This whole day was a hostage destined to be wasted if he could not return in time for his appointment with Mr. Stephenson. He had at last come to the conclusion that it was imperative he speak to Miss Roberta’s father before he left for Holland—and doubly important that he should become engaged to her immediately afterward. He had little fear that she would prove difficult, even though she had a mind of her own and already a strong suspicion that his designs were less than gentlemanly. Were they? He had to suppress a sigh as he kicked his heels into his mount’s flanks. Of course they were not . . . well, they would not be if the marriage turned out to be a bargain, both economically and physically. He felt sure that once in his arms, the lovely Miss Stephenson would prove to be a prize worth crossing the Marquess to attain.
The Devil may take whoever should raise their noses in condemnation of a union between a peer of the realm and a tradesman’s daughter. Stephenson was no ordinary tradesman. With the opportunity to invest in both improving the landed estates of the family and excelling in the new industries of steam, he felt sure the Tiverton fortune could grow enough to rival even that of the late Duke of Portland. With those thoughts returning his mind to a closer acquaintancy with equanimity he almost wore a smile as he reached the gate to the General’s military headquarters.
The sentry marched forward, his musket at the port. “What be yurr business, gentleman?”
“Lord Bond to see General Auchtermuchty. Please open the gate and let me pass.”
“Do ye have ident’ficatshun, M’Lord?”
“Of course I do. Open the gate at once.”
“Well, Yerr Lordship, it do happen that the Generral be not at home.”
Damn! That was all he needed. “Where has the General gone? Please escort me to the officer of the guard at once.”
The sentry’s eyes and mouth worked together, one pair squinting and the other chewing imaginary cud as the man considered what he should do next. Luckily the inaction brought forth another figure from the guard house behind, this one with the epaulets of a lieutenant.
“What is the matter here?”
The sentry’s face positively beamed as the need for a decision evaporated. “This genl’man wants terr see th’ General, Sirr.”
“Oh, does he? What is your business, Sir?”
“Lord Bond to see General Auchtermuchty. Please open the gate and let me pass.”
“Lord Bond? I must inform you that the General is away hunting at a house party today. He is not expected back until Monday, My Lord.”
“Could you please direct me to this house party, Lieutenant? It is imperative that I speak with the general as soon as possible.”
“Hmm. I’m very sorry, My Lord, but I must ask you to show me some identification. There are rumours of French spies active in the area.”
“If you will let me into the guardroom I will do so.” Bond almost howled with frustration—the only spies this officer could have heard rumour of were his own teams practising in the shipyards. His sour mood descended upon him again like a Plague upon Egypt. That the officer promptly ordered the gate opened and escorted him inside did little to lighten it.
Bond reached into an inside pocket of his riding attire to pull out several closed packets of documents. “How far away is the General’s shooting party? Can you give me directions?” he said as he selected one.
“All in good time, if you please, My Lord,” the officer replied as he opened the papers to read. “I’m sure you would not want me to be careless in my duties.”
Bond turned a growl in his throat into a hurrumph. “Of course not.”
The officer read and then looked up with a frown. “This appears to be an American Passport. It identifies you as a Gideon Paine, a citizen of New Bedford. I need hardly remind you that we are at war with the American colonists—this is very serious. Please sit over there, if you will.” The officer quickly detailed two soldiers to watch over him.
“Dammit, man! That is just an unfortunate mistake.” Bond reached in for the other documents. “I have my warrant as a special officer of the Admiralty here, please look at it.”
“I must ask you to keep both your hands in sight, Mr. Gideon Paine. I will call upon my commanding officer at once.”
Bond punched a fist into his hand. Oh . . . this was ridiculous. “I was here just the other day to see the General. Look in the watch ledger, you will see my name and signature listed on August the tenth.”
“I’m sure we will, Sir, but I must ask you not to make trouble . . . my men may handle you roughly. I will go to find my superior officer and we will examine your documents and the ledger when we return.”
After returning from church, Roberta went to her room with two of the maids and Aunt Nelly to pack a shipping trunk for her stay in London. “First thing tomorrow morning we must get the carter to take this to the passenger booking office of the Firth and Clyde Canal,” she told her aunt. “They may hold it there in readiness for my taking the steamship service to London that you did.”
“I thoroughly recommend the steamships, lassie. I only wish I cude come with ye, but the offer of the Viscount’s Lady must not be sniffed at.”
“Indeed,” Roberta answered. “The First Lord’s lady is very kind to offer me her assistance and her protection while I am in the city. I should have no concern of being in the city alone without a chaperone while I reside under their roof.”
“A Viscountess, Miss Roberta?” Heather, one of the maids asked. “I should be terrible affrighted in a noble’s house like that.”
Roberta smiled. “I’m sure I will feel much abashed, too, if truth were known. I hope I shall settle down quickly in such exalted company.”
“Ah, but ye have had the attentions o’ His Lordship for nigh on a month now,” Becky, the other maid, said with a grin. “You must be near on a lady in yer own rights by now.”
“Hush yure mouths now,” Aunt Nelly scolded. “Dinna’ be sae cheeky.”
Roberta laughed. “Let them have some fun . . . ’tis grateful I am that they should work thus on a Sunday.”
Aunt Nelly was not mollified. “Dinna cast yer good accounts about fer these hussies. ’Tis ainly the shillin’s ye’ve promised that has brought them forth.”
“Is His Lordship in love wi’ ye, Miss Roberta?” Heather asked, wide eyed.
“Away wi’ye,” Aunt Nelly said quickly. “Sic impertinence.”
Roberta ceased pawing through her wardrobe, looking for her most fashionable dresses. “I wish I knew, Heather. Sometimes he seems very kind and bound to please—and then his manner becomes distant and I think he has no regard for me at all.”
“Ah, that’s jus’ a man,” Becky pronounced. “They be only at yer beck an’ call when they want’s somm’at.”
“Aye,” Heather said. “An’ us knaws what they wants.”
Aunt Nelly’s expression darkened. “Enough, ye wicked trollops—sic language on a Sunday!”
Roberta warned them with a glance. “Let’s get to work. Heather—take this dress please and lay it in the trunk.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Do ye ken how lang ye’ll be in Lunnon?” Aunt Nelly asked as they set out her underthings to pack the best.
Roberta shrugged. “A month at least.” She could have said two, because this duty as a participant of the spying aboard the Navy ship would likely add weeks to her stay. She did not speak of that because she had resolved not to let her father know the details that had been in the Admiralty letter. She did not want him to worry—he was already fretting at Lord Bond’s absence today because he had asked to speak with him in the library upon his return from Glasgow. She could not even tell Aunt Nelly, for she was certain to be unable to keep the secret.
Chapter Thirty-three
Setting Off Secretly
On Monday morning as Roberta prepared to take the new Admiralty warrant to the bank in Glasgow, another message arrived for her father. He interrupted her preparations to ask her to come into the l
ibrary.
“What is it, Father?”
“Sit down, would you please, dear? I have not yet read the entire message.”
Roberta sat close enough to get a glimpse of the writing—it seemed to be from the Stephenson Railway Works at Newcastle. That meant her old nemesis Martin Postlethwait had sent it—he was temporarily in charge of the works while her father was at Clydebank. She attempted to moderate her feelings of revulsion, but her memory of that unpleasant episode four years before when he had tried to claim her as if she were the spoils of . . . perhaps not war, but certainly of his devious efforts to ingratiate himself as the best man to manage the Railway Works in succession to her father. The old impression of being no more than a commodity . . . a convenient repository of the treasure that had been built up by everyone’s sacrifice and effort over so many years—!
Men!
She began to reconsider the good feelings that had grown in her breast for the gentlemen who had shared her experiences and trials these weeks past. Who among them had been motivated by the same feelings of entitlement that had animated Postlethwait? Mr. Holmes seemed only to appreciate the feelings of superiority in education his guidance had engendered; Lieutenant Worthington no doubt valued her friendship as a path to advancement and command in the Navy; and as for Lord Bond—. How many of his expressions of kindness had been genuine? Had he really been there for her benefit in the Admiralty; and in the perils and tribulations since . . . or had he been using her as a stepping stone merely to achieve his own ends? Was he any better than Postlethwait?
“The engine works is in financial difficulty, Roberta,” Father said, holding out the letter to her.
She accepted it gingerly, as if it bore some unseen effluent of its writer. She frowned as her eyes skimmed across the laboriously embroidered construction of its words and letters to grasp the import of its meaning. “He cannot meet the wages next week. Is that not a matter of his failure to properly budget for the company’s expenses?”
“Do not be so harsh, Roberta. I will readily admit that I have taken a great sum of money from the Railway accounts to be able to finance our approach here to the Admiralty. I do not hesitate to point out that Clydebank owes him not a little in return. Please read on.”
Roberta continued. She had to admit that several thousand pounds sterling had been tied up in preparing to build the boilers for her new warship. Further into the letter she found some accounts that indicated delays in completing and receiving payment for contracted locomotives could be attributed to much needed iron plates having been diverted to Clydebank. She set the letter aside. “What do you want to do?”
“I think in all fairness you will agree with me that when you deposit the Admiralty warrant today, one of the financial instruments drawn upon it should be a sum of money to recompense the Engine Works for their expenses incurred on Clydebank’s account. I must take it to them myself.”
The thought of Postlethwait receiving some of her Admiralty warrant was almost beyond bearing. “How much money, Father?”
“That is what we must decide before you leave for Glasgow.”
She quickly focussed on the tasks this could add to her workload, even though the greater problems had been solved. “Are you quite sure that you can leave your work here at such short notice?”
“I am sure I can leave everything in your hands until I return. You will not need to depart Clydebank to answer the Admiralty’s request that you go to London for another week, at least.”
“Perhaps I could take the money to Newcastle.”
“I do not think that a good idea—you and Mr. Postlethwait . . . well, I need not go on.”
She thought it might be interesting to see his discomfort. “I can stand his presence for a day or two on a business visit—if he will not object to mine.”
Her father raised a hand against her words. “There is one other matter that requires your presence here. Lord Bond has expressed a wish to speak with me. His intention had been to speak with us both yesterday, before he departs for the Low Countries, but he has not yet returned from his visit to Glasgow to speak to General Auchtermuchty.”
Roberta tossed her head; she did not need to see him. What good wishes did she want to send him to Antwerp with? It seemed as if his desire to involve her would place her in a frigate off that very coast. Whatever she might want to say to him could easily wait until she met him there. “If Lord Bond wishes to have me see him off it can certainly take place when I return from Glasgow this afternoon. No doubt he will have returned by then.”
Father stared at her perplexedly. “Well . . . if you think so, but I think you are being too flighty to treat his attentions so carelessly.”
“His attentions are entirely his business, Father. Now I believe we should consider ours. How much money does the Engine Works need?”
Lord Bond rode hard until he reached the town of Paisley. The Laird of Ladyland, where the General had gone for the shooting, was almost twenty miles from Clydebank over difficult road, cut up by waggons hauling the local iron to Glasgow. He had been very lucky the Laird had room for him this past night, and perhaps just as lucky that General Auchtermuchty had readily agreed to write out an order authorising Captain McNab to join the spying mission to the Low Countries.
He trotted his lathered animal down Paisley’s main street, looking for the turn-off to Clydebank. What he needed next was to find the Captain and deliver the orders, but that was not the end of the business. The senior lieutenant of the regiment must be located to take over the company . . . and that might take some time if the pay, company returns, and equipment accounts were not in good order. He would not involve himself in that business—he was a day late for his conversation with Miss Roberta’s father. He did not see how he could embark on the Nederlander until Tuesday morning . . . he had best arrange to have draft horses rented at the Firth and Clyde Canal to tow the vessel to the North Sea shores of Scotland.
Should he go next to the Nederlander to ensure all the preparations for departure were in good order? He sighed. No, surely Symington could be counted on to deal with those matters in his absence. Then there was the matter of coin for their voyage . . . he doubted he could find French or Dutch coin in Glasgow. He should have arranged for the Admiralty to have that ready to be picked up at Edinburgh. Blast! This unexpected haste to leave had completely upset his planning.
His only motive in delaying the departure had been to secure Stephenson’s approval to propose to his daughter—and then there should have been time to woo her with some appropriate gift . . . a piece of jewelry and an attendance at some function in Glasgow. Now, there would not be time for that. He put heels to the horse’s flanks. If he did not ride hard he would not reach Stephenson’s mansion in time to speak to either of them.
Roberta sat back in the barouche as Cam, her coachman, turned into the Paisley road from Glasgow. Her business had taken some time in the bank, but it had been most gratifying to have several clerks and an accountant bustling around to prepare the three money drafts she requested. The thirty-three thousand she had deposited now had large holes in it—enough for the next month’s construction here, the eight thousand for Tyneside, and a thousand for her to deposit in a London bank to cover her shipbuilding business and expenses in the city.
She hoped to reach her destination in time to go to the shipyard to tidy her notes for the new building before returning to dress for dinner. Really, there was little work that could be done on the new vessel to counter the French ironclad until she had the information from Antwerp. As for the spitefuls under construction, she merely needed to be at hand to deal with difficulties as they arose, but the building was now in the hands of the construction superintendents and they had been remarkably free from requests that only she could deal with.
Lieutenant Worthington—soon to be Lieutenant Commander—would be at sea another day, she expected. The Spiteful had steamed down the Clyde early Saturday afternoon and would be gone until this eveni
ng or Tuesday morning—if they had no trouble. She was confident there would be none, and in any case, they had already proved the ship could complete a voyage on one engine if required.
Mr. Holmes had moved his kit from the mansion on Saturday and was now quartered aboard the yacht. No doubt he was dividing his time between ensuring the yacht’s stores were in order and rowing up and down the river determining how much activity he could spy on from the water.
That left Lord Bond. What had been the topic of the discussion he had asked her father for on Sunday? How strange that he had not returned from Glasgow to keep the appointment. She had seen little of him of late, only the ride in the trap on Saturday morning. He had seemed pleasant but not effusively so at that time. Was he really attracted to her, as his attentions in London had suggested? Perhaps she had been mistaken . . . perhaps he was always gallant when in female company. But Aunt Nelly had thought him very serious in his attentions to her when she had witnessed them together in the city. Enough that she had cautioned Roberta not to get her hopes up.
Had she got her hopes up? She did not think so; she had merely been as amiable as she thought proper in the company of a very eligible bachelor. What were her hopes? Could she expect to maintain her duties toward her father and the business while being . . . ? She could not say it. A word danced in her head and seemed to blot out her vision of the countryside as she rode—the word was Marchioness. Surely a totally unattainable height, no matter what her feelings were toward His Lordship.
They turned off the Paisley Road toward Clydebank and drove to the shipyard. Roberta took the money draft and a pouch of sovereigns to deposit in the safe and then went to her office. Her father had not returned to the yard from lunch, and Miss Brad asked if she would inform him she needed his guidance.
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