Spies & Subterfuge
Published by Tyche Books Ltd.
www.TycheBooks.com
Copyright © 2014 Christopher Hoare
First Tyche Books Ltd Edition 2014
Smashwords Edition 2014
Print ISBN: 978-1-928025-14-6
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-928025-15-3
Cover Art by Alexey Tretyakov
Cover Layout by Lucia Starkey
Interior Layout by Ryah Deines
Editorial by M. L. D. Curelas
Author photograph by deJourden’s Photo.graphics Ltd; Lethbridge
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage & retrieval system, without written permission from the copyright holder, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third party websites or their content.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this story are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead would be really cool, but is purely coincidental.
This book funded in part by a grant from the Alberta Media Fund.
Dedication
With my thanks to all who have made my writing readable; my wife, Shirley, who is always the first reader and set of eyes looking for my errors and omissions; my fellow writers and critiquers at the Crowsnest Novel Writers' Group; my publisher and her staff for adding all those quality bits; friends who helped with sources of research; and everyone else who has read, edited and commented on my work over the years; and to all of you followers of all things steam, I dedicate this work to you all.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
About the Author
Chapter One
Frigate Preparing for War
Roberta and Lieutenant Farley joined Captain Bell in the great cabin after Commander Worthington and his crewmen departed and the officers and petty officers went back to their regular duties making the frigate ready to go to sea. “I believe you have a letter for me, from their Lordships of the Admiralty,” Captain Bell said as his servant closed the door behind himself.
“From the First Lord, Captain,” Roberta answered, producing the letter and handing it across the table.
Bell’s eyebrows lifted as he took it from her. “You bear it from the First Lord personally, Miss Stephenson? You are acquainted?”
“Viscount Melville was gracious enough to accept me as a house guest in Admiralty House while I was engaged in Naval business at the Thames shipyards. I do not pretend any closer relationship with the First Lord and his family other than that which facilitated the Admiralty’s acquisition of further vessels to the Spiteful’s design, Captain.”
“I see,” Captain Bell said as he broke the seal on the letter. “You are, however, familiar with the contents?”
“Lieutenant Farley and myself have been given the same instructions as I understand you will read in the letter.”
The sounds in the cabin stilled enough that the voices of the crew working in the rigging were audible while Captain Bell read. At the end he sat back to regard them curiously. “You are both expected to go ashore in enemy territory?”
Lieutenant Farley spoke while Roberta’s mind still wrestled with the thought of fulfilling Lord Bond’s plans. “I will have the duty of going ashore to carry new information to our English agents already in the Low Countries, Captain. I believe Miss Stephenson will only come as far as is necessary to securely introduce me to a local agent through whom I must locate our people.”
“I see,” Captain Bell muttered, his forehead wearing a frown. “You are the Lieutenant Farley who lost the gun brig Marigold on the Goodwin Sands, I believe. Is this a penance?”
Lieutenant Farley smiled. “Not quite, Captain, but I felt it an honour to so serve my country while the Court Martial was being convened. A major part of my task will be to protect Miss Stephenson while we are engaged in this espionage.”
Captain Bell regarded the two of them and shook his head. “I suppose the greater part of this subterfuge is beyond the scope of my questioning, but the First Lord lays quite unusual and grave duties upon me, should the situations so arise, that I must wonder what great peril threatens to require such extremities. I understand from Commander Worthington that you are a very talented nautical surveyor, Miss Stephenson. Even responsible for the creation of the Spiteful, which fills all who see her with such astonishment.”
“I am, Sir, but I can tell you that the Spiteful and her sisters are not the only part of their Lordships’ plans for the defence of these Islands. The information being sought in the Low Countries even now is essential for us to be able to counter another, more dangerous, French plan. My presence aboard Medusa is partly concerned with evaluating what has been learned when Lord Bond’s vessel Nederlander brings the information out to the squadron.”
“I see. His Lordship requires me to accede to any requests that Lord Bond might charge upon me—even to the point of covertly sending a ship and crew far into enemy waters. I believe such a request is unheard-of even in these dire times.”
“Time is of the essence, Captain Bell. The urgency of our need has quite precluded more cautious . . . perhaps I should say . . . more conventional procedures. Lord Bond was able to give me some idea of his intentions before we parted at our Stephenson shipyard on the Clyde, so I am not completely ignorant of the methods he could employ.”
Captain Bell sighed. “I see that you have a very realistic understanding of the risks you will embrace in taking ship upon a frigate going to war, Miss Stephenson. Should we beat to quarters and go into action against any enemy warship I must ask you to report to the surgeon’s party on the orlop deck . . . and Lieutenant Farley . . . you will be required to carry out the duty of protecting her and getting her to safety if this ship should be wrecked.”
Roberta kept her expression calm. “That is understood, Captain. I will not be a burden to the crew, I have taken part in action before.”
Captain Bell stared in surprise and then nodded. “I believe that is one secret I may penetrate—Commander Worthington would not name the commander of Spiteful when the French sloop Mistral was sunk in July.” He smiled. “I will be pleased to shake your hand on it when their Lordships consider the secrecy no longer necessary.”
The sounds of a fair wind in the rigging and the slap of waves against the hull woke Roberta the
following morning. She lay in the cot and looked up at the deck timbers of the poop deck above while she decided whether Medusa was actually under way or lay at anchor in a less sheltered mooring than she had occupied the previous evening. The intimidating connotations of the cot had not kept her awake, but she could remember dreaming of sailing ships and cannon fire at one moment during the night.
A light knock at the cabin door made her raise herself to look at it. “Be ready to rise, Miss Roberta? Can’st I assist you?”
The voice was female, the wife of the carpenter’s mate, who told her the day before that she had been a lady’s maid before her marriage. Roberta had been surprised to find she was not the only woman aboard; Captain Bell had permitted several of the crew to bring their wives with them—a civilizing influence, he had said with a smile—and some were even properly churched relationships. She was aware that aboard most ships in action there would be women assisting the surgeon and his mates to tend the wounded.
“Come in, Annie,” Roberta answered.
The door opened and Annie peered in at her. Annie had taken up with the carpenter a few years before when the Medusa had been in the West Indies, and an earlier captain had advised the couple to join together in matrimony as a protection for the girl, who might otherwise be deemed a runaway slave.
“Does y’need help dressin’, Miss?”
“You might get my sturdy linens from my trunk, Annie. I need no help dressing but would be glad of your company while I dress. We are at anchor again, but we moved in the night, did we not?”
“Aye, Miss. We followed tide to the river’s mouth at first light an’ anchored agin in five fathoms. The crew is movin’ stores an’ ballast to trim the ship for sea.”
Roberta sat up without rocking the cot on its gimbals and slid out from under the covers in her petticoat. “Is it customary to receive breakfast in the morning? I forgot to ask last night.”
“We womenfolk do general make oursel’s some cold gruel or pease puddin’ of a mornin’ but Cap’n have promised a breakfast for’t crew oncet ship be trimmed.”
“I hope I’m not interfering with your day, Annie. What chores do you have?”
“None this mornin’—carpenters an’ t’other petty officers is busy stowin’ their stores for sea. If’n ye likes ye could come to sit wi’ us an’ drink tea a-whiles.”
Once dressed, Roberta followed Annie to the fo’c’sle and the otherwise empty surgeon’s dispensary where the women sat around enjoying the smells of boiled beef and dumplings coming from the cook’s galley below. “We jus’ be needin’ a new kettle o’ water, Annie,” the oldest of the women said as they entered. “Be a good girl an’ fetch us some.”
While Annie was away, Roberta met the other four women, starting with Bertha, the Master’s wife, and ending at Lucy, who had never been at sea before. They all showed little reserve in questioning her and seemed impressed that the Captain had instructed all the crew to treat her as an officer while aboard.
“Have a crust o’ bread, Miss,” Bertha said, holding it out. “’Tis some o’ last we took aboard at Chatham. ’Tis only ship’s biscuit we shall see until Medusa comes back from’t war.”
Roberta took it. “Thank you, I always feel better with something in the stomach of a morning. Annie said you would have tea—or is that why she has gone for more hot water?”
“Tha’s right, Miss,” Lucy said.
“Aye, tea be a treat we shall miss ere long. When under way we has to mak’ do wi’ whatever the matelots gets,” Bertha said. “Tho’ us can sometimes look to our own meals wi’ the petty officers.”
“They says you built that Spiteful, what has all manner o’ strange fixin’s,” Annie said, returning with a kettle of hot water that was quickly added to an enamel teapot. “Is that true, Miss?”
“Spiteful was my responsibility until Commander Worthington approved her for naval service,” Roberta answered. “If I seem to have little familiarity with sailing ships it is because most of my sea experience has been aboard steamships of our own manufacture. Being a supernumerary is a novel experience for me—I feel lost without duties to occupy my time.”
“Hey’up ladies,” came a youthful voice from outside. “Is there tea that I smell?”
Annie sighed. “Come in, yer worship. We can offer tea if ye has somethin’ to barter wi’.”
Midshipman Willis appeared in the doorway, an impish smile on his face. Bertha looked up at him. “Have ye nay duties? I wouldn’a want the officers findin’ us between thee and yer work.”
“I finished,” he said, coming in and bowing formally to Roberta before sitting down. “I was cleaning pistols and filling the powder flasks in the gun-room. They be all ready for war now—as soon as we can lay alongside a Frenchman.”
“Ah, do not rush the moment, Lad,” Bertha said. “There will be bother enough for all afore we drops anchor in England again.”
“Is there tea yet?” he replied, unconcerned. “Look sharp, Annie.”
Annie set the teapot, that she had been filling, down again. “I wants ter know when wives was put under command o’ the worse o’ th’ middies. Hold yer tongue or yer’ll have nort but tea leaves.” Everyone laughed as Willis raised his hands as if to defend himself.
As soon as the fresh tea was brewed they sat around the operating table, no more than a deal table scrubbed white, drinking and chatting. The perennial question was soon directed at Roberta—how is it that ye can make iron float?—and she had to explain the displacement of water that buoys up all laden vessels, wooden or iron.
Soon, another knock came at the door.
“Come in, Chaplain,” Bertha called without looking to see who was there. The naval chaplain, Reverend Jenkins, entered, removing his mortar-board headgear and bowing to Roberta. He pushed Midshipman Willis farther down the bench to seat himself near the head of the table.
“Am I in time for some tea? I came to tell you that the Captain is satisfied the ship is trimmed in the manner laid out in the Observations of Quality determined in the trials of February 1806. As soon as the crew have been sent to their gun stations to secure the ropes, rammers, and sponges the order will be given for Splice the Mainbrace and the breakfast will be distributed.”
Roberta watched him closely as he delivered this missive. A university graduate, he seemed to be too young to have accomplished all his studies and clerical duties that qualified him for ordination. She had said nothing to him at dinner the previous evening about displacing him from what had been his berth—she had learned enough from Lord Bond to know that one must take such privilege for granted in order to protect one’s status.
The wives all perked up at the mention of the issue of the liquor ration to the men, although it would most certainly be beer brought aboard from London and not rum that would be issued in West Indian waters. They drank their teas quickly and soon exhausted all remaining conversation so they could join their husbands for a share when the mainbrace was spliced. When the little party broke up, Roberta walked with the chaplain and midshipman to the quarterdeck to greet the officers on watch and learn when they would weigh anchor and put to sea.
Chapter Two
Oh for Duties Afloat
Roberta was awakened the next morning by the roar of gunfire. She remembered being told the port tier of the main deck armament were being exercised—the new gun crews must be trained to their tasks before Medusa was fit to join the squadron. The closest of the eighteen pounders firing was no more than forty feet away on the gun deck below . . . it sounded as if it were under her cot as its bellow almost bounced her out onto the spotless planks.
Annie appeared at the door without knocking, a choking cloud of powder smoke entering with her. “If ye wishes, ye can breakfast wi’t’ carpenters . . . ’tis a mite less loud down in the forr’ard part o’ th’ orlop.”
Roberta coughed as the smoke found its way down her throat. “I thank you, Annie. I really should be called earlier of a morning—I have never
slept so soundly as I have these past two nights. Lord Nelson’s cot has been as comforting for me as a manger in Bethlehem . . . oh, perhaps that is a bit sacrilegious. I did not mean it so.”
Annie smiled. “We keep that from Chaplain. He is very new, ye mus’ know. Cap’n asked Lord Bishop in Lunnon fer a priest an’ nex’ day they sen’s this lad aboard. We is all waiting ter see if he lasts the firs’ storm.”
Roberta smiled to herself, pleased to see that all she had met shared her rather ungenerous assessment of the morning before. He did seem a very amateur divine.
She dressed and followed Annie through a regular fanfare of gunfire down to the orlop deck to share a pot of pease pudding with her, her husband, and the two carpenter apprentices. The master carpenter returned part way through the meal. “I hopes they gun crews do learn their craft soon,” he grumbled.
“What was trouble?” Annie’s husband asked.
“They gunners at the third eighteen pounder had restrainin’ ropes all askew. Muzzle hit side o’ gunport on recoil. I had ter shave off three inches o’ splinters. When comes time to seal the port us’ll have to help they caulk ’en.”
When the meal was done she thanked them and took her leave to make her way to the quarterdeck to find out the day’s orders from the watch officer. It really was an ordeal to be on a ship with no duties to occupy her time. She must ask the First Lieutenant for something useful to do—even if it were only exercising the midshipmen at their school lessons. It turned out that Medusa relied upon the Chaplain to act as schoolmaster to the midshipmen and boys, and his erudite pronouncements were so far above the heads of his students that their schooling seemed to be going abaft; as one of the older boys put it.
Reaching the weather deck, Roberta found Medusa to be making fine progress under all canvas in a moderate wind. “What course are we making?” she asked the Second Lieutenant.
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