeth soothingly, and the awkward incident passed, dissolving into the inconsequential small-talk of the moment. Elizabeth delighted in talking to a man who seemed to be at the heart of affairs and Drinkwater unobtrusively observed the pleasure she took in the company of Pardoe and Bardolini.

  When, at last, they were alone together in their bedroom and Elizabeth had unburdened herself of news of the farms and the well-being of family and tenantry, he asked, 'Have you seen James Quilhampton recently?'

  'Yes. He was dandling his son on his knee,' Elizabeth said pointedly.

  'But was anxious for employment?'

  'He did not say.'

  'Bess, I ...'

  'You said you would not be going to sea again, not that it matters much since I think I would rather you were as sea than languishing in this gloomy place.'

  'I thought you liked this house?'

  'When it was Lord Dungarth's, I did; as your London establishment, I don't care for it at all.

  'Johnnie died in this room, didn't he?' His wife's familiar reference to the dead Dungarth discomfited Drinkwater.
She had been as fond of him as he of her, and the difference between the sexes had led to an easing of the formalities that bound her husband. He changed the subject.

  'I have to go, Bess ...'

  'I know, affairs of state,' she sighed, then resumed, 'though I wonder what important matters demand the presence of so obscure an officer as my husband.'

  'Perhaps I am not so obscure,' he said, in a poor attempt to jest, or to boast.

  'Try persuading me otherwise, Nathaniel.'

  'There is Colonel Bardolini.'

  'He is pathetic and rather frightened.'

  'Frightened? Why do you say that?' Drinkwater asked with sudden interest.

  Elizabeth shrugged. 'I don't know; he just gives that impression.'

  'Well, he's safe enough here and, for the few days we have, you can look after him.'

  'Thank you, kind sir,' she said. 'But you have changed the subject. I want to know more of this proposed voyage. I suppose you wish me to carry orders to James when I return in the same way that I carried your sea-kit up to London.'

  'You rumble me damned easily, Elizabeth.'

  'You shouldn't be so transparent. I suppose you cannot or will not confide in me.'

  'It is not...'

  'A woman's business, I know.'

  'I was about to say, it is not easy to explain.'

  'Try.'

  And when he had finished Elizabeth said, 'I hate you going, my darling, but knowing why makes it bearable. I know I shall never have you to myself until this war is over and anything that brings peace nearer is to be welcomed. I can only pray that God will spare you.'

  He bent and kissed her, but she yielded only a little, pushing him gently away. 'Must you take James? Catriona has waited so long for him and you summoned him before, then left her to bear the child alone.'

  'Bess, you know James has no means of support beyond his half-pay; he yearns for a ship…'

  You promised him his swab, Nathaniel, yet he remains on the lieutenants' list.'

  'You know I recommended him, but…'

  'The matter proved only your obscurity,' Elizabeth was quick to point out.

  'Touché,' he muttered. 'Well, I can't guarantee him his swab, but I can put him in a good position to earn it. He can have the Kestrel, d'you remember her?'

  'She's only a little cutter, isn't she?'

  'Yes, but she provides him with an opportunity,' countered Drinkwater, increasingly desperate. You know too damned much about naval affairs, Elizabeth,' he said, rising from the bed and tearing testily at his stock.

  And though they lay in each other's arms until dawn, they were unable to find the satisfaction true lovers expect of one another.

  CHAPTER 4

  Departures

  October 1813

  On the last Thursday in September, Drinkwater rose before dawn. Elizabeth, as used to the regime of the byre as her husband was to that of a ship, was astir equally early. She was to leave for Gantley Hall after breakfast, though without orders for James Quilhampton who had been sent to Chatham the instant Drinkwater learned the cutter Kestrel was mastless.

  'My dear, I have to go to the Admiralty. I shall have the coach brought round for you.'

  'As you wish.'

  Bardolini, in shirt and overalls, caught him on the landing as he prepared to leave.

  'Captain, please, today ...'

  'Colonel, today I promise. I told you not to expect a response until Thursday, and you shall have your answer today.'

  'But I have yet to meet Lord Castlereagh ...'

  'Lord Casdereagh has been informed of your arrival. Now do be a good fellow and be patient. I shall send for you before this evening, rest assured upon the matter.'

  'This evening? But Captain…'

  Drinkwater hurried on down the stairs and met Williams in the hall. 'Williams, be so kind as to send word for the coach. My wife's portmanteau is almost ready to come down.'

  Elizabeth, in grey travelling dress and boots, her bonnet in her hand, joined him for coffee. He nodded at the sunlight streaming in through the window.

  'Well, my dear, you should have a pleasant enough run. D'you have something to read?'

  'You know I have trouble reading in a coach, Nathaniel.'

  'I'm sorry. I had forgotten. You used to ...'

  'We used to do a lot of things,' she said quietly, and the words stung him with reproach.

  'The Colonel will have to break his fast alone this morning,' she continued. 'It is curious, but I always thought soldiers were early afoot.'

  'I think not Neapolitan soldiers,' he said, smiling, grateful for the change of subject and the lifeline she had thrown him.

  'He is a strange fellow, though well enough educated. He reads English books. I found him reading your copy of Prince Eugene's Memoirs yesterday, but he seemed distracted. Has he been out since his arrival?'

  'I cautioned him not to venture far and not to be absent for more than half an hour. His uniform is somewhat distinctive, even when he wears a cloak.'

  'At least he doesn't wear his hat.'

  'No,' Drinkwater laughed, 'though there are so many foreign corps in our service today that I doubt one more fantastic uniform among so many peacocks will turn any heads. Have you seen what they have done to our light dragoons? They've turned them into hussars with pelisses and more frogging than ratlines on a first-rate's mainmast. How the poor devils are supposed to campaign, let alone fight in such ridiculous clothes, I'm damned if I know.'

  Williams looked in to announce the coach.

  'Well, my dear, looks like goodbye.' He stood as she dabbed at her lips with a napkin and rose, picking up her bonnet. He took it from her and kissed her. He felt her yield and stirred in reaction to her softness.

  'Oh Bess, my darling, don't think too ill of me.'

  'I should be used to you by now,' she murmured, but both knew it was the unfamiliar and uncertain future that lay between them.

  At the Admiralty Drinkwater called upon Barrow and received the orders he had drafted. 'God speed and good fortune, Captain. Lord Castlereagh will receive Bardolini this evening.'

  'Thank you, Mr Barrow.'

  In his office he removed Pocock's painting and asked for a porter to take it to Lord North Street, then sent for Templeton.

  'D'you have all your dunnage, Templeton?'

  'I believe so, sir.' Templeton's tone was, Drinkwater thought, one of miserable and reluctant martyrdom.

  You have done as I asked?'

  'To the letter, sir.'

  'Good. That is a sound principle.'

  'The papers you were anxious about are secured in oilcloth in the corner.' Templeton pointed to a brown parcel secured with string and sealing wax.

  'Very well, I shall take them myself.' Drinkwater looked round the room. The bookcase which had contained Templeton's meticulously maintained guard books was empty.

  'This is a damnable place,' Drinkwater said curtly. Templeton sniffed disagreement. 'It is better to be pleased to leave a place than to mope over it,' Drinkwater added.

  'It is a matter of opinion, sir,' Templeton grumbled.

  Drinkwater grunted and picked up the parcel. 'Come, sir, let us begone.'

  The clock at the Horse Guards was chiming eleven as he walked back to Lord North Street to take his final departure. Williams greeted him and Drinkwater asked that his sea-chest be made ready.

  'Mrs Williams is ironing the last of the shirts, sir.'

  'Very good. Where is the Colonel?'

  'He left an hour ago, sir.'

  'What, for a walk?'

  'No, sir, a gentleman called for him. He seemed to be expected.'

  Drinkwater frowned. 'Expected? What d'you mean?'

  'The man said he had called for Colonel Bardolini. I asked him to come into the hall and wait. When I brought the Colonel into the hall, he asked the gentleman whether he had come from Lord Castlereagh. The gentleman said he had, and Bardolini left immediately.'

  'You are quite certain it was
Bardolini who mentioned Lord Castlereagh?'

  'Positive upon the point, sir. I could not have been mistaken. If you'll forgive my saying so, sir, I could not...'

  'No, no, of course not, Williams, I just need to be certain upon the matter.'

  'Is something amiss, sir?'

  Drinkwater shrugged. 'I'm not sure. Perhaps not... Come, I must gather the last of my traps together, or I shall leave something vital behind.' And so, in the pressing needs of the everyday, Drinkwater submerged a primitive foreboding.

  At four in the afternoon an under-secretary on Lord Castlereagh's staff arrived in a barouche to convey Bardolini to his lordship's presence.

  Drinkwater met the young man in the withdrawing-room. 'Is the Colonel not with his Lordship already?'

  'Not that I am aware of,' said the under-secretary with a degree of hauteur. Drinkwater, in grubby shirt-sleeves as he finished preparing his sea-kit after so long in London, felt a spurt of anger along with a sense of alarm.

  'But I understand one of his Lordship's flunkeys called for him this morning.'

  'Mr Barrow was told that Colonel Bardolini would not be received before noon, very probably not before evening. His Lordship has rearranged his schedule to accommodate the Colonel, not to mention Captain, er, Drink ...'

  'Drinkwater. I am Captain Drinkwater and I am obliged to his Lordship, but I fear the worst. It would appear that the Colonel has been carried off by an impostor.'

  'An impostor? How is that?'

  'Come, sir,' said Drinkwater sharply, 'there are French agents in London, are there not?'

  'I really have no idea.'

  'I am sure Lord Castlereagh is aware of their presence.'

  'How very unfortunate,' said the under-secretary. 'I had better inform his Lordship.'

  'A moment. I'd be obliged if you would take me to the Admiralty.'

  Drinkwater was fortunate that Barrow had not yet left. 'This is a damnable business,' he concluded.

  'I do not think Lord Castlereagh will trouble himself over­much, Captain.'

  'No, probably not,' Drinkwater said, 'until Canada catches fire.'