As the carriage clattered over the cobbles of Sloane Street with the London air still crisply fresh and the rising sun sparkling off the dew drops clinging to the last of the autumn leaves, Ramage was thankful that Yorke had suggested they stay the night at the Star and Garter at Turnham Green. All three of them were now freshly shaven; their clothes were newly pressed, and by the time they arrived at the Admiralty they would still look reasonably presentable. Equally important, they would arrive at the Admiralty early enough to make sure the First Lord would be in his office.
Yorke continued to act as Much's unofficial guide - a task begun shortly after leaving Plymouth - by pointing out buildings and streets of interest. The Mate badly wanted to see St James's Palace. It seemed that the high point of Much's visit to London would not be a visit to the Admiralty and perhaps an interview with the First Lord or a visit to Lombard Street: Much simply wanted to walk down the Mall and see where the King lived.
"Hyde Park Corner," Yorke announced for Much's benefit. "More than two hundred and fifty miles from Falmouth - according to the coachman's tariff."
Much was impressed: he had sailed from Falmouth for the West Indies more than a couple of dozen times in his life, and each time had left on a voyage of thousands of miles with less excitement than setting off for London from Plymouth.
The coach swung right at Hyde Park and then along the edge of St James's Park, and Yorke told the coachman to stop for a moment as they arrived in Parliament Square. He motioned to Much to get out and followed him to point out the Houses of Parliament. But this time Much was unimpressed, and Ramage guessed he did not appreciate the power that Members of Parliament wielded over his life - and over the whole country. He could see no connection between decisions made in that grey-stone building and, say, a fleet carrying a small army to capture Martinique.
Much climbed back into the carriage with Yorke, and the coachman whipped up the horses, which were still fresh since they had come only from Turnham Green. The carriage turned into Whitehall. "Downing Street," Yorke said unenthusiastically, pointing to the narrow, short road to their left. "The Prime Minister lives there."
"Doesn't pay any rent, I'll be bound," Much commented.
A little farther on Yorke said, "That's the Horse Guards - the headquarters of the Army."
"Does the Duke of York live there?" Much asked.
"No, he works there," Yorke said, wearying of his role as guide.
Ramage said, "The Admiralty is just ahead..." Because the Admiralty building stood back from the street behind a high screen wall, the carriage swung into the middle of the road to make the sharp turn through the archway in the centre, and a moment later the clatter of the horses' hooves echoed across the cobbled courtyard. As the carriage stopped in front of the four thick columns at the entrance door, two porters hurried out. They opened the door and swung down the hinged steps, already warned by the carriage's travel-stained appearance that it had come a long way.
He climbed out, careful that his sword did not catch in the steps, and the look of interest in the porters' faces faded: they were expecting an admiral and found a lieutenant accompanied by someone who was not even a naval officer and a person who was clearly the mate of some merchantman. Without a word they retreated up the steps and into the large entrance hall.
After telling the coachman where to deliver their luggage, Ramage strode into the hall. Even though it was only late autumn, there was a big fire burning in the large fireplace on his left; the great six-sided glass lantern hanging from the ceiling had not been cleaned after its night's work and the glass was sooty. A messenger - the term used to describe the attendants - was lounging in one of the big, black-leather armchairs which had a canopy over the top, like a poke bonnet. Another messenger was standing at the table, glancing at a newspaper, while the two porters gossiped in a corner.
Ramage knew that, clasping the crudely sewn canvas bag containing his reports, he looked an unprepossessing figure as far as the messengers were concerned. And he had no appointment. Dozens of naval officers came into this hall in the course of a week, all trying to see one of the Board members or someone else who might have sufficient interest or influence to get them appointments. Admirals were kept waiting in this hall, and Ramage knew only too well that mere lieutenants without appointments might well die of old age in the waiting-room on his left.
He knew from past experience that if the messenger tried the usual blackmail of knowing nothing and doing nothing until a guinea had changed hands he would get angry, and he knew equally well that he was likely to need all the patience he could muster if the First Lord did not believe his report.
It was time, he decided, to make use of his title.
"Lieutenant Lord Ramage to see the First Lord. I have no appointment for a particular time but his Lordship ordered me to come to London and report to him as soon as possible."
The messenger - probably out of habit - picked up a list and read it. "Your name isn't on the list of appointments, my Lord."
"I said I had no appointment. I've posted from Plymouth. I am under orders from the First Lord."
The messenger, without his guinea, was unimpressed: he had obviously waved away too many impoverished captains and outmanoeuvred too many junior admirals to be intimidated by mere lieutenants, however urgent they might proclaim their business to be.
The messenger snapped his fingers at one of the porters. "Tell the First Lord's secretary there is a Lieutenant Lord Damage asking to see him."
Ramage tapped the table with his fingers. " 'Ramage', and to see the First Lord, not his secretary."
"If you'd care to state your business, sir, I might be able..."
"Pass the word to the First Lord's secretary," Ramage said icily, "otherwise I'll go up to Lord Spencer's office unannounced."
The man gestured to the porter, who went out of the hall along the corridor leading off to the left.
Yorke looked round the hall nonchalantly and said to Ramage in a bored voice, "Damned poor class of servants they have here, what?"
"It's the war," Ramage said, with equal nonchalance. "All the men with any brains or ability are sent to sea. Just the dregs left. You notice it in the seaports, too; the only fellows lounging around are those even the press gangs turn down."
The messenger in the chair straightened himself up; his colleague at the desk was now standing stiffly, his face a bright red. The porter left in the corner sniggered with embarrassment.
The porter came scurrying back to say that Lord Spencer would see Lord Ramage at once.
"Show these two gentlemen to the waiting-room," Ramage told the messenger at the desk, and followed the porter along the corridor and up two flights of narrow stairs. The porter knocked on the door of the Board Room, walked in and announced Ramage.
Lord Spencer was at the far end of the long table, sitting in the only chair with arms: the other four chairs down each side and the single one at the other end, occupied by Their Lordships when the full Board was meeting, were straight-backed and uncomfortable.
Ramage knew that the First Lord's habit of using the Board Room as his own office reflected the way the Admiralty functioned. Most people thought of the Lords Commissioners meeting formally, seated at this table, and listening solemnly to matters raised by Nepean, the Secretary - who usually sat on Lord Spencer's right, at the corner of the table - and then, even more solemnly, discussing and deciding what was to be done. Then orders or instructions would be sent out by Nepean, duly recording that "I am directed..." (or required or commanded - the theme had several variations) "... by my Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty..."
More usually, though, Nepean would come into the Board Room, with his pile of papers and letters just received, and sit comfortably at the table instead of being crowded in the corner. Next to him would be the second secretary, William Marsden, who would keep the rough minutes recording what questions had been raised and what had been decided. The First Lord would be present and perhaps one other. Much of the Board's business was dealt with by a single member, although as far as the recipient of an order was concerned it seemed that at least three or more of Their Lordships were involved. Ramage knew that Nepean's routine with letters was quite simple: the bottom left-hand corner of the letter was folded over and up, and the gist of the intended reply scribbled on the blank triangle.
Three long windows overlooking a stable lit the room on the south side; beside the door on the north side was a large fireplace which still bore the arms of Charles II.
"A moment, Ramage," the First Lord said without glancing up. He dipped his pen into a heavy silver inkwell, scribbled a signature on the document he had been reading, and put down the pen carefully before looking up.
"I was expecting you tomorrow," he said, making it obvious his usual greeting, shaking hands, was going to be omitted.
"I posted, sir," Ramage explained.
"Don't expect the Admiralty to pay for it," Spencer said abruptly, waving Ramage to a chair on his left. It meant Ramage had to walk right round the long table, and seemed a piece of petty irritation suited to the First Lord's icy manner.
"Well, what more have you to tell me that justifies you posting to London?"
Lord Spencer's hostility was an anticlimax for Ramage. Up to that moment the information contained in the long and carefully written report in his canvas bag, with the corroboration of Yorke and Much, had seemed of great significance; worth risking his life to ensure its safe delivery. His discoveries were to put the Government, the Horse Guards, the Admiralty and Downing Street back in communication with the rest of the world.
Certainly he had anticipated some trouble over his first guarded report to Lord Spencer from Lisbon, but his Lordship was not just chilly but downright frigid; not only uninterested in hearing more details but apparently anxious to get back to signing his letters.
"You received my preliminary report from Lisbon, sir?" That was a damned silly remark, he realized, since the ransom had been paid.
Lord Spencer nodded casually and gestured to a closed folder to his right. "Mr Nepean brought it in to refresh my memory."
"Was there confirmation from the underwriters about insuring the ventures, sir?"
"They have not been asked," Spencer said shortly.
Ramage was too slow to hide his surprise, and the First Lord added sharply, "The Cabinet were not very pleased with your attempt to blame the Post Office men, Ramage."
"I imagine not, sir," Ramage said bleakly. So they did not believe him. They had paid to have the packet released, and that was all. A good bargain, no doubt : they would have had to pay out £4,000 to Stevens if the ship was lost to the enemy; but by paying the ransom they had got it back with the ship's company for £2,500...
"Am I to take it that my first report is not believed, sir?" Spencer nodded, glancing down impatiently at the papers awaiting his signature.
Ramage looked at the wall to his left on which was something like an enormous clock with a circular map of Europe on its face and the points of the compass round the edge. A pointer with its axis where London was on the map was oscillating slightly, showing the wind direction and moved by a cunning system of rods and cams which linked it to a windvane on the Admiralty roof.
"I have a second and very full report here, sir, giving all the details of insurance frauds and so on," Ramage said, indicating the canvas bag on the chair beside him.
"You'd better leave it," Spencer said, picking up his pen, his voice still distant. "I take it the report doesn't indicate any change of mind on your part about what happened?"
"No, sir."
"All you lacked in your first report was proof, my dear Ramage - as Lord Auckland was quick to point out at a Cabinet meeting. And the only thing you aren't likely to get - as the Prime Minister was equally quick to point out - is proof."
Ramage thought of the dead sentry, the kidnapping of Gianna, the Bosun pointing the pistol in the darkness, the boom of his own pistol going off in the Arabella's tiny cabin. And the mutineers in irons...
The Port Admiral's report from Plymouth must have merely reported that Lieutenant Ramage was coming to London, and not mentioned that the Lady Arabella had arrived with a dozen packetsmen in irons ... The Port Admiral had wisely decided to keep his nose out of something he did not understand. Tiredness from the long journey up from Plymouth - and perhaps the strain of the past weeks - was fast catching up with Ramage. The few hours' rest snatched at the Star and Garter at Turnham Green had not been enough. It was not just physical tiredness either: he was tired of men who tried to dodge responsibility, starting with Sir Pilcher Skinner in Jamaica and including the Post Office Agent in Lisbon. He was tired, too, of cynical, worldly, yet utterly naive politicians who thought the world's axis was between the Ayes and Noes lobbies of Parliament, and regarded service to the country solely in terms of service to the party. They genuinely rewarded someone who manoeuvred a successful Parliamentary vote of confidence on a critical issue because they could recognize it as a valuable service which deserved recognition, but they were always puzzled about what to do with a general or admiral who won a great victory in battle: that was something beyond their real comprehension. They had to fall back on precedent - so and so received an earldom fifty years ago for a similar sort of thing ... no mention of hundreds or thousands of men who had lost limbs, eyes or life, who were buried in unmarked graves in some distant land or put over the side of ships, sewn up in hammocks with a shot at their feet, or condemned to spend the rest of their lives begging in the streets with sightless eyes or standing on crutches, their futures lost under piles of fruitless applications for pensions...
Ramage lifted the canvas bag on to the table and, rather perversely, wished it had dried fish scales on it, or even white crusted salt from dried seawater: anything that would leave a temporary mark on this highly polished mahogany table to remind Their Lordships of the broad oceans and fighting ships, and take their minds from the stuffy, almost incestuous, atmosphere of the Houses of Parliament.
He unlaced the bag, removed his report and Much's, and put them both down on the table, then glanced over at the Langley Bradley clock in the corner by the door. A quarter past ten. That clock, he remembered Spencer telling him during a happier visit to the Board Room more than a year ago, had told Their Lordships the time for nearly three-quarters of a century, while the wind vane had told Their Lordships if the wind would serve to let the French Fleet escape from Brest. The mirror on the front of the clock had reflected Board meetings that had sent Vernon to Cartagena, and Anson on his great voyage round the world. And given Byng a tiny squadron and sent him too late to save the Balearic Islands from the Duc de Richelieu and Admiral Galisonniere. Port Mahon had fallen, Byng had been blamed for what was the Government's slowness and stupidity and unpreparedness, and as their scapegoat he had been shot.
And out of that shameful episode had come a delight for gluttons - the new sauce the Duc de Richelieu's chef had created to celebrate the fall of Mahon and named mahonnaise, and which was becoming very popular these days...
Suddenly Ramage noticed that his Lordship had made no move to pick up the reports; in fact he had returned to reading and signing his letters. Was he indicating that the report was politically unacceptable? Was he telling Ramage not only that he had failed, but that he had earned everyone's contempt by trying to blame the poor defenceless packetsmen?
It was one or the other, and Ramage no longer cared which, even though the mutiny in the Arabella had been the final proof he needed. He wanted to be with Gianna again: he wanted to see his mother and father and wander through Blazey Hall, see the portraits of his forebears watching him from the walls. Perhaps they would approve of what he had done. He would walk through the gardens and the fields and forget the Navy, the Post Office and politicians. He wanted to walk through the fields holding Gianna's hand like some rustic with a milkmaid.
"This is my final report, sir: it contains all the proof you could want."
Lord Spencer nodded without looking up. "I'll look at it when I have the time."
"May I have leave, sir?"
"You have no ship," Lord Spencer said, "so you're on half pay. Your time is your own..."
It was true, of course; but the voice was still as friendly as cold steel. It said, without uttering the actual words, you are on half pay now, and that is how you will end your days, because you were given a splendid chance and your first report went all the way up to the Cabinet, and all along the way it was disbelieved.
One grunt of disapproval from the Prime Minister over a lieutenant's activities, and the lieutenant might wish he had died nobly as an enemy shot knocked his head off. The alternative was rotting on the beach on half pay...
"Thank you, sir," Ramage said and stood up. He moved the report so the bottoms of the two packets were parallel with the edge of the table.
Spencer nodded curtly, still without looking up or saying any more, and Ramage, his now empty canvas bag tucked under his arm, left the Board Room and made his way down to the entrance hall. Yorke and Much sprang from their chairs in the waiting-room as he entered, but Ramage shook his head, indicating that he wanted to say nothing within hearing of the messengers, and gestured towards Whitehall.
The two men followed him out of the waiting-room, across the entrance hall and out through the doors. They strode down the wide steps and across the cobbled courtyard. The two stone beasts over the top of the archway that Ramage had never been able to identify - they comprised the head, shoulders and wings of an eagle grafted to the tail of a sea serpent - seemed to ignore them, as usual, as they emerged into Whitehall.
Ramage looked up and down the street for a carriage. On the opposite side a tinker was busy hammering at the bottom of a pot, while next to him an upholsterer patiently mended the padding of a chair. There were the usual carts and wagons - one laden high with cords of firewood was passing a brewer's dray loaded with a pyramid of puncheons, more than enough weight for a pair of horses to haul.
"What happened?" Yorke finally asked.
"He didn't believe the first report from Lisbon, and the Cabinet agreed with him. They all criticize me for putting the blame on the Post Office men. I gather it doesn't fit in with Government policy."
"But what about the last report - the one you've just delivered?" Yorke asked incredulously.
"I was told to leave it," Ramage said flatly.
"He didn't read it?"
"No."
"But you told him-"
"I told him it contained all the proof he needed."
"So he doesn't know anything about the mutiny and the kidnapping of the Marchesa, then?"
"I assume not; but it won't make any difference. The policy had already been laid down in Downing Street; that's obvious, even if it means they go on losing packets."
"Perhaps it'll be different when Lord Spencer reads the report," Much commented hopefully.
Ramage snorted, then said, "Anyway, here's a carriage."
"Well, I'd better say goodbye, sir," Much said.
"Why? Aren't you coming with us?" Ramage asked in surprise.
"Where are you going, sir?"
"My family have a house in Palace Street. It's about half a mile beyond the Houses of Parliament. You're coming, aren't you Yorke?"
The young shipowner nodded. "Many thanks; I don't keep a town house and don't want to take another carriage down to Bexley for the time being; I've had enough of travelling..."
By then the carriage had stopped. The coachman, leaping down to unfold the steps, was standing with the door open.
Ramage motioned Much in, taking his acceptance of the invitation for granted, and followed Yorke. "Palace Street," he told the coachman. "Blazey House."
The coach smelled dusty and gave the impression there was heavy mildew under the cushions, but the springs had been greased and the coachman controlled the horses without the usual noisy flourishes that they seemed to think necessary to increase the size of the tip.
The three men sat in silence as they passed the Houses of Parliament: Ramage felt that Yorke was not going to try to get Much interested in them again.
"The Abbey," Yorke said suddenly. "That's Westminster Abbey."
Much nodded, but was not impressed, and Yorke sat back in his seat.
Suddenly there was the clatter of a horse's hooves right beside them and a hand was banging on the window. Much jumped up with a warning yell of "Highwaymen, by God!" and, banging his head on the roof, sank back to his seat glassy-eyed and almost stupefied.
Yorke, sitting in the forward seat and looking back, said to Ramage quickly, "It's one of those messengers from the Admiralty!"
The carriage stopped before they could call out to the coachman, and, as he opened the door, Ramage heard the urgent call, "Lieutenant! Lieutenant!"
Ramage stared at the messenger on horseback. As far as he was concerned he had made his last visit to the Admiralty; in the brief carriage drive he had decided to resign his commission and ask Gianna to marry him...
"What do you want?"
"Lieutenant Ramage, sir! Will you return to the Admiralty at once, sir? First Lord's orders, sir, at once sir, it's urgent sir, no delay his Lordship said, it's urgent-"
"Belay it," Ramage snapped, although the last "urgent" would have been the final one for a few moments since the man was now taking a painful gasp of breath.
Yorke muttered, "He's just read your report!"
"Yes, you'd both better come back with me."
He called to the coachman to return to the Admiralty, and a small group of passers-by, peddlars and hucksters who had stopped to watch, moved out of the way as the coachman reined the horses round with a flourish.
Fifteen minutes later Ramage was sitting in the same chair in the Board Room.
"Are you trying to make a fool of me?" Lord Spencer asked furiously. .
"No, sir! Why?" Ramage exclaimed.
"Your report! Why the devil didn't you mention the mutiny, the attempt to murder you and the kidnapping of the Marchesa di Volterra - though God knows what she was doing on board?"
Ramage decided that, for all the anger, nothing had really changed. "I referred to it in my report, sir."
"I know that! But why the devil didn't you mention it when you were sitting there?"
"I said the report contained all the proof you needed, sir - although I didn't think it would make much difference..."
"Difference to what?"
"Difference to the Government's decision."
"What Government decision?" Lord Spencer asked angrily.
"That the packetsmen aren't to be blamed for anything, sir."
"Well - that wasn't exactly a decision," the First Lord said, obviously taken aback.
"You said that my first report was not believed, sir - by the Postmaster-General or the Prime Minister."
"Well, yes; but that was before this mutiny, which is just the proof we needed."
"I had all the proof I needed long before we reached Lisbon. Still, I suppose the fact that they tried to murder me and kidnapped the Marchesa does prove I'm not a liar!"
The bitter comment was spoken before Ramage realized he had even thought it, and he waited, red-faced and angry, for the First Lord's wrath.
Instead Lord Spencer said calmly, "It proves you're not a politician."
Ramage sat staring in front of him, determined to guard his tongue.
"Lord Auckland will be here in a few minutes," Spencer said. "Fortunately he hasn't gone down to his place in Bromley."
"The underwriters," Ramage said. "There are three men from the Lady Arabella for instance: the Commander, the Surgeon and the Bosun's mate. We need to know how many times they have collected insurance on total loss claims. And how many times they've been captured and exchanged, too. Sir," he added as an afterthought.
The First Lord picked up a small silver bell and rang it violently. Almost immediately a secretary hurried into the room. "Ah, Jeffries," the First Lord said, "Take a list of packetsmen that Lieutenant Ramage will give you. Check with the Navy Board to see who deals with the exchange of Post Office prisoners, and then find out how often these men have been captured and exchanged. And at the same time - at the same time, mind you, because we're in a hurry - ask the Committee of Lloyds to find out what policies these same Post Office packetsmen have taken out since the beginning of the war, and what claims they've made - all on personal freight between Falmouth and the West Indies."
Ramage wrote the names on a sheet of paper and gave it to Jeffries, who was obviously the First Lord's secretary.
As soon as they were alone again, the First Lord said, "Well, what answers shall I get?"
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. "All of them have been captured at least twice. The Surgeon has probably been making nearly £4,000 a year from private cargoes and insurance claims, and many of the seamen £500 or more. The claims are quite legal, sir - or, rather, claims the underwriters never questioned since they were for goods in a packet captured by the French."
"Why didn't the underwriters ever query the claims?"
"Because the Post Office was authenticating every loss by paying out the full value to the owner of the packet. If the Government is satisfied and pays out, sir, how can underwriters avoid following suit?"
"I follow what you mean. But see here, Ramage, when Lord Auckland arrives, you watch your tongue. I'll do the talking: it's very delicate when one department has to tell another that some of its people have committed treason..."
"And murder, attempted murder, mutiny and kidnapping," Ramage said, picturing the sentry's body sprawled on the deck, and Gianna held prisoner.
"Yes, quite. I appreciate that you, as an intended victim, have a proprietary interest in the attempt, but nevertheless ... By the way, you shot the Boatswain in the leg. You could have killed him. Why didn't you?"
"There was no point in killing for the sake of it, sir, and anyway I needed live evidence."
"There'll be no court case, Ramage; I'd better warn you of that now. And don't start-"
His Lordship broke off when he saw that far from getting angry, Ramage was gently laughing. "What is so funny, Ramage?"
"I'm not quite sure, sir; it's got very mixed up. I never thought for a minute there'd be a trial-"
"Why?" Spencer snapped.
Ramage managed to stop the blunt answer he was about to make, and rephrased it. "I assumed that the exigencies of the Government's political situation would have made it inadvisable," he said in a bored monotone.
"Excellent. If you go on like that, Ramage, you'll be offered a safe Parliamentary seat somewhere. Yes, you're quite right, although I still don't see what there is to laugh at."
"I'm not really laughing, sir. I had - er, anticipated the problems relating to a trial..." He paused for a moment, reflecting on his words: yes, he could see himself standing with his hands clasping his lapels, his head slightly inclined forward, and an utterly false smile on his face, and facing the Opposition Benches. "I took the liberty of administering a little punishment to one or two of the men."
Spencer nodded understanding. "That might be thought by some to have been a wise precaution."
At that moment there was a knock at the door and when Spencer answered a messenger came in and whispered something. Spencer said, "Show him in at once - I gave instructions that he was not to be kept hanging about in the hall." As the messenger hurried out the First Lord said, "Lord Auckland has arrived."
The Postmaster-General's first words when Lord Spencer introduced him were biting: "So this is the young man who sees treason the length and breadth of the Post Office, eh?"
Instead of defending him, Ramage was surprised to find Lord Spencer agreeing. "The same young man, and he's just posted up from Plymouth at his own expense to bring me another report."
"I trust it makes more sense than the one he wrote from Lisbon."
"Well, William, it may not make more sense, but it's certainly more interesting. Care to read it?"
"I hope you haven't dragged me all the way over here for that," the Postmaster-General said sourly.
The First Lord slid the report across the polished table as though dealing a card and, for that matter, Ramage thought, the Postmaster-General opened the report with the same wary interest that a player picks up and looks at his cards.
He read it through slowly without any expression showing on his face. Then he looked up at Lord Spencer and raised an eyebrow. "The Mate's report?"
When Spencer skimmed it across he read it slowly with the same concentration. Finally he put it down on the table and looked at Ramage. "So you found the proof." The voice was almost bitter, but Ramage sensed it was not bitterness over him. "You knew you'd find it even when you wrote from Lisbon, didn't you?" He made his question sound like an accusation.
"No, sir," Ramage said flatly. "I'd already found all I needed."
"Why didn't you mention it in your first report, then?"
"I don't think you understood quite what Ramage meant, William," the First Lord said quickly. "I think he means he didn't know what the final proof would eventually be, but he knew he had only to bide his time before finding it. Proof, that is, which would stand up in a court of law."
"I've given him credit for that," Lord Auckland said testily. "What I was asking Ramage was this: did he suspect the packetsmen would mutiny before they arrived in Falmouth?"
The First Lord looked questioningly at Ramage, who nodded.
"And tell me, George," Lord Auckland asked the First Lard, "don't you find it odd that there are a dozen of your seamen on board the Lady Arabella? I hope you don't mind me asking young Ramage about it?"
George John Eden, first Earl Spencer, shook his head. "Carry on, William. I assume it is something arranged with the Commander-in-Chief in Jamaica. Was that so, Ramage?"
Keep up a united front with strangers present, Ramage thought to himself. "Quite so, sir; it gave us a nucleus of" - he just stopped himself saying "reliable men", and substituted -"men I'd sailed with before."
"The Commander," Auckland said. "What is your private impression of Stevens?"
"Under the thumb of the Surgeon, sir. I don't mean blackmail; it might have been just the gift of the blarney. Apart from that, sir, with all that rot in the transom he had a good enough reason for wanting the Post Office to buy him a new ship."
"I can see that quite clearly, thank you," Lord Auckland said sarcastically. "I'm trying to see what characteristics this particular commander has that might be common to other commanders who surrendered at one time or another."
Lord Spencer said, "Your report is excellent, Ramage, but now tell us what happened and what you thought from the time the privateer came in sight."
Briefly, but without leaving out any important detail he could remember, Ramage described the scene. When he had finished, Spencer asked, "What made you think of the exchange - the ransom, as it were?"
"I don't remember what gave me the immediate idea, sir; but my main concern was to avoid being made prisoner so that I could get the word to you as soon as possible about what was happening."
"Those damned ventures!" Auckland said suddenly. "I suspected it all along." He turned to Lord Spencer, as if seeking reassurance, and the First Lord nodded. "You've tried to get the Cabinet to agree to banning them often enough, William, but the strike of packetsmen last year frightened them. Yet you were right."
Ramage thought of Much sitting out in the waiting-room. Here was the chance of the Mate receiving a reward, if only praise from his minister, but the request had better go through the First Lord. "Mr Much, the Mate who wrote the other report you have, sir ... I brought him to London with me in case he was needed for questioning. Perhaps his Lordship...?"
Spencer caught on immediately. "He's your man, William; we all owe him a vote of thanks. By the way, Ramage, when is this Sidney Yorke due in London?"
"He's in the waiting-room with the Mate, sir. I thought you might want ... that he'd be needed as a witness, perhaps," Ramage said lamely.
"Why should you think you'd need a witness?" Lord Auckland asked, watching Ramage closely.
"If there was any question that..."
"The fact is, William," Lord Spencer interrupted, "that Mr Ramage has a poor opinion of the probity and intelligence of politicians, so he mustered all his guns..."
Auckland's eyebrows raised as he looked at Spencer. "He's a lucky young man; the fact the Mate and this fellow Yorke are still out in the waiting-room without you having seen them means he persuaded you without difficulty, eh? Well, let's have a word with this Mate now."
"Without difficulty..." Ramage thought to himself. As he went to the door to call a messenger, he saw the First Lord's face was red.
Both Lord Auckland and the First Lord were excellent in the way they handled Much. Surprised at the extent of the detail in the Mate's report that they had absorbed, Ramage noticed how both were quick to ask Much for further information they both needed not so much for further inquiries, but to answer critics in the Cabinet or Parliament. Indeed, he thought to himself, the political mind works very differently from any other.
After Much, they invited Yorke to the Board Room, and within five minutes or so the young shipowner was, in his own nonchalant manner, having both ministers admit that at first they had disbelieved Ramage's report from Lisbon and had doubts about payment of the ransom to free the Lady Arabella.
Lord Spencer's face was going red again, and Ramage feared Yorke might go too far. Lord Auckland gave a dry laugh. "But please remember, Mr Yorke, that Cabinet decisions are always collective - and secret - and that we did pay out."
Yorke turned to the First Lord. "Would it be impertinent, my Lord, to ask the result of the inquiries into insurance on the packetmen's ventures?"
"Er - well, not impertinent, but perhaps premature. I was telling Ramage that inquiries are being made. We haven't received the answer from the Committee of Lloyds yet."
And, Ramage thought sourly, that was hardly surprising, since the First Lord's private secretary hasn't been gone with the list of names for more than half an hour...
Yorke was shaking his head and Spencer's eyebrows raised questioningly.
"The official approach, my Lord," Yorke explained. "I was wondering if it was the best way, if there is any urgency..."
"There's no real urgency now, Mr Yorke," Lord Auckland said, but to Ramage it seemed his voice lacked conviction.
Yorke apologized hastily, and for a moment Ramage thought he had overdone it. But no, it hooked Lord Auckland, who said, "Well, my dear Yorke, I wouldn't say we have all the time in the world, but a week or two..."
"The Plymouth and Falmouth newspapers," Yorke said vaguely, as if thinking aloud, "and the mutinous packetsmen ... they've got to be charged before a magistrate pretty soon, or else lawyers will be rushing round shouting ... I think these packetsmen are well organized, and Cornishmen stick together ... A reference in the London press ... one feels - at least I do, personally, but of course I'm only a layman in such things - that if Parliament suddenly asks for explanations..."
"We won't have all the answers ready," Spencer said abruptly. "You're wasted at sea, young man; you ought to think of joining Ramage here in a career of politics."
Yorke waved his hand vaguely and muttered something about "leave it to the rest of the family", and then said, "I could pass the details of the insurance claims to Mr Ramage by first thing in the morning, if that would help: I have some friends in that line of country."
Ramage appreciated what Yorke was proposing. It was the most acceptable method for both ministers: unofficial, more remote and politically safer - and yet providing quick answers.
Lord Auckland answered, since it was his ministry involved. "Any assistance, Mr Yorke ... with discretion of course..."
"Of course, my Lord," Yorke said with a smile, and Ramage suddenly saw why Spencer had mentioned a career in politics. But Spencer had not seen Yorke at sea; he could never realize the enormous gap...
"By the way," Lord Auckland said, "I must warn you young men that the whole of this inquiry is secret. I doubt if the packetsmen will be brought to trial - except for the Bosun's mate, who will be charged with murder - because we have no wish to advertise our defects to the French."
"Although I was the intended victim each time in the two attempted murder charges against the Bosun, and the Marchesa di Volterra the actual victim of kidnapping," Ramage said bluntly, deliberately ignoring the First Lord's warning glance, "the French have been well aware of the defects in the Packet Service for a year or more, sir."
"Quite so," Lord Auckland said smoothly, "I was using the phrase 'the French' in a metaphorical sense. But one has to take the broader view."
"Quite surprising how broad the muzzle of a pistol seems when someone's threatening to shoot you," Yorke said conversationally, "or how sharp a cutlass blade when a man tries to cleave your skull with it..."
"I can imagine," Lord Auckland said, "and I realize how Ramage must feel over the death of one of his men. The murderer will be brought to trial, but the others..."
"Their Protections, sir," Ramage said. "Supposing the Admiralty cancels them entirely."
Spencer slapped the table top. "That's it, William! Let 'em spend a few years in the naval service!"
The Postmaster-General nodded at Ramage. "An excellent suggestion." He turned to Lord Spencer. "I shall be writing to you officially to thank you for Mr Ramage's efforts. I will make myself responsible for Mr Much's future. As for you, Mr Yorke" - he stood up and held out his hand - "it is lucky for the Post Office that Mr Ramage has such friends."
Next morning at the family house in Palace Street, Ramage was having a late breakfast with Yorke and Much when the ancient servant who looked after the house while the family was in Cornwall came to the table.
"A man called, my Lord," he said lugubriously.
"When, Hanson?"
"A minute or two ago, my Lord; he left this packet."
Ramage took it and then saw the superscription. He gestured across the table. "It's for Mr Yorke."
"I'm sorry sir, I must clean my spectacles."
"Clean them? You haven't got them on!"
"Oh dear," the old man said petulantly, "I wonder where I left them?"
Yorke opened the packet and took out several sheets of paper.
"This is what we were waiting for," he said, clearing plates and cutlery away to make a space in front of him, then spreading out the papers.
"Stevens. Looks as though this last voyage was the first time he ever carried ventures. Eight hundred pounds worth of insurance for the round trip.
"Now for that surgeon, Farrell. He's taken out policies on seven occasions - seven separate round trip voyages. The underwriters have paid out several thousand pounds on four occasions for cargoes lost owing to enemy action. Add that to the profit normally made on freights and you'll find that Mr Farrell is one of the wealthiest men in Falmouth.
"Now for the Bosun's mate. Insured on nine round trips and he's claimed on three." He glanced through the other papers. "Same story for the rest of them. I notice the amounts they insured for have increased fifty per cent each voyage. They were getting more and more confident..."
He picked up and handed the papers across the table to Ramage. "You'll want to pass them on to the Admiralty ..."
An hour later Ramage was sitting in the same chair in the Board Room of the Admiralty and surprised to find that the First Lord and Lord Auckland were again discussing the packet problem. There was a third man present who was introduced as Mr Francis Freeling, and Ramage thought he remembered seeing the name in the Royal Kalendar as being the Secretary of the General Post Office. Freeling was a man of about forty, energetic, greying hair and yet oddly precise.
The two ministers read quickly through the lists from the underwriters.
"So the commander was a comparative new boy to this business," Lord Spencer commented.
"But the stern of his ship was rotten," Lord Auckland said bitterly.
"He could not have been absolutely sure he'd get the opportunity of surrendering to a privateer this voyage, my Lord," Freeling said.
"But from what Much and Mr Ramage say, he was determined to surrender at the first opportunity."
Freeling nodded, but repeated his point. "He could only surrender if he found a captor, my Lord."
"Quite so," Auckland said testily, "there's no need to state the obvious. Tell me, Ramage, you felt things were reaching a climax even before the privateer showed up. Why?"
"That rotten stern, sir; it was a bit frightening. I think Stevens meant to do everything he could to make sure he was captured, even if we hadn't sighted that privateer."
"How could he do that?" asked Freeling. "You appreciate I am a layman, of course."
"Simply by making for the areas where privateers are known to be thickest, and sailing at a reduced speed - as he was doing. Obviously the longer you take to sail through a danger area, the longer you are in danger..."
"What would you do to eradicate the whole problem - put a stop to all this surrendering?" Auckland asked Ramage abruptly - so abruptly that both Lord Spencer and Freeling glanced up in surprise.
Ramage's mind went back to the conversations he had had with Yorke and Much. "Three things would cover it, sir - in my opinion," he added politely. "Put a fresh prohibition on anyone carrying ventures and enforce it strictly: you now have a perfect reason and opportunity for banning it once and for all, and giving no option but jail for any wrongdoers. The second thing would be to make every commander face a strict court of inquiry after the loss of his ship - a court of inquiry held here in London, not among his friends in Falmouth. One of the Elder Brethren of Trinity House, someone representing the underwriters, a naval officer, perhaps a representative of the West India merchants ... a court formed of such men. The third thing would be to sack every Post Office official in Falmouth, and the Inspector of Packets in London..."
As Ramage mentioned his third proposal he watched the three men. Lord Auckland gave a curiously mild snort that was lost halfway in his nostrils, the First Lord glanced up at the Postmaster-General, but Freeling simply nodded. Nodded three times, to be exact; three firm nods, as though it was part of a ritual. Lord Auckland had noticed this and said, "Tell us, Mr Secretary, what do you think of Mr Ramage's Draconian measures?"
"Excellent, my Lord. He is quite right in saying it gives us a perfect opportunity to get rid of ventures. The stricter court of inquiry - you will recall that I've been suggesting that for two years. As for sacking the men at Falmouth ... some might be retired with advantage, others might be given the opportunity to transfer to some other station..."
"Better not antagonize too many people, you mean?" Auckland said.
Freeling nodded. "If we keep Falmouth as the packet port, we have to work with the local people there, my Lord, and they're all related to each other."
"Quite - we don't want to use Plymouth!" The minister coloured slightly and added hurriedly, "Bad holding ground for ships, they tell me, George; nothing against your people."
Lord Spencer nodded and said ironically: "You can also get into Falmouth in any weather, William; that's something you can't do at Plymouth. It's your strongest argument for continuing to use Falmouth..."
"Quite so, quite so," Lord Auckland said. "Well, no doubt Mr Ramage wants to make up for his long absence from the London social scene, and Freeling and I had better knock some sort of shape into the report to the Cabinet..."
He stood up and held his hand out to Ramage. "Thank you," he said simply, "much obliged to you and your men."
It was a sunny though chilly morning, and Ramage decided to walk back to Palace Street, trying to summon up the energy to face the journey down to St Kew. Much had gone off shopping before catching the coach back to Falmouth that night. He was impatient to beback with his family. Yorke was spending the rest of the day in Leadenhall Street at his office - seeing, as he told Ramage before leaving, "how many ships the hurricanes and the French have left me".
As he swung round into Palace Street and idly glanced along the short road, Ramage saw there was a large carriage outside his house. The carriage was blue and gold, and the coat of arms on the open door was familiar. Hanson was bent almost double over some luggage.
He found himself walking faster. Windows upstairs were being flung open, as if to air the house and someone was looking out of one of them; a young woman with black hair and a small, heart-shaped face. She was waving wildly to him and calling in a language the passers-by could not understand, and now at last free of mutineers and politicians and bureaucrats, he was holding his sword in his left hand and his hat in his right, and his heart was beating hard as if he'd run all the way from the Admiralty. He almost knocked Hanson over as he ran into the house, only vaguely hearing the old man's hasty, "The family, sir, and the Marchesa - they've just arrived!"