Lord Bond’s words seemed to come from a thousand miles away. “You must do that yourself, Lizzie. I feel sure I will be pleading my own case very soon.”
Lord Bond sat in the drawing room nursing a glass of brandy after the Stephenson engineers left, seeing perhaps for the first time the huge social gulf between his and his wife’s class. It was easy to ridicule the pompous Postlethwait or laugh at the enthusiasms of the diminutive Potts, but to recognise that his new wife was but a few school classes in elocution and manners above those two made him realise that training her to preside upon nothing more technical than fashionable London parties would not be easy.
She had as good as departed the dining room conversation once the discussion had encompassed the needs of the shipyards and the locomotive shops, in spirit at least. Her mind had clearly deserted the family of the Marquess of Tiverton for the interests of the family Stephenson, where he had now to admit it would be among familiar and well-loved surroundings. Would she ever be as comfortable with the minutiae of class and precedence, and the political battles of the family Tiverton?
Even now, although she occupied the same room as he, she had barely spoken a word to him, and certainly not taken in one jot of the words he had addressed to her. The substance of the question she had asked him must be recognised as no more than the time and date of an early departure to Glasgow and her Shipyard on the Clyde. The time or possibility of her returning from there had not been entertained at all.
Sister Lizzie sat beside her awhile and attempted to engage her in matters of the city and the country, but appeared to find the answers unsatisfactory. They did, for a short time, entertain the subjects of comparison between the horses in the Low Countries and in English stables, but his dearly beloved appeared to evaluate all horses of a kind, be they thoroughbred or carriage hack, and Lizzie had claimed extreme exhaustion and taken herself to bed.
Not long after, Parker appeared, suffering from a degree of anxiety. “I must apologize profusely, My Lord, but this letter arrived earlier today and was mistakenly placed with the Countess’s mail. Here it is.”
Bond glanced down at the envelope in the butler’s hand. The handwriting was his father’s. “Are the lights still on in the library?”
“I believe so, My Lord, but if not I can quickly relight them. They are of the newfangled gaslight variety.”
“Very well, I will go there to read this.” He caught his wife’s eyes. “I will join you upstairs shortly, my dear. Remember you planned to write to your father.”
Once ensconced in the library with a new glass of brandy, he sat in a high backed upholstered chair and stared at the unopened letter. He tried to divine whether it had been written before or after his own had arrived from Medusa. Of course, merely looking inside would quickly answer the question, but he did not feel ready to challenge the Old Man’s missive. He drained the brandy and poured more.
His mind replayed the essence of the most recent discussions he and his father had engaged in and whether he could penetrate through that thick skull to fathom the workings and evaluations of the substances inside. It seemed as if they were very alike— his father complaining of his heir’s activities, while that said miscreant endeavored to present the same activities in a far more flattering light.
“Oh dammit!” He picked up the letter opener and split the envelope from side to side.
After a few more minutes he opened the pages and began to read. “Julian. Were it not so disrespectful of that wonderful woman who gave you life I would be inclined to determine how it might be possible that you were not of my paternity. It never ceases to amaze me that we could be so close in heritage and yet so far apart in the understanding and application of that worthy faculty known as education. What strange Greek, say, did your schoolmasters impress upon your young and so pliable brain? What distorted tomes of logic did they require you to memorise?
“How can my words and worthy instructions imparted at our last meeting, not so very long ago, have been so obscure and incomprehensible that your conduct has been so entirely lacking in displaying any slight resemblance to them? When I required you to account for your actions and your company when you reported to their Lordships of the Admiralty in July were you in fact relating, not the details of that latest, but the details of some other meeting that I swear must only exist within your own brain?
“Did you fail to comprehend from my words and injunctions that I required you to find yourself some suitable companion who might lighten your days and assist you in those tiresome duties that society demands from among those families whom we might believe to be our friends and equals. Did you even listen to such words? Do you even now remember them at all?
“Let me refresh your memory. I informed you in no uncertain terms, and indeed, with great emphasis upon the very possibility of your being disinherited that I WOULD NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES RECEIVE THAT DAUGHTER OF AN ENGINEMAN INTO THE BOSOM OF THIS FAMILY. I require you to present yourself at Tiverton Castle immediately, and leave the woman in London.”
Chapter Thirty-three
Domestic Bliss
Tuesday was something of a whirlwind for Roberta with meetings all day at the Admiralty Steam Directorate, discussing the specifications of her super-Spiteful, the French ironclad opponent. The vessel now had a name to go with the gradually evolving design: HMS Antiochus, named after the heir of Seleucus the First, one of Alexander the Great’s generals who had divided up Alexander’s empire among themselves after he died.
This was the first time the name had been used for a Royal Navy ship and Roberta wondered if some die-hard wind and sail admirals had chosen the name for her ugly duckling that was about to usurp the gold ring from their beloved ships of the line.
Roberta had gone to the Admiralty with a chaperone, an elderly lady the proprietors of the Stephenson lodgings recommended. Lord Bond had more meetings arranged with the Prime Minister and Cabinet. At breakfast he had seemed absorbed by these meetings and by a letter he had received from his father, but he reported neither the political nor the family business to her. She did not think that strange . . . they both had matters of their own that had commanded all their attention long before they had ever met.
While at the admiralty, Roberta had asked for a meeting with one of the Sea Lords and after some delay, Lord Paulit had made time to meet her. “What did you want to discuss, Lady Bond?”
“We entertained two of my father’s railway engineers to dinner yesterday . . . I had learned they were in the city on business when I asked for a shipping trunk of mine to be conveyed to Tiverton House from the rooms my father keeps in the city.”
Lord Paulit inclined his head and nodded.
“They are in the city to discuss the building of military railways in Kent, should it be necessary to counter a French landing with military force. It seems that the Marquess of Wellington is commanding the counter-invasion preparations and he has asked for my father to be the engineer in charge of surveying the routes and the construction.”
“That must be very gratifying for you—that our foremost soldier has asked for him personally.”
“It would be,” Roberta answered, “except the construction of the steamships also requires my father’s personal attention. It is not possible for me to supervise eight ships being built and worked up at once. I need his attention also.”
“Yes, quite a quandry. What does a military railway do? It seems the very reverse of our needs, should the French seize these railways and ride into London on them.”
“The military purpose is to move troops and reserves quickly from their depots to meet an advance of the enemy. The tracks may or may not connect to the existing civilian railways—or at least can be quickly and securely disconnected from the existing rail network to prevent the enemy’s use.”
“I see.” Lord Paulit steepled his fingers. “What would you like me to do for you? If the general in charge has already established a prior claim, the Government would not look fav
ourably upon us for starting a conflict between the soldiers and the seamen.”
Roberta sighed. “There must be some way we might discuss the issue with the soldiers, My Lord. While my father is perhaps a most experienced railway builder, there are many others also practicing the craft—while he and I are the only ones qualified to supervise the construction of the spitefuls. May we persuade the army to hire some other engineer? The skill required to build railways that are temporary in nature is much less than that needed to build a permanent way, and the nature of the work—its hasty construction and potential exposure to enemy saboteurs—is not suitable for a man of my father’s years.”
Lord Paulit deliberated a moment. “I will talk to the First Lord about this . . . he can then discuss this in Cabinet and see if a committee can be appointed to decide the matter. I feel confident that he will do his best for you—he is totally committed to building your spitefuls on time.”
“The Stephenson Company can certainly supply other qualified engineers to the War Office . . . I am personally acquainted with one of the gentlemen who took part in the preliminary discussions at Horse Guards, so the army is familiar with him already.”
“I see. Can you give me his name?”
“Certainly, it is Martin Postlethwait, who has been a managing engineer with our company for almost ten years.”
Lord Paulit looked down as he wrote. “Postlethwait . . . how does he spell that?”
Lord Bond spent most of the day in discussions with Lord Liverpool and the cabinet. He had taken Roberta and her chaperone from St James Square to the Admiralty in the family carriage and left them there to arrange their own return to Tiverton House.
The Prime Minister had opened their discussions with an announcement that the Foreign Office had received a reply to Bond’s proposal from the American Ambassador in Paris. “Mr. Crawford has informed us that he has sent a letter to President Madison informing him that he will begin preparatory discussions with the Crown,” Lord Liverpool paused. “These will be low level discussions to agree upon a venue for the treaty talks and the number of parties to the negotiations.”
“We must insist upon Switzerland,” Viscount Castlereagh, the Foreign Secretary, said. “Bern or nowhere.”
“Yes. I would agree,” Lord Liverpool answered. “How would we get there, Bond?”
“It depends upon the number of people we must send, My Lord. A small party might disembark at Stralsund in Swedish Pomerania and travel safely through Prussia and Austria to reach Switzerland.”
One of the other members of Cabinet looked up with a sour expression. “Isn’t this somewhat premature? We do not know if Madison will go for a treaty.”
Lord Liverpool looked at him. “When Madison realises what a mess he is in because of Lord Bond’s interception of his letter he has very little even to bluff with.”
“I have sent communiques to various parties outlining the disadvantages we may impress upon the Americans in their present circumstances,” Viscount Castlereagh said. “One at least of these communiques is intended to fall into the hands of their privateers at sea and their embassies in the Americas. When the Congress learns of his letter and its contents he must be bound to have some measures for ameliorating the disaster already under way.”
“Yes. I see.”
Bond glanced around the table. “So, how many in the party, Gentlemen?”
Viscount Castlereagh counted off his fingers. “A senior member of Ambassador level, some bright young man from our government with a cabinet level post, three or four secretaries . . . anyone else?”
“Some allied government representation―to show we have others’ interests to consider.”
“The Low Countries, I might suggest,” Lord Bond said. “Then I can use two of my agents from there to serve as security and escorts for the party.”
“And yourself, I would suggest,” Viscount Castlereagh said.
“Fine. And how many more people do we need when Madison has agreed to the negotiations?” Bond asked.
Lord Liverpool shrugged. “When Napoleon learns he is losing his American ally, we will need to square the diplomatic niceties with Berlin and Vienna to keep him from finding some ruse to block us. At that time, Lord Bond, you will likely be travelling between the capitals quite regularly.”
The first meeting was postponed shortly after this, until they had decided upon the people to send, when it was reconvened with these men participating. The wording of the letter to Ambassador Crawford in Paris was the next item of business. It would serve to settle the arrangements for the low level discussions in Switzerland and could be sent as normal diplomatic mail following wartime procedures.
As a consequence Lord Bond was well pleased as he left Whitehall for a late dinner at Tiverton House. He was even more pleased when he learned that Roberta had taken it upon herself to communicate with a member of the domestic staff at Whitehall to judge when he would be home in time to enjoy a family dinner, only an hour delayed.
He was also pleased that Elise was not present; she must have found a Dutch friend who could help gain access to her father’s accounts in Amsterdam. He could impart little of the government discussions around the family table but had said enough they all knew that he would be on another duty within a month that would take him to the Continent again―although this time in allied and neutral countries. “So I think I should go down to Tiverton alone to explain the situation to Father―both what we have done, and what our duties may require us to do in the future.”
“Does that mean I am free to go to Clydebank, Husband?” Roberta asked.
“Most certainly, My Dear. I will impress upon Father that we will visit him as soon as we are both in the country together.”
Aunt Caroline raised her eyebrows and twisted a bracelet to and fro. “I would advise against that, Julian. But if you must, on your head be it.”
“He cannot fight with Whitehall, Aunt.”
“But he is not fool enough not to know you are using Whitehall against him.”
“Then he may express his displeasure at that time . . . but he cannot change it.”
“Who will go with you to Bern?” Roberta asked. “Will you have a military escort?”
“Oh, that is not possible. Not without some tedious agreements with the governments of the countries we will be crossing. No. I shall be the escort for that matter. I will meet with attachés from the British embassies en route in order to select our safest roads, our best stops on the way, and to ensure my diplomats are not accosted by French spies trying to learn our business.”
“How will ye travel to Prussia, My Lord?” Captain McNab asked. “I assume ye must go through Prussia.”
“We must travel by a merchant vessel to satisfy the requirements of our diplomatic travel. I have suggested we land in Swedish Pomerania, which has been our landfall for civilian and diplomatic traffic for many years.”
He looked at Roberta. “We were concerned about a letter that might mention you a month or so back, My Dear. That was where your letter was intercepted.”
Roberta felt quite pleased about returning so soon to Scotland as they retired to their room for the night. They sat in the small sitting room attached to the boudoir to discuss their arrangements for the next few months.
“What expenses will you incur, My Dear?”
“Nothing that might exceed my salary as manager, Julian.”
He frowned. “Salary? You are a married woman now. Your husband meets all your requirements.”
“Am I to surrender my salary to my husband then? You will advance me an amount for my expenses out of it?”
“Hmm. I had not thought about it. It would seem to be the usual arrangement. An heiress with an income from her properties surrenders everything to her husband and the two estates are managed as one.”
“But under that example I must point out that the heiress plays no managerial function in the running of her estates. In the circumstance of the Stephenson Shipyard there m
ight not be an income at all if I am not present to design ships and ensure they are properly built.”
He laughed, but there was little humour in it. “So all my friends . . . all the fellows in the club . . . will be able to ask how my wife conducts her business? They will joke that you pay me a salary!”
“Only if they wished to spread mischief, My Lord. I would suggest that we do not settle upon any arrangement immediately. When we have had time to see how our lives will be conducted . . . perhaps over the next twelve months . . . then we may agree upon a permanent arrangement.”
“I cannot agree to such a delay.”
She immediately saw that this was not to his liking at all. The truth was that he had lost all interest in seeing her continuing her steamship building, although he had formerly expressed pride in her accomplishments. While she could not imagine her life without it. And yet what did he expect her to do while he ran off all over Europe and the Americas at the bidding of Lord Liverpool? Sit at Tiverton and grow roses?
She did not want to finish such thoughts―it was all too clear to her that that was exactly what he did intend. Perhaps to raise little Bonds who might come in time to grace the halls of Eton and Oxford. She certainly did hope for children, but had only envisioned them before as growing up in the Engine Works as good little Stephensons.
He regarded her with one of his supercilious expressions. “I see you are not pleased, My Dear.”
“I cannot see a way to settle the difficulties our conversation has uncovered, Julian. What have we done? What must we sacrifice to safeguard our marriage―is it to be my sacrifice alone?”
He reached out a hand to clasp hers. “Common custom says that the husband alone must decide, but I own that such will not please you. My inheritance of the title requires us to bend to its imperatives . . . the crown has an interest in seeing its formalities respected, but the crown has never been asked to judge upon such a quandary as ours.”
Spies and Subterfuge Page 23