It was a fortnight before the next packet arrived from Falmouth: fourteen days spent mostly on shore in Lisbon. Kerguelen, intrigued with the city after their excursion in the Agent's carriage, insisted that Ramage, Yorke, Bowen and Southwick accompany him on visits to various towns near by, where he showed a lively interest and a surprising knowledge of Manueline Gothic architecture.
On the fourteenth day after the arrival of the last packet - a fortnight of settled weather with a stiff breeze between north and west, just the wind to give the packet a fast passage - Kerguelen joined Ramage and Yorke on deck shortly after dawn, and carrying his telescope.
After greeting them he used the glass to search the river to seaward. Finally he shut it with a snap. "What is it you say in England? 'Watch a pot and it never boils'!"
"Something like that," Yorke said. "No sign of her, eh?"
Kerguelen shook his head. "Give her a day or two." Then he added with a grin, "Perhaps your Government is having trouble finding the money."
"They'll just increase the taxes," Yorke said cheerfully.
Up to that moment Ramage had tried to keep the whole question of the Act of Parliament at the back of his mind. Now, standing on the Lady Arabella's foredeck and watching the fregatas drifting down the Tagus on the ebb tide and finding no sign of the packet's sails on the horizon, the doubts began to flood in. Supposing Opposition Members of Parliament had seized the opportunity to embarrass the Government by opposing the Bill?
Any defeat of a Government bill, however unimportant the actual subject, was regarded as a major triumph for the Opposition. Party politics were supreme; each party was a veritable Moloch frequently demanding the sacrifice of honour and decency - and certainly the fate of a Post Office packet and a miserable lieutenant - if it brought votes.
He turned from watching the skyline of Lisbon. Just along the coast was Cape St Vincent, where he'd lost the Kathleen cutter in the battle that took its name from the Cape. Farther south the coast swung eastward in to a great bight round to the Spanish border and Cadiz, where the Spanish fleet was blockaded. And then Gibraltar, and across the Gut the shore of Africa, lined by the great mass of the Atlas Mountains.
Sailing into the Strait from the Atlantic as dawn broke never ceased to fascinate him. The dark mountains of Spain to larboard would be heavily shadowed, and because a ship usually kept close in to avoid the current, the distant land sounds carried across the water. The insane, agonized braying of donkeys; the occasional heavy thud of a mason chipping stone; the tinny clangour of a village church's tiny bell... The heavy smell of herbs borne seaward by a gentle offshore breeze, and always the mountains of Africa, powder blue in the early light and mysterious like veiled Arab women watching from curtained windows in the narrow streets of Tangier.
How remote London seemed. Whitehall running northward from the Houses of Parliament, with a short turning off it called Downing Street, where the Prime Minister lived in a nondescript house. Five minutes' walk along Whitehall to the Admiralty building set back from the road behind a high screen wall, with a cobbled courtyard in between. And a mile away, in the City itself, the Post Office headquarters at Lombard Street. In four buildings - Parliament itself, the house in Downing Street, the Admiralty building and the one in Lombard Street - men had discussed the Lady Arabella.
By now Government lawyers and Parliament's legal draftsmen would have drawn up a short Act, dipping deep into their enormous store of clichés and redundant phrases. The Act would have been printed and gone through various stages in the House of Commons and the House of Lords. There would have been divisions, with the Members faithfully trooping into the "Ayes" and "Noes" lobbies like flocks of sheep driven into pens to be sheared of their votes. The sheepdogs would be the party whippers-in and the shepherds the party leaders. Should one sheep stray by accident or design into the wrong lobby to cast a vote against his party, then his fleece would be nailed up in one of the whips' offices, a warning to all others.
They were having dinner later the same day when Kerguelen came into the saloon to report that the packet had been sighted running up the Tagus with the flood tide under her. Half an hour later she passed the Lady Arabella, heading for the packet berth a mile farther up the river. The name Princess Louise was picked out in gilt across her transom, and beneath it her port of registry, Falmouth.
"Are you going to see Chamberlain this evening?" Yorke asked.
Ramage shook his head. "We'll wait to hear from him. By the time they've cleared Customs it'll be nearly dark, and I doubt if he'll get the mails off tonight."
"But surely the commander will have the things we're interested in under lock and key in his cabin, won't he?"
Ramage grinned. "Yes, but I don't see any need to give Chamberlain the chance to play 'I'm King of the Castle'. If we go along to his house tonight he can tell us to come back in the morning."
"Hadn't thought of that," Yorke admitted. "You seem to read the minds of these people like a book!"
"Bitter experience. When you're in the Navy you learn quickly enough that the sailors' worst enemies are not the French but the quill-pushers in Government offices like the Navy Board and the Sick and Hurt Board ... It's straightforward dealing with the French - they're only trying to kill you. But the clerks are trying to cheat you or make your life a misery by abusing their authority. Great fun for the clerks, who never think of wives and mothers and children starving because seamen can't send them money. Have you ever seen a man who lost a leg in action hobbling round trying to get the pension to which he's entitled? Sent from one office to another, from Plymouth to London and on to Portsmouth. Ninety per cent of the clerks are stupid or corrupt or lazy. Some are all three."
"And the remaining ten per cent?"
"They run the Navy. To be fair you'll find the percentage is the same elsewhere, at the Horse Guards, the Post Office, the Treasury - in every damned office listed in the Royal Kalendar!"
"Faro," Yorke said, opening a drawer and taking out a pack of cards. "At this point let's drag Bowen and Southwick from the chessboard and play faro."
As Bowen dealt the cards, he said idly, "I wonder what happened to Stevens?"
"Still a prisoner in the Rossignol, I suppose," Yorke said.
"And that damned Surgeon," Southwick growled. "I hope he has the gravel, or something just as painful."
"Ah, an interesting man," Bowen said. "But in no need of medical attention."
"Pity," Southwick commented.
"He's a man with an appointment, eh, Mr Ramage?"
"An appointment?" Ramage echoed. "With whom?"
"With what," Bowen corrected. "The hangman's noose at Tyburn, I was thinking."
"Aye, and Stevens, too."
"Stevens is a weak man," Bowen said quietly, as though giving a diagnosis to a relative. "I had the impression he was completely under the Surgeon's influence."
Yorke nodded his head in agreement. "That was the impression Much gave."
"They'll both escape the rope," Ramage said sourly, picking up his cards.
"How so?" asked Yorke. "Surely there's enough evidence against them?"
"Plenty of evidence, most of which we can provide. But how much admissible in a court of law? Even if all of it is, I think the Government will keep it quiet. Can you imagine the uproar in Parliament if it was revealed that most of the packets lost for the last year or two were captured because of the treachery of their officers and men?"
"Can't see how they can keep it quiet," Southwick said complacently.
"The only way the news could get out," Ramage said, "would be if you or I told an Opposition Member of Parliament. And that would mean a quick end to our naval careers. But you" - he waved his cards at Yorke and grinned - "could earn yourself the undying gratitude of the Opposition by telling them. You'd get the next safe Parliamentary seat that fell vacant and a baronetcy if they won the next election. Why, it could be the making of you!"
"If you call that being made! But are you serious in saying the pair of them will get away with it?"
"Well, the chances of my report being believed in detail are slender enough - though the broad terms might be accepted. But they'll dodge Tyburn all right. Assuming I'm believed, Stevens will be sacked. He'll get his ship back, of course, since he's the owner, but his Post Office contract will be cancelled. He'll have to pay for a new stern to replace the present rotten one. The Surgeon - he'll set up in practice in Falmouth, no doubt, and the old ladies will be thrilled when they hear his stirring tales of adventure on the high seas..."
"Let's concentrate on faro," Yorke said, sorting his cards. "The Devil take the mails; we seem to talk of nothing else."
A boat arrived alongside with Chamberlain's messenger early next morning. The letter he brought was brief: would Lieutenant Ramage, Mr Yorke and Captain Kerguelen call at the Agent's house at their convenience? There would be a carriage waiting at the quay at whatever time Lieutenant Ramage told the messenger.
When the three of them arrived at Chamberlain's house there was no waiting in the hall: they were hurried through to the office, where Chamberlain jumped up from his desk and shook hands with all the enthusiasm and vigour of a penniless uncle hoping for an allowance from three rich nephews.
"Aha! You saw the packet come in, I trust?"
"Yes," Ramage said. "Looks as though she could do with a new maintopsail."
"They will cut the foot so flat, man-o'-war fashion, that it chafes," Yorke said conversationally. "Means so much patching."
Kerguelen was quick to join the conversation. "I was surprised how few spare sails the packets carry. Privateers usually have at least one extra suit."
"They can afford it," Chamberlain said, hurriedly trying to contribute something and then going red at his tactlessness. "By the way," he added, making a great effort to sound casual, "I have a letter from the Postmaster-General."
"Indeed! And how is his Lordship?" Ramage asked politely, and before the Agent could answer, said to Yorke, "Didn't you have some question for Mr Chamberlain about the origins of fado?”
Yorke shuddered. "I did, but it's too sunny a morning to discuss such a mournful subject. And Lady Auckland?" he asked Chamberlain. "I trust she is in the best of health?"
"His Lordship does not say," the Agent said unhappily. "I expect he would if she wasn't," he added lamely but with little conviction.
Kerguelen thumped his chest. "Ah, but that English winter will soon be here, with all the rain and fog and coughs and fevers..."
"Quite," Chamberlain said. "Well, gentlemen, if you'd care to sit down..." He gestured to the chairs and unlocked a drawer in his desk with what he clearly hoped was a significant movement.
However, Kerguelen had thoroughly entered into the game that Ramage and Yorke had been playing, and commented to the Agent, with a lewd wink, "You leave your wife in England to brave that atrocious climate, eh, while you have your 'establishment' here in Lisbon?"
"Indeed I do not!" The Agent was shocked. "Mrs Chamberlain is here with me!"
"Ah, but things can be arranged more easily in Lisbon," Kerguelen said knowingly. His voice was amiable and Ramage decided it was his turn to add to the Agent's discomfort.
"Well now, I'm sure we're all very pleased to hear about Mrs Chamberlain," he said, his voise implying reproach that the Agent should waste time discussing his marital affairs when matters of state had to be decided, "but I do think you should tell us what his Lordship has to say."
Chamberlain's hands were pressed flat on the desk, the whitened nails revealing the pressure he was exerting in an effort to control himself.
"Certainly, Lieutenant, my apologies!" He reached into the drawer and took out a letter.
"His Lordship says the Act has been passed without a division - without having to put it to a vote," he explained in an aside to Kerguelen. "He has empowered me to pay the agreed sum, against a properly notarized receipt. A decision has been made concerning the ship after the prize crew has left her." He gave Ramage an appealing look, as if imploring him not to ask any further questions in front of Kerguelen. "He also says that Lord Spencer's orders to you are being sent under separate cover. In fact I have them here."
He took two packets from the drawer and passed them to Ramage. "Perhaps you would care to peruse them while Captain Kerguelen and I discuss the details of the payment?"
Only someone like Chamberlain would use a word like "peruse", Ramage thought, and took the letters. "I'll be in the hall." He left the room knowing Yorke would make sure the Agent made no slip.
Sitting down in the most comfortable chair, Ramage saw that the two packets were numbered and opened the first. Again his instructions were signed by Evan Nepean. After the usual "I am commanded by my Lords Commissioners..." the Secretary went on to mention the passing of the Act and that, although the Post Office agent would be dealing with the payment, he had been instructed to "act in concert" with Ramage concerning the exact time the French prize crew left the ship.
This time should be noted with precision, Nepean emphasized, because from that moment the Lady Arabella would be under Admiralty orders, not Post Office, and Ramage would be in command, his commission being contained in the packet marked "Number 2", which also contained the private signals and a copy of the Signal Book.
Any passengers on board should be brought home, Nepean continued. The original ship's company would be under Ramage's orders, and these instructions constituted authority to waive their Protections. Lord Auckland had sent instructions to the Agent covering this point, and should any difficulties arise, Ramage should apply to the senior British naval officer in Lisbon and show him the orders. Their Lordships were most concerned that Ramage should sail for Plymouth at the first possible opportunity, and forthwith report to them in London.
Ramage found his hands trembling with excitement as he broke the seal on the second packet and read the commission. He had a ship once again! It would be a brief command, and he tried not to read too much into the appointment - he was still smarting under their Lordships' "displeasure" of a fortnight earlier. He had been given the command simply because he was available to bring the ship home. No, that could not be entirely true; the senior of the captains commanding the two frigates could have been told to provide a lieutenant. Stop fretting, he told himself and be thankful that, unknown to Their Lordships, he had a dozen Tritons to stiffen up the packetsmen.
He went back into the Agent's office and found himself sufficiently cheerful to look on Chamberlain with favour, if not affection. Kerguelen, too, looked cheerful: obviously there had been no hitches so far. The Frenchman was sitting close to the desk holding some papers, and Chamberlain was smiling.
"Ah, Lieutenant, the Captain has read the receipt and approved the wording; we've agreed on the mode of payment; and the transaction will take place here at four o'clock this afternoon, when I have arranged for a notary to be present. It only remains for you and the Captain to arrange the details of handing over the ship - handing back the ship," he corrected himself. "It is agreed that any, ah, pillaging will not be the subject of claims on our side, nor will the Captain, nor his agents, heirs or assigns, make any claims relating to any injuries wounds or fatalities-"
"I'm glad to hear all that," Ramage interrupted grimly. "It would make for some strange litigation! Well, Captain, when do you propose giving us back the Lady Arabella!"
Kerguelen's brow wrinkled; he was obviously torn between wanting to make sure of receiving the money before handing over the ship, and not wanting to appear distrustful.
Ramage said, "Supposing we settle for midnight? By then all this" - he gestured towards the papers - "will have been completed."
Kerguelen nodded vigorously, and Chamberlain said, "Very well, gentlemen, I'll have that written into the receipt." He rubbed his hands together and looked questioningly at Ramage. "I think that concludes everything - I'll look forward to seeing M. Kerguelen later."
Once again Chamberlain offered them the use of his carriage for the rest of the day, and as they were leaving the room the Agent called to Ramage and followed him with a letter in his hand.
"I nearly forgot to give you this," he said. "One of the passengers in the packet gave it to me yesterday to pass on to you."
"Thank you," Ramage said absently, and followed Yorke and Kerguelen to the front door. While the coachman unfolded the steps of the carriage Ramage glanced at the letter. He stared unbelievingly at the handwriting. What had Chamberlain said? One of the passengers had given it to him? He relaxed, disappointed. The passenger was probably acting as a messenger, since the ship arrived last night.
"Anything wrong?" Yorke asked.
"No - just give me a moment to read this."
He broke the seal and began reading, and slowly the garden and the house and the carriage seem to sway and start to spin, and a moment later Yorke and Kerguelen were holding him.
"I'm all right," he muttered, "just a shock." He smiled weakly. "Everyone's getting shocks today. If you'll just drop me off at the Embassy - I'll join you on board later."
He tucked the letter in his pocket, took several deep breaths and climbed into the carriage. Once the other two men had joined him and the coachman had whipped up the horses, Ramage told them what the letter said.