“Speaking of rebellions, it seems that we left France just in time,” said Lord Winter, eyeing with some trepidation the pasty suet pudding sparsely dotted with raisins which had just been presented to the company by way of dessert.
“We did. The French are impounding British boats, including the mail packet. It would be difficult now to obtain a passage home,” said Sir Anthony absently. He was looking at a footman, who was heading in his direction. The man bent and whispered something to him. The baronet nodded, and the man left the room. “Although I doubt Louis is going so far as to arrest innocent tourists, as yet,” he continued. “He has not, after all, formally declared war on us.”
“I am sure that, no matter what the situation between France and England, Sir Anthony, you would have been unharmed,” said Lady Winter acidly, still piqued by his comment in the salon. “Your lady wife enjoying such…ah…cordial relations with King Louis.” She smiled sweetly at Beth, who smiled back, and prepared for war.
She was prevented from deploying her weapons by the surprise entrance of Duncan in full livery, who approached Sir Anthony with the deference befitting a servant, and handed him a paper, which that man scanned with a neutral expression, before nodding and dismissing his employee.
“Is it bad news, Sir Anthony?” asked Isabella. It was unusual for a servant to interrupt a dinner party, unless it was important.
“No. Well, yes, a little. It concerns a friend of mine from my university days, who is ill. I have been awaiting news of his health, and told my man to bring any message from him to me immediately.”
“And is his health then deteriorating?” asked Clarissa.
“It seems so, although not as rapidly as I had feared,” replied the baronet, folding the missive and putting it in his pocket. “But if you have no objections, Elizabeth and I will leave directly the meal is over. I would like to get an early start in the morning, and go to visit him. I could not possibly contemplate a long journey and a possibly traumatic visit, without a good night’s sleep. My nerves are already shattered from my experiences in Paris. You will understand, of course.” He smiled around the table.
Of course they all understood, except Beth, who knew what the message was about and was expecting Sir Anthony’s friend to have deteriorated dramatically, not merely a little, and thought to make a two mile journey to Blackwall, not a long one. She made her farewells casually with no sense of urgency, as did her husband, who paused to exchange a few quiet words with the earl, before, to Beth’s utter frustration, offering Thomas and Lydia a lift home, as it was on the way. He chatted merrily with Thomas, while Beth seemed to give her full attention to praising Lydia’s hairstyle, which was one of Sarah’s confections, while her mind raced through the possible implications of the letter.
They had barely entered the house before she pounced.
“What’s happened?” she said, beside herself. “Are the French at Blackwall?”
“No,” said Alex, throwing his coat to Duncan, and his wig on the chair in the hall. The others had all been listening for the coach, and were waiting to hear the news. “I dinna ken what’s happened, but it’s no’ the invasion. Something’s wrong, but it doesna seem urgent. Foley’s in Tilbury.”
“D’ye want me to go, and find out what’s happening?” Angus asked, his eyes alight.
“I’ll come with you,” Duncan said without waiting for Alex’s reply.
“No,” countermanded Alex. “That is, ye can both come, but I’m going, too.” He looked at Beth’s disappointed face. “Wear something plain and practical,” he said to her. “And cover your hair. It’s your most distinctive feature.”
They rode through the night, arriving in Tilbury the following morning, and were shown into the dimly lit cellar from which Gabriel Foley was temporarily conducting his business. The bull-like man was dishevelled, and had obviously slept in his clothes, but his eyes were alert as he surveyed the visitors, two of whom were unknown to him.
“Mr. Foley,” said Alex. “I came as fast as I could.”
“There was no need to rush, although there are things you need to know,” Foley replied carefully.
“Ye ken Jim,” Alex said. “And this is Murdo, another friend of mine, and a trusted one.” Duncan smiled briefly at the smuggler, who assessed him before moving on to the other stranger. Beth stepped forward into the light, and his eyes widened appreciatively at sight of the startlingly beautiful young woman in the travel-stained, faded brown woollen dress.
“Mrs. Abernathy,” she said by way of introduction. “I have heard a great deal about you, Mr Foley. I’m delighted to meet you, at last.” She held out her hand. He took it and she grasped and shook it firmly, before he could raise it to his lips. He was shrewd, recognising what she was saying by this; she knew about him, therefore her husband trusted her. And she did not want Gabriel Foley to treat her as a feeble woman.
“I thought it time you became acquainted with my wife, Gabriel,” Alex said. “You may well have to deal with me through her, if I am otherwise occupied.”
She endured Foley’s scrutiny calmly. After a moment he nodded, then turned away.
“Sit down. You must all be tired. Fetch some bread, cheese and ale,” he called to the shadows. One of them took shape, became a man and left the room. The MacGregors distributed themselves on various items of illicit merchandise, and waited. “We have to be careful,” the smuggler said. He sounded tired. “There are dragoons scattered along the coast, waiting to arrest anyone suspicious. That’s why I’m here rather than at the Hope. But I can ride there in less than a day, if the French fleet’s sighted.” The food arrived. They ate, gratefully.
“It’s miscarrying,” Gabriel said suddenly, and swore, expressively, something he would never normally do in the presence of a woman. Beth was gratified.
“What’s happened?” said Alex calmly.
“I’m sorry. I’m frustrated. And angry. Very angry,” said Gabriel. “I’ll start at the beginning. You all know what’s been arranged?”
“They know everything I do,” Alex said.
“Well, then. It was decided that a man we’ll call ‘Mr Red’ was to gather together the English pilots with special knowledge of the waters around Dunkirk and sail there to join the French. Except that the bloody stupid so-called leaders panicked when they heard that all the Jacobites are being arrested, and decided in their cowardice that English pilots couldn’t be trusted not to give them away. So they sent Mr Red to France with instructions to pick up some suitable pilots in the Picardy ports.”
“That could work,” said Duncan. “They’ll ken the waters as well as the English pilots, if not better.”
“Yes, it could work. But there was a problem.”
“What’s that?” asked Beth, chewing steadily. She hadn’t eaten anything since the indigestible meal of the previous evening, and was starving.
“They insisted Red go alone, none of the rest of us being worthy of trust,” Foley continued, his beefy fists clenching. “Overlooking the small but significant fact that Mr Red speaks only English, and as they didn’t tell the French of their change of plan, no one was looking out for him. Can you believe it? He’s just arrived back after spending three days looking for, and failing to find, the prince or any of the English contacts who had no idea he was there. It’s like a bloody stage farce.”
“Except it’s no’ funny,” Alex said. “What possessed Mr. Red to agree to go to France alone, if he canna speak the language?”
“I have no idea,” said Foley. “The man’s a bloody idiot. The problem is that I’m now waiting to guide a French fleet up the Thames, which has no one to guide it from Dunkirk to the Hope. I’d go myself, except I’m not familiar enough with the tides in that part of France. I usually operate from Calais. I’ve not come to the worst of it, yet, though.”
“It gets worse than this?” Angus said.
“It does. Rumour now has it that Louis is contemplating abandoning the whole venture, putting the blame on P
rince Charles for riding to Paris and giving the game away to the British.”
“Christ, maybe I should have knocked him on the head and dragged him back to Rome, after all,” said Angus. Gabriel looked at him with curiosity.
“Jim rode to try to stop the prince coming to France, but met him en route and ended up accompanying him to Paris instead,” Alex explained. “It’s no’ Charlie’s fault. A spy at Louis’ court has handed the invasion plans to the British. If Louis decides to blame the prince, it’s because he’s changed his mind and is looking for an excuse to back out without losing face.”
“Why would he do that?” asked Beth.
“There could be all manner of reasons,” said Alex. “Maybe he thinks he canna win, now the element of surprise is gone. Or maybe his ministers have convinced him that he’d be better concentrating all his forces in Flanders and Germany. It’s never easy to tell what a devious bastard like Louis is thinking.”
“Whatever he’s thinking, it’s not going to help if at the slightest hint of danger, all Charles’s so-called supporters run for the hills in panic,” said Gabriel disgustedly.
“Yet you’re still here,” Duncan said quietly, from the nest he had made in some burlap sacks. He had the ability to look relaxed and at home, wherever he was and whatever his true feelings.
“Yes, I am, Murdo. I’m not so easily scared, and neither are my men. I don’t need to see James actually crowned before I come out to support him, like most of the English seem to, God rot them,” Gabriel replied. “And I don’t pay heed to rumours, although I listen to them. I’ll not return to Hastings until I’m sure I won’t be needed. The weather’s getting up, though, which won’t help the French chances of sailing.”
“What do we do now?” Beth asked. They all looked at Alex.
“We gang away hame,” he said simply. “I’ve been neglecting certain of my acquaintance of late. I think it’s time I remedied that. I’ll send ye word, Gabriel, when I have anything of interest to report.”
“Would one of the acquaintances you’ve been neglecting be the Earl of Highbury, by any chance?” Beth asked as they rode home. She was exhausted. They had spent the daylight hours hidden in the basement room, where Alex, Duncan and Angus had shown themselves to be true Highlanders by throwing themselves down on a few sacks and going instantly to sleep, ears attuned to pay heed only to sounds which represented danger. Whereas Beth had tossed and turned on her makeshift bed of sacks and a horse blanket, kept awake by the comings and goings of the smugglers and now cursing the fact that Gabriel had clearly taken it that she wanted to be treated like a man in every respect. A woman would surely have normally been offered a more comfortable resting place.
“No, it wouldna. It was Geordie I was thinking of,” said Alex. “Why do you say that?” He veered expertly to the left as her horse nudged his side. “Will ye pay heed to your riding, Beth? Ye’ll have us off the road.”
“Sorry,” she said tiredly, pulling on the reins. “The earl said he knew you well, but you’ve never mentioned that you were a friend of his. And you engineered it so that I had to go into dinner with him. Why was that?”
He grinned.
“I thought ye’d noticed that,” he said. “Aye, he’s a friend, but I dinna see him often. I help him keep an eye on his son, on occasion. He knew I’d married, and was interested in meeting you. Particularly as ye’d captivated Daniel before me.”
“Hmm,” said Beth. “Is he a friend of Sir Anthony, or Alex?”
Alex looked at her.
“He is probably the best friend Sir Anthony has,” he said. “Now will ye stop your blethering, woman, and look to your horse?”
After a while he gave up, and leaning over, hoisted her across onto his saddle and settled her in front of him, giving the care of her horse to Angus. Too tired to object, she drew comfort from the warmth of his body and his arm wrapped securely round her waist and after a while, lulled by the steady motion of the horse, she relaxed back into his chest, and slept.
It took several days to secure an audience with his Imperial Majesty King George the Second, or ‘yon wee German lairdie,’ as he was more frequently and irreverently called in the MacGregor household. The aim was to find out as much information as possible about what was happening in France, and Beth was warned to keep her temper no matter how rudely she was treated by George.
“Your job,” said Alex, “is to occupy Prince William, who is likely to also be there, while I re-establish my rapport wi’ Georgie.”
“How do you advise me to do that?” she asked.
“Oh, I dinna ken. Use your feminine wiles. Ye did well enough last time. He was very impressed by you.”
“He wanted to have sex with me,” Beth said bluntly. “So, you want me to seduce Cumberland then, while you chat with George and discover what the British are up to?” she said.
“Christ, no! I’ll throttle ye, an ye do that,” he growled. “No, keep him talking. Let him flirt wi’ ye, a wee bit, if he wants. A very wee bit,” he added warningly.
Which put Beth in the enviable position of having to appear flattered whilst a man she found physically repulsive and had formed an instinctive antipathy towards, flirted with her, while her jealous husband glowered at her from the corner, and then no doubt took her to task for every gesture he found inappropriate when they got home. Wonderful. She couldn’t wait.
In the event, she was not treated rudely by George. She was not treated at all, but completely ignored. And Sir Anthony had no need to re-establish his rapport, having hardly completed his bow before being seized by the arm by the king.
“Ah, mein freund, ich habe heute sehr gute Nachrichten bekommen! Komm, ich zeige dir!” And so saying, he dragged his friend off to the same large table she had seen on their last visit, still covered with maps and diagrams, although they were presumably not the same ones as last time, the geographical location of the current conflict differing from the previous one.
Prince William, Duke of Cumberland was, as expected, present, clad in beige, his jewelled waistcoat buttons straining over his stomach. He slid smoothly to her side the moment her husband had left it.
“Do you speak German, Lady Elizabeth?” he asked.
“No, I have not that privilege, Your Highness,” she replied.
“We have received excellent news this very morning, regarding the situation with the French. Are you aware of what is happening?” he said.
Beth adjusted quickly to the fact that every comment was going to be addressed to her breasts, whose outline was clearly visible through the rose silk bodice of her court gown, in spite of the lace fichu that she had employed to cover her cleavage.
“I think everyone in the country must be aware of the terrible threat posed by the perfidious French invasion,” she said. Was that too much? Apparently not. The duke laughed. His chin wobbled. His belly shook. She reflected on the fact that he was the same age as Prince Charles. She stopped her lip from curling.
“A threat no more, madam,” he said. “But I will not bore you with tedious news of war. Would you care to take a stroll in the gardens? The weather is not inclement.”
Sir Anthony lifted his head from the map he was perusing and shook his head minutely, although Beth had not been going to agree, anyway.
“I do not find news of war tedious, Your Highness,” she replied. “What has happened? Or is it confidential?”
“No. It is not yet publicly known, but will be as soon as we have rounded up any of the remaining Jacobites waiting on the coast for the French to arrive.”
Oh, God. This was going to be worse than she had envisaged, for reasons she had not envisaged.
“Do not keep me in suspense, I beg you,” she pleaded, smiling coquettishly.
“Very well.” He smiled, laying his podgy hand on her arm and moistening his red lips with his tongue. “The French are defeated. A report has arrived this morning from Admiral Matthews. It has been known for some time of course, that the French had assembled a
nd provisioned a fleet at Dunkirk under Saxe, and another at Brest, under Roquefeuil. On the eighth, Roquefeuil’s fleet was sighted by Matthews, who gave chase and managed, in spite of the storm that was rising, to get within three guns’ shot of them by dusk. The following morning he set off to engage them, with Rear-Admiral Rowley leading the van, but he realised after a short time that the French had no intention of doing battle.”
“The cowards!” exclaimed Beth.
“No, madam, their intention was to draw us away, and so leave the way open for Saxe to cross the Channel and invade, by way of the Thames, most likely. Once he realised this, Rowley then gave up chasing the French, and instead engaged the Spanish, who were supporting the French, under Admiral Navarro. The Spanish had some excellent gunners, I must admit, and they shot mainly at the masts and rigging of our ships to disable them, with the result that only nine of our men were killed, and some forty or so wounded… do you find this tedious?” He stopped.
“No, not, at all!” Beth cried, searching for the right words. “How could I find the deeds of our brave men tedious? And you explain it in such plain terms, so that even I can understand! Please continue.”
“If you are sure…the Spanish were defeated, and we managed to take one of their ships, although we could do nothing with it, as all its masts were destroyed. Rowley engaged three of the French ships, but most of them kept their distance. During the night the French succeeded in recapturing the Spanish ship, although they still would not engage.” Cumberland’s eyes were sparkling, and Beth could see him running through the complex manoeuvres of the ships, even as he simplified it for her. He was a born soldier, that was clear, enthralled by war. He had even forgotten to speak to her bosom. “The following morning we set to chasing the French again, recapturing and firing the Spanish ship, but we could not catch them, and the weather was so bad by then that the admiral had to put into Port Mahon. Are you still following me, Lady Elizabeth?”
The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3) Page 4