'This will be all blotted with tears,' ran Sophie's, 'for although I shall try to make them fall to one side of my writing-desk, I am afraid some will drop on the paper, there are so many of them.' They had, indeed; the surface of the letter was mottled and uneven. 'Most of them are tears of pure undiluted happiness, for Captain Aubrey and I have come to an understanding—we are never to marry anyone else, ever! It is not a secret engagement, which would be very wrong; but it is so like one, that I fear my conscience must have grown sadly elastic. I am sure you can see the difference, even if no one else can. How happy I am! And how very, very kind you have been to me . . .' 'Yes yes, my dear,' said Stephen, skipping some prettily-detailed expressions of gratitude, some particularly obliging remarks, and a highly-detailed account of the interesting occasion when, becalmed off the Isle of Wight on a Saturday evening 'so warm and balmy, with the dear sailors singing on the forecastle and dancing to the squeaky fiddle, and Cecilia being shown the stars by Mr Dredge of the Marines', they came to their understanding in the cabin, 'yes, yes. Come to the point, I beg. Let us hear about these other tears.'
The point came on the back of page three. Mrs Williams had flown into a horrid passion on their return—had wondered what Admiral Haddock could possibly have been thinking about—was amazed that her daughter could so have exposed herself with a man known to be in difficulties—a fortune-hunter, no doubt—had Sophia no conception of her sacred duty to her mother—to a mother who had made such endless sacrifices?—Had she no idea of religion? Mrs Williams insisted upon an instant cessation of intercourse; and if that man had the impudence to call, he should be shown the door—not that Mrs Williams imagined he dared show his face on land. It was very well to go and capture this little French ship and get his name in the newspapers, but a man's first duty was to his creditors and his bank-account. Mrs Williams's head was not to be turned by these tales: none of her family had ever had their names in the newspapers, she thanked God, except for the announcement of their marriage in The Times. What kind of a husband would such a man make, always wandering off into foreign parts whenever the whim took him, and attacking people in that rash way? Some folk might cry up her precious Lord Nelson, but did Sophie wish to share poor Lady Nelson's fate? Did she know what a mistress meant? In any case, what did they know of Captain Aubrey? He might very well have liaisons in every port, and a large quantity of natural children. Mrs Williams was very far from well.
The tears had fallen thicker here by far: spelling and syntax had gone astray: two lines were blotted out. 'But I shall wait for ever, if need be,' was legible, and so was 'and I am sure, quite sure, that he will too.' Stephen sniffed, glanced at the lines that said 'she must hurry now, to catch the post,' smiled at the 'yours, very affectionately, Sophie,' and picked up Jack's letter. With an overwhelming yawn he opened it, lay down on the bed with the candle near the pillow, and focused his drooping eyes on the paper, 'Lively, at sea. September 12, '04. My dear Stephen . . .' September 12: the day Mendoza was in El Ferrol. He forced his eyes wide open. The lines seemed to crackle with life and happiness, but still they swam. 'Wish me joy!' Well, so I do, too. 'You will never guess the news I have to tell you!' Oh yes I shall, brother: pray do not use so many points of admiration. 'I have the best part of a wife!! viz, her heart!!' Stephen sniffed again. An intolerably tedious description of Miss Williams, whom Stephen knew a good deal better than Captain Aubrey—her appearance, virtues. 'So direct—straightforward—nothing hole in the corner, if you understand me—no damned purser's tricks—must not swear, however,—like a 32 Iber.' Could he really have likened Sophie to a thirty-two pounder? It was quite possible. How the lines did swim. 'He must not speak disrespectfully of his putative mother-in-law, but . . .' What did Jack imagine putative to mean? 'Would be perfectly happy if only . . . ship . . . join me at Falmouth . . . Portsmouth . . . convoy Madeira, the Cape Verdes! Coconut-trees! . . . must hurry not to miss the post.' Coconut-trees, immeasurably tall palms waving, waving . . . Deus ex machina.
He awoke in daylight from a deep uninterrupted sleep, feeling happy, called for coffee, buns and a dram of whisky, read their letters again, smiling and nodding his head, as he breakfasted, drank to their happiness, and took his papers from their oiled-silk roll. He sat at the table, decoding, drawing up his summary. In his diary he wrote, 'All happiness is a good: but if theirs is to be bought by years of waiting and perhaps disgrace, then even this may come too dear. JA is older than he was by far, perhaps as mature as it is in his nature to be; but he is only a man, and celibacy will never do for him. Ld Nelson said, Once past Gibraltar, every man is a bachelor. What will tropical warmth, unscrupulous young women, a fixed habit of eating too much, and high animal spirits accomplish? What a renewed fire, a renewed challenge from Diana? No, no. If no deus ex machina appears at this interesting juncture, the whole turns into a sad, sad, long-drawn-out, ultimately squalid tragedy. I have seen a long engagement, the dear knows. Yet as I understand it, Ld Melville is nearly down: in this trade there are facts he cannot reveal—he cannot defend himself, nor, consequently, his friends. NB I slept upwards of nine hours this night, without a single drop. This morning I saw my bottle on the chimneypiece, untouched: this is unparalleled.'
He closed his book, rang the bell, and said, 'Young gentlewoman, be so good as to call me a hackney-coach.' And to the coachman. 'The Horseguards' Parade.'
Here he paid the man, watched him drive off, and after a turn or two he walked quickly to a small green door that led to the back of the Admiralty.
There was lather still on Sir Joseph's pink jowls as he hurried in and begged Stephen to sit by the fire, to look at the paper, to make himself comfortable—victuals would be up directly—he would not be a moment. 'We have been most anxious for you, Dr Maturin,' he said, coming back, neat and trim. 'Mendoza was taken at Hendaye.'
'He had nothing on him,' said Stephen, 'and the only knowledge he could betray is already useless. Spain is coming into the war.'
'Ah,' said Sir Joseph, putting down his cup and looking at him very hard. 'It is a firm commitment?'
'It is. They are wholly engaged. That is why I ventured to call so late last night.'
'How I wish I had been here! How I cursed Windsor when the messenger met us just this side of Staines. I knew it must be something of the very first importance: the First Lord said the same.'
Stephen took his short statement from his pocket and said, 'An armament is fitting out in Ferrol, the ships of the San Ildefonso treaty: here is a list of the vessels. Those marked with a cross are ready for sea with six months' stores aboard. These are the Spanish regiments stationed in and about the port, with an appreciation of their commanding officers: I do not place great reliance upon the remarks in the case of those names that are followed by a mark of interrogation. These are the French regiments actually upon the march.' He passed the sheet
'Perfectly, perfectly,' said Sir Joseph, looking at it greedily—he loved a tabulated list, numbers, factual intelligence, rather than the usual vague impressions and hearsay. 'Perfect. This corresponds very closely to what we have from Admiral Cochrane.'
'Yes,' said Stephen. 'A little too perfect, maybe. Mendoza was an intelligent agent, but he was a paid agent, a professional. I do not vouch for it personally, although I think it highly probable. But what I do vouch for, and what induced me to reach you at the earliest possible moment, is the programme that has been settled between Paris and Madrid. Madrid has been under increasing pressure since July, as you know: now Godoy has yielded, but he refuses to declare until the treasure-ships reach Cadiz from Monte Video. Without this vast amount of specie Spain is very nearly bankrupt. The ships in question are frigates of the Spanish navy: the Medea, of forty guns, and the Fama, Clara, and Mercedes, all of thirty-four. The Fama is said to be an uncommon swift sailer; the others are well spoken of. The squadron is commanded by Rear-Admiral don José Bustamente, a capable and determined officer. The total value of the specie embarked at Monte Video was five million,
eight hundred and ten thousand pieces of eight. These ships are expected in Cadiz early in October, and once the news that the treasure is landed has reached Madrid, we are to expect a declaration of war, the Sarastro incident being the casus belli. Without this treasure Madrid will be so embarrassed that a rising in Catalonia, supported by the vessels now off Toulon, would have every likelihood of success.'
'Dr Maturin,' cried Sir Joseph, shaking his hand, 'we are infinitely obliged to you. It had to come, sooner or later, as we all knew—but to have the very moment, or something close to it . . .! There is still time to act. I must tell Lord Melville at once: he will certainly wish to see you. Mr Pitt must know immediately—oh, how I curse that Windsor visit—forgive me a moment.' He ran out of the room. Stephen at once took Sir Joseph's untasted coffee and poured it into his own cup.
He was drinking it still when Sir Joseph came back, discouraged. 'He is at that wretched inquiry: he will not be free for some hours, and every minute counts. However, I have sent a note . . . we must act at once. It is a cabinet decision, of course; but I have no doubt that we must act at once. God send the wind stays fair: the time is very short.'
'You intend a decisive action, I take it?'
'Certainly. I cannot answer for the cabinet, but if my advice is attended to, the bold stroke is the only one. Is it the morality of the thing that you refer to?' he asked with a smile.
'The morality of the thing is not my concern,' said Stephen. 'I present the state of fact, with the observation that action would greatly increase the chance of Catalan success. Tell me, how does the inquiry go?'
'Badly, very badly. You and I know that Lord M's hands are tied: he cannot in honour account for the secret funds, and his enemies, some of whom know this as well as we do, are taking full advantage of the situation. I must not say more, because I am an official.' He was indeed an official, a permanent official, one of the most powerful in the Admiralty; and every First Lord except St Vincent had followed his advice. He was also something of an entomologist, and when, after a pause, he said, 'What news from the other world, Dr Maturin?' Stephen recollected himself, felt in his bosom, and replied, 'Great news, sir. Bless me, I was so hurried I had almost forgot. The ingenious priest of Sant Marti found her, or him, or them, this summer. A little crushed, a little spoilt by the rain, but still recognizable.' Between the pages of his opened pocket-book lay a depressed Clouded Yellow, a genetic freak with both its starboard wings bright green, the others gold.
'A true gynandromorph!' cried Sir Joseph, bending over the creature. 'I have never see one in my life before. Perfectly male the one side, perfectly female the other. I am amazed, sir, amazed. This is almost as astonishing as your news.'
Butterflies, moths, the dubious privilege of having two sexes at once, and an aged clerk came in, whispered in Sir Joseph's ear, and tiptoed out.
'We shall know in half an hour or so. Dr Maturin, let me ring for some more coffee; it has gone down strangely.'
'If you please. Now, Sir Joseph, may I speak to you in an unofficial or at the most a semi-official way, about a naval friend of mine, in whom I am particularly interested?'
'By all means. Pray do.'
'I refer to Captain Aubrey. Captain John Aubrey.'
'Lucky Jack Aubrey? Yes, yes: he cut out the Fanciulla—a very creditable little action. But you know that perfectly well, of course—you were there!'
'What I should like to ask is, whether he has good prospects of employment.'
'Well,' said Sir Joseph, leaning back and considering. 'Well. I do not have a great deal to do with patronage or appointments: that is not my department. But I do know that Lord Melville has a regard for him, and that he intended to advance his interests in time; possibly in the command of a vessel now on the stocks. His recent promotion, however, was intended as a full reward for his past services; and perhaps he would be well advised to expect nothing but the occasional acting, temporary command for some considerable period. The pressure on patronage is very great, as you know. Then again, I am afraid it is all too likely that Lord M may have left us before the proposed command can, shall I say, eventuate; his successor may have other views; and if this is so, your friend's chances are—well . . .' He waved his hand. 'There are, I believe, a certain number of objections to set against his brilliant services: and he is unfortunate in his choice of a father. Are you acquainted with General Aubrey, my dear sir?'
'I have met the gentleman. He did not strike me as being very wise.'
'Every speech of his is said to be worth five votes to the other side; and he makes a surprising number of them. He has a tendency to address the House on subjects he does not quite understand.'
'It would be difficult for him to do otherwise, unless the Commons were to discuss the strategy of a fox-chase.'
'Exactly so. And naval affairs are his chief delight, alas. If there should be even a partial change of administration, his son is likely to be looked upon with a jaundiced eye.'
'You confirm all that I had supposed, Sir Joseph. I am obliged to you.'
They returned to their butterflies, to beetles—Sir Joseph had not attended to beetles as much as he could have wished—to a discussion of Cimarosa—an excellent performance of Le Astuzie Feminili at Covent Garden—Sir Joseph adjured Dr Maturin to hear it—he himself had heard it twice and would be going a third time tonight—charming, charming—but his eye kept wandering to a severe, accurate clock, and his defence of Cimarosa, though earnest, occupied no more than a quarter of his mind.
The aged clerk returned, ten years younger, skipping with excitement, handed a note, and darted out.
'We act!' cried Sir Joseph, ringing a number of bells. 'Now I must find the ships. Mr Akers, files A12 and 27 and the current dockets. Mr Roberts, copying-clerks and messengers to stand by. Dr Maturin, Lord Melville's compliments, his very particular compliments, and he begs the favour of a word with you at twenty minutes past eleven precisely. Now, my dear sir, will you accompany the squadron? A negotiation might prove possible; it would be better by far than the main forte.'
'I will. But I must not appear. It would destroy my value as an agent. Give me a gentleman who speaks Spanish, and I will speak through him. And may I say this? To deal with Bustamente you must send a powerful squadron—ships of the line—to allow him to yield with honour. An overwhelming force, or he will fight like a lion. These are frigates in high training, and, for Spain, high discipline: ships to be reckoned with.'
'I will attend to what you say, Dr Maturin. With the disposition of our fleets I promise nothing. Have you any further counsels or observations—one moment, Mr Robinson—or remarks?'
'Yes, sir. I have a. request to make—I have a favour to beg. As you are aware, I have accepted nothing, at any time, for what services I may have been able to perform, in spite of the Admiralty's very obliging insistence.'
Sir Joseph looked grave, but said he was sure that any request from Dr Maturin would receive the most sympathetic attention.
'My request is, that Captain Aubrey, in the Lively, should form part of the squadron.'
Sir Joseph's face cleared wonderfully. 'Certainly: I think I may promise that on my own responsibility,' he said. 'I believe Lord Melville would wish it: it may be the last thing he can do for his young friend. But is that all, sir? Surely, that cannot be all?'
'That is all, sir. You oblige me most extremely: I am deeply obliged to you, Sir Joseph.'
'Lord, Lord,' cried Sir Joseph, waving away the obligation with a file. 'Let me see: she has a surgeon, of course. I cannot in decency supersede him—besides, that would not answer. You must have a temporary rank—you shall go in her with a temporary rank, and join early in the morning. The full instructions will take some time to draw up—the Board must sit—but they will be ready by this evening, and you can go down with the Admiralty messenger. You will not object to travelling in the darkness?'
The rain was no more than a drizzle by the time Stephen came out into the park, but it was enough t
o prevent him from wandering among the bookstalls of Wych Street as he had intended, and he returned to the Grapes. There he sat in a high leather chair, staring at the fire, his mind ranging in many, many directions or sometimes merely turning on itself in a comfortable lethargy, until the grey daylight faded into a dim, unemphatic night, foggy and suffused with orange from the lamps outside. The coming of an Admiralty messenger aroused him from his delicious sense of inhabiting a body with indefinite, woollen bounds, and he realized that he had not eaten since his biscuit and madeira with Lord Melville.
He called for tea and crumpets, a large number of crumpets, and with candles lit on the table by his side, he read what the messenger had brought: a friendly note from Sir Joseph, confirming that the Lively should be sent and observing 'that in compliment to Dr Maturin he had given orders that the temporary commission should be modelled as closely as possible upon that granted to Sir J. Banks, of the Royal Society', which he hoped might give pleasure; the commission itself, an imposing document, entirely handwritten because of the rarity of its form, with Melville's signature smudged with haste; an official letter requesting and directing him to proceed to the Nore to join his ship forthwith; a later note from Sir Joseph to say that the instructions could not be ready until after midnight, begging his pardon for the delay, and enclosing a ticket for Le Astuzie Feminili—it might help Dr Maturin to pass the hours agreeably, and persuade him to do justice to Cimarosa, 'that amiable phoenix'
Sir Joseph was a wealthy man, a bachelor; he liked to do himself well; and the ticket was for a box, a small box high on the left-hand side of the house. It gave a better view of the audience and the band than the stage, but Stephen settled into it with a certain complacency; he leant his hands, still greasy from the crumpets, upon the padded edge and looked down at the groundlings—his fellows on almost every other occasion—with some degree of spiritual as well as physical loftiness. The house was filling rapidly, for the opera was much talked of, much in fashion, and although the royal box away on his right was empty, nearly all the others had people in them, moving about, arranging chairs, staring at the audience, waving to friends; and immediately opposite him there was a group of naval officers, two of whom he knew. Beneath him, in the pit, he recognized Macdonald with his empty sleeve pinned across his coat, sitting next to a man who must surely be his twin brother, they were so alike. There were other faces he knew: all London that attended to music seemed to be there, and some thousands that did not—an animated scene, a fine buzz of conversation, the sparkle of jewels; and now that most of the audience was thoroughly settled, the waving of fans.
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