by David McDine
Anson folded his arms and stood his ground. He hated making scenes and was beginning to regret that he had made a stand from which it would be difficult to extract himself without losing face. But the clerk’s attitude had riled him.
‘Very well,’ the man snarled. ‘You’re holding up the mail business and you leave me no choice.’ And he flounced off to where a couple of large men in uniforms were lounging beside the sorting desks.
Now acutely conscious of the muttering in the queue behind him and sensing that his stand was not going to end well, Anson decided that discretion was called for, abandoned his quest and abruptly turned and marched off towards the door.
He had only taken a few steps when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, expecting to see the security men about to take him in hand, he was astonished to see a familiar face.
‘Nat Bell! Why, you’re the very man I came to find, only that damned counter hugger gave me short shrift. The cretin annoyed me and was about to set the beadles on me, so I decided to abort my mission.’
Bell guffawed. ‘Good to see you, Mister Anson, ain’t it? Take no notice of them desk monkeys, sir. They’re just jumped-up pen pushers, too big for their boots, they are.’
He gave the offending clerk a piercing stare. The man shrugged and went back to his counter while the two burly guardians resumed their lounging.
Bell explained: ‘I’ve been orf fer a couple of days wiv this ’ere cold, but I’m just about t’go back on duty. The Portsmouth run again, but I ’ad business ’ere first, rosters and suchlike, so the driver’s bringing the coach round from the Angel and I got a bit of time to spare.’
*
In a nearby coffee house, they filled each other in with details of what they had been up to since the dramatic events of the fleet mutinies.
Anson gave a watered-down account of the part he played in helping bring the Nore mutiny to an end, his capture during the cutting out expedition in Normandy, taking command of his Sea Fencible detachment and being wounded on Nelson’s Boulogne raid.
Nevertheless, Bell was impressed. ‘Gor blimey, you navy men don’t ’alf get up to some stunts! Make’s a mail guard’s life look ’umdrum! I’m gettin’ fed up with the life meself, but don’t know what I’d do if I gave up guarding.’
‘That’s two of us,’ Anson admitted ruefully. ‘Now that peace has broken out it’ll be life on the beach on half pay for me, no promotion — nothing.’
‘So what will yer do?’
Anson rolled his eyes. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. I’m not trained for anything but the sea. I’d be totally useless at anything else.’
‘I dunno. You made a pretty good fist of mail guarding!’
‘Kind of you to say so, but after being wounded at Boulogne I wouldn’t have the stamina to lurch about on top of a coach, even supposing the mail would take me on.’
‘You’re too good fer it anyway,’ Bell assured him. ‘There’s got t’be other fings someone like you could do.’
‘To tell the truth Nat, there’s nothing else I want to do right now, except perhaps take a long holiday to recover before war breaks out again, as I feel certain it will.’
‘Yeah, why not take a ’oliday?’
‘Well, I do have something rather special in mind and it could involve you if you want. That’s why I was seeking you out.’
‘What might that be?’
‘I don’t want to say until I’ve discussed it with friends. If they don’t like the idea it’s a dead duck before it starts. But if we do go ahead, I’ll get in touch and see if you want to be part of it.’
‘Wiv you involved, sir, I’d volunteer like a shot, whatever it is.’
Anson was delighted. ‘Jot down where I can contact you — ideally not via that damned counter clerk! Then I’ll get in touch when the time comes.’
Back outside the General Post Office the crowd of sightseers had thickened.
Bell explained: ‘There’s more’n 20 mail coaches turn up ’ere every evenin’ and these daft buggers come to gawp at ’em comin’ and goin’, rain or shine. Can’t see the attraction meself.’
They parted amiably, with Anson promising to be in touch when the time came, and after collecting his baggage at the Angel he set off to call on the Admiralty before taking the stage coach down to Kent.
20
The Admiralty
Making his way to Whitehall, Anson crossed the cobbled courtyard trodden by so many of his naval heroes past and present, strode purposefully up the steps and entered that holy of naval holies — the Admiralty.
Intercepted by one of the fearsome porters, he stated his business and was directed to the infamous waiting room where generations of sea officers, including him, had been left to stew and fret while awaiting their fate.
There were a few other supplicants nervously awaiting the summons that would almost inevitably confirm that there was no sea-going berth available for them, condemning them to remain on the beach on half pay.
But to his surprise, Anson did not have long to wait for his summons. All the waiting officers looked up expectantly as the porter appeared at the door and announced: ‘Lieutenant Anson!’
He rose to his feet and hastened after the messenger, noting the knowing nods exchanged by the other petitioners. His surname could still open doors, even though he was only a very distant kinsman, many times removed, of Admiral Lord Anson.
Captain Arthur Wallis greeted him warmly. The taking of the Normandy privateer and Anson’s participation in Nelson’s Boulogne raid ensured him of a good reception.
‘Ah, Anson! Very good to see you. And you’re much recovered from your wounds, I hope? Bad business that, but you will have heard that we’ve got shot of the man responsible for the debacle? That idiot Hoare is now cooling his heels in the Isles of Scilly and will stay there until we can get rid of him without attracting unwelcome attention from the politicians and the gutter press.’
‘I am aware, sir, although I don’t know how the Admiralty learned the truth about him. It was certainly not from me. Anyway, may I say how delighted I am that Captain Armstrong has replaced him as divisional captain of the Sea Fencibles? He’s a most deserving officer and morale has shot up since he was appointed.’
Wallis nodded enthusiastically. ‘Good, good! We Whitehall warriors sometimes get it right, you know. I may as well tell you that you were also in line for promotion — to commander.’
Anson was somewhat taken aback ‘Promotion, me? You astonish me, sir. I thought I’d have to wait to fill dead men’s shoes.’
‘Look Anson, what you did to help bring the Nore mutiny to an end has not been forgotten, nor has the taking of the privateer and your services at Boulogne. Why, if that had been a success you would quite possibly have been made post then and there.’
‘Kind of you to say so, sir.’
Wallis massaged his forehead with his fingers and sighed. ‘But I fear this peace agreement has thrown a spanner in the works. Our political masters can’t wait to run the army and navy down.’
‘I feared as much, sir.’
‘Yes, and the Sea Fencibles are the first to go, along with the army’s volunteer battalions. You’re required to disband pretty well forthwith and I am afraid Armstrong will be back on half pay, along with many whose ships will be laid up for the duration. So I fear your promotion will have to be put on hold for the foreseeable future.’
Anson smiled wanly.
‘But you’re not the only one whose career is affected...’
‘Like many other mere lieutenants?’
‘Not only lieutenants. Here at the Admiralty with an ear to the ground we tend to know well in advance what our future holds. I was in line for a squadron, but now I’m likely to be put out to grass. The best I can expect is to be yellowed.’
Like all sea officers, Anson was familiar with the promotion ladder. For senior post-captains like Wallis the achievement of flag rank was automatic and in normal times his next step would be promotion to rear-admira
l of the blue squadron.
But peace meant fewer sea-going commands, so now he could expect to receive only a nominal promotion to the rank of ‘rear-admiral without distinction of squadron’. So in reality, promotion as rear-admiral of the non-existent ‘yellow squadron’ was thinly-disguised retirement.
Anson was sympathetic. He rated Wallis highly and knew that the kudos of such a meaningless elevation and an end to his career would rankle.
‘I am extremely sorry to hear that, sir. So we’ll both be without a job?’
‘Well, not necessarily in your case, Anson. Despite the unfortunate outcome, you did well in that mission over the other side with what’s-his-name — that French royalist...’
‘Lieutenant Hurel.’
‘Yes, if only the intelligence you gathered had been acted upon, but that was Hoare’s fault, not yours. Anyway, Colonel Redfearn, who as you know looks after intelligence matters on the invasion coasts, appears to think you are God’s gift and wants to continue using your services during the peace.’
Anson was pleasantly surprised. ‘I had assumed I’d go on half pay like the rest, sir.’
‘No, if you agree you will remain on full pay and carry out any tasks he may have for you, but covertly, mind. The Channel ports are full of inquisitive eyes and ears, no doubt many of them only too willing to keep the French well informed, whether for ideological reasons, or simply for money. It would be ill-advised to say the least for you to become labelled...’
‘As a spy?’
‘Precisely. So chew it over Anson, and go and see him at Dover Castle. He’ll tell you what he’d like you to do and you can make up your mind one way of another.’
‘I will, sir, and it could be that a venture I have in mind might suit his book.’
21
Happy Reunions
Leaving the coach at the turning off the London to Dover road that led to Ludden, Anson walked slowly down the lane, perspiring from the effort of carrying his dunnage. It was a reminder that he had still not fully recovered from his Boulogne wounds and the knifing he had received at the hand of MacIntyre.
He turned into the Ludden Hall driveway and was thrilled to see a young woman in a bonnet sitting in the arbour beside the small lake.
But as he got closer he was astonished to find that it was not Parkin’s niece Cassandra, but his own sister Elizabeth, sketchbook on her knee, evidently drawing the moorhens cruising the lake.
‘Good grief! Elizabeth! What on earth are you doing here?’
She smiled and patted the bench beside her.
*
After hearing how Elizabeth had come to be staying with the Parkins, Anson quickly worked out what was behind it and asked: ‘I assume our father engineered this as a way of seeking a reconciliation with me?’
She smiled. ‘No doubt. He knew we have always got along better together than with Gussie and Anne, so I think he arranged for me to come to Ludden in the hope that I’d entice you back into the bosom of the family.’
‘And you’re comfortable with that role?’
‘Not at all. Well, as father would say, “Blessed are the peacemakers” and I’m quite sure that was why he engineered my visit. But I know about them trying to marry you off to Charlotte Brax and I’m glad you resisted them. She’s an extremely scary person and you would have been dreadfully unhappy.’
‘Nevertheless, you were willing to intercede?’
‘In no way. You are your own man, Oliver, and I know you’ll do whatever you decide to do, but, you see, it gave me the opportunity to escape the rectory myself and anyway, I wanted to get to know Cassandra.’
‘Escape?’
‘Yes, since I met Commander Armstrong...’
‘Captain now,’ he corrected her.
‘Of course. I heard from Cassandra that he had been promoted. Anyway, that visit to Fairlight brought home to me that there was more to life than the rectory and parish affairs. Such an exciting day!’
She smiled at the recollection of Amos Armstrong showing her around his cliff-top signal station and spotting a French privateer with his telescope.
‘Anyway, now that Anne’s marrying that awful Podmore fellow, you know, the vicar of Nether Siberton, it will only be a matter of time before mother and Gussie try to marry me off to some other clergyman, and for me that would be a fate worse than death.’
Anson nodded sympathetically. Elizabeth, although she had hardly ever been allowed out of the cloistered, claustrophobic atmosphere of the rectory, was more like him than any other member of the family. And neither were what he called ‘God-botherers’.
He asked: ‘You’ve taken a shine to Armstrong?’
She blushed and nodded shyly.
‘Well, I sense the attraction’s mutual. He’s forever asking after you and now you’re here there’s every chance that you’ll meet up with him again soon.’
Elizabeth’s eyes shone at the thought.
‘But now, if you please, let’s put family matters aside. It’s been a while since I saw Josiah and his niece, and I’d very much like to rectify that.’
*
He found Cassandra in the dining room with cook, planning menus. ‘Mister Anson... Oliver, how very good to see you!’ Clearly taken by surprise and somewhat flustered, she turned to the cook. ‘That will be all for now, Mrs Dodman, but as you can see, there’ll be one more at dinner.’
‘Then we’ll be needing more vegetables. Mister Anson likes his veg, he does.’
Waiting until the cook left, Cassandra smiled at Anson — and he could have sworn he noticed a slight blush on her cheeks.
‘Uncle Josiah told me you had returned, but then run away to sea again!’
‘But as you may have heard, peace has broken out and here I am, cast up on the shore once again.’
‘And a most welcome castaway you are. You know that Elizabeth’s here?’
‘I was astonished to find her at Ludden Hall. I saw her at the lake, sketching moorhens, and gather that she’s another member of the Anson family to be inflicted on you, like me.’
‘Pah! She is most welcome. As my uncle’s so fond of telling people, we country mice see very few visitors and already she’s brightened up our dull existence and become a firm friend. She’s far more agreeable than my cousins.’
‘And now you have me to put up with too...’
She took his hand. ‘Nonsense, I am happier than I can say to have you both here. Please don’t rush off again this time.’
‘I promise.’
‘And by the by, is there any chance now we’re at peace that the gallant Mister Armstrong can be prevailed upon to visit us here at Ludden? Elizabeth talks about no-one else and she would be so thrilled if he were to join us. She and I would be able to chaperone one another. What fun we’d have!’
*
Anson sought Parkin and found him in his study, poring over the Reverend Gilbert White’s A Natural History of Selborne.
‘Ah, Oliver, you’re back. Welcome. You must tell me all about your voyage in your old ship. But first, tell me, were you aware that the swift is the only bird that can mate on the wing? Extraordinary, isn’t it? Even in my younger days I found it tricky enough to attempt procreation on the ground let alone at altitude!’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, yes, singular birds, swifts — ancient and mysterious creatures. Some call them “the devil’s bird” because of their inaccessibility and others believe they hibernate in the mud below ponds. Gilbert White himself paid labourers to dig up likely places to see if he could find any, but he didn’t of course. My theory is that they migrate south in winter.’
‘I confess that knowledge of avian mating habits has not come to my notice, possibly on account of spending so much of the past decade trying to avoid being killed off by the French. That’s tended to get in the way somewhat.’
Parkin, having grown used to Anson’s gunroom humour, chuckled and asked: ‘But you have come to see me, evidently, and here I am bombarding you
with trivia. Is there something you wish to discuss?’
‘There is, and it concerns your banking experience.’
‘If it’s about investing your prize money, I’m very much afraid that I am far from current...’
‘Well, I learned at Portsmouth that I am due a substantial sum, but this is not about investing it. No, I want to ask if you will kindly use your banking expertise to arrange for a substantial part of it to be transferred to my father’s account.’
‘So you are still of a mind to repay the allowance you received from him?
‘I am, and what with the sale of the privateer and some unexpected extra money from Gibraltar I have enough to pay back every penny.’
‘Knowing him from meetings of the county antiquarian society, I deduce he is by no means grasping when it comes to money — and don’t you think it will hurt him to have the allowance thrown back in his face, as it were?’
‘I realised only recently that it came from tithe money squeezed out of the farmers and smallholders who can ill afford to give a tenth of what they earn, through the sweat of their brows, to the church.’
Parkin raised his eyebrows quizzically. ‘But giving the money back to your father won’t help them, will it?’
‘I hope it will. You see, I intend to write to my father explaining why I’m returning the money and suggesting that he might consider using it for the good of the poor of his parish.’
Parkin was somewhat taken aback. ‘Well, that would be a most honourable, creditable gesture, yet no more than I would have expected of you. But from what you’ve told me I don’t imagine it will find favour with your mother and brother.’
He shook his head. ‘Frankly I don’t care what they think of it. They are the ones who caused the rift in our family. One day, perhaps, I will become reconciled with my father, but not with my mother and Gussie.’
‘But if you repay the allowance will there be anything left of your prize money windfall?’
‘Enough to keep the sharks from the raft for the immediate future at least.’