Ramage's Prize (48 page)

At that moment there was a knock at the door and when Spencer answered a messenger came in and whispered something. Spencer said, “Show him in at once—I gave instructions that he was not to be kept hanging about in the hall.” As the messenger hurried out the First Lord said, “Lord Auckland has arrived.”

The Postmaster-General's first words when Lord Spencer introduced him were biting: “So this is the young man who sees treason the length and breadth of the Post Office, eh?”

Instead of defending him, Ramage was surprised to find Lord Spencer agreeing. “The same young man, and he's just posted up from Plymouth at his own expense to bring me another report.”

“I trust it makes more sense than the one he wrote from Lisbon.”

“Well, William, it may not make more sense, but it's certainly more interesting. Care to read it?”

“I hope you haven't dragged me all the way over here for that,” the Postmaster-General said sourly.

The First Lord slid the report across the polished table as though dealing a card and, for that matter, Ramage thought, the Postmaster-General opened the report with the same wary interest that a player picks up and looks at his cards.

He read it through slowly without any expression showing on his face. Then he looked up at Lord Spencer and raised an eyebrow. “The mate's report?”

When Spencer skimmed it across he read it slowly with the same concentration. Finally he put it down on the table and looked at Ramage. “So you found the proof.” The voice was almost bitter, but Ramage sensed it was not bitterness over him. “You knew you'd find it even when you wrote from Lisbon, didn't you?” He made his question sound like an accusation.

“No, sir,” Ramage said flatly. “I'd already found all I needed.”

“Why didn't you mention it in your first report, then?”

“I don't think you understood quite what Ramage meant, William,” the First Lord said quickly. “I think he means he didn't know what the
final
proof would eventually be, but he knew he had only to bide his time before finding it. Proof, that is, which would stand up in a court of law.”

“I've given him credit for
that,
” Lord Auckland said testily. “What I was asking Ramage was this: did he suspect the packetsmen would mutiny before they arrived in Falmouth?”

The First Lord looked questioningly at Ramage, who nodded.

“And tell me, George,” Lord Auckland asked the First Lord, “don't you find it odd that there are a dozen of your seamen on board the
Lady Arabella?
I hope you don't mind me asking young Ramage about it?”

George John Eden, first Earl Spencer, shook his head. “Carry on, William. I assume it is something arranged with the Commander-in-Chief in Jamaica. Was that so, Ramage?”

Keep up a united front with strangers present, Ramage thought to himself. “Quite so, sir; it gave us a nucleus of”—he just stopped himself saying “reliable men,” and substituted—“men I'd sailed with before.”

“The Commander,” Auckland said. “What is your private impression of Stevens?”

“Under the thumb of the Surgeon, sir. I don't mean blackmail; it might have been just the gift of the blarney. Apart from that, sir, with all that rot in the transom he had a good enough reason for wanting the Post Office to buy him a new ship.”

“I can see that quite clearly, thank you,” Lord Auckland said sarcastically. “I'm trying to see what characteristics this particular commander has that might be common to other commanders who surrendered at one time or another.”

Lord Spencer said, “Your report is excellent, Ramage, but now tell us what happened and what you thought from the time the privateer came in sight.”

Briefly, but without leaving out any important detail he could remember, Ramage described the scene. When he had finished, Spencer asked, “What made you think of the exchange—the ransom, as it were?”

“I don't remember what gave me the immediate idea, sir; but my main concern was to avoid being made prisoner so that I could get the word to you as soon as possible about what was happening.”

“Those damned ventures!” Auckland said suddenly. “I suspected it all along.” He turned to Lord Spencer, as if seeking reassurance, and the First Lord nodded. “You've tried to get the Cabinet to agree to banning them often enough, William, but the strike of packetsmen last year frightened them. Yet you were right.”

Ramage thought of Much sitting out in the waiting-room. Here was the chance of the mate receiving a reward, if only praise from his minister, but the request had better go through the First Lord. “Mr Much, the mate who wrote the other report you have, sir … I brought him to London with me in case he was needed for questioning. Perhaps His Lordship … ?”

Spencer caught on immediately. “He's your man, William; we all owe him a vote of thanks. By the way, Ramage, when is this Sidney Yorke due in London?”

“He's in the waiting-room with the mate, sir. I thought you might want … that he'd be needed as a witness, perhaps,” Ramage said lamely.

“Why should you think you'd need a witness?” Lord Auckland asked, watching Ramage closely.

“If there was any question that …”

“The fact is, William,” Lord Spencer interrupted, “that Mr Ramage has a poor opinion of the probity and intelligence of politicians, so he mustered all his guns …”

Auckland's eyebrows raised as he looked at Spencer. “He's a lucky young man; the fact the mate and this fellow Yorke are still out in the waiting-room without you having seen them means he persuaded you without difficulty, eh? Well, let's have a word with this mate now.”

“Without difficulty …”
Ramage thought to himself. As he went to the door to call a messenger, he saw the First Lord's face was red.

Both Lord Auckland and the First Lord were excellent in the way they handled Much. Surprised at the extent of the detail in the mate's report that they had absorbed, Ramage noticed how both were quick to ask Much for further information they both needed not so much for further inquiries, but to answer critics in the Cabinet or Parliament. Indeed, he thought to himself, the political mind works very differently from any other.

After Much, they invited Yorke to the Board Room, and within five minutes or so the young shipowner was, in his own nonchalant manner, having both ministers admit that at first they had disbelieved Ramage's report from Lisbon and had doubts about payment of the ransom to free the
Lady Arabella.

Lord Spencer's face was going red again, and Ramage feared Yorke might go too far. Lord Auckland gave a dry laugh. “But please remember, Mr Yorke, that Cabinet decisions are always collective—and secret—and that we did pay out.”

Yorke turned to the First Lord. “Would it be impertinent, my Lord, to ask the result of the inquiries into insurance on the packetmen's ventures?”

“Er—well, not impertinent, but perhaps premature. I was telling Ramage that inquiries are being made. We haven't received the answer from the Committee of Lloyds yet.”

And, Ramage thought sourly, that was hardly surprising, since the First Lord's private secretary hasn't been gone with the list of names for more than half an hour …

Yorke was shaking his head and Spencer's eyebrows raised questioningly.

“The official approach, my Lord,” Yorke explained. “I was wondering if it was the best way, if there is any urgency …”

“There's no real urgency now, Mr Yorke,” Lord Auckland said, but to Ramage it seemed his voice lacked conviction.

Yorke apologized hastily, and for a moment Ramage thought he had overdone it. But no, it hooked Lord Auckland, who said, “Well, my dear Yorke, I wouldn't say we have all the time in the world, but a week or two …”

“The Plymouth and Falmouth newspapers,” Yorke said vaguely, as if thinking aloud, “and the mutinous packetsmen … they've got to be charged before a magistrate pretty soon, or else lawyers will be rushing round shouting … I think these packetsmen are well organized, and Cornishmen stick together … A reference in the London press … one feels—at least I do, personally, but of course I'm only a layman in such things—that if Parliament suddenly asks for explanations …”

“We won't have all the answers ready,” Spencer said abruptly. “You're wasted at sea, young man; you ought to think of joining Ramage here in a career of politics.”

Yorke waved his hand vaguely and muttered something about “leave it to the rest of the family,” and then said, “I could pass the details of the insurance claims to Mr Ramage by first thing in the morning, if that would help: I have some friends in that line of country.”

Ramage appreciated what Yorke was proposing. It was the most acceptable method for both ministers: unofficial, more remote and politically safer—and yet providing quick answers.

Lord Auckland answered, since it was his ministry involved. “Any assistance, Mr Yorke … with discretion of course …”

“Of course, my Lord,” Yorke said with a smile, and Ramage suddenly saw why Spencer had mentioned a career in politics. But Spencer had not seen Yorke at sea; he could never realize the enormous gap …

“By the way,” Lord Auckland said, “I must warn you young men that the whole of this inquiry is secret. I doubt if the packetsmen will be brought to trial—except for the bosun's mate, who will be charged with murder—because we have no wish to advertise our defects to the French.”

“Although I was the intended victim each time in the two attempted murder charges against the bosun, and the Marchesa di Volterra the actual victim of kidnapping,” Ramage said bluntly, deliberately ignoring the First Lord's warning glance, “the French have been well aware of the defects in the Packet Service for a year or more, sir.”

“Quite so,” Lord Auckland said smoothly, “I was using the phrase ‘the French' in a metaphorical sense. But one has to take the broader view.”

“Quite surprising how broad the muzzle of a pistol seems when someone's threatening to shoot you,” Yorke said conversationally, “or how sharp a cutlass blade when a man tries to cleave your skull with it …”

“I can imagine,” Lord Auckland said, “and I realize how Ramage must feel over the death of one of his men. The murderer will be brought to trial, but the others …”

“Their Protections, sir,” Ramage said. “Supposing the Admiralty cancels them entirely.”

Spencer slapped the table top. “That's it, William! Let ‘em spend a few years in the naval service!”

The Postmaster-General nodded at Ramage. “An excellent suggestion.” He turned to Lord Spencer. “I shall be writing to you officially to thank you for Mr Ramage's efforts. I will make myself responsible for Mr Much's future. As for you, Mr Yorke”—he stood up and held out his hand—”it is lucky for the Post Office that Mr Ramage has such friends.”

Next morning at the family house in Palace Street, Ramage was having a late breakfast with Yorke and Much when the ancient servant who looked after the house while the family was in Cornwall came to the table.

“A man called, my Lord,” he said lugubriously.

“When, Hanson?”

“A minute or two ago, my Lord; he left this packet.” Ramage took it and then saw the superscription. He gestured across the table. “It's for Mr Yorke.”

“I'm sorry sir, I must clean my spectacles.”

“Clean them? You haven't got them on!”

“Oh dear,” the old man said petulantly, “I wonder where I left them?”

Yorke opened the packet and took out several sheets of paper.

“This is what we were waiting for,” he said, clearing plates and cutlery away to make a space in front of him, then spreading out the papers.

“Stevens. Looks as though this last voyage was the first time he ever carried ventures. Eight hundred pounds worth of insurance for the round trip.

“Now for that Surgeon, Farrell. He's taken out policies on seven occasions—seven separate round trip voyages. The underwriters have paid out several thousand pounds on four occasions for cargoes lost owing to enemy action. Add that to the profit normally made on freights and you'll find that Mr Farrell is one of the wealthiest men in Falmouth.

“Now for the bosun's mate. Insured on nine round trips and he's claimed on three.” He glanced through the other papers. “Same story for the rest of them. I notice the amounts they insured for have increased fifty per cent each voyage. They were getting more and more confident …”

He picked up and handed the papers across the table to Ramage. “You'll want to pass them on to the Admiralty …”

An hour later Ramage was sitting in the same chair in the Board Room of the Admiralty and surprised to find that the First Lord and Lord Auckland were again discussing the packet problem. There was a third man present who was introduced as Mr Francis Freeling, and Ramage thought he remembered seeing the name in the
Royal Kalendar
as being the Secretary of the General Post Office. Freeling was a man of about forty, energetic, greying hair and yet oddly precise.

The two ministers read quickly through the lists from the underwriters.

“So the commander was a comparative new boy to this business,” Lord Spencer commented.

“But the stern of his ship was rotten,” Lord Auckland said bitterly.

“He could not have been absolutely sure he'd get the opportunity of surrendering to a privateer this voyage, my Lord,” Freeling said.

“But from what Much and Mr Ramage say, he was determined to surrender at the first opportunity.”

Freeling nodded, but repeated his point. “He could only surrender if he found a captor, my Lord.”

“Quite so,” Auckland said testily, “there's no need to state the obvious. Tell me, Ramage, you felt things were reaching a climax even before the privateer showed up. Why?”