The Price of Glory (19 page)

“Did you indeed? Well, I can only say that this shows a more mature judgement than is your normal practice; the one consistent theme in this wretched miscellany of error and miscalculation being that you invariably act upon an impulse as hazardous to our friends as it is to our enemies.”

Earl Spencer spoke in the dry, confident tones of a man who has been used for the greater part of his life to saying very much what he liked to whomsoever he pleased without regard for the consequence. A descendant of the great Duke of Marlborough and one of the first lords of the land, he had now added to that distinction by being made First Lord of the Admiralty, though to Nathan's knowledge he had as much understanding of the sea and those who sailed upon it as any politician. But Nathan had been in the Gulf of Mexico when the appointment was made and his views on the appointment had not been sought.

“I was not inclined to think of Mr. Imlay as a friend, either to my sovereign, myself or the country at large,” he remarked, in a tone very like that of his superior, though without the authority to support it.

Clearly this deficiency had occurred to his superior.

“Your opinion, sir, is of no consequence and you would do better to keep it to yourself,” Earl Spencer informed him briskly, “unless you are asked for it, which is unlikely.”

Nathan was not used to being addressed as a midshipman, not at least since he had occupied that lowly status, and was disposed to resent it. With difficulty he curbed this inclination and lapsed into an indifferent disdain, an offshoot of the fatalistic mood that had crept upon him during his brief internment in the Holborn Bridewell when he found he cared very little what became of him; or perhaps before that, when he had watched the
Conquest
fire upon the crowds at Quiberon and the woman he loved vanish beneath the hungry waves: for he was convinced now that the rider on the white horse had been Sara. And with this indifference came an inclination to find some other means of employment, less taxing upon the sinews and the spirit. In truth, Nathan felt ill used. The Earl Spencer's contempt—and apparent concern for Imlay above one of his own captains—much increased this inclination. He had always loved the sea far more than the service. It would not grieve him overmuch to be done with it.

But he admitted to a certain curiosity. Why would Imlay's death have done a
“great disservice”
to King George? It was partly in the hope of receiving an answer to this question that he stifled the desire to counter his lordship's pleasantries with some choice observations of his own.

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” he replied, “but after witnessing Imlay's perfidy at first hand, it is difficult for me to comprehend why he continues to be held in such high esteem. Or why, indeed, it is not
he
who is brought to answer charges, rather than myself. “

“That is none of your business, sir,” his lordship replied sharply, but it seemed to Nathan that behind Spencer's cool manner there was something very close to embarrassment.

During his recent dealings with Whitbread, Nathan had asked the brewer what he knew of the man, for both had been members of the Whig faction in Parliament and had shared the same broadly liberal views, before the war with France had propelled them to opposite extremes of the political divide. Whitbread had initially condemned him as a turncoat but on reflection, he moderated this view somewhat, describing him as “torn by conflicting loyalties.” He advised Nathan not to be taken in by his pose of patrician languor and indifference which, he said, disguised an active and intelligent brain. A graduate of Trinity College and a Fellow of the Royal Society, Spencer had been Member of Parliament for Surrey before inheriting his peerage and had served briefly as a Lord of the Treasury. He was one of the many Whigs who had rejected the somewhat erratic leadership of Charles James Fox when the French declared war, and had “gone over” to the government, for which Mr. Pitt had rewarded him by first making him ambassador to Vienna and then recalling him to take over from Pitt's own brother at the Admiralty. He had been here too short a time to be judged, Nathan supposed, and though the disastrous landings at Quiberon were not an auspicious beginning to his new career, they could largely be blamed upon the divisions in the Royalist command and, of course, William Pitt, who had encouraged the venture.

“So, do you have any answer to these charges?” his lordship enquired, with a mild display of interest, “or do you intend to challenge every one of those who have made them, including the acting governor of Jamaica?”

Nathan ignored the sarcasm. “As to my conduct in the Caribbean,” he replied, “I believe every one of my duties was accomplished satisfactorily, even despite the attempts of Mr. Imlay to frustrate them.”

“I am inclined to agree with you,” replied the earl, surprisingly, “and would have been ready to dismiss the charges and commend you upon your achievements, had it not been for the more recent complaints from Sir John Warren and the Chevalier de Batz, and your public assault upon a trusted agent of the government …” Nathan opened his mouth to protest but the First Lord stilled him with a gesture, “… the which have disposed me to agree with your detractors, for you do indeed appear to be something of a hothead, sir—a loose cannon who does more damage to your own reputation and that of the service than he does to the enemy.”

“Though I venture there are a number of Frenchmen who would disagree, my lord,” Nathan pointed out, provoked into a manner he would normally have despised.

“Would it concern you to be dismissed the service?” his lordship enquired with dangerous composure.

“It would concern me that I was unable to serve my country at a time of war,” Nathan replied carefully.

“But not enough to moderate your behaviour?”

“I am not sure that moderation in time of war …”

“Do not bandy words with me, sir. The fact is you are very close to being court-martialled and at the very least relieved of your command, a disgrace that would considerably distress your father and doubtless add to your mother's current financial liabilities.” Nathan felt the blood rush to his face. “And do not glare at me, sir. I speak as an admirer of both, though Lady Catherine, I must say, is her own worst enemy, a feature you appear to have inherited. However, you seem to have your own admirers. Or at least, those who urge me to consider your more useful attributes. Mr. Pitt, for one.”

Nathan was stunned into silence, for he had met the King's chief minister only once, an encounter which had led directly to his employment as a government agent in Paris.

“Yes, I thought that would give you pause for thought. Mr. Pitt is of the opinion that you might yet do your country a service. You appear to have that facility, rare in one of your rank, for sailing a lone furrow—is that the word? And, one might say, under false colours.”

Nathan remained silent, though his mind was racing.

“Indeed, it is the opinion of Mr. Pitt, and some of his associates, that you are ideally suited for such an enterprise. So much so that he has asked me to propose a return to your former occupation. Temporarily, that is, before resuming command of the
Unicorn
.”

“He wants me to go back to France?”

“That would appear to be the gist of it.”

“For what purpose?”

Spencer inclined his head. “I must first ask you how you are disposed to respond to such a proposal?”

Nathan was surprised to register a quickening of the pulse, not entirely unpleasant. A surge of excitement almost. For despite his ordeals in Paris during the time of the Terror, he knew that Pitt was right and that something in him was drawn to the life of the secret agent. Operating independently behind enemy lines, “sailing a lone furrow,” as the First Lord had put it, “under false colours.” He wondered sometimes if it had originated in his peculiar childhood, as a boy born in America, living in England during the War of Independence, the son of an English father and an American mother, who had been parted almost since his birth. Divided loyalties had been bred in his very constitution. As a child he was used to wearing different masks. And growing up in Sussex he had liked nothing better than to trespass on forbidden territory.

But in those days all he had risked was a beating.

“I am not averse to the proposal,” he replied guardedly, “but I was summoned here, I believe, to answer certain charges.”

“Quite. Well, let me put it to you quite candidly, Captain. There are also certain charges against Mr. Imlay—charges made by yourself among others—the which, as you have pointed out, have been strangely overlooked by those in authority. There are reasons for this. Reasons that involve the services Mr. Imlay has done us in the past and may continue to do in the future. The same would, of course, apply to you.”

“And yet I would not wish the charges against me to be overlooked,” Nathan replied, “when I believe I have a very good case to have them dismissed entirely. In all instances.”

All but one. The instance of the
Conquest
firing upon the crowd of women and children on the Beach of the White Sands. For it weighed heavily upon his conscience and there was a price to be paid for it, even in blood.

Spencer shook his head wearily. “My dear sir, if the First Lord of the Treasury and the First Lord of the Admiralty are both satisfied with your conduct—indeed, if they approve it on all counts—then they will most certainly be dismissed. If you wish to counter them however, to call for a full investigation, perhaps, then, so be it. But I must advise you that it will take a great deal of your time—and money—and that in the meantime I will be obliged to suspend you from command.”

So there it was. Blackmail, pure and simple.

Nathan made a slight, but not unappreciative bow.

“Very well, my lord, I am not at all averse to the proposal.”

The First Lord returned the courtesy.

“Very good,” he said, “then there is someone I wish you to meet.”

M
R. BICKNELL
CONEY
was introduced to Nathan as a banker—a director of the Bank of England, no less—though he looked to Nathan very like one of those exponents of Three-card Monte at the Epsom Derby who invite you to find the Dirty Lady and depart the proceedings very much to their advantage. An ill-favoured fellow with something of the ferret or the fox about him, his most notable feature was a long, sharp nose that listed visibly to starboard, possibly from the constant tapping upon it of a lean and prescient forefinger. His beady eyes betrayed a lively concern for his own interest and he carried about him a great air of secret knowledge.

“Mr. Coney is a man of singular ability,” Earl Spencer informed Nathan with apparent sincerity, “upon whose insights His Majesty's Government have come very much to rely.”

Which was possibly why it was so very much out of pocket, Nathan reflected privately.

Mr. Coney's insights, in this particular instance, were more political than financial, and concerned the present composition of the government in France.

“Since the demise of Robespierre, it has been dominated by two men, Tallien and Barras” he began, “both of whom are, I believe, known to the captain.”

The captain demurred. He had met them but once, he insisted, and that only briefly, on the day of Robespierre's overthrow. “Imlay knows them rather better,” he assured the First Lord meaningfully.

“Indeed,” acknowledged the banker, before his lordship could comment, “but before we move on to Mr. Imlay, let me say that behind these two gentlemen stand, or perhaps one should say, lie …” his smirk did nothing to improve the beauty of his appearance, “… two very interesting women. You will have heard, perhaps, of Thérésa Cabarrus?”

“Our Lady of Thermidor,” Nathan murmured.

“Quite. The new Madonna—at least in the eyes of her admirers. It is widely believed that she played a significant part in the coup against Robespierre during the month of Thermidor, as the Revolutionists insist upon calling the high months of summer. The story goes that she persuaded her lover, Tallien, to speak out against him in the Convention and even provided him with the knife with which he was to stab the tyrant, threatening to stab herself if he failed in the venture; though as she was in prison at the time, awaiting execution, I think this is another example of the French passion for dramatics.”

Again that horrible smirk, though his lordship smiled with what appeared to be genuine enjoyment. It occurred to Nathan that despite the large gulf in their station, the peer was somewhat in thrall to the banker, but perhaps this was not so very remarkable. He was doubtless in his debt for a few house improvements.

“Be that as it may,” Coney continued, “it served to convert the condemned prisoner into Our Lady of Thermidor, the heroine of the hour, the saviour of France who brought an end to the Terror. And so she has remained, despite the charges of corruption and dissidence levelled against the current regime. Married now to her lover and more correctly addressed as Madame Tallien, the paramount leader of French society whose influence over her husband and his partner Barras—who is very much the senior partner, by the by—is considerable. In another age I would say she was the power behind the throne.”

“I think you said there were two women,” Nathan reminded him, for his informant had sunk into reflection.

“Ah yes. Thank you for reminding me. The other—somewhat in her shadow but no less important for our purposes—is Josephine de Beauharnais, known as Rose to her intimates, of which there are not a few. Interestingly, she is a Creole: the daughter of a sugar planter from the French colony of Martinique and the widow of General de Beauharnais, who was beheaded during the Terror. As his wife, she was condemned to suffer the same fate and was incarcerated for many months in what had, until the time of the Terror, been a convent of the Carmelite Order. During which time she became the good friend of Thérésa Cabarrus and the lover, by the by, of General Hoche, with whom you very nearly became acquainted on the shores of Quiberon.” The knowing smirk crept out, once more, from beneath the long, sharp nose. “Now she is the lover of Barras, though it is said he would willingly exchange her for her great friend Thérésa, the wife of his junior partner. So there you have it, the Madonna and the Rose. ‘A fine pair of tarts,' as they would say in Wapping, though a less vulgar term would be ‘courtesans.' These two women have, in a very short time, re-established Paris as the capital of fashion, indulgence and scandal—and themselves as its reigning deities. They are rather more interested in their amusements than they are in politics, but their paramount interest, I can confidently assure you, is in money. And money, as usual, is at the heart of what I am about to tell you. I can, of course, count on your absolute discretion?”