Chapter Fourteen
The brig Marigold warped slowly between the islands and into the harbour at Stralsund in Swedish Pomerania. Lord Bond stood with two companions amidships on the weather deck, watching as they neared a typical Hanseatic town of steep roofs and red brick buildings.
“How long will we stay in Stralsund, My Lord?” Sir Cedric Golightly asked.
“It depends on the success of my advance party, Sir Cedric. I need to have up-to-date information about the French agents in the city before we start our journey through Prussia. I expect one or two will follow us to learn our business.” Golightly was a junior member of Lord Liverpool’s cabinet, an up-and-coming politician with an under-secretary post in the colonial office. The negotiations with the Americans would likely make or break his future career.
“Damned Frenchies,” Admiral Sir Algernon Crowthorne growled. “Is there any way we can give ’em a broadside?” The old man held the rank of Admiral of the Fleet but it was recognised as a courtesy title along with the diplomatic post―both designed to impress while keeping him from acceding to a real fleet command that a younger admiral should possess.
“Not unless you have brought some 32 pounders among your luggage, Admiral,” Bond answered. “The Marigold has to be unarmed when on a civilian and diplomatic voyage to Neutral Sweden.”
“There are French agents here, then?” Golightly asked.
“Bound to be after Swedish Pomerania was occupied by French armies until 1810. They will try to snoop into whatever is sent as official mail through Sweden as a neutral country.”
“I see. I did brush up on some recent history before I left Westminster, but nothing of that sort can equal the words of a man who has been on the continent so recently.”
“I was on the continent recently, Sir Cedric, but that was into the Low Countries. I have not been in Stralsund since aught five.”
“You think it has changed, then?” the admiral said.
“Undoubtedly, with French armies here for nearly four years. Before then I expect nothing had changed for two centuries.”
They made a party of twelve as they sat around the private dining room table in the hostelry Bond established them in. That included the secretaries, clerks, and coachmen who would not normally have dined with the principals, but he had decided to keep everyone together where he could watch them.
There was one member at dinner who had not arrived on the Marigold; Cornelius van Ee who had been on the Antwerp spy team―a good man if one could keep him from blabbing. Bond planned to keep him under his thumb. He would be giving him the alias Herr Smith for this duty. In fact, he had decided to use a single code name for everyone, which had worked well enough for the French Royalists in Antwerp.
The business of eating being over, they sat talking and drinking brandy. Sir Cedric and the Admiral listened closely to van Ee and asked questions about the town. Bond wanted to know what the team had learned.
“Other than the assistant to the French consul there seem to be no Frenchmen employed to watch who arrives here on business,” van Ee said. “If we are followed it will likely be by German-speaking Pomeranians.”
“The consul is a bona fide merchant and not one of Fouché’s informers?” Bond said. “I doubt that.”
“M’Lady Brune believes there are still Swedish informers from the time the Marshal of France, the Comte Guillaume Brune, was commander of the French troops in the area and governor of the territory.”
Bond did not comment. Yes, Elise would probably find a story that would place her in the middle of the noble plotting and jockeying for status in the dominion. Marshal Brune had apparently become too close to the Swedish King Gustav IV Adolphe when he was governor and aroused Napoleon’s suspicions of treachery. He was recalled in disgrace and not trusted with such posts ever again. Elise had been here for almost a month, pretending to be his eldest daughter, Angelique-Catherine de Brune, who had come to Stralsund to prove her father innocent. Why, oh why, would she find such vainglorious roles when she would be safer as herself? Had Fouché not frightened her enough?
“I think it wise for you to be my courier and sole contact with Lady Brune,” he said. “At least until we reach Prussia. I do not want her connected with me and identified as a British agent; and your report sounds as if she has learned everything we need to know.”
“So, when will we leave for Prussia, My Lord?” Sir Cedric asked.
“A day or two hence, I think. As soon as our coachmen have located suitable conveyances and teams. I would suggest if you wish to write any letters to your families you do so before we leave. I will have a bag of ordinary mail delivered to the English consul to put on the next English vessel bound for London.”
That evening Bond took his own advice. He seated himself at the desk in the corner of his room to write the letter he had forborne too long. He had asked Symington to inform Roberta to look for letters from Herr Smith while he was abroad. He would not send them by diplomatic bag―that was the first place his father would have someone search.
My dear wife, light of my life, dearest Roberta.
How my heart has ached for you these three months. Can it be that long that I saw you off on the Glasgow train. Oh cruel beast to have borne you so far from my arms. As you will see from the franking, I am writing this from Swedish Pomerania at the very first opportunity since we came ashore. My brother has been so good as to regularly inform me of your health and good spirits when he has seen you, but his kindnesses have only been a reminder to me that you are far from me and the kisses and love I wish to bestow. Tell me yourself how you do without me. As soon as we arrive in Bern, I will send you word where you may write back. We are a small team of diplomats, just myself, an under-secretary, an admiral, and eight attendants. I will apprise you of the dangers we may meet . . . nothing like those we faced in Antwerp. I must keep French informants away from my brood of travellers lest they should speak out of turn and let the Corsican know what surprise we and the Americans will prepare for him. Our officials are chosen to be unfamiliar with the continent and their duties so that they send every decision made back to London before agreeing it with the Americans. I expect Ambassador Crawford will be in equally close touch with whoever Madison sends on their side. The prominence or lack will be the first order of business when we meet and will advise the parties how their respective governments view the prospect of peace under the prevailing conditions of the hostilities. How are your vessels coming along? I believe Symington, my eyes and ears in Clydebank, has offered a far more detailed accounting of your work than of your loneliness without me. I feel that I have been burst asunder . . . no more a whole man without you. When we meet again I suggest we repeat our vows we made aboard the Medusa. May we repeat them a hundred times until my father grows weary of his spleen. I will shout them from the rooftops until the whole world knows we belong together. I hope you will place this letter under your pillow each night so that my love shall warm your slumbers and be a remembrance of what we have been and shall one day be . . .