“No doubt,” Lord Bond answered, “but this offers another lesson. One day is insufficient time to learn what we need. I am looking for a way to insert a workman into our enemies’ yards for enough time to gain the trust of the authorities.”
“And what of your morning, My Lord?” Roberta asked.
“About as productive as Mr. Holmes’. I saw a great deal of iron bar, angle iron and plate, but could make little service of my knowledge. The longer I spent on the quay, the more notice Captain McNab’s sentries took of me. I had to leave before I had satisfied myself of my discoveries.”
After lunch Roberta and her father went to the Urquhart & McArthur Graving Docks to insist the dock be cleared and the subcontracted spiteful begun at once. Arriving at the head office, they demanded Mr. Urquhart escort them to the dock immediately.
“I did not see sign of the activity to replace unsatisfactory rivets when I was here three days ago, Mr. Urquhart,” Roberta said. “There were no hearths working to heat the rivets.”
Urquhart bristled. “Do you accuse me of dishonesty, Miss Stephenson? Do not suppose your gentle nature and gender should render you immune to a lawsuit or some other retaliation.”
“Enough of that, Urquhart,” Father answered. “Do not suppose you might not be dealt a thrashing and thrown into the river to learn gentlemanly manners. You will not speak to my daughter in that way.”
Urquhart clenched his fists, but young Mr. Keiller, the son-in-law of the McArthur family, stepped between them. “Please don’t, Angus. Fisticuffs will settle nothing. We must discuss this calmly.”
“Calmly! When that little baggage snooped about the yard when she was pretending to occupy herself with assisting His Lordship?” He crossed his arms. “How do you know the hearths were cold three days ago? You smiled and charmed me to my face and then crept about the yard like a Gypsy. Did you ask the reason for the delay, perhaps?”
“Then you do not deny that no work has been carried out on the vessel in the dock?” Father demanded, his face reddening.
“You see! You see that they both call me a liar! I will not accept such treatment without demanding recompense. I insist you apologize before I utter another word.”
“I have heard enough! I am leaving and cancelling the contract,” Roberta said, turning to the door. “There are other yards in the kingdom where the vessel might be built . . . without the risk of deception and delay.”
“Do not be so hasty,” Mr. Keiller implored. “Let us all sit and drink tea together. I am sure we will come to an amicable understanding when tempers have cooled.”
“I see no reason to stay,” Roberta answered. “If every difficulty is going to result in a scene like this I do not want to do business with the yard.”
Mr. Keiller urged Mr. Urquhart to take a seat and then came to her. “I do apologize most humbly for the senior partner’s anger, but you must surely recognize that he has been sorely misjudged.”
Roberta frowned. “Misjudged? How so?”
“There truly is a contract dispute with the owners of the puffer in the second graving dock, Miss Stephenson, but Mr. Urquhart is in the process of settling the dispute with legal action. Unfortunately, that requires the vessel not to be moved until the justice and the panel of shipwrights have seen it.”
Father regarded Mr. Urquhart with a deep frown. “Why did you not explain this to me when I came originally?”
Urquhart turned away. “It is my yard’s business, not yours.”
“But did you not think we might offer to assist you with the problem,” Roberta asked as she settled herself in the chair Mr. Keiller pulled up for her.
“I will not be beholden to another.”
“Is that how partners in business are expected to act, Sir?” Father asked.
“Take the dock and be damned! I will order the puffer floated out on the next tide.”
Mr. Keiller remonstrated. “But why? What about the . . . ?”
“We shall take the Stephensons to court for our losses in the first judgement, Mr. Keiller, that’s why.”
“Do you just need a dock to have the puffer inspected in?” Roberta asked. “When do you expect this to take place?”
“Three days hence,” Mr. Keiller answered.
“Our own dock is to be vacated very soon,” she went on. “The Spiteful is done. If you have your vessel floated down to us, we can take it in on the same tide. We have all the work crews busy with two spitefuls and do not expect to use the dock again for some weeks.”
Mr. Keiller turned to his partner. “That sounds most accommodating, does it not, Angus? What do you say?”
Urquhart’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at her. “What will be your fee for housing the puffer?”
Father looked at her. Roberta recognized his conciliatory expression. “A minimal charge for the work crew at the dock, and nothing for rental—as long as you are finished with the dock in time for us to lay the keel of our third contracted spiteful.”
“And when might that be?” Urquhart asked grumpily.
Roberta smiled slightly. “Since your yard has all the iron not already being worked up, and all the available shipwrights to begin construction, we will delay its commencement until the present shortage of iron is eased by a shipload from Tyneside. Several weeks hence.”
It would more likely be a month or more, but best she keep that extra time as leeway. Three vessels building at once would stretch their resources to the limit, and she had still to begin preparations to build the new, secret vessel. It would first require a new, longer slipway built, but that would be a job for a crew of local builders. “Is that a satisfactory compromise, Mr. Urquhart?” she asked.
“And all heated words forgiven?” he demanded.
“Overlooked, Sir,” she answered. “No penalty to either side.”
Chapter Thirty
Subterfuge in Ernest
Next day, Lord Bond rode his rented mount at a smart trot from the mansion to the yard after receiving word at noon. His replacement yacht, the Nederlander, had been seen beating up the Clyde toward Clydebank. Miss Stephenson drove the trap beside him, wearing drab greys and tan in a thigh length caraco and petticoat. “How long will it take for Bloggins to reach your mooring, Miss Stephenson?”
She glanced up at the scudding clouds. “The wind can hardly be called fair for a run up the estuary, My Lord, but I would expect them to anchor within two hours.”
“It would seem that the time nears for our paths to diverge, but I wish it were not so.”
She seemed surprised and a little flustered. “It was surely always to be expected, My Lord. Your duty calls you to the Low Countries, while mine will hold me in this shipyard until my vessels for the Admiralty are built.”
“You discount my mention of your presence off the Schelde in a Royal Naval frigate, then?”
“It seems that Mr. Holmes is capable of offering the opinions you mentioned.”
“Perhaps, but it was his assessment that I wanted confirmed. He will be in Antwerp, or somewhere close by.”
She glanced at him as the pony negotiated a pothole. “You seem very critical of his ability to judge, My Lord.”
“Symington, I’m sure, would be an excellent judge—given a few months more time to grasp all the technical details. But his very expertise and confidence make his words less valuable with his present degree of knowledge. He is, as I believe you have known from the day I introduced you to him, a gambler. I would be concerned to have him gamble with the vital information that could determine our ability to safeguard England’s fate.”
“You have known him since childhood, have you not, My Lord?”
His reply came out jerkily, that he put down to his mount’s uneven gait on a rough place in the road. “Since my mother died. I was five years old at the time. Symington was seven.”
She made no answer but watched him expectantly.
“Do you assay to delve more deeply into the Marquess of Tiverton’s family, Miss Ste
phenson?”
“I would consider it very rude . . . if it were not for your propensity to challenge me with unwelcomed statements of some perceived entitlement of judgement over my own activities. Perceived only by yourself, I must add.”
“You surprise me, my dear. I had the impression that we had become quite friends since our meeting upon the hazardous waters of the Channel. I have come to look upon your opinions as worthy of the utmost consideration.”
“But you expect me to utter them even though I know nothing of the circumstances of the topic at play.”
“Then I will make amends, my dear. The next time I will have the privilege to speak of such matters, I will begin by bearing my secrets before you.”
Now he saw her definitely to colour . . . not the brilliant display of a Worthington, but unmistakable. It surely seemed the time was near when he might progress to the next stage in advancing his interest.
When they reached the shipyard he went immediately to the quayside while she, with a rather distant manner, wished him a good afternoon and disappeared into her office. What a woman! She could change from girlish modesty to a shrewish assault upon the male race in the blink of an eye. He should put all thoughts of her from his mind . . . banish any idea of winning her to his bosom, but until this matter of the French ironclad was settled he had to make her his personal business. Yes, that was it. Everything he would do would be for England’s sake.
He dismounted and tied the horse’s reins to the pillar of a hand cranked hoist. Looking out at the river he peered at all the ship traffic until he saw a distant vessel with a very bluff, very Dutch bow. It had to be Nederlander. She was likely correct in her esti—Dammit, he was perfectly capable of making his own estimate of the time it would take before he learned who Bloggins had brought with him.
The last letter he had received from the Admiralty had informed him that the Hanoverian secretary Gottliebe had been apprehended. There was something in the letter that concerned Roberta, but he would wait awhile before informing her. Gottliebe had dispatched a letter to his superiors in France with the latest information from his man in the Admiralty before going into hiding. It had included something of their meetings with Their Lordships as well as a reference to a woman’s presence. Interrogation revealed it had been dispatched through civilian mails that went through neutral Sweden.
The Admiralty also intimated that it had its own contacts in the Netherlands and wished to send some men with him. Since he had neither trained nor tested them he was unsure as to their quality. Would they be actual rivals, and even enemies, of the Dutch patriots he generally relied upon? Perhaps he had best align himself with his French Royalist friends for this expedition . . . at least it would make unsuspected dangerous hostilities within his team less likely.
The change would require another French speaker joining his mission. Holmes had a passing fluency, but no convincing accent in the language. At least the man would be able to work with some of King Louis’ hopeful partisans. His own French had improved these past few years, and so had his Flemish with the benefit of Elise sharing his bed.
He had received the letter from her at last—he patted the pocket where it resided—relating how she had evaded a cavalry pursuit and reached her friends at Amsterdam safely. She must at all accounts be invited to meet him at Flushing . . . she had little loyalty to ambitious Dutch plans of freedom, and a strong attachment to him. Or to his money—to supplement the mere hundred gulden her absent husband in the Indies sent her.
The news he expected from his Amsterdam friends had still not arrived. If the Dutchmen the Admiralty promised were aboard Nederlander he might set out for Flushing and start building his network of allies upon arrival. It was getting late in the month and he wanted to be in Antwerp by September.
What to do with Miss Stephenson? Clearly she would never join his mission without the security of nuptials, and even if he went through the ceremony with good intent, there was always the Marquess waiting in the shadows, like a barn owl waiting to swoop upon an unsuspecting mouse. The Old Man had friends in the Church and in the House of Lords who would do his will to thwart the accession of a mere commoner to the title Marchioness. And Symington was well aware of this—would he betray the secret out of a sense of justice and gentlemanly feeling?
Worse, would he use the stratagem and its defeat, as a step toward gaining his own entrance to the lady’s affections? What did Symington want with a wife? His mother would put up obstructions every bit as powerful as the Marquess. Good Lord! There must have been a love story worthy of Shakespeare when the two of them cohabited. But their son would never inherit a thing, and was even less likely to sire any issue.
By the time he turned his attention to the river again, the Dutch hoogaar had sailed much closer. It was almost time to go to meet it—he looked about for a small craft to hire, his eye lighting on a tiny pram with a mere boy fishing from it.
“I say, lad. Do you hear me?”
“Wha’ have ye? Are ye speakin’ tae me?”
“Yes . . . unless you have a fish aboard with a better command of English. Yes, I’m calling you. Come to the quay and let me aboard—there’s a shilling for you to take me to the anchorage to meet my yacht.”
Lord Bond seated himself in the flat bow while the lad balanced himself in the stern sculling with a single oar. They arrived at the mooring buoy almost at the same time as the Nederlander and he waited until they were securely tied before going aboard.
Bloggins met him at the rail. “’Tis sorry I be fer takin’ so long, My Lord, but I had to put in at Pembroke Dock to rig a new suite o’ sails . . . th’ old ones was fit to rip at the slightest blow.”
“Oh, no harm done. You paid on the Admiralty warrant?”
“Aye, My Lord. They accept’d wi’out a murmur.”
Two strangers came forward as Lord Bond turned from Bloggins. “You are the Admiralty’s picked agents, I take it?”
The taller of the two spoke. “Yes, My Lord. I am Cornelius van Ee, and my companion is Nicholas van Aa.”
Lord Bond reached out a hand. “Honoured to make your acquaintance, gentlemen. Are you familiar with Flanders south of Breda . . . namely the Scheldt, Flushing, and Antwerp?”
The man identified as van Aa muttered something in Flemish. Herr van Ee spoke up, “My companion is from Neuzen, a small port on the south bank of the Westerscheld. I spent several years working in Antwerp when Bonaparte decreed the river be opened again and the port rebuilt.”
“Your friend speaks no English?”
The two exchanged glances. “He understands well enough but chooses not to speak until he feels at ease with you.”
“Oh, I see. Will I offend him if I address him in Flemish? I have a meagre fluency in it.”
Van Aa answered in Flemish. “I should be grateful, your honour.”
“Did the Admiralty explain what I needed from you?”
“To act as guides and as contacts with sympathetic locals,” van Ee answered.
“That is correct. I will also be using some royalist French contacts I have . . . will that offend you?”
Van Aa smiled. “Not as much as having to put up with those arrogant pigs from Amsterdam.”
“Good. I hope that means we shall get along very well.”
“When do we leave, your honour?”
“In a few days. First, I have something to arrange this Sunday.”
Chapter Thirty-one
Some at Sea
On Saturday morning, Roberta rode in the trap to the shipyard with Lord Bond driving. He told her he would be spending the day with his yacht crew making some final arrangements for his imminent spying mission.
“What are your plans for the day, my dear?”
“We hope to have the first of our new spiteful engines bench running today, My Lord. Its successful operation without a necessity for modifications will take quite a load from my shoulders.”
“How does a bench run work?”
“We
will connect its power shaft to the shipyard services driven by our stationary engine. It will be a good load, and if it succeeds in operating all day without showing signs of our earlier problems we will be able to build all the other engines with confidence. I wonder if Mr. Holmes will be available to witness the trial?”
Lord Bond shrugged. “He will move aboard the Nederlander today. He believes he will gain more intelligence from the river side of the shipyards at Antwerp than from the land sides. He wishes to prove his theory over the next few days.”
She thought his idea a good one . . . provided he didn’t make falling in the river a habit. She had to turn her head away from His Lordship to hide the smile the thought brought to her lips. Looking toward the river from the vantage point they had reached revealed a growing pall of black smoke from the quayside ahead.
Lord Bond followed her glance. “Good Lord. What is that on fire?”
“I think it is the Spiteful crew starting the furnace fires . . . at least I certainly hope so. Lieutenant Worthington intends to take Spiteful to sea today on a trial run.”
“Yes . . . I do believe the smoke comes from the river. Why do steamships produce this black smoke in harbour?”
“The furnaces and boilers are cold, and so the combustion is incomplete. As they heat up the smoke will lighten. Will you see Mr. Holmes? Perhaps you may ask him to visit the engine trial at the steam powerhouse.”
“I will, if I see him. He seemed to be in one of his uncommunicative moods this morning at breakfast.”
“Do you believe he has the qualifications for a spy, My Lord? He seems to be a very good observer, but not what one may call a very practical person.”
“I believe you have made a perceptive judgement, my dear. Before we leave for the Low Countries I must team him with a more practical kind of fellow. It appears that I will need to use my Royalist Frenchmen as informers on this venture, so I need a man who can communicate with them.”
“Mr. Holmes speaks the language, I believe.”
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