I RETURNED TO FALMOUTH UNDER LATE-SPRING SKIES. THE AIR WAS mild, and the quayside seemed more than usually busy. Perhaps it was because of the two carriages which blocked the thoroughfare. One was painted scarlet and black, with bright red wheels and a brass horn to speed it through the turnpike gates. It was the Post Office coach, and if any observers thought it strange that our schooner had brought no portmanteaus of mail, they did not remark on it. The second carriage was a far grander affair, with gold trim around the doors and thick curtains behind the windows. As I looked at it, the postilion leaped down and flung open the door, almost grovelling in obsequy. Miss Lyell, immaculate in her mourning black, climbed past him and arranged herself within. The door slammed shut.
‘I suppose she will not be wishing us goodbye,’ Nevell said.
‘Certainly not au revoir.’
Despite our close confines on the voyage home, we had spoken only once. One evening, somewhere past the Bahamas, I had found her on deck staring out over the rail. She had not heard me approach, but at the touch of my hand on her arm she shuddered as if scalded.
‘Stay away,’ she hissed. ‘Have you come to gloat on the ruin of my family?’
‘I came to thank you for saving my life.’
I knew it was a delicate thing to say – how, after all, do you thank someone for shooting her own father on your behalf? – and I had prepared myself to expect tears, or fury, or even a faint. Instead, the gaze she turned on me was void of any emotion. The steel moonlight left her face unfathomably cold, her pale hair like a shroud of cobwebs.
‘Saving your life?’ she echoed. Had it not been such a monstrous notion, I could have sworn I saw a chill smile flicker across her face. ‘You know very well I did no such thing, Lieutenant. The pitch of the deck knocked my aim awry. Had my bullet gone true it would be your body now laid in the hold steeping in brandy.’
She said it without malice and I took no offence, though I kept a wary eye on her reticule nonetheless. ‘Come, Miss Lyell, you were barely two yards away from me. I have seen your facility with that pistol. I cannot believe you missed accidentally.’
‘Do not be so vain,’ she snapped. ‘Do you think that girlish affection swayed my hand? That some lingering, sapheaded sentiment drove me to spare you?’
‘Not at all.’ I had come to know enough of Catherine’s mettle not to presume anything so foolish.
‘What, then?’
Her flashing eyes invited me to go further, challenging me, but I demurred. I had nothing to say that she would hear, and she would never give me the satisfaction of confirming my suspicions. Once, I would have thrilled to spend all night parrying words with her and trying to earn her favour; now, I went to bed.
Just before I ducked my head under the companionway, I looked back. Catherine’s black dress melded almost completely with the night so that only her pale face and hands were visible. She had not turned to watch me go, but leaned out over the rail, staring down on the water below. What was she thinking? And what thoughts had crossed her mind in those confused seconds on the Duke of Gloucester’s lower deck? Had panic skewed her aim? It seemed unlikely. Or had she seen, in that instant, that her father was undone and his plans laid bare; that shooting me would do nothing but brand her a murderer; that by killing him she could save herself and win her inheritance? Looking at the dark, grim figure behind me, I could not tell.
‘Though I do not see how she will profit from it,’ I had mused to Nevell the following day. ‘Surely a hanging awaits her when we return home, or at least transportation. She and her father were each as deep in this scheme as the other.’
Nevell had laughed. ‘I’ll wager you a guinea to a farthing she never sets foot in a courtroom, much less a gaol.’
‘But—’
‘Who do you think would bring a prosecution against one of the most beautiful and eligible young orphans in England? Any man who took the stand against her would be branded a knave and a brute. The Post Office will watch her, and those with whom she associates, but we cannot touch her. Before she reaches London she will have had three proposals of marriage; within two days of her return, every bachelor in London will be calling at her door.’
‘Not every bachelor,’ I corrected him. ‘I will be quite content never to see anything of her again.’
‘Then there will be two of us immune to her charms.’
I hoped so. I could not be sure that some corner of Nevell’s devious heart might not find something to admire in Miss Lyell’s ruthlessness.
‘But whatever we think, others will not be so sensible of her faults, or will overlook them in consideration of her wealth. Society will wrap its mantle around her, and powerful guardians will see that no injury befalls her.’
‘I doubt she will need them. I never met a woman with such a talent for self-preservation.’ I had encountered more than my share of murderous lunatics on my voyage – Burr, Lyell, Wilkinson and Vidal not least – but put me on a dawn field with a gun in my hand and I’d choose to face any of them over Miss Lyell.
*
We arrived in London in the middle of May. Each day of our journey, from the wilds of Cornwall and Devon, through the placid farmland of Dorset and Hampshire and into the closely built towns and villages around the metropolis, I had seen the sun slowly prising the clouds apart and dispelling them as summer flexed its hold. It did little to affect my humour; indeed, my spirits took the opposite course. Before we left Falmouth, I had found a letter awaiting me at the inn.
Jerrold—
Call on me at the Admiralty the instant you return to England.
There was no signature. It did not need one.
With a familiar quake of fear, I wondered what it portended. Of course I had no cause for concern – my uncle’s secret letter was still safe inside my coat, and no quantity of his threats could blunt its damning contents – but it worried me nonetheless. My ill temper must have shown, for several times in the coach I saw Nevell fixing me with keen, probing glances, but he did not press me on it.
A little after four o’clock on the fifth day, we drew up outside the Admiralty. It was a perquisite of travelling with Nevell that we were not bound by the usual stages but could travel where we pleased. As I alighted from the coach, Nevell peered down after me.
‘Come and find me at the Secret Office in a few days’ time, when you are feeling more yourself,’ he said.
‘As long as you have no more letters for me to deliver to distant parts.’
Nevell pulled the door closed and I waved him goodbye, then walked under the shadow of the Admiralty’s arch. I was evidently expected, for no sooner had I given my name to the porter than I was led upstairs, along a broad corridor and into a familiar anteroom. The budding summer had not yet penetrated here: a small fire still burned in the grate, and the clerk at the desk kept his woollen coat buttoned tight.
‘Lieutenant Jerrold,’ murmured the porter, disappearing as quickly as he dared.
The clerk put down his quill and scowled at me, then resumed his writing. Only when he had reached the end of the document, folded it, dribbled wax over it and stamped it with the Admiralty seal did he rise and knock on the inner door. A gruff voice called him in. When he returned, after some moments, he shut the door carefully, returned to his chair, and only then looked up to announce: ‘He will receive you.’
I stepped into my uncle’s office. I had not seen it often, but it seemed unchanged from my last visit. His broad desk still commanded the room and was still littered with books, ledgers and papers. A map of the Mediterranean covered one wall; opposite hung a painting of the Minotaur in action at the Nile, and a portrait of an officer who might, with some charity on the part of the viewer, have resembled a younger and more dashing incarnation of the man behind the desk.
He did not rise, but waved me to sit before him.
A strange and unwonted calm descended on me as my uncle shuffled through some papers, then lifted his gaze and bored it into me. For perhaps the first time in my life, I held it unwavering.
‘I understand you have been in America,’ he said at last.
I murmured that I had.
‘A damnable country. Nothing but rogues, traitors, lunatics and republicans. I am surprised they have not yet all murdered one another. Did you enjoy yourself?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘Hah.’ My uncle leaned forward across his desk. ‘It might have suited you better to have stayed there. Your meddlesome villainy has caused a great deal of inconvenience which neither I nor my associates are persuaded to forgive.’
Once, the mere tone of his voice might have reduced me to tears; now I enjoyed a position of strength. Shooting him a cool stare, I reached into my coat and pulled out my two copies – the autograph and the decipherment – of his letter.
‘I received Colonel Burr’s most recent communication on the eighteenth inst.,’ I read. ‘Having satisfied myself of his true intentions and good faith, and the high chance of a profitable conclusion to his venture, I have this day despatched two frigates—’
With a howl of rage my uncle lunged across his desk and snatched at the paper. I jerked it away, and held it just out of his reach.
‘Where did you get that?’ he hissed, his face scarlet.
‘In America. You will observe I have the autograph copy here as well.’
My uncle’s eyes bulged, then narrowed; he tilted his head and watched me carefully.
‘Very well, you have my letter. What of it?’
‘It implicates you in a treasonous conspiracy.’ The soaring joy of besting my uncle left me giddy, but I tried to maintain a measured tone.
My uncle huffed through his nose. ‘Nonsense. It implicates me, if at all, in a patriotic attempt by true Englishmen to make war on our enemies. A war, I may say, that our superiors at the time were criminally negligent in prosecuting.’
‘That may be, but your duty was to obey their orders.’ I could hardly believe that I was sitting there in my uncle’s office lecturing him on duty. ‘Your well-intentioned recklessness came within a hair of turning the Americans against us, adding another ally to Buonaparte’s coalition and cutting off the Atlantic trade. Britain would have been in worse straits than when you began. Indeed, she might have been bankrupt inside three months now that the continent is closed to us.’
My uncle did not dispute the charge. He leaned back, and offered me an appraising stare.
‘By the fact that you have come to confront me with this here, rather than approaching my political masters, I take it you do not wish to ruin me publicly.’
‘It would be a cruel blow to my mother if I shamed her brother.’
‘Hah. And what price do you want for it?’
I had expected my uncle would be forthright in his negotiations, and I was suitably prepared. ‘Promotion to post captain. A sinecure ashore, perhaps at the Navy Board. And the promise that I need not fear retribution from your disappointed conspirators.’ Lyell might be dead, but I guessed there would be others in London who still harboured thoughts of vengeance towards me.
‘Is that all?’ My uncle gave a short, snorting laugh. ‘A gold-plated carriage and four, perhaps? An apartment at St James’s Palace and a royal princess in marriage as well?’ He sniffed. ‘And otherwise? What if I do not yield to your extortion?’
‘Then, with the utmost regret, I will lay your letters before the First Lord and tell him all I know.’
My uncle tipped back his head and stared at the plaster mouldings on the ceiling. The starred epaulettes on his shoulders rose and fell with his laboured breathing. At length, he levelled his gaze and reached for the slim cord which hung by his side. A bell chimed in the anteroom behind me, and the clerk appeared at the door.
‘Offer Lord Mulgrave my apologies for the disturbance, but inform him that I would value a brief word in my office at his soonest convenience.’
The clerk vanished, and for some minutes we sat in an uncomfortable silence. I drummed my fingers on the arm of the chair and gazed at the map on the wall; my uncle affected to read through the papers on his desk.
‘Are you recently returned?’ he asked suddenly.
‘I arrived in London this afternoon. The Falmouth coach brought me directly to your gate.’
‘What exemplary despatch.’
The rage was gone from my uncle’s face, and in its place a wintry smirk had appeared. It disconcerted me, but before I could question it I heard footsteps in the anteroom and an obsequious voice saying, ‘In here, my lord.’
My uncle shot me an ominous look. ‘Say nothing.’
We both stood as the door opened. The man who entered did not wear a uniform, but by my uncle’s deferential bow I gathered that he must be of some significance. He was a portly man, a little past fifty, whose grey hair grew in thin curls close to his scalp. He had a genial face, and his large eyes and furrowed brow gave him an air of perpetual, well-intentioned puzzlement.
‘Lord Mulgrave,’ said my uncle warmly. ‘I must apologize again for calling you here.’
The visitor gave an affable wave of his hand. ‘It is no trouble, Admiral – I was not busy this afternoon.’
‘May I humbly introduce my nephew, Lieutenant Jerrold. He has called on me and was naturally anxious for the honour of your lordship’s acquaintance.’
Lord Mulgrave nodded to me.
‘Lieutenant Jerrold distinguished himself in Dover last year, and has just returned from a delicate embassy to America.’
‘Has he?’ Lord Mulgrave peered at me with new, discomfiting interest. ‘I was not aware of it. How did he fare?’
‘We have not yet had opportunity to talk of it,’ said my uncle.
Mulgrave smiled happily. ‘Then I shall leave you to your discussions.’ He turned to me. ‘Your uncle follows your exploits with great avuncular affection, it seems. I trust you repay his concern.’
‘I endeavour to, sir.’
‘I am glad to hear it. We need sound, enterprising officers. I hope I will hear more of your career in future.’
‘I hope so, sir.’
Mulgrave ambled out of the room and the servant shut the door behind him. I sank back into my chair.
‘That was Lord Mulgrave,’ said my uncle, carelessly examining a paper.
I felt as though my belt had tightened a notch. ‘And who is Lord Mulgrave?’
‘Lord Mulgrave? Why, he is my superior – and yours too. He is now First Lord of the Admiralty.’
‘But I thought Mr Grey—’
‘Tut, Martin. You have been away too long. Mr Grey is now an earl, but he no longer holds any office of state. There has been a change of ministry. The Pittites are in power and the talented Foxites are where they belong – in opposition.’
‘How …?’
My uncle gave a wicked smile. ‘Their ambition over-reached itself. First they abolished the slave trade, which was just about tolerable; then they tried to emancipate the Catholics. Well, a blackie may be one thing but an Irishman is quite another. They lost the King’s confidence and he dismissed them.’
It was clear from my uncle’s gloating face that the natural order of things, in his estimation, had been restored.
‘Lord Mulgrave is a particular friend of mine.’
‘He knew of your scheme to conquer Mexico,’ I muttered.
‘Of course. He supported it absolutely. As did many in the new ministry.’ My uncle stood and stretched out his hand. ‘Which is why, Jerrold, you will now do me the kindness of returning my correspondence.’
I was defeated. Yet I had carried those papers for thousands of miles, risked countless agonies and humiliations for them. Even had I willed it I could not simply have surrendered them.
Mistaking my hesitation for defiance, my uncle clicked his tongue. Yet he did not abuse me; instead, checking his irritation, he actually said, more moderately, ‘Both our interests are served this way, Martin. You cannot bring about my ruin, but you could certainly embarrass me. I, on the other hand, could turn a great number of influential men against you. But why should I? It was Burr’s doing, not yours, that the expedition failed; he is the villain of the piece. We were fools ever to trust him. And though you did not aid the scheme, you prevented a great deal more mischief by escaping undetected. We owe you gratitude for that, if nothing else.’
Still I resisted him. Either my uncle was overly sanguine, or he was bluffing me. Even under the new ministry, surely the papers would do more than embarrass him if I made them public. But would I survive the ensuing storm any better than he?
His face clouded with impatience. ‘This is a fair bargain, Jerrold. Give me those papers and I will see that no blame attaches itself to you, either publicly or among my associates. They are men you cannot afford to displease. If you keep silent, I may even find you a commission. It will not be the indolent sinecure you craved, but it will not be disagreeable.’
I stared at the floor, then thrust the papers into my uncle’s hand. He did not look at them, but pulled the bell-cord immediately. The clerk entered.
‘Can it be May?’ my uncle asked, passing the papers to the clerk. ‘It feels as chill as January. Can you rouse that fire?’
The clerk nodded and retired. Through the open door, I saw him fold the papers carefully and then drop them onto the coals, pressing them down with the poker until every last morsel had turned to ash.
My uncle sighed. ‘I suppose we will have to forgive each other eventually,’ he said, with rare insight. ‘Neither of us has acted entirely with distinction, but nor with malice either. The mistakes we have made were, at the least, honest mistakes.’
Perhaps they were, though as I walked out of the Admiralty and towards Charing Cross I doubted whether the same could be said of the financiers and bankers he had conspired with. Certainly there had been nothing honest about Lyell’s actions. His animation had been greed – hunger for the riches to be had by opening America to our trade. Yet it was trade, ultimately, that I had fought to protect: the vital trade with the United States which brought gold to the Treasury and allowed us to fill the seas with ships and our guns with powder.
I looked about me. The vast edifices of Whitehall loomed behind me like giant mausolea, while ahead of me the crowds thronged thick as ever among the coffee houses, taverns, shops and merchants on the Strand. Who could tell what commerce was transacted there – and in every drawing room, counting-house and bedroom in the city? Doubtless there were new Lyells plotting the increase of their wealth, and future Burrs dreaming fantastic schemes of conquest. None of them would think his business unjust, and each would believe his mistakes – if he admitted them – to be honest mistakes.
What did I care? I was home and alive; and if I was little better off than when I had departed, I was at least no worse. To the Lyells and Burrs of the world that would seem a poor return on the adventure, but to me it seemed cause for celebration.
I went into a tavern and ordered myself a drink.
THE END