Abigail's Cousin (36 page)

Immediately
Hill had perked up and looked at St John appreciatively as he gave
his order to the usher who promised to be back with their drinks in
a jiffy. Hill sank back in his chair and glancing to his companion,
commented:

"Not much
bloody use being a brigadier," eyeing the epaulettes askance, "not
much bloody good at all." He looked across to St John with a final
reproach: "No wonder it was so bloody easy to get." Then he blushed
as the usher arrived with their drinks, but once alone again, he
added the chaser to his tankard calling to St John:

"Down to the French!" And he took a long
draught of the foam covered ale before wiping his mouth and looking
at St John. His mouth had a slight smile and he said
cryptically:
"But you
did not ask me here to confirm what I already suspected." St John
also drank the toast and sipped the chaser peering over the rim at
Hill.

"We have a
mutual acquaintance, I believe."

Hill stared at
St John wondering. His eyes narrowed. At first he thought St John
was talking of his sister and then rejected that notion. There was
a conspiratorial look about the man opposite that made him think
that perhaps St John was a man like himself. He said:

"Man or woman,
or, perhaps you have a boy in mind?" Hill's comment was aimed to
wound though St John brushed it away with a wave of his hand
saying: "If you believe Belle is a boy then I've no quarrel with
you."

Hill was not a
natural at verbal sparring and said: "It would seem we do, though
mind you," he stopped and examined his fingernails, which St John
suspected, though could not see because of the gloom, were black
but was jarred by Hill's next words, "She will do as long as I am
visiting the palace."

St John puffed
at his pipe reflectively watching Hill and wondering whether the
lackadaisical attitude was feigned or real. Hill picked up the pipe
once more as St John tried to make up his mind watching Hill place
the stem once more between his lips and try to puff and as he
succeeded, St John said: "I might have a proposition for you."

Hill looked up
in earnest at the big man noticing for the first time his enormous
periwig which suited his expansive features and said warily:

"What sort of
proposition? What devious project is hatching in the mind of the
Secretary of State for War. That is your official title, I take
it?"

St John nodded
simply remarking: "As such I can make resources available where
other means are lacking. We receive intelligence from all quarters
so when one door closes, another door might open. It is, knowing.
Knowledge is power." St John paused to allow his words to sink in
before he went on: "Allow me to summarize your project. It is to
assemble a military force to cross the Atlantic and join up with
militia from the Colonies in order to mount an attack upon the
French city of Quebec. To do this you will need warships and
transports."

"And men!"
interrupted Hill though the suggestion was somewhat trite, and St
John ignored it, continuing: "My proposition is to provide you with
the means to acquire a fleet. How you fill the ships is your
business though even here my suggestions might be apposite. Am I
making sense?"

"You are, damn
you!" Hill sucked at his pipe which had gone out but waved away St
John's offer of a light. It gave him time to think. He said:

"And what do
you want from me?" The question sounded aggressive though St John
half expecting it simply said calmly:

"You do not
see Belle again."

"Is that all!"
The comment spat out seemed contemptuous, Hill adding: "With your
looks and position." He did not finish but looked across to the
other man who eyed him back somewhat sheepishly before
admitting:

"To tell
truth, I have fallen for Belle. I do not want to see her hurt. Is
that not enough?"

"You poor
sod!" ejaculated Hill and briskly added: "Let me know the details,
if you have them."

"All in good
time. First give me your hand." Stretching out his hand he said,
"As a gentleman!"

Hill smirked
but took the hand with the comment: "No more Belle!"

St John said:
"I am giving you an admiral instead. His name is Sir Hugh Hovendon
Walker who is at present on shore leave in Plymouth."

"And his bloody fleet?"
asked Hill, unreasonably
irritated.

"In Plymouth
Sound. He has three ships of the line with sixty guns or more, and
other warships and transports."

Hill said
suspiciously: "How come the Admiralty in London do not know about
this fleet?"

"Good
question," answered St John, "and easily answered. Mr Churchill is
indisposed and I have kept Walker's notification back until he
resumes his office. By the time he recovers, you will have sailed,
I hope."

Hill laughed
which seemed to discomfit St John who drew out several documents
from a valise shoving it under Hill's nose whose laughter had
turned into a soft merry chuckle as he tried to read the document.
St John said: "Why bother to strain your eyes? The first is an
order in council to Admiral Walker to place his transport
facilities at your disposal. He will retain command of the fleet at
all times."

"And this!"
Hill flashed another document at St John who recognised it and said
with gravity: "It is a promissory note for ten thousand pounds
sterling drawn upon agents in Plymouth to supply stores, provisions
and whatever is necessary within the limit of the note.

"And my
official orders." St John looked with appreciation at Hill before
saying: "Your commission is from her majesty. It is in my
office."

Hill said
almost derisively: "All this for Belle."

St John said
defensively: "There was another Belle, la belle Helene."

Hill smirked
as he said: "The face that launched a thousand ships."

St John still
defensive said: "Quite appropriate, in a way."

"Exce
pt, I have just a dozen ships."

"Perhaps, a
baker's dozen. There may well be more. The admiral brought several
prizes back with him from the Mediteranean."

"I have not
got much time." said Hill showing signs of movement.

"You still
have a few days" interrupted St John, "before you need to make the
journey to Plymouth."

"I have not
got much time for drinking." said Hill emphatically adding: "Where
is your nearest tavern, Henry, is it?"

St John
chuckled. He liked this man, nodding: "It is not far, brigadier.
If, I may join you." Then thought and said: "Hill, Churchill. I
hear you are related through the distaff side."

"Yes," agree
Hill, "there is always a woman at the bottom of things. Still I
cannot complain as things stand. After all I owe my trip to Quebec
to the queen. She made Churchill a duke so I still have some way to
go."

As the two men made their way to the exit,
St John said: "
What
would we do without them?"

A chaise, pulled by a proud-stepping
thoroughbred, slowed on meeting the slight incline of the Madeira
Road
, though its
occupant minded not in the least as he might better view the tall
masts of his flotilla as it rode at anchor in Plymouth Sound. His
sole regret was his cold hands holding the reins because the early
morning breeze chilled his knuckles as well as his limbs and he
thought nostalgically of the warm breezes he had enjoyed only a
month ago before he had received orders to return to home waters
though what a homecoming it had been. His mind dwelt upon the text
of a letter from her majesty, Queen Anne, notifying him of his
elevation to the sacred order of knights.

Instinctively
he put his hand to his breast pocket of his uniform and immediately
withdrew it remembering the injunction of his little wife on no
account should it leave the house recallling her words: "Hovendon!"
His dear lady wife never used his fist name as Hovendon sounded
better, "Should you lose it dearest and her majesty ask to see it!
No my love, it's safer here with me." In truth Lady Walker kept it
by her so she could produce the letter in a flourish of triumph
when the locals got a little uppity at her occasional soirees. She
and her husband were Irish which seemed to provoke an immediate
feeling of superiority among the English no matter where they found
themselves. Armed with the letter now lady Walker was in a position
to turn the tables, as it were.

Rear-admiral
Sir Hugh Hovendon Walker smiled at his wife's latest idiosyncrasy
and marvelled at her reply to his objection. "Why Hovendon, you
just let slip your share of the prize money from the Barcelona
business and his nob, Sir Percy Lascelles will be eating out of
your hands, so help me, he will." The Barcelona business had been a
bloody business though he had kept the gory details from her only
telling Shelagh how HMS Cumberland had captured two men-o-war and
several rich transports conveying bullion to pay the Spanish and
French troops in the Netherlands. He cared little for the ultimate
intended destination. The Frenchies had met with Hugh Hovendon
Walker and his brave lads, and, as a result, he had left Barcelona
£10,000 richer than when he had arrived. As the chaise breasted the
second rise, he called 'Whoa!" not being able to resist looking out
over the Sound, his ships looking even grander from this yet higher
vantage point. He took out his telescope and unfolding it, placed
it to his right eye and shouted with joy, 'Capital, capital!"
before ruefully folding the glass shut and putting it away in his
coat pocket. He undid the reins loosely thrown over the splash-back
and with a sigh resumed his journey along the Madeira Road.

On his right
were the massive walls of the Citadel, the castle newly built just
seventeen years before by Charles II, but for what purpose nobody
living would venture a guess. Perhaps it was because Plymouth had
been held by Parliament in the Civil War of his ill-fated father
and Charles wanted to demonstrate that in the event of another such
war, Plymouth would be a royal bastion. The road skirted one of the
round turrets and ahead he glimpsed massive doors in front of which
stood two musketeers who upon his approach clicked their heels
bringing their muskets to the port. He was not sure whether the
ceremony was due to his rank or whether that was normal upon
sighting approaching visitors.

Having
presented his credentials he sat back to wait and once again with
nothing to do thoughts of recent glories crowded all else from his
brain. Once again he recalled his little wife's words and smiled
wondering if they would make much of an impression upon the
gentleman he was to meet.

We are rich,
Hovendon, rich. In your wildest dreams now in those God-forsaken
bogs of Ireland, did you ever think of ten thousand golden pounds,
and English, at that."

That is all
very well, he thought, for only yesterday a bill had been placed
before him to the value of 9852 pounds, six shillings and eleven
pence halfpenny for the provisioning of six companies of Foot, some
six hundred officers and men. Had he to pay for that, there would
be little change from his ten thousand though, thank God, it would
be charged against the Crown. His signature was required as
Captain-Resident, Plymouth, in fact commander-in-chief, in the
absence of the flag officer, called away to other duties by order
of the lord high admiral.

His mind
turned to the warrant in his breast pocket signed by the Secretary
for War nominating him as commander-in-chief of a secret
expedition. It was the reason he was here as the lord-lieutenant,
it seemed, was also a party to the secret, and he wondered whether
he knew the code word. To his knowledge only four people were privy
to it beside himself, her majesty the queen, the Secretary of
State, the lord-lieutenant whom he was about to see and a
brigadier-general Hill who was due to arrive in Plymouth shortly.
Inside the Citadel he heard barked commands and glanced at the two
guards, who had resumed their station.

After one of
them had notified another inside via a small door which had opened
to the guard's shouted request, nothing seemed to be doing. Perhaps
his arrival had taken them by surprise though he recalled with a
feeling of pride as his rank, new title and name had been
announced, but the door had shut. His thoroughbred shifted uneasily
her hooves rattling on the cobblestones. At last he heard bolts
drawn across. The two sentries stepped smartly forward, performed a
sharp turn and marched a few paces away allowing his chaise to be
able to move forward as the massive doors gradually were drawn
aside, how he knew not imagining some giant wheel being turned in
the Barbican above the stonework housing the entrance. When there
was sufficient room, he called to his, as yet unnamed horse, to
move forward into the courtyard which opened up before them.

The subject,
meanwhile, of Sir Hugh Hovendon Walker's speculation was indeed on
a highway which led to Plymouth though he was in a carriage drawn
by four horses, very necessary, for besides brigadier-general Hill
sat Serjeant Duncan Mack, as broad and florid in features as his
companion was pinched and narrow. "Do ye no ken the country, sir?"
remarked serjeant Mack adding: "Tis a pity, if ye do not, for I do
like to ken the countryside I am passing through. I wish I knew how
many miles still to go. It would be nice to know. Do ye no ken,
sir?"

To the
brigadier feeling hot and sweaty in the stuffy atmosphere of the
coach, the droning of his serjeant seemed intolerable and tetchily
he told him so: "I neither know nor ken. So shut up, man. We shall
reach the town when we reach it. Just leave me to my shut-eye."
This impatient speech was also heard aloft by the coachman and he
sighed for the serjeant as it was typical of the brigadier whose
attitude seemed to be that serjeants were lower mortals and, like
children, should be seen and not heard.