The Gathering Storm (29 page)

'The whole enterprise was damnable nonsense from the
beginning, Captain Rennie. I don't like subterfuge, and half-truth,
and reckless forays in the dark. This business, this
intrigue, was nothing higher than a damned courtesans'
masquerade.'

'I am wholly—'

'Save the king of France? This scheme was as likely to
save him as soaking him in spirits of wine and setting him
on fire, for Christ's sake.'

'Well, yes, sir. But we—'

'Kindly be silent, sir. I am not finished.'

'I – very good, sir.'

'When I approved this scheme I was told it entailed no
more than an enquiry into the condition of the silk trade,
in France. I had no idea of its underlying purpose. Had you,
Sir Philip?'

'I had not.' The First Secretary shook his head. 'No, sir.'

'None of us knew anything about it, in whole, nor even in
part. We was persuaded that the silk trade was of sufficient
importance to the nation's interest and prosperity to warrant
our assistance. Had we known the
real
nature of—'

Rennie again opened his mouth. 'I did not know myself,
sir, until—'

'Had we known, we should have stopped it. You fired on
and destroyed French ships, in French waters, when we are
not at war with France. You have cost the lives of fifty of
your people, and lost another hundred wounded and took.
Your ship is so badly damaged she will likely have to be
condemned.'

Rennie stood silent, miserable and angry and powerless.

'As it is, the whole lunatic thing has achieved – what? King
Louis has not escaped. He has been arrested and returned
to Paris. The entire business has been futile. Utterly and
wholly worthless, and if the French will like to make trouble
for us, damned embarrassing in the bargain.'

Rennie said nothing. Let them condemn him. He would
not defend the indefensible, even if he had not been the
cause, only the instrument.

'The truth is, Captain Rennie, you could be broke for this.
Court martialled, cashiered and ruined. You and that damned
young fool Hayter, that allowed himself be persuaded to act
as a spy. We had no notion the man you would put ashore
in France was a sea officer. No inkling at all. What business
has a sea officer to enlist as a spy, behind our backs. Hey?'

Rennie looked straight ahead at the weather telltale at the
far end of the room, and bit his tongue. It seemed to him
that these high men, these powerful official men, were
attempting to distance themselves from any culpability at all,
by placing all of it at his door, and that he had no choice
but to stand and listen.

'You have brought the king's service, all the traditions of
the Royal Navy, into disrepute of the most dismal kind. You
acted with a belligerence and aggression far in excess of your
instructions and your competence. Your actions could have
brought us to a condition of war, sir, d'y'realise? May do so
yet. Who can tell?'

The First Secretary now cleared his throat, gave a little
lift of his head, and glanced at Lord Hood, who:

'Yes, Sir Philip?'

'Ought not we ... to bring matters to a conclusion, sir?
In fairness?'

'Yes? You think so?'

'In all fairness, I do.'

'Very well.' Again turning to Rennie, who had stood
throughout with his back straight, since he had not been
asked to sit down. 'Captain Rennie.'

'Sir?'

'I am obliged to acknowledge that you y'self may have
been misled in this. That don't excuse your conduct at sea,
mind you. Your conduct was recklessly unwise, in nearly all
distinctions. However ...'

He let the word hang in the air, and Rennie waited, with
the faintest stirring of hope in his breast, for the words that
would follow.

'However ... we have concluded that no good purpose
would be served by bringing you to court martial.'

'No, sir?' Glancing into Hood's deep-set eyes, his stern
face.

'No. You have suffered very severe, and while we cannot
condone what ye've done, we cannot condemn you entire,
neither. In short you have been lied to, Captain Rennie – as
have we ourselves at the Admiralty – by a person without
scruple in his undertakings and machinations, the fellow.'

'Do you mean – Mr Mappin, sir?'

'I do, sir. I may say to you candidly as one sea officer to
another that was it in my power to have the bugger flogged,
then by God I would make it so!' A deep sniff. 'It ain't in
my power, Captain Rennie. Mr Brough Mappin has very
high connections, very high protection. He has cost the
Royal Navy very dear, but he cannot be touched. And given
that he cannot, that was at the heart of this whole wretched
affair, then I cannot in all conscience punish you, sir. Nor
Lieutenant Hayter, neither.'

'I am – very greatly obliged to Your Lordship.' A bow.

'You are, by God.' Turning to the clerk, who had been
sedulously making his notes at a corner of the table. 'Mr
Bunt.'

'Sir?' Laying aside his quill.

'I have changed my mind. You will keep no minutes nor
notations of this interview, after all. You will destroy them
forthwith.'

'Very good, sir.'

The clerk gathered up his notes into a bundle, took them
to the fireplace, and carefully deposited them on the fire,
where they burned bright an instant, and in another instant
became ash. Rennie watched, and for the first time in many
days felt his heart begin to lift.

He was not sure whether or no the First Naval Lord
knew all of the facts – that the king had not been captured
off the Breton coast but far to the east at Varennes – but
Rennie did not care to enlighten him if Hood did not know.
All he cared about was that he could now, today, walk out
under he the arch of the Admiralty with nothing beside his
name but his rank, and the name of his ship. He did not
yet know any of the detail, but he was quite certain that a
way would be found to exonerate him – and James Hayter
– in everything connected to recent events in France.

'Will it save
Expedient
, though?' Muttered to himself as
he stepped out into Whitehall, a few minutes later. 'Will it
save my ship?' He glanced along the broad thoroughfare,
and thought of engaging a chair to take him to Bedford
Street, and then decided to walk there. He sniffed the air.
The day was warm, and the cloacal stink of the river wafted
across Whitehall.

'Bilge reek at sea is a thing I abominate.' As he strode
along toward the Strand. 'But by God London is putrid foul
by compare. I would not wish to spend my life in such a
filthy stench.' Stepping out to cross the street. 'Nay, I would
not.'

James woke with a little start, his breath catching in his
throat. There was someone in the room. He listened, turning
his head on the pillow, and heard a movement in the darkness,
a brief rustling sound. He eased himself up against the
pillow into a sitting position, and reached for his pistol case.
And remembered that he had no pistol case. Remembered
that he was lying ill in a London hotel, defenceless.
Again the faintest movement, as if the air itself had whispered.

'Who is there?'

And now a whispered reply:

'James?'

A woman's voice.

'Who is it? Who are you?'

'Juliette.'

'Juliette!' Jolting back against the bedhead.

'Shh! We must be quiet.' In French.

A light struck, and the glow of a candle. Juliette's beautiful
face in that glow.

'My God, it really is you ...'

She placed the candle on the cabinet, and came to him,
into his arms. Her warmth, her scent, her lips on his. His
heart swelled and thudded, his head whirled, and he felt he
would fall senseless, yet at the same moment he had never
felt more intensely alive. A long, fervent, kissing embrace.
And at last:

'Oh, my darling, my darling ...'

'Shh ... shh ... I am here.'

'I thought I had lost you. I thought you were killed ...'

'At the beach?'

'Yes. My God, I looked for you everywhere. I thought you
had been shot, and had fallen among the rocks. I could not
find you, and when the royal party came down to the boats,
I had to go with them, and leave you behind.'

'I hid myself, and escaped afterward.'

'Why did not you come with us! Why did not you—'

'Hush, my love.' Fingers to his lips. 'I could not follow
you, because I was caught between the National Guard troops
and the water. I saw you go, and I was desolate – but I could
do nothing.'

And now James gripped her hands in his, and looked into
her eyes. 'Did you know the party we rescued in the boats
was
not
the king and queen?'

A sigh. 'Yes – I knew.'

'And yet you said nothing to me! You allowed me to think
it was all entirely real! Why did not you tell me the truth,
Juliette!' In real anguish.

'Hush ...'

'In God's name, why?' Quietly, intensely, still gripping her
hands.

'My love, you will break my fingers.'

'I am sorry.' Releasing her hands. 'The last thing I would
wish to do is harm you. But you must tell me why you
deceived me. You must!'

'I was under the greatest constraint from M. Félix. I could
tell you nothing. He could have had me shot if I had said a
word of the truth to you, or to anyone. You had to believe
absolutely in the rescue plan.'

'That was all a lie.' Bitterly.

'My love, what could I do ... ?'

'Yes, what could you do? Your only choice was to make
me believe you – by seducing me.'

'At first it was only that – until I fell in love with you.'

'At first! So you make a practice of seducing gullible men,
to make them believe!'

'How you wound me when you say such things. These
are desperate days in France, and we must all do desperate
things ... but I fell in love with you, my darling.'

'Can I believe that, now ... ?' Looking at her, wishing
with all his being that he could believe her.

'Why would I have come to England to find you, if it
were not true? My darling, my love – look at me. Why would
I come, at such risk, if I did not love you?' She tried to look
into his eyes, but he sat back against the pillow, and looked
away toward the window, so clearly in torment that now it
was she who took his hands in hers, and held them tight.

'My love, my dearest, I came because I could not bear to
think I would never see you any more.'

And now he did look at her, and very soft:

'How did you find me, Juliette?'

'A message came to me, with this address. I was able to
escape to England at the very last moment, when all of us
who took part in the deception to help the king escape are
under sentence of death, and sought all over France.'

'But who sent you this message? How could—'

She shook her head, and put her hand to his lips. 'Forgive
me, I do not know ... I do not know.'

'What d'y'mean – you do not know? Do you wish to
deceive me further! Captain Rennie and I have both been
grossly deceived, and a great many men killed! I don't know
that I am able to forgive anyone that!' Growing desperately
and miserably agitated.

'You do not forgive me?' Looking into his face.

'I don't know what to believe, any more. I don't know who
to trust.' Looking away from her. 'There is no honour left
in anything.'

'My darling ... did not you wish to aid us in helping the
king to escape? What difference does it make how it was
done? We were all part of the deception. If the plan had
succeeded, would you now feel so bitter? Would you say
such wounding things to me?'

'Oh, d' you mean, if the king had escaped to Austria, or
if the party we attempted to rescue had been brought to
England? Which? Neither happened! We were
deceived
.'

'Yes. You were deceived. In a noble cause.'

'The cause may've been noble. To deceive honourable men
was not.'

'Do you wish me to go away?'

'What ... ?' Looking at her.

'I admit it ... I was just as guilty of deceit as all the others,
just as culpable. Will you send me away?'

'I – I do not wish it.'

'Why not? If I am guilty?' Softly, leaning closer.

'I – I could never send you away.'

'Why not? Tell me ...'

'Oh, good heaven, you know why. Because I love you, my
darling, I love you ...'

And he kissed her, feverishly, breathlessly, helplessly, and
they clung to each other and sank down on the bed. Soon
there was no more talk, only the timeless, wordless language
of sighs and cries and gasps that all lovers speak untutored
in the flooding dark.

*

'Captain Rennie, you are alone at breakfast, I see.'

Brough Mappin stood perfectly groomed in front of
Rennie's table in Mrs Peebles's dining room. Rennie looked
at him and was in no way inclined to be welcoming. An
insult lurked under his tongue, and then he left it there.
Instead:

'I am. I prefer to eat breakfast solitary.'

'Why not in your room, then, off a tray?' A smile. His
cheeks were smooth-shaven, his stock flawless, everything
about his person perfectly arranged.

Rennie did not care for that smile. It was a little too
complacent, a little too self-assured for this hour of the day.

'D'ye want something of me, Mappin?' Deliberately omitting
'mister'. 'I am surprised y'have the effrontery to face
me, after—'

'Indeed, I wish to say a word to you, Captain Rennie.'
Over him, easily. 'May I join you in a cup of coffee?' He
pulled out a chair, and made to sit down.

'Y'may not. I never drink coffee.'

'Ah. Then – tea?' And he did sit down. Rennie scowled
at him, and cut off the top of an egg.

'Or d'you take chocolate in the morning?' Mr Mappin was
determined to be affable.

'Chocolate! I do not.'

'Is Lieutenant Hayter recovered, I wonder? He was ill,
poor fellow, when last I was here, and that had made him ...
captious.'

'He is better, I think.' Grudgingly.

'Good, good. I am glad to hear it.'

'I have not seen him today.'

'No? At any rate, it is you I wished to see, Rennie.'

'I think we can have nothing to discuss.' Rennie attacked
his egg, wounding it deep with his spoon. Yoke spilled. 'I
will say to you candidly that my opinion of you—'

Smoothly, over him: 'I will like you to come with me to
meet a certain person, this morning.'

'Certain person?'

'Indeed. A private interview, that will greatly aid your
understanding – of late events.'

'Late events, hey? A very pretty description. Well well,
who is it?'

'It is a person you will in course know at once, when you
see him.'

'D'y'mean that I'm already acquainted with the fellow?'
Frowning.

'You will certainly know who he is.'

'Christ's blood, Mappin. It is the early part of the day, and
I am
trying
to eat my breakfast. If you are going to speak to
me, speak plain, or leave me in peace.'

Mr Mappin made himself smile again, and: 'I have a
carriage. I think after all I will not drink tea. I will wait
for you outside. Ten minutes?' And without waiting for a
reply he stood up and stepped away quickly out of the
room.

Rennie sucked down hot tea, and called for more toast.
He would make Mappin wait fifteen minutes, at least. And
when his toast came:

'Nay, twenty, the damned presuming bugger.' Muttered.

'Beg pardon, sir?' The servant girl.

'Nothing. I was clearing my wind.' And when the girl had
gone: 'Even then I may not go with him, if I don't feel like
it. After all he has put us through? Who the devil does he
think he is, ordering me about ashore?'

But in the end his curiosity got the better of him, and he
did go.

In the carriage – a plain black conveyance, no coat of arms,
no embellishment – Rennie said to Mr Mappin:

'If you will not tell me who it is, in least tell me where it
is, hey? Where do we go?'

'Be patient.'

'Be patient with you? By God, you ask too much, sir.' An
exasperated sigh, but he did not press Mr Mappin further.
Instead he settled back in his seat and was content to watch
the passing scene. They crossed a square crowded with
carriages, and carts, and then they were in streets of tall
houses. The carriage turned down one of these streets,
proceeded to the far end and stopped. Mr Mappin and Rennie
descended.

'This house.' Mr Mappin indicated a house with columns,
the lamp glasses freshly polished, the step pristine, the door
glossily painted.

'Whose house is this ... ?' wondered Rennie aloud, but
he got no answer.

Mr Mappin pulled the bell. The stamping of the horses'
feet behind them, echoing in the quiet street. A brief wait,
then the heavy door swung inward, and they went in. Liveried
footmen, a grand mirror, a long portrait at the head of the
stair. They were led across black-and-white-chequered stone,
their footsteps clicking, and through a panelled door into a
tall, book-quiet room.

'Mr Mappin.'

'Prime Minister. May I introduce Captain William Rennie,
RN, of HMS
Expedient
.'

'Good God ...' Rennie, under his breath.

'Captain Rennie.' The Prime Minister came forward and
shook Rennie's hand. The grip firm. The face of a young
man but the eyes older. A brown coat, a high-tied stock, no
wig. Wine fumes, very distinct.

'I am very glad we are able to meet, so that I may thank
you.'

'Thank me, sir ... ?'

'Indeed, Captain Rennie. In private circumstances, away
from the trappings and formalities of office.' He led the way
toward chairs, and a side table. Turning:

'A glass of wine?'

Rennie very nearly refused, so early in the day, and then
thought that to refuse would be impolite – impolitic – and
he accepted. Inclining his head:

'Thank you, sir. You are kind.'

He was given a glass of port wine. Mr Mappin also
accepted. Glasses were raised, and tipped. The wine was a
little rich for Rennie's taste – he preferred the subtler flavour
of Madeira – but he swallowed it willingly enough. His glass
was at once refilled.

'Gentlemen, shall we sit down?'

They sat down. Light from the tall window at the end of
the room fell glancing on a desk, a snuffbox, and the high
glass of an Argand lamp. Mr Pitt turned his direct, friendly
gaze on Rennie, and:

'You have done us proud, you know.'

'Eh?' Before he could stop himself, then: 'Erm ... thank
you, sir.'

'Y'may not think so, now. When you have lost so many
brave men, and your ship lies broken, you may not think so.
But what you did was very remarkable.'

'You flatter me, sir, I think.' A polite half-smile.

'I know you were not told the whole truth, at the beginning.
We could not tell you. Eh, Mappin?'

'We could not, sir.'

'The plan of diversion and decoy might well have failed,
had you not believed in it, entire.'

'I – I think that it did fail, sir ...'

'Not through want of British effort, though. Not through
any lack of British endeavour and determination. Your determination,
sir, and courage, and skill. We did everything that
was in our power to aid King Louis to escape – through you,
Captain Rennie. England can never be blamed, King George
can never be faulted nor blamed nor held to account for
want of desire
. We did everything that was humanly possible.
You did, Captain Rennie. Your actions were heroic. Aye, that
is the word. Heroic. I have read the whole of the report.'
Nodding.

'I – I have submitted no report ...'

'Lieutenant Merriman Leigh was advised that a report
should be forthcoming as soon as he was able to furnish it,
from Portsmouth.' Mr Mappin, to Rennie. 'He did so, in
your absence.'

'He did? Ah.'

'And now I will like to make the loyal toast.' Mr Pitt
refilled his own glass, and raised it. He stood. 'Gentlemen,
the king.' Rennie and Mappin stood in turn.

'The king.'

'The king.'

They drank, and the Prime Minister remained on his legs.
'A further toast, if I may.' He held up his glass to Rennie.
'To you, Captain Rennie.'

'Indeed – Captain Rennie.' Mappin held up his glass.

They drank, and in spite of himself – in spite of all his
doubt and guilt and sense of failure – Rennie found himself
moved. A moment, and he cleared his throat.

'You are very good.'

The Prime Minister nodded benignly. 'However ...'