The days passed slowly. Much usually stayed in his cabin, reading his Bible, while Wilson sat with him studying military manuals. Bowen and Southwick played chess steadily with quiet desperation and Ramage and Yorke, who spent hours pacing the deck, were now so familiar with Lisbon's skyline that they rarely looked at it. They had invented various games - betting against each other how many tacks one of the gaudily painted and heavily laden fregatas would take to reach them; how many times gulls would dive into the water between the Arabella and the shore in the next ten minutes. They bet on how many butts there were in the Arabella's deck planking, and halfway through counting them found a startled Kerguelen watching them. He was so intrigued that they persuaded him to join a lottery on how many knots there were in the king plank. When he won, he was quick to think of more objects about which they could bet.
Finally it was the day before the packet was due and Yorke, walking on deck with Ramage, said, "Shall we ask Kerguelen if we can go and see that Agent fellow, Chamberlain?"
Ramage grimaced and shrugged his shoulders. "No point, unless you want a run on shore." He thought about it again, conscious that for the past few days he had had little energy and initiative.
Yorke was obviously thinking the same thing, and said, "You're sure of that?"
"Yes, he can't have any news yet. Anyway, if the Government agrees to pay up, Chamberlain will be so impressed he'll rush to let us know. If it refuses, he'll be so damned pleased he'll still rush to tell us."
Yorke walked over to the bulwark and looked over at the city. When Ramage joined him, he tapped his arm. "When this is over, you must take a rest. You've had a bad time in the Caribbean, and now this. Everything has to have a rest, you know. Like my razors."
"Your razors?" Ramage exclaimed.
"Haven't you seen them? How many do you have?"
"A set of two."
"And you use them alternate days?"
"Of course," Ramage said.
"But you don't get a good shave."
"Oh yes I do!"
"By your standards! Try having seven razors, like me. Each has a day of the week engraved on the back."
"But what's the point? Just more razors to strop!"
"Yes - but each has six days' rest. I don't know why, but good steel honed really sharp needs a regular rest to keep a fine cutting edge."
"You're a good man lost to the Church," Ramage said sourly. "Or maybe you should have been a barber."
"Church or barber, eh?" Yorke said amiably. "You're the one with the sharp tongue!"
Suddenly he pointed westward, towards the broad entrance of the Tagus. Running in before a fresh westerly wind was a small brig similar to the Lady Arabella.
"Not only the Lisbon packet safe and sound, but a day early!" he exclaimed. "Did she find good weather, or did they send her out a day early to bring the glad news?"
If Ramage was honest with himself, Yorke's matter-of-fact acceptance that the Post Office might have sailed the packet a day early because of his efforts was the first time he had thought of the possibility, yet it was an obvious one, given the Government's position.
Certainly he had listened when Sir Pilcher Skinner had described how dispatches from admirals, generals and governors were being lost along with the Government's orders for new and secret operations. But with an almost frightening detachment he realized that it was not until this very moment, as he watched the distant packet coming in under all plain sail, that he fully appreciated how one continent was cut off from another by the packet losses.
Previously it was a fascinating problem in which he was closely involved. Now he seemed to be standing back aloof, looking at an invisible barrier, like a cheval de frise, running north and south down the centre of the Western Ocean and cutting it in half. A barrier with gaps here and there, since occasional packets got through, but still a massive barrier.
The Government in London was like an admiral on board a flagship unable to signal to his Fleet; a regimental sergeant major struck dumb on a parade ground. The Prime Minister in Downing Street, the War Minister at the Horse Guards, the First Lord at the Admiralty, the Foreign Secretary also in Downing Street - and not one of them certain he could pass even the most trifling order beyond the shores of Britain...
As the packet drew closer, the long days of waiting began to recede. Southwick, Bowen, Wilson and Much came up on deck and Kerguelen joined them. Soon the brig was near enough for them to see a crowd of people on her deck, but clearly her captain was not going to get too close to the Arabella.
"Carrying a lot of passengers," Southwick commented.
Ramage stared moodily at the packet. Locked up in a drawer on board that ship was the letter which was going to tell him if he was a free man with a future or a discredited lieutenant doomed to spend the next few years in a French prison. The next couple of hours were going to be worse than the past month...
Almost exactly two hours after the packet had gone alongside the quay, a boat came out to the Lady Arabella and Kerguelen sent for Ramage. In the boat was a messenger from the Post Office Agent who, after making sure it was indeed Lieutenant Ramage to whom he was speaking, handed over a heavily sealed letter. He would wait for the reply, he said.
As Ramage turned to go down to his cabin he saw that every privateersman was on deck watching him. Kerguelen glanced away to avoid Ramage's eye. Every one of those men, Ramage realized, knew that the letter he was holding might represent a great deal of money; money to be handed over to Kerguelen and shared out among them.
Yorke was sprawled on one of the bunks, ostentatiously reading a book; Bowen was demonstrating some complicated chess defence to an obviously bewildered Southwick. All three were making a great effort to avoid showing any curiosity about the letter.
He broke the brittle green wax of the seals and found it contained not a letter from Lord Spencer but a note from the Agent. "My Lord," Chamberlain had written, "I have this moment received an urgent communication from Lord Auckland concerning the Lady Arabella packet, and with it is a letter from the Admiralty addressed to you which I dare not risk having delivered to you on board the prize. I shall be at my house if you can leave the ship; otherwise would you be kind enough to give written and sealed instructions which the messenger will bring to me without delay."
Hmm ... Mr Chamberlain's attitude has undergone a lot of modification, Ramage thought wryly, but there is no mention of the ransom money. What did "concerning the Lady Arabella packet" mean? Was Chamberlain being discreet, afraid the letter might fall into the wrong hands?
"From Chamberlain," he told them. "He wants me to go and see him."
"Kerguelen will agree," Yorke said. "May I come?"
Ramage nodded, and Yorke swung himself from the bunk and reached for his hat and cloak.
Southwick still looked worried, and Ramage said, "I'm afraid I don't know what's been decided; the Agent doesn't give a hint."
Yorke followed him up on deck, where Kerguelen was pacing up and down, head bowed, hands clasped behind his back. The Frenchman walked over to Ramage and asked abruptly, "The money - it is arranged?"
"The Post Office Agent wants me to go to his house: he has dispatches from London." Ramage held out the letter for him to read, but Kerguelen waved it aside with a gesture showing he accepted Ramage's word. "You'd better use our boat - the messenger can dismiss his." He shouted orders to a group of seamen.
"You think everything will be all right?" he asked, once he made sure the men were working quickly.
Ramage gave the best imitation of a Gallic shrug that he could muster, and waved the letter. "The Agent makes no mention of difficulties."
Suddenly he wanted Kerguelen to come with him to see the Agent. The Frenchman had behaved honourably so far: he had agreed to the bargain, accepted their parole, and done his best to make their stay on board the Lady Arabella as comfortable as possible.
But, Ramage thought sourly, all of them had now passed well beyond the point where the word of honour of honest men necessarily influenced what would happen: they were now in the shadowy world of politics. What Lord Auckland - the Cabinet, rather, since it was obviously involved - decided might well be based on political expediency: ministers always had a wary eye fixed on Parliament and a highly sensitive ear cocked which could detect a rumble, let alone a howl, from the Opposition Front Bench. If Lieutenant Ramage's word of honour or freedom had to be sacrificed to quieten that rumble ...
Yes, Ramage decided, Kerguelen deserved not only to know exactly what was happening, but to be present while it was happening. "I hope you will allow Mr Yorke to come with me."
"Of course."
"And yourself."
"Me? Pourquoi?" Kerguelen did not try to hide his astonishment.
"I would prefer it," Ramage said simply.
Kerguelen seemed to sense that whatever reason Ramage had was straightforward but not to be explained or debated. "Give me a minute to change," he said.
When the three men arrived at Chamberlain's house they were met by a Portuguese manservant who, after taking their hats and cloaks, gestured towards chairs in the large hall. Ramage looked gloomily at Yorke and made a face. The Agent was playing the childish game, so beloved by petty officials and minor diplomats, of keeping visitors waiting as the only way of proving - to themselves, if no one else - their importance. So childish, Ramage reflected; so unnecessary, since it revealed the man's unimportance. And, perhaps the most unforgivable thing of all, so predictable and obvious: it had all the subtlety of a caulker's maul.
After twenty minutes, the manservant returned and indicated that they should follow him into the large cool room the Agent used as an office. Chamberlain, sitting at his desk, kept his head bent over some papers in front of him until Ramage was halfway across the room. Then he gave a carefully timed start, glanced up, arranged a thin smile on his face and came round the desk with his hand outstretched.
"Ah, Lieutenant, I'm glad to see you. And you, Mr Yorke..."
His voice tailed off as he saw Kerguelen.
Ramage took the Agent's arm and said in a deceptively quiet voice, "You must meet Captain Kerguelen, the prizemaster of the Lady Arabella. Captain - this is the Post Office Agent, Mr Chamberlain."
The Frenchman bowed but the Agent looked dumbfounded. "Lieutenant! I can't allow-"
"Let's resume our talk out in the street then," Ramage said, his voice ominously quiet. "Then we'll be on neutral ground."
"But I..."
"I want you to tell us if you are ready to pay the money to Captain Kerguelen."
"Indeed I am not!" Chamberlain exclaimed. "I will neither provide the money nor allow you and Mr Yorke to pay it."
Ramage looked at Kerguelen. The Frenchman's face was impassive. It was impossible to guess his thoughts.
"Perhaps you would be kind enough to tell the Captain why," Ramage said.
"I most certainly will not!" Chamberlain said angrily, sitting down in his chair with a thump. "I don't have to explain my decisions to enemy privateersmen - to pirates!"
Ramage turned to look down at Chamberlain and said, his voice little more than a whisper, "You weren't being asked to explain your decisions; you don't have the power to make any that matter a damn. You were being asked to explain the recent Act of Parliament. However, before I withdraw my parole I'll explain."
With that Ramage described to Kerguelen the Act, explaining that it was newly passed, and the first he knew of it was when the Agent told him. As Ramage spoke, Kerguelen occasionally nodded his head and, at the end of it, after Ramage described his application to the Admiralty for an exception to be made, he shrugged his shoulders expressively.
"So," Ramage concluded, "I withdraw my parole."
"Me, too," Yorke said. "We are your prisoners again."
Chamberlain gasped. "Lieutenant! You can't do that!"
Ramage just stared at him but Yorke said contemptuously, "You count your mailbags! Leave a matter of honour to people who understand it!"
"But there's a letter for you," Chamberlain wailed helplessly to Ramage. "From the First Lord of the Admiralty. And there's the letter from the Postmaster-General - from Lord Auckland himself."
Kerguelen was quicker than Ramage to grasp what the Agent had done and said: "Revoke your parole when we get back to the ship. I'll wait in the hall until you are ready." With that he left the room, carefully shutting the door behind him.
Ramage turned to Chamberlain and, still speaking quietly and rubbing the scars over his brow, said, "Give me Lord Spencer's letter."
Chamberlain was about to speak, but Yorke saw that Ramage's face had gone white and he knew what the unconscious rubbing of the scars meant. He also knew that Ramage was one of the few men whose voice became quieter as he grew more angry. Ramage at this moment was a spring under enormous tension: at a certain point it needed only a fraction more strain to release it. Chamberlain had been so objectionable that Yorke knew it was a miracle that Ramage had kept his temper up to now. But the Agent was far too stupid to be warned by the drawn face, the narrowed eyes and the hard line of the lips.
"Mr Chamberlain," Yorke said hurriedly, "you're in much deeper water than you realize. Stop playing silly games with Mr Ramage because there's nothing to discuss. You have two letters to deliver, and that's your only function. You are the Post Office Agent; merely a clerk in this affair. Mr Ramage and I gave our word of honour to Captain Kerguelen - you forget that long before we reached Lisbon we agreed to buy back the ship and our freedom for £2,500, and we gave our parole until the money came from England.
"Then you told us of the new Act and Mr Ramage wrote to the First Lord," Yorke continued, as though explaining to a child. "From what you say, apparently the Government will not honour our agreement, but that doesn't mean to say we don't honour our parole. So from the moment that you told us the Government had disavowed us," Yorke continued, speaking very distinctly, "we reverted to being prisoners of war, and the Lady Arabella remains a French prize."
"But you can't do that! You must stop him!" Chamberlain gabbled excitedly. "You can't go back on board and let that pirate escape with the Lady Arabella!"
"Can't we?" Ramage interrupted coldly. "Write to Lord Auckland and explain how you tried to prevent two British gentlemen from keeping their parole! Now, give me that letter from the Admiralty!"
Chastened, Chamberlain unlocked a drawer in his desk and handed Ramage a packet on the back of which was the familiar anchor seal of the Admiralty. Ramage took it and put it in his pocket.
"Aren't you going to read it?" the Agent asked incredulously.
"Yes, but not now."
"But supposing it contains orders?"
"You've told me the money is not here, and Mr Yorke and myself are not allowed to pay it privately. That's all that matters for the moment."
"But Lord Auckland..." Chamberlain broke off nervously, as though at a loss what to do next, and Ramage saw he was fingering another letter, the seal of which was broken.
"What about Lord Auckland?"
"Well, he says that although..."
Again he broke off. Instinctively both Yorke and Ramage moved closer to him: obviously the Agent was holding something back.
"Why don't you read your orders from Lord Spencer, Lieutenant?"
"We are dealing with Post Office business, Mr Chamberlain. You, as the Post Office Agent, have already told us - and I include Captain Kerguelen - officially that the Government will neither provide nor allow us to provide the money. The moment you told us that, we were Captain Kerguelen's prisoners again. He's freed of any undertaking he gave us."
Yorke was watching Chamberlain closely as Ramage spoke, and the Agent's manner had become nervous and jerky, almost like a trapped animal. When they had first come into the room, Chamberlain had been pompous, almost bombastic, though his attempted snubbing of Kerguelen had fizzled out like a damp fuse. Although he had obviously not understood the parole business, he had condescendingly accepted it as being something that eccentric men involved themselves in, to the detriment of the Post Office.
Yorke began to wonder exactly what were Lord Auckland's instructions to the Agent. He had more than a suspicion that something underhand was going on. A quick glance told Yorke that Ramage thought so too and would probably offer the wretched Agent a way out.
Ramage said quietly, "I think you had better give us some idea of what Lord Auckland says."
Chamberlain was struggling to recover some of his poise. "It's confidential," he said, looking significantly at Yorke. "I'm prepared to impart it to you, Lieutenant, as a King's officer, but..."
"Then keep it to yourself," Ramage said abruptly. "Mr Yorke was as much a party to the agreement as I was and has every right to know. Moreover he knows a great deal more about all this than you do. However, we are taking up your time. You can mention in your next report that since the money is not forthcoming we have withdrawn our parole. Now, if you'll excuse us..."
As Ramage abruptly turned away, Yorke saw the desperate look in Chamberlain's eyes: the paralysed stare of a frightened rabbit. The Agent's hands were clenched, perspiration suddenly beaded his forehead and the tip of his tongue wetted his lips.
Yorke put his hands on the desk and leaned slightly towards the Agent. "You are quite sure there's nothing more we should know, Mr Chamberlain?"
"I ... well, his Lordship has ... I have certain powers delegated to me ... in certain circumstances ... I -"
Ramage swung round and said savagely, "Give me Lord Auckland's letter!"
In a complete reflex action, Chamberlain handed it over.
Yorke knew that the moment Ramage read the letter and discovered whatever complex game it was that Chamberlain had been trying to play, he might lose control of himself and possibly strike the Agent.
"Mr Chamberlain," he said quietly, "if you had some other business to attend to for five minutes, so that Lieutenant Ramage and I could..."
"Oh, certainly, certainly!" the Agent said thankfully and fled the room.
Ramage read the letter standing and then slumped in a chair. He held it out to Yorke. "It's just as well you got that scoundrel out of the room. Did you guess?"
Yorke did not reply and began reading quickly. "... absolutely essential that Lieutenant Ramage's freedom be arranged ... Act forbids the Government to permit payment ... However, if you can arrange his release by any means..."
At that point Yorke nearly stopped reading but, realizing Ramage had read to the end, he carried on. The second page began, "In view of the importance of obtaining Lieutenant Ramage's freedom, and in case you are unable to arrange this, the Government are drafting a special Act to allow the payment to the French prizemaster in this particular instance, and it is confidently expected that this will be passed by both Houses of Parliament within a matter of days. The next packet, I anticipate, will bring you authority to carry out the terms of the agreement, should you have failed to obtain his prior release in some other manner. Lord Spencer is writing to Lieutenant Ramage by the same mail giving him fresh instructions and you will use your best endeavours to ensure that Lieutenant Ramage receives Lord Spencer's letter..."
"What on earth was Chamberlain trying to do?" Yorke asked incredulously.
"I'm damned if I know," Ramage said wearily. "That phrase 'by any means' at the beginning of the letter: perhaps he thought we'd agree to cheat Kerguelen and it'd be a feather in his cap. A letter of congratulation from Lord Auckland for saving them money..."
Yorke nodded. "It'd seem so simple to anyone with a mind like Chamberlain's: neutral port, British ships of war near by ... we're safely on shore in his office so Kerguelen couldn't take us prisoner again ... Leave Kerguelen to get out of the Tagus as best as he could, and arrange for a frigate to be waiting for him."
"Exactly what I'd guessed," Ramage said. "Yet there's nothing in Lord Auckland's letter even suggesting anything underhand."
"Oh come," Yorke said chidingly, opening the letter again and reading aloud: " 'release by any means ... should you have failed to have obtained his release in some other manner ...' That's the way a politician words it - and you've seen how a clerk interprets it!"
"I begin to wonder if Chamberlain doesn't fit into the disappearing packets business..."
"No, I'm sure he doesn't," Yorke said firmly. "He's not dishonest. The phrase that frightened him was Lord Auckland's 'should you have failed...' He's scared stiff of what his Lordship would do if he fails - and dreaming of glory if he succeeds. Just imagine the way he'd report that he'd freed you and got the packet back without paying any money. And it's certainly the first - and probably only - time in his life he's been concerned in matters involving the Cabinet."
"It's the first time for me, too," Ramage said ruefully.
"I won't flatter you by pointing out the differences in personality," Yorke said. "But what are we going to do about Kerguelen? I wouldn't blame him if he calls the whole thing off, thanks to Chamberlain's play-acting."
"I think he's been damned decent up to now. It was a mistake to bring him though."
"Oh no," Yorke said emphatically. "Going back on board and telling him he has to wait another couple of weeks would make him suspect some trickery. Why not just haul Chamberlain back, and make him explain it to Kerguelen? Make him sign a letter to Kerguelen, if necessary."
"Chamberlain would refuse; he'd end up insulting Kerguelen again."
"Threaten him," Yorke said flatly. "Tell him you'll report to Lord Spencer exactly what has happened."
"We can't prove it."
"We certainly can! Your word and mine - on oath, if need be - against Chamberlain's."
"All right, I'll try it," Ramage said reluctantly. "But I'm so damned angry it's as much as I can do to keep my hands off him!"
"I guessed that," Yorke grinned. "But don't worry - pride is his weak point, and you've just about blunted that!"
Yorke went to the door and shouted peremptorily for the Agent, who came into the room looking as frightened as a schoolboy reporting to the headmaster for a well-deserved and long-anticipated beating.
"Sit down," Ramage said brusquely. "Now, pick up that letter - Lord Auckland's. Adjust your spectacles and read it aloud slowly, from beginning to end."
Sheepishly the Agent did so, rushing the final paragraph. Ramage waved a hand. "Too fast; let's have that last paragraph again."
The Agent took out a handkerchief and mopped his face, and then read it once more.
He glanced up to find Ramage and Yorke staring at him. He looked down and folded the letter, and then arranged the inkwell squarely in front of him. Still neither man spoke, and Chamberlain wriggled in his chair and shut the drawer beside him. He put the letter under a paperweight and rearranged the position of the inkwell. Then he looked up again and found both men still watching him. He tried to smile, but the muscles of his face were frozen.
Then Ramage said, in little more than a whisper, "What were you trying to do, Mr Chamberlain?"
"I thought ... it seemed to be best that..."
His voice trailed off and he stared at the heavy inkwell.
Damn the man, Ramage thought; but since he'll never be punished officially for this day's work it'll be worth frightening him. "Curious, Mr Chamberlain, how Lord Auckland seems so concerned about my freedom, isn't it? A mere lieutenant..."
"I haven't thought about it, I must admit."
"Why don't you, then?"
"Well, I suppose ... your father ... The Earl of Blazey. A friend of Lord Auckland, perhaps?"
"Of no significance. For months the Prime Minister's nephew was a prisoner in French hands," Ramage said evenly. "There was no special act of Parliament for him ... just a routine exchange."
"I don't know, then," the Agent said helplessly.
"Think, then!" Ramage snapped.
Suddenly Chamberlain looked alarmed. "You aren't really concerned with secret Post Office business, are you?"
Ramage just held the man's eyes without speaking, and saw the look of horror spreading over his face. Chamberlain looked away, to find Yorke watching him. He swallowed convulsively as though a hard crust was stuck in his throat.
"How ... how was I to know?"
"Because I told you the very first time I came here, but you were so puffed up with your own importance you took no notice. Anyway, there's no excuse for juggling with your orders. Were you expecting me to break my parole, so you could put the money in your own pocket when it arrived and claim the French bolted with it?"
Ramage knew he was being cruel, but the man's meddling might even now result in Kerguelen being too suspicious to wait, so that instead of Ramage reporting to Lord Spencer by word of mouth he'd end up silent in a French prison.
"How dare you!" Chamberlain spluttered. "What a terrible thing to say!"
"But it's a question Lord Auckland might well ask you," Ramage said relentlessly and, realizing he had frightened the man enough, decided Kerguelen was the next problem. "Well, Mr Chamberlain, you've probably wrecked everything by now: I can't blame Captain Kerguelen if he's decided - thanks to your behaviour - that he's dealing with tricksters and insists we go back on board so that he can sail for France at once."
"I don't see how you can blame me for-"
"It's irrelevant what I think; Lord Auckland will be the man who sacks you," Ramage said harshly. "At the moment my only concern is to give you a chance of repairing some of the damage you've done. You are the only one who can."
"How? In what way?" the Agent asked anxiously, not far from tears.
"Persuade Captain Kerguelen that the money will be forthcoming in a week or two, and that what you said earlier was entirely your own warped invention."
"How can I?" Chamberlain wailed. "He won't believe anything I say!"
"Very well, then Mr Yorke and I will have to leave as his prisoners: you can inform Lord Auckland that thanks to your handiwork we'll be in France in about ten days' time, and ask him to pass the word to the Admiralty."
Chamberlain suddenly stood up and scurried to the door. "I'll try," he muttered, as if talking to himself, and Ramage noticed he had snatched up Lord Auckland's letter.
As soon as the door closed, Ramage asked Yorke, "Am I being too hard on him?"
Yorke sniffed. "I could wring his neck. But what if he can't persuade Kerguelen?"
"We'd better brush up our French. But if he reads him extracts from that letter, it might do the trick."
"D'you really think so?"
"The letter and perhaps some help from us - if he trusts us an inch, which I doubt. Still, he'll see what a state Chamberlain is in; he's no fool."
No fool, Ramage reflected. The £2,500 they had offered him must have represented a substantial profit for the Frenchman; a profit without risk. At this moment he was probably trying to balance the unknown risk of staying for £2,500 in sterling against the known risk of making a bolt for France.
The door opened and a worried and perspiring Chamberlain hurried in. "He wants to speak to you."
"Bring him in, then."
Kerguelen came in and Ramage gestured him to sit at Chamberlain's desk. The Frenchman looked bewildered but not suspicious.
"I'm sorry about this," Ramage said. "I hope Mr Chamberlain has explained."
Kerguelen nodded. “This Lord Auckland..."
"You've seen the letter?"
"This man read from it. Extracts."
"Very well. Lord Auckland is one of the two Ministers in charge of the Post Office. He has written that after passing an Act of Parliament, the Government will pay the money, and —"
"But when we first arrived here this man" - Kerguelen pointed at Chamberlain - "said he would not pay."
"This man," Ramage said contemptuously, "is a clerk who has exceeded his authority and was trying to curry favour with the Minister. He will probably be punished. He misled me, too, until I insisted on seeing Lord Auckland's letter to him. That showed me what this man had done. If you wish to read Lord Auckland's letter, you may do so. Chamberlain, put it on the desk."
The Agent put it in front of Kerguelen, who pushed it to one side. "Mr Ramage," he said quietly, "will you give me your word that you truly believe the money will come and I'll be paid without any traps being set?"
"I give you my word," Ramage said, and gestured to Yorke.
"You have mine, too," Yorke said.
"And mine," Chamberlain added eagerly. "In writing, if you wish."
No one spoke, and Chamberlain flushed.
Ramage stood up. "If we may renew our parole, perhaps we could dine out before returning to the ship. Would you be our guest, Captain?"
"It would be a pity to ignore the delights of Lisbon, but until your new Act of Parliament is passed, I think you'd better be my guests!"
Chamberlain said hurriedly: "Please make use of my carriage. Keep it for the day, if you wish to see the sights of Lisbon..."
Back in his cabin on board the Lady Arabella Ramage sat on the bunk and finally opened the letter from the Admiralty. All through dinner, and for an hour's drive round the city, he was so conscious of the unopened letter in his pocket that it might have been a piece of red-hot shot, but he had been determined not to read it until he was on board again. A childish test of willpower, he told himself, but whether he read it then or a week later it would still say the same thing. As far as the ship and their freedom was concerned, the Postmaster-General's letter to the Agent was the only one that mattered.
As he read he found he had denied himself very little. The letter was, of course, signed by the Secretary to the Board of Admiralty, Evan Nepean, who began with the customary phrases and then said, "I am commanded by my Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty to inform you that they give qualified approval of your actions concerning negotiations with the French prizemaster as described in your report to them of the tenth ultimo."
Nepean went on to describe how a recent Act of Parliament made it a criminal offence to transfer funds to someone owing allegiance to an enemy country, but added, "In view of all the special circumstances, which had not been visualized when the present Act was drafted, Their Lordships have recommended to His Majesty's Government that a special Act be passed authorizing the transfer in this particular instance...
"Their Lordships further command me to express their displeasure that your report is written in such general terms and contains no specific details enabling them to advise the Post Office what course to take to avoid further losses of packets, nor recommend specific legal action, if any, against any of its employees alleged by you to be guilty of unspecified crimes or misdemeanours.
"You are hereby directed to forward by the quickest means available a second report giving these details, regardless of the risk of such report falling into unauthorized or enemy hands. Their Lordships further direct me to acquaint you that the reasons for not giving such details in your first report are sufficiently vague as to warrant a further expression of their displeasure."
Ramage folded the letter and put it back in his pocket. A single expression of Their Lordships' displeasure was often sufficient to blast the career of a post-captain, let alone a lieutenant. Maybe, he thought wryly, the "qualified approval" cancelled out the first "displeasure", so he would be debited with only the second.
Still, to be fair to the Admiralty, sitting back on his bunk here in the Tagus, the ship rolling slightly at anchor, the ebbing tide sluicing past the hull like a running tap, the whole capture of the Lady Arabella now seemed remote; something that had happened to other people. He thought of Lord Spencer reading his report and then pictured himself sitting in the First Lord's quiet, remote office in Whitehall, trying to persuade him that it was all real: that the frauds had happened, were still going on, and would continue...
Lord Spencer would listen attentively - he always did. And then - judging by the tone of this letter - he would probably shake his head politely, without saying anything. Yet it would be clear that he thought Ramage was being melodramatic, imagining much of it and guessing the rest.
Much of it! Much, the Mate, would corroborate everything. But his Lordship would probably say - or think, anyway - that Much was a man with a grudge and consider that he had hoodwinked Ramage. The Bosun's attack with a cutlass? The poor fellow was overwrought... The packetsmen slashing the rigging? Captain Stevens' way of making sure the French could not get the ship under way ... There was no way of describing the dozens of little episodes, each one trifling and apparently meaningless, but which taken all together, like thousands of strokes of an artist's brush, made a clear picture. A look on Stevens' face, a remark of Our Ned's, items of information passed on by Jackson. Probably none of it was evidence acceptable in a court of law - or acceptable to the First Lord either.
Yet how could it be proved in a way that would satisfy a judge and a jury? A judge would ask if the packetsmen insured their ventures and deliberately found a French privateer and surrendered to her. If the answer was no, he would dismiss everything as the chance of war. Would a judge accept that meeting a privateer was simply a bonus; something that happened perhaps once a year? Would a judge - the First Lord, anyway - accept that for men being paid £12 a year, the chance of a profit of £400 was enough for them to surrender their ship - commit treason, in fact?
Well, one thing was certain: lying here fretting would achieve nothing: they just had to wait for the money to arrive ...