‘But you will be paid what is owed to you. My brother asked me to tell you that.’
‘How?’ asked Flowers. He’d probably spoken as a reaction, but given his habit of talking out of the corner of his mouth it looked and sounded like doubt, which produced an explosive reaction from Pender, who was a good friend of the speaker.
‘You swab,’ he shouted, his fists clenching. ‘You take leave to doubt Harry Ludlow?’
‘No one’s doubting him, Pious,’ said Flowers, hastily.
‘It sounds like it to me,’ Pender growled, the ferocious look that accompanied that ranging round every face. ‘Barring a few weeks when he weren’t himself, none of you have ever cruised with a better captain.’
‘Pious,’ pleaded Flowers, holding up his hand.
‘You lot wouldn’t have a seat in your ducks if’n it weren’t for him.’
‘I’m trying to agree with you, for Christ’s sake,’ Flowers shouted, that being followed by a murmur of assent from the rest of the hands.
‘Good,’ Pender replied, though he looked far from mollified. He turned on his heel and walked out of the barn, followed by James, who was surprised, when Pender turned round, to see him grinning. ‘That made them think, eh!’
‘What would I do without you?’ said James.
Harry couldn’t remain in bed, regardless of what the surgeon said, so he was up and about within two days. The confines of the house did nothing for his mood either. He needed air, with a wind off the sea, to think properly. At around the same time as James arrived back in London a stiff Harry Ludlow alighted from a shay outside the Three Kings in Deal. After a brisk tot of brandy, no doubt local contraband, he set off to walk along the strand of shingle beach to the tiny fishing village of Kingsdown.
His thoughts ranged far and wide over a life that had seen more than its fair share of trouble, and would be difficult again. There was little self-pity in this. Harry was too honest to do anything other than admit that he’d brought most of his misfortunes on his own head. But now it was different. The cushion of his inherited wealth was being stripped away, and he was going to feel, as most men did, the chill consequences of making an error.
The arrangements he’d made in New York were not as easily redeemable as he’d made out, fairly obvious to anyone who thought about it. If a government was so short of hard cash that it would enter into such a transaction then it would hardly be awash with the means to satisfy his demands. Even if they were, it was a long two-way crossing, one which suffered all the dangers inherent in sea travel. In his own ship he’d have felt reasonably secure, but in another vessel, even a fast mail packet, the risks of carrying such an amount of money were great indeed.
But he could see no other way to pay off his borrowings. And once that had been achieved he would no longer be in the position of commanding wealth he’d previously enjoyed. Harry had no trade but the sea, no way of repairing the fortune he was losing other than by privateering. But now, once he’d settled with the crew, he’d be hard put to raise the money to purchase another ship.
Looking to his left he could see plenty of those merchant ships destined for every part of the globe. Perhaps he’d be reduced to that, offering his services to another ship-owner for the twin purposes of making a living and indulging in his love of the life.
He passed many people between Deal and Walmer Castles, more when he tired of walking on shingle and moved inland to the road. Acknowledging some, in the way that one does when passing a stranger, he ignored more, and might not have noticed the tall figure in the black Garrick coat if the man hadn’t stopped some twenty feet away. The act made Harry look up, his first thought being that the heavy coat was odd dress for such a mild day.
‘You,’ said Villiers, pointing to Harry as though he was about to shout, ‘Stop thief!’
Harry looked up at the round stone walls of Walmer Castle, his eye drawn by the flag at the staff. The device, of the three sleeping lions, was familiar; it was the insignia of the Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports and meant that the holder of the office was in residence. That sinecure office was held by the King’s First Lord of the Treasury, William Pitt.
‘You will oblige me, Mr Villiers, by ceasing to point.’
‘What are you doing in Deal, sir?’ he demanded, looking at the white sling which held Harry’s arm as though that in itself was a cause for suspicion.
‘I live here, you fool,’ Harry replied, flicking his good hand towards the fluttering flag above the castle, ‘as does your master, from time to time.’
‘Master!’ Villiers barked.
Even at this distance and in this weather, Harry could see that he had the usual drop of mucus on the end of his long nose. Despite the fact that Villiers was still pointing at him in the most insulting way, it made him smile.
‘Just because you are dense yourself, Villiers, does not mean others share your affliction. You claimed great authority in Portsmouth. I doubt that it comes much higher than that which can be derived from Billy Pitt.’
Villiers’s mouth moved like that of a fish in a tank. But he couldn’t speak. As a man who wanted to be taken seriously, he couldn’t deny it. Yet he craved secrecy and must do so. The dilemma produced by those twin aims floored him.
‘It is no concern of mine, Mr Villiers, who employs you. And if no one asks me, I will not volunteer the connection. Now, if you will excuse me.’
Harry had already begun to move past Villiers, about to bid him good day, when the thought came to him, one of those ideas which seems to spring to mind whole, as though it had been there all along, lying dormant, just waiting for the right set of circumstances to raise it up. So compelling was it that he stopped right beside the government agent, lips very close to the man’s ear.
‘How certain are you, Mr Villiers, that there are outside forces at work amongst the sailors of the fleet?’
‘Absolutely, sir. And I defy anyone to tell me, however well disposed they are, that such men could formulate a plan without such assistance. It would require genius, sir, and having observed the species of late, nothing leads me to suspect that commodity is abundant in admirals, let alone the lower deck.’ Villiers wiped the drop from the end of his nose with a large handkerchief before continuing. ‘I grant you had a case at Spithead, but if you knew what was happening at the Nore you would soon change your tune.’
‘I had heard that matters are more confused there.’
‘Confused,’ trumpeted Villiers, in a way that a man might use talking to a complete fool. But Harry kept the lid on his temper. ‘There are Jacobins on the Medway, sir, and there’s no question of that. The mutiny has spread while the man who leads them has given himself the title of President, and threatened to blockade the capital unless his demands are met.’
‘And those demands are?’
‘Proof, if proof were needed.’
‘That really doesn’t tell me very much, Mr Villiers.’
‘It tells you everything,’ Villiers answered adding, to Harry’s confusion, ‘Their ultimatums are not designed to bring about eventual harmony. They are merely an excuse to maintain riot and unlawful assembly. A hint that they will be satisfied leads to an immediate increase in terms.’
Harry flicked a glance at the grey stone walls of Walmer Castle. ‘And just how desperate is the need to prove that this is the work of outside agencies?’
Villiers knew Harry was talking about William Pitt, and the actions he would have to take to settle matters. England could do without a standing army, even survive the loss of allies. But the fleet was everything, the one weapon that made the country safe. Without it, there would be no alternative to ignominious peace.
‘The necessity can hardly be overstated, Captain Ludlow. Imagine that you hold the supreme political office in the land, called upon to make far-reaching decisions. Yet you are also required to make concessions to an unseen enemy, without ever being sure that having done so their demands will not increase.’
Villiers had to
ld him more than he should in that reply, but that suited Harry. He wasn’t sure if the man was right or wrong. But the really encouraging thing was that both Villiers and his master were in the same position, one that must be turning increasingly uncomfortable as matters deteriorated at the Nore anchorage.
‘What you lack, sir,’ said Harry, ‘is an intimate knowledge of the navy and the way it operates.’ Villiers, thinking Harry was putting him in his place again, opened his mouth to argue. But Harry kept talking. ‘And the officers you could ask have, as you have doubtless observed, their own agenda to pursue.’
‘What are you driving at, Captain Ludlow?’ asked Villiers suspiciously.
‘I was wondering,’ Harry replied, ‘if you’d like some help.’
‘I shall introduce you to my uncle William,’ said Villiers, softly.
‘But you must let me do the talking.’
The sound was magnified by the stone walls of the castle keep, which they’d entered by merely pushing at the door. There were no guards, not even a lock, which on a shore barely 25 miles from the nearest Frenchman was, for the leader of his nation’s war effort, singularly lax.
They made their way through to the rear of the castle, and out over a narrow wooden bridge to the huge gardens at the rear. Several people were working, but spotting Pitt was easy. First there was the slight, tall frame, familiar from a hundred satirical drawings. Then he was attired as a gentleman thought a bucolic peasant should dress himself. But the smock was too clean, the breeches too well tailored, half-covered by soft leather boots, and the large straw hat, new and bright, was wasted, since there was no strong sun from which to demand protection. The rest of the people, barring one lady in similar headgear, were truly of that class, and it showed in the threadbare nature, as well as the greyness of their garments.
‘Uncle William?’
Pitt pulled himself upright and turned to face Villiers, removing the hat as he did so and mopping his high brow. His thin, greying hair was made to look sparser by perspiration, but he fixed his nephew with steady blue eyes that only lacked real force due to the heavy pouches of a drinker underneath them.
‘I thought you’d gone.’
‘I came across someone who may be of great assistance to us.’
Harry was watching Pitt closely, and saw the flash of impatience that crossed his face. But he was then distracted by the woman, tall, willowy, and sharp-faced, not a beauty but pleasant enough, who had the same eyes as Pitt but with a much steelier quality.
‘This is Captain Harry Ludlow.’
‘From Chillenden?’ Pitt asked, sharply.
Harry nodded, and Villiers turned to the woman. ‘And this is another cousin of mine, Lady Hester Stanhope.’
The curtsy was slight enough to register, without in any way being deep enough to denote respect. Harry, forced because of his wound to do no more than bow his head, noted that she wore an apron, stained with greenery and dirt, as were her hands, both signs of someone who was a serious gardener.
‘We are near neighbours, sir,’ said Pitt, ‘and have been for several years. I see you are carrying a wound.’
‘Most of which I have spent at sea, sir,’ Harry replied, sticking to the first part of what Pitt had said. Discussion of his wound and how he’d been shot would not be helpful. ‘Had I been in residence at the same time as you, I can assure you we would have met before this.’
‘I have been to your house, a most elegant establishment, as the guest of your brother-in-law.’ He turned to the lady to explain. ‘Drumdryan, the fellow who works under Dundas.’
She just nodded, and fixed Harry with a direct look as Pitt continued. ‘He has been very kind in his support for the ministry, Captain Ludlow, while making it very plain that he acts only as he thinks you would wish.’
Harry didn’t care how Arthur exercised the power that control of two parliamentary seats gave him as long as he had his exemptions. But it would be tactless to say so.
‘I think you can count on my continuing good wishes.’
Villiers cut in, talking rapidly, explaining about Harry, without once even alluding to the fact that he’d suspected him, a gabbling performance that took in Spithead, the Nore, Paris, London, and the Board of Admiralty in a confusing jumbled order. Harry was watching Pitt’s face, which registered a look compounded of boredom, exasperation, and distance, which to any other speaker would have screamed uninterest. Not Villiers. He chattered on as though this was the subject dearest to his uncle’s heart. But when Harry turned to glance at Lady Hester Stanhope he saw there a concentration so deep that she was mouthing some of the words her cousin was using.
‘We must use any means that come to our disposal to crush these fiends,’ she said suddenly, her voice harsh and rather manly. ‘You do agree, William, don’t you?’
‘Of course, Hester,’ Pitt replied. It seemed to be without enthusiasm, but Harry wondered if it was a matter of the man’s health, it being common knowledge that Pitt was not robust.
‘What I need from you, uncle,’ said Villiers, ‘is permission to tell Captain Ludlow what we already know.’
That cracked the studied veneer by which he’d been holding in his anger, and showed some of the steely nature which had elevated him to his present eminence, and kept him there for over a dozen years. ‘Know! We don’t know anything.’
‘Precisely,’ Lady Hester said, pounding one grubby hand into an equally dirt-stained palm. ‘And it is high time we did.’
‘But it is plain to me, Ludlow,’ Pitt continued, his eyes slightly feverish, ‘that there are demons at work here. The men who man our ships are the salt of the earth. I cannot, and will not, believe that they would mutiny unless they were being misled into doing so.’
Harry couldn’t argue, even though he did wonder how a man famed for his razor-sharp mind could be so misguided as to the true nature of his sailors’ feelings.
‘And we have made concessions,’ Pitt continued, beginning to pace up and down. ‘Pardons, extra pay at a time when we are stretched to the limit. But I’ve told Spencer. No more! Not another penny piece. He may concede what he wishes, as long as it does not cost money.’
‘Perhaps with Captain Ludlow’s help, we may uncover something,’ said Villiers, looking at him with an air of wonderment that was just as deep as the previous suspicion.
‘There will be certain things I require,’ said Harry, which earned him a glare from Pitt. That was eased when he added, ‘At no cost to the Treasury, of course.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
HARRY noticed the difference in atmosphere within an hour of arriving in Sheerness. Home to the widely dispersed North Sea Fleet, and still a major naval station when it came to building and repair, the Nore was rarely a quiet place, even in peacetime. But noise and bustle had increased, if anything to a level greater than anything he’d witnessed at Portsmouth. More worrying, it had a darker tinge to it.
Firstly there was the presence of soldiers, two regiments of militia who’d been brought into the area by a nervous government, their rows of tents outside Queenstown a chilling reminder of what this uprising might degenerate into. More telling was the attitude of the sailors themselves. Certainly they had bands playing and red flags flying as they rowed around the anchorage or paraded through the town. Yet they seemed more intent on trouble, keener to trade insults with the locals rather than win them over to their side.
He did reason that perhaps it was the place itself. Sheerness dockyard was neat enough. Having been entirely built under the careful eye of Samuel Pepys a hundred years previously, as a defence against the Dutch, it was delightfully proportioned. But it was also stuck at the western end of the Isle of Sheppey, surrounded by low-lying country, windswept and barren, with only the hills to the south that formed the valley of the Medway, and the towns of Chatham and Rochester, breaking the monotony of marsh land, bog, and grey Thames water. Britain’s premier naval station when Holland had been the chief threat, it had lost some of its glory
to Portsmouth and Plymouth, more handily placed to oppose the French.
The journey hadn’t helped either, and it wasn’t just the flat, tedious landscape, or being rattled around with an aching back in a coach that served to depress the spirit. George Villiers was a tedious companion, a man who talked non-stop and never, ever saw any of his own actions in anything other than the most flattering light. The look in William Pitt’s eyes, of patience tested to the limits, was replicated in Harry’s as he was forced to listen. Villiers had clearly engineered the creation of this task for himself, the leverage of family connections overcoming his total unsuitability as a confidential agent.
Judging by the tale he was recounting, Villiers was prone to react to any rumour, however slight, dashing hither and thither with little sense of purpose, prepared to pursue the faintest wisp of smoke as though it presaged a blazing fire. Thus, a rumour that emanated from a poor source on the Isle of Wight was tracked down with great fervour just as matters were reaching a climax at the Nore, while his absolutely essential journey from Portsmouth to Plymouth, a hotbed of rebellion, managed to coincide with the moment that Sir Roger Curtis’s mutinous squadron arrived in the Solent. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time was clearly his greatest talent.
‘Consider that, Captain Ludlow,’ Villiers continued, his eyes bright with unabashed zeal, ‘and ask yourself if that is mere coincidence. I fear my enquiries have alarmed those who are at the centre of this conspiracy. They feel the heat of my breath upon their necks.’
‘Damned uncomfortable,’ Harry replied, wondering as he did so if his ears could take much more. And Villiers seemed convinced that Harry Ludlow now shared wholeheartedly in the belief and pursuit of his aims. Pitt had been right about knowing nothing. When asked to reveal what he had gleaned from his extended investigations, his companion had told him little he couldn’t have picked up for himself, gossiping in a Portsmouth Point tavern.
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