Behind her, Princess Sophia groaned and collapsed in a dead faint.
Chapter Seventeen
November 1793
‘I apologise, my lord, but I cannot have heard correctly. How many men?’
John shifted in his leather armchair. He glanced up briefly at the beautiful concentric patterns on the Admiralty Board Room’s ceiling, plunged in the gloom of a November evening, and repeated, ‘There are just under 5,000 men in Toulon.’
Admiral Gardner’s expression did not change, but the muscles of his weather-beaten face tightened ever so slightly. ‘I thought Mr Pitt promised Lord Hood an army of 60,000.’
‘He did.’ John rubbed his chin and stifled a yawn. He had been up late the previous night poring over naval charts; he did not think he was likely to get to bed any sooner tonight.
To his relief, Gardner did not ask where the 55,000 missing men were. John liked Gardner, who could be blunt to the point of rudeness but, unlike many, recognised the First Lord of the Admiralty’s efforts to learn about his role and the navy under his command.
Along with most naval men, however, Gardner could hardly restrain his indignation at the way government was squandering the greatest strategic ace Britain had acquired since the start of the French war. Supporters of the French monarchy had petitioned the British navy in the Mediterranean, under Lord Hood, to protect Toulon against the republicans. The town could provide a base for launching an attack on France’s heart from the south, but so far little had been done to fortify it. ‘The Austrian force?’
‘Has not yet arrived.’ The other members of the Admiralty Board looked grave. Charles Perceval tapped at the table-top with the metal sheath of his pencil. The elderly Admiral Affleck crossed his arms. Like John, they knew the Austrians were only interested in the war in the north, in Flanders, where they currently had 60,000 men in the field.
‘I understand the counter-revolutionaries in Marseilles and Lyons have already been suppressed by republican forces.’ Gardner’s blue eyes, clear and piercing, held John’s. ‘Louis XVII’s supporters placed Toulon in our hands in trust. So long as we remain there we control half the French navy. Should Toulon fall—’
‘Toulon will not fall,’ John said, quietly. Gardner sighed.
‘I certainly hope it will not, my lord, for should Toulon become a second Dunkirk …’
The silence in the Board Room was complete. Barely two months had passed since the Duke of York’s terrible defeat at Dunkirk. The 1,500 men that had sailed from Greenwich in February had been reinforced to 7,000 and joined by 30,000 Austrians, Dutch and Hanoverians, but it had not been enough to defeat the 45,000-strong French army; 10,000 men had died and the survivors forced into a humiliating retreat, all because the Duke had not received supplies and equipment in time – equipment carried by ships in John’s navy; ships that had sailed too late, and missed the crucial tide that might have saved York and his army.
Toulon could not be allowed to fall. For John, saving Toulon now meant saving his reputation. The one was bound up with the other.
****
Mary was dozing by the library fire, some neglected embroidery in her lap, when John came back from the meeting. She started awake when he leaned over, kissed her gently on the cheek and said, ‘I told you not to wait for me.’
‘And I told you I would.’ She rubbed at her eyes and glanced at the clock: it was well past midnight. ‘These Board meetings are getting longer and longer, my love. I cannot recall the last time you came to me before ten.’
‘Yes,’ John said, his face suddenly tight. ‘Although apparently my late nights are due to my getting drunk and sitting up at card tables until the small hours of the morning. The only gambling I have done since summer is with men’s lives, and my own career.’
Mary stretched her aching limbs, wincing as her hip twinged in protest. ‘John, what is the matter? Did the Board …?’
‘Nobody on the Board would dare throw the rumours in my face,’ John said, through clenched teeth. ‘But they are all aware of them. Since Dunkirk the rumours have got worse.’
‘But you did what you were ordered to do.’ Mary rose and placed her hands on John’s shoulders. His muscles were taut as a bow-string. ‘It is not your fault the decision to besiege Dunkirk was taken at the last minute.’
‘It is not just Dunkirk,’ John muttered. ‘News came this afternoon. Another merchant vessel has been captured. There was a full convoy, of course, but the fool of a master did not want to wait for its protection. Not that inconvenient facts will stop my enemies shedding my blood.’
‘William will defend you.’
‘He will,’ John agreed, with a bitter smile. ‘But others may choose not to.’
He threw himself in a chair, stretched his legs towards the fire and laid his head against the embroidered back-rest. The gold plaster mouldings of Admiralty House’s elegant ceilings glittered in the candlelight. The flames glanced off the tall pier glasses between the windows and played dark tricks on John’s brooding face. The treacherous thought that perhaps losing his office might be the best thing for his health occurred to Mary; she quashed it with difficulty. Forced retirement might relieve John’s immediate stress, but the humiliation of it would destroy him.
To stop herself feeling completely useless she crossed to the decanters and poured him a glass. While he drank, she stood behind his chair and brushed her hand against the taut muscles of his cheek, willing her love to heal his wounds. ‘You said others may choose not to defend you. Did you mean the Duke of Richmond?’
Richmond, the Master General of the Ordnance, also shared responsibility for the late arrival of the siege equipment at Dunkirk. The Duke was a notoriously difficult colleague, and Mary would not have been surprised if he had tried to throw his share of the blame on John, but her husband shook his head. ‘Even if Richmond were to cause trouble my brother would not listen. But there are others who may seek to protect themselves at my expense. Dundas, for example.’
‘Dundas?’ Mary wrinkled her nose instinctively. Her little social contact with William’s Secretary of State for Home Affairs had not attracted her to him. She found his Scottish accent hard to understand, and his wine-reddened face and blunt-fingered hands with their bitten nails revolted her. Yet she knew William valued Dundas’s advice highly, and that he had more impact on war policy than any other man.
‘Once, many years ago, William agreed with me about Dundas. He agreed with me on so many things.’ John kicked violently at the ashes in the grate, sending up a great cloud of sparks. ‘How times have changed.’
‘Surely your brother will not choose Dundas over you?’
‘I wish I agreed,’ John said, and Mary dropped her hand away at the despair in his voice, a despair she was powerless to stem.
****
The précis of the latest despatches circulated the Cabinet table in silence. John knew much of the information already, for his department had compiled half the document, but he read it again anyway, poking at the wound as though exacerbating the pain might help it pass more quickly: 3,000 sick at Toulon; the French closing in fast; the Austrians defeated at Wattignies, freeing up more Frenchmen to march south against Hood in Toulon.
William waited until the paper had gone round the table. ‘As you see, gentlemen, the situation is grave.’
John glanced round the table. The Duke of Richmond, still smarting from the attacks launched at him after Dunkirk, was turned away, his lined face full of anger.
‘I trust we are all agreed the Duke of York must be recalled from Flanders,’ Dundas said. His deep-set eyes roamed round the table, seeking out challenge. None came.
William’s taut face relaxed a little. ‘Withdrawing our men from northern Europe will provide us with disposable manpower for the first time in a long while. We must decide where best to apply that force.’
‘The men will need to recover,’ the Duke of Richmond growled. ‘By all accounts half are sick with marsh fever.’
&
nbsp; Neither William nor Dundas reacted, accustomed to ignoring Richmond’s protests. John was inclined to think Richmond spoke sensibly, but the prospect of sending reinforcements to Toulon was not one he could let pass. He nerved himself to speak. ‘Whatever their condition, the troops will be greatly appreciated by Lord Hood. The revolutionary forces in the south will soon be reinforced. It will not be long before an attempt is made to eject us from Toulon.’
His words fell into a profound silence. William and Dundas exchanged a look. It was too brief for John to make much of it, but something warned him his brother and the Home Secretary already had plans for York’s troops.
‘You do intend to reinforce Lord Hood, do you not?’ John stammered, aware none of the other Cabinet members had so much as nodded either.
‘Of course we do,’ William said, soothingly. ‘Provision for him will be made in the army estimates.’
John was stunned. ‘The army estimates? In March? That’s four months away!’
Lord Grenville, John and William’s cousin, now ennobled and William’s Foreign Secretary, spoke up. ‘Our ambassador in Vienna has been instructed to emphasise the importance of sending men to Toulon as soon as possible. I have no reason to believe—’
‘The Austrians?’ Now John was convinced his colleagues were playing him for a fool. ‘They are in full retreat! What can we expect from them?’
‘Perhaps nothing,’ Dundas interposed, with a quelling look at Grenville. ‘However, there is a more pressing claim on our resources. Word has arrived from the West Indies that Guadeloupe has fallen to the French, and that we have failed to retake Martinique. We cannot allow the enemy to keep the islands; our sugar trade must be secured. Eight regiments will sail under the command of Sir Charles Grey.’
For a moment, John was speechless. ‘Eight regiments?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ Dundas replied, as though speaking to a child. ‘Eight.’
‘I suppose they will require transports? Where will we obtain them?’
‘You are First Lord of the Admiralty,’ Dundas said thinly. ‘You tell me.’
‘I do not think I need to tell you where our ships are to be found!’ John realised he was on the edge of losing his temper. He lowered his voice. ‘Sir, please consider. We have ships in the Atlantic, and in the Mediterranean. We have every single French Channel port blockaded. We must provide convoys for our mercantile shipping. I beg of you, do not waste resources on the West Indies. Toulon and the French fleet are in our hands. We hold them like a knife to the heart of the revolution. If we must send our men anywhere, let it be where it can make the most difference. Let it be Toulon.’
William braced a finger against his top lip, his eyes fixed on Dundas. The Scotsman’s head was pitched to one side as though straining to listen. John felt his heart shrivel from the cold in the older man’s gaze.
‘The formation of military strategy falls under my remit as Secretary of State,’ Dundas said. ‘I would thank you, my lord, to mind your own business.’
‘I think you will find this is my business,’ John replied instantly. ‘Any matters pertaining to naval strategy must perforce—’
‘Naval strategy is but a part of the broader war effort!’ Dundas snapped. ‘The main actions of the war have taken place on land. The needs of the navy must bow to the requirements of our army and our trade.’
John could not believe what he was hearing. ‘If we do not fight for Toulon, we will lose it.’
Dundas took a deep breath, and in that moment John knew the Home Secretary had already given Toulon up for lost. ‘You are persistent, my lord. Had you been so determined about sending ships to Flanders, the Duke of York might even now be marching on Paris.’
‘Gentlemen.’ William raised his hands to stop any further exchange. ‘Lord Chatham, I am grateful for your advice, knowing it comes from your knowledge of the resources at your command. As a military man, however, you must recognise the need for flexibility. We cannot allow the French to profit from the West Indies. We must trust to our continental alliances to provide for Lord Hood and look to our own interests.’
‘Do you mean to exclude our men in Toulon from that tally?’ John retorted.
‘You are out of order, sir,’ Dundas protested.
‘That is for Mr Pitt to decide.’ Anger made John bold. He met William’s cold gaze. ‘I have not yet had a reply to my question.’
‘In war, difficult choices must be made,’ William said, woodenly.
‘At the expense of good men? You know I have served in the West Indies. I can tell you better than Mr Dundas’s despatches how disease will kill more of our men than the French will.’ William raised his chin. Aware that he was not making progress, John used the last weapon in his arsenal. ‘William, our own brother died in the West Indies.’
William’s eyes dilated in shock. Dundas thumped the table. ‘Enough! With the navy in such hands I do not wonder we have yet to defeat the French at sea, and that our trade convoys are swallowed up by enemy privateers.’
John’s vision blurred. He stood, his chair-legs screaming against the wooden floor. ‘If you, sir, took advice from military men once in a while, you might discover war is more complicated than calculating columns of figures or fighting battles on paper.’
John’s vision cleared enough to see Dundas’s expression of triumph. His ears caught up with his tongue and he winced. Everyone knew war strategy was decided by three men: Dundas, Grenville and William. John had aimed his insult too clumsily.
‘I think the matter has been discussed enough,’ William snapped. ‘Lord Chatham, I appreciate your concerns, but the decision stands. Eight regiments will go to the West Indies, and the Admiralty will find sufficient transports.’
John could say nothing in the face of a direct order. ‘Of course, sir.’
The Cabinet broke up soon after. John was knotting the cords round his leather folder embossed with the Admiralty anchor when he felt William’s hand on his upper arm. ‘A word with you, Lord Chatham.’
The use of his title warned John he could expect nothing good, but he followed his brother into William’s study with its windows overlooking the garden and St James’s Park. William’s secretaries, Joe Smith and John Carthew, were working at a great table on one side of the room. When they saw William’s expression they hastily took their leave.
William stalked over to his desk. Spread over its surface, hedged in by several books bristling with bookmarks, was an avalanche of papers and letters, red and green seals winking in the candlelight. William dragged a large folio out of the chaos and banged it down on the secretaries’ table.
‘There.’ He dragged John over and pointed. John looked down reluctantly: it was a map of Martinique and Guadeloupe. ‘That is where the ships are to be sent. Can you fix it in your mind? You will not send the transports elsewhere in a fit of pique?’
‘I would do no such thing and you know it,’ John said, bristling at the implication. William slammed the atlas closed. Several unopened letters slid to the floor.
‘What did you imagine you would achieve by attacking Dundas in that manner?’
‘He provoked me.’
‘I do not care!’ William shouted. ‘I will not allow you to reduce a Cabinet meeting to the level of a petty rivalry. If you have nothing sensible to contribute, I advise you to keep your mouth shut.’
The unfairness of the attack horrified John. ‘I think I have a right to defend myself against a personal assault on my ability to—’
‘Perhaps you ought to consider whether that assault has any basis in fact?’ John stared at his brother. William braced himself against the table and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I am sorry, John. I know you are not the only minister to have attracted blame for what has passed.’ He looked up, and John felt the steel in his brother’s gaze pierce him like a blade. ‘But blame has attached, and I think you ought to be very careful in what you do and say, for the government cannot afford any more disasters.’
; The words fell into John’s mind, coldly and evenly. He stayed silent, not sure what response to make to something that had sounded very much like a threat.
William’s gaze sharpened. ‘Have I made myself clear?’
John bit his lip and tasted blood. ‘Quite clear.’
Chapter Eighteen
June 1794
The carriage drew up before the Opera House on the Haymarket. Dusk was just falling after a warm June day, and enormous flambeaux had been lit beneath the Doric pediments at either end of the theatre’s street frontage. From inside came the faint strains of an orchestra, and the trill of a female voice singing an aria.
Mary gave John her hand and stepped down onto the pavement. The air was sticky with humidity, and the silk of her high-waisted dress stuck to her back. Beside her Georgiana ran a finger discreetly behind her crimson sash, the ostrich feathers in her hair bouncing in the wind from her fan.
‘Tell me how it goes,’ John murmured. He dropped a kiss on Mary’s cheek and grasped the strap to re-enter the vehicle. Mary stopped him.
‘Will you not come in with us?’
The flickering flambeaux dwelled on the dents below the bridge of John’s nose, the line between his eyes, the downward curve of his pursed lips. ‘Tonight is your triumph, my love.’
‘But it’s not.’ Mary and John had discussed the matter so many times, but now, faced with the immediate prospect of going in alone, Mary tried again. ‘Lord Howe’s naval victory is in no way mine, John. Six prizes taken, the French fleet broken … The triumph is yours.’
‘Do you not think Lord Howe might disagree?’
‘You know what I mean. Lord Howe may have won the battle, but he did so with resources provided by your Admiralty.’ She hesitated over the words “Dunkirk” and “Toulon”, wondering whether she should express her conviction that Howe’s victory off Ushant totally offset those defeats, but decided against casting blemish on the glorious news. She spoke firmly. ‘John, listen to me. Lord Howe’s victory is your justification. You have something Mr Dundas does not have: success.’ John’s face hardened at the mention of the Secretary of State. Mary pressed her lips to his. ‘Can you not see you are safe now?’
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