The Shadow of the Eagle (7 page)

And then Drinkwater extinguished the thought with a wince of almost physical pain. How long had he yearned for a cessation of this tedious and debilitating war? How often had he vowed to give it all up? Had he not received with something akin to relief, orders to pay off
Andromeda
and go onshore, to take up half-pay and wait for death or the superannuated status of a yellow-admiral?

God knew he was haunted by the dead, whose shadows waited for his own to join them. The order to pay off had been rescinded and instead, as a mark of respect to Admiral-of-the-Fleet, His Royal Highness, The Prince William Henry, Duke of Clarence and Earl of Munster,
Andromeda
had been ordered to join the Royal Squadron off Dover!

‘We’re going out with a bang!’ Drinkwater had overheard one of the afterguard remark to a mate, and knew the mood of the men was one of willing co-operation in seeing Fat Louis back to France, before finally laying up the frigate and being paid off to go home. And yet despite this imminent end to the ship’s commission, Chatham dockyard had spared no expense and effort to make good the damage
Andromeda
had suffered in the Vikkenfiord.

‘You would not believe the difficulties I had to fit out the bomb-vessel
Virago
in the year one,’ Drinkwater had remarked to Lieutenant Frey, repeating the wonder he had expressed to Birkbeck, ‘and then we were under orders to join the great secret expedition to the Baltic. Now we are off on a merry jape to Calais with His Most Christian Majesty which will last a week at the most, and we are getting more paint than a first-rate at Spithead before a review!’ And the two of them had resumed their pacing, shaking their heads at the perverse logic of the naval service, while the ship’s company fell to their pointless task with evident enthusiasm.

Now Drinkwater was meditating destroying that almost covenanted expectation. He finished shaving and, waving aside his neck linen, sat at the table and drew a sheet of paper towards him. He began to write as his servant poured coffee, pausing occasionally to gather his wits and couch his words in the most telling manner.

It was only as he completed the fourth missive that it occurred to him that the perversity permeating the naval service also ran through its officers. He himself was not exempt from this duplicity: on the one hand he had just poured out expressions of regret to his wife, yet on the other there was a sense almost of relief that he did not yet have to go home and take off his gold-laced undress uniform coat for the last time.

Why was that? he wondered, sealing the letter to Elizabeth. Because he could not face the obscurity of domesticity, or because he was not yet ready to meet the shades of the dead who awaited him there?

His Royal Highness was not yet awake when Drinkwater presented himself upon the quarterdeck of the
Impregnable
, but Blackwood emerged blear-eyed to greet Drinkwater a little coolly.

‘My dear fellow, ‘tis a trifle early. Can’t you sleep?’

‘I beg your pardon, Blackwood, but the matter is important, too important to allow me to sleep.’

‘I smell intrigue. I thought you had shaken the dust of the Secret Department off your feet…’

‘So did I, and I wish to God I had, but it dogs me and last night was no exception.’ Drinkwater dropped his voice. ‘I had a visit from the shore. An agent of long-standing’, Drinkwater lied, ‘has given me disturbing intelligence which, under the circumstances, needs to be communicated to His Royal Highness without further delay.’ Tiredness and excitement made him light-headed. He almost choked on the prince’s title.

A curious look of doubt and indecision crossed Blackwood’s face.

‘My dear Drinkwater, is this wise? I mean His Royal Highness may be an admiral-of-the-fleet but he is, how shall I put it… ?’

‘But a fleeting one?’ In his elevated state, Drinkwater could not resist the pun. ‘I have no doubt His Royal Highness will grasp the import of my news, at least sufficient to give me what I want.’

‘Which is?’

’
Carte blanche
,  Blackwood,
carte blanche
.”

‘To do what, in heaven’s name?’ asked the mystified Blackwood.

‘To chase to the westward. Listen, Blackwood, if I take this news back to Dover and post up to town, I shan’t be there before Wednesday and by the time the board have cogitated and informed the Prime Minister and given me my orders it will be too late …’

‘Well what is this news?’ an exasperated Blackwood asked.

‘Oh, I beg your pardon. I’ve been so preoccupied … They’re going to spring Boney; just when we think we’ve got him in the bag, he’ll be spirited away to America …’

‘Good heavens! D’you mean Boney will then be free to raise Cain in Canada?’

‘Exactly so!’

Blackwood looked straight at Drinkwater. ‘By God, Drinkwater, you want discretionary orders over Silly Billy’s signature.’

‘Yes, I want a clear yard-arm, Blackwood. Two ships have already left Antwerp. I don’t have much time. None of us have much time. This American business could drag on for years. If Napoleon is involved … well, do I have to spell it out? Surely this whole damned war has to be ended one day.’

‘Aye, and the sooner the better…’ But Blackwood was not so easily impressed and his expression clouded, marked by second thoughts. ‘But hold hard. ‘Twould not be easy to get Boney out of the Med from Elba …’

‘But it ain’t to be Elba, don’t you see; ‘tis to be the Azores!’

‘But the newspapers … I mean they’ve been talking about Elba… The other day the
Courier
mentioned it — there’s a copy in my cabin.’

‘Blackwood, for pity’s sake,’ Drinkwater’s voice was suddenly hardened by exasperation and conviction, ‘I have been up all night, mulling the matter in the wake of this news. You must know the degree to which I have dabbled in intelligence.’

Blackwood stared for a moment at his visitor. ‘I’ve heard you’re a shrewd cove, Drinkwater …’

‘Not really, just grasping at straws in the wind, but experience tells me the wind has a direction and a force.’ Drinkwater paused and Blackwood smiled.

‘Eloquently put.’

‘D’you think Silly Billy knows I have had any connections with the Secret Department?’

‘I was indiscreet enough to tell him. He was curious to know why you were so long-toothed and still only had a thirty-two. He recollected you when I mentioned the taking of the
Suvorov
, but that only increased his curiosity. I told him you had been involved in secret operations and that your command of
Andromeda
was temporary and in honour of his own connections with your ship.’

‘Well, well. That was a flattering fib.’

‘Vanity is the one thing he has in common with Nelson.’

‘I shall remember that.’

‘Come then,’ Blackwood said at last, ‘you have convinced me. We should hesitate no longer. Let us go and rouse his Royal Highness from his intemperate slumbers.’

Once persuaded, Blackwood turned on his heel, but the alacrity with which he finally led Drinkwater below, proved a damp and fuming squib. Having passed word, couched with respectful deference, by way of His Royal Highness’s flag-lieutenant and thence his valet, that a matter of the utmost urgency had to be communicated to His Royal Highness’s person, Blackwood led Drinkwater into his own cabin where they took coffee.

It was clear to Blackwood that Drinkwater had much on his mind and found the wait intolerable; he therefore attempted to calm his visitor, remarking that, ‘although the Prince is not himself insistent upon any great ceremony, the damned boot-lickers in attendance upon the Royal Personage are confoundedly touchy upon the point. Of course,’ Blackwood added, ‘in the ordinary circumstances of a ceremonial task of this nature, none of it is of any great moment. Our present prevailing urgency however, is a different matter. But we will carry the day if we do not upset the tranquillity of the Royal Mind.’ Blackwood dabbed his mouth with a napkin, as though to purge the sarcasm.

‘On last night’s showing,’ Drinkwater responded, ‘I was not aware there was much of the Royal Mind to disturb.’

‘La, sir,’ Blackwood said, grinning, ‘all the more reason for treating it with respect.’

Drinkwater harrumphed and Blackwood forbore to make further small-talk. They were in fact not left kicking their heels for more than an hour. Lieutenant Colville, resplendent in full dress even at the early hour, commanded their presence in the
Impregnable
‘s great cabin.

Both officers bowed as the prince stepped from his night cabin, his red cheeks still shining from the ministrations of the razor and his shoulders shaking the heavy bullion epaulettes upon his shoulders.

‘So sorry to keep you gentlemen,’ the prince greeted them. ‘Pray join me to break your fasts,’ he added, waving to a table laid with splendidly fresh white linen and a selection of hot dishes. ‘The kedgeree is devilish good …’

Drinkwater caught Blackwood’s eye as he swept his coat-tails aside and sat down. Lieutenant Colville sat next to Drinkwater, a small scribbling tablet and pencil neatly laid beside him.

‘Now sir,’ the Prince boomed across the table as he spooned the kedgeree onto his plate, ‘what’s all this urgent nonsense about, eh?’ He fixed his popping eyes on Drinkwater and began to shovel the fish and rice into his mouth with a mechanical regularity. ‘Surely we all did our duty yesterday, eh what?’

‘Your Royal Highness, this is a matter of some delicacy …’ Drinkwater turned and looked pointedly at Lieutenant Colville. ‘The matter I have to discuss with you is confidential.’

The Royal Brow contracted and, with a small explosion of rice grains, His Royal Highness enquired bluntly, ‘What’s the matter with Lieutenant Colville?’

‘Well, nothing, Your Royal Highness,’ Drinkwater replied, smiling coldly at the flag-lieutenant whose expression was as outraged as he dared in the presence of two senior captains and an admiral who was also the king’s son. ‘Except that he is only
Lieutenant
Colville, sir, and therefore cannot, I beg your pardon sir, but
must not
be a party to what I have to say’

There was a moment’s stunned silence. The prince bent forward, fork and spoon poised over the partly ravaged though still substantial pile of food, and looked uncertainly from Drinkwater to Blackwood. Drinkwater noticed again the deference he paid to Blackwood, as though the captain’s good opinion mattered.

‘If I might say, sir,’ Blackwood chipped in quickly, ‘Captain Drinkwater’s news is properly for the ears of Government …’ The word was encapitalized in a significant emphasis by the flag-captain and Drinkwater stifled a grin.

‘Oh… Oh, quite! Quite!’ Further rice grains were ejaculated from the Royal Mouth. ‘Well Colville, off you go! Off you go! Go and take breakfast in the wardroom!’

There was pointed resentment in the scraping of Colville’s chair and he bestowed a look of pure contempt upon Captain Drinkwater as he stooped beneath the deck-beams and left the cabin.

‘Well Drinkwater, what’s all this nonsense about… ? Oh damn-and-hell-blast-it, Blackwood, be a good fellow and pass a bottle …’

As Colville had risen so had Blackwood, crossing the cabin to close the door communicating with the adjacent pantry and waving out the servant who stood discreetly out of sight but within calling. The Prince’s command came as he returned and Blackwood lifted an uncorked bottle of claret from the fiddles atop the sideboard.

‘Sir, you are aware of my former duties in connection with the Secret Department, are you not?’

‘Yes, yes. Barrow told me all about you, so did Sir Joseph Yorke and Blackwood here did the same. Your stock’s pretty damned high, so get on with it, eh? There’s a good fellow’

‘Very well, sir. Last night I received intelligence directly from a source well known to me …’

‘D’you mean a spy?’

‘No, I do not. From a person who has had intimate connections with Talleyrand and’, Drinkwater paused just long enough to encourage the prince to look up from his emptying plate, ‘Napoleon Bonaparte…’

Prince William Henry choked violently and snatched up the glass Blackwood had just filled with claret. Calming himself he wiped his mouth and face with a napkin and rumbled, ‘Bonaparte, d’ye say? Go on, sir, pray do go on.’

‘This person’s attachment to Bonaparte has been severed …’

‘Ah yes! Didn’t I tell you, Blackwood, they’d all come crawling on their damned bellies to save what they’ve made in the Corsican’s service! Didn’t I say as much, Blackwood? Didn’t I, damn it, eh?’

‘You did, sir.’

‘Aye. And I said as much to King Louis and the Duchesse d’Angoulême. Told ‘em not to trust any damned Bonapartist, well, well.’

‘The point is, sir,’ Drinkwater broke in, seizing the brief pause in His Royal Highness’s self-congratulation, ‘we shall have to trust what this person said, because if we don’t, we shall rue it.’

Drinkwater had expected further interjections by the prince, but he seemed content to listen and commanded Drinkwater impatiently to ‘go on, do go on’.

‘I have information that a plot has been matured in Paris that, consequent upon the Emperor Napoleon abdicating …’

‘Emperor? Emperor, sir? The man is no more than a damned general, General Bonaparte!’

‘General Bonaparte, Your Royal Highness, was elected Emperor of the French by plebiscite; he is moreover married to an Austrian Arch-duchess and is therefore still related to the Emperor of Austria. Whatever title he held and whatever title we ascribe to him now matters little, but I lay emphasis upon the point now to’, Drinkwater was about to say ‘remind,’ but the look in the prince’s narrowing eyes, made him change his mind. His sleepless night made him over bold and he came quickly to his senses, ‘to acquaint Your Royal Highness of the significance of what Bonaparte has relinquished by his instrument of abdication.’

‘He was beaten damn it, Drinkwater! Eh, what?’

‘Militarily yes, sir, but his ambition is unbeaten, for he abdicated not in favour of King Louis, but his own son. Moreover, his genius is undiminished.’

‘Very well, very well, but what is this to us? He is to be exiled, under guard, locked up as nearly as maybe, what. Yet you come here blathering of plots.’