The Stranger From The Sea (12 page)

Seven o'clock seemed an unpropitious hour, but presumably it was considered better if he presented himself after dark. God only knew, he thought, why there should be any need for secrecy: he was not carrying some private communication from the Czar of Russia. Presumably during this crisis everyone would be scrutinized and his influence weighed, even to the butcher carrying meat in at the back door.

The butcher, come to think of it, was likely to be of much the greater influence, since he ministered to the royal stomach.

Exactly on seven Ross was shown into the magnificent waiting hall by a blue-and-gold-liveried manservant, his cloak and hat taken, a glass of fine canary put in his hand. The great room was empty, and he stared unadmiringly at, its rococo decoration. The Prince, a florid man, clearly had a taste for the florid in architecture. Like the later kings of France. Was there to be a parallel here?

The squeak of a door announced a stout elderly man who weaved unsteadily towards him, heels clacking on the polished floor.

'Captain Poldark? Good day to you. I'll take ye in in a matter of minutes. The Prince is with his secretary attending to a communication he has just received.'

They shook hands.

'Correspondence greatly increases when the throne is so near.'

'Of course.'

'The weather is milder, praise be to God. The cold touches up my liver confounded hard.'

They stood in silence. The older man coughed in an infirm manner.

'A drop more canary? Or would a brandy suit ye better?'

'Thank you. I'm more than accommodated.'

Another silence. 'The Prince is very much set about with business, as you'll understand. He would, I assure you, have been much happier if his father had recovered.'

'So should we all, Mr Sheridan.'

'Well. Ah well. All the same, those are not sentiments I would recommend ye to express in this house, or not perhaps sounding so heartfelt about them.' Sheridan steadied himself against a chair. 'Tact is of the essence, Captain Poldark. Tact. I have already built up your reputation as a military strategist, so I'm relying on ye to be a social one too!'

Ross smiled. 'The first's quite undeserved, so I don't know how I shall measure to your standards in the second

But if you're busy pray don't wait. I can keep my own

company until sent for.'

'No, no. No, no, no. But if I may I'll join ye in a glass.'

It was ten minutes more before Ross was ushered into the presence. The Prince was in a smaller room, sitting at a richly veneered table examining a snuffbox. He was wearing a dressing-gown of olive green silk embroidered with silver thread; under it a white cravat, brilliant canary waistcoat, white silk breeches. Although a year or two younger than his visitor he looked an old man by comparison, an elderly hen as compared to an eagle. Everything about his face, the lines, the pouches, the pitted skin, showed the evidence of soft living and self-indulgence.

Ross bent over the jewelled hand.

The Prince grunted.

'My father,' he said, 'is a great collector of snuffboxes. I thought to give him this one. It might comfort him in his affliction. They say it belonged to Henry of Navarre.'

There was nothing Ross felt like saying in comment on this, so he did not speak.

'Perhaps, Captain Poldark, you are not a collector? Or perhaps only a collector of information?'

'Your Highness?'

'I
understand you are recently from Portugal, to which certain ministers in my father's government elected to send you to obtain an independent picture of conditions there.'

'That is correct, sir.'

'And you have a report to make?'

'I thought your Highness had already seen it.'

The Prince of Wales looked up for the first time. His eyes, though swimmy, were shrewd and assessing. And not altogether friendly.

'You are primarily a soldier, Poldark, a man of action rather than a man of letters? I found your report interesting but not at all well written. I flatter myself I am some small judge of style in literature. However, I am told that you talk more easily and perhaps with a better sense of the use of words.'

'I'm not an orator either, sir. I can only hope to add a few observations to what is already set down - and of course to answer any questions you may see fit to put.'

The Prince still fingered the snuffbox. 'At least you don't promise too much. That's something. The older I get the more I'm surrounded by people who promise too much. It's the disease of the courtier, a curse bestowed upon kings and princes.' Ross again held his tongue.

'D'you know, I too would have wished to be more a man of action than I have been allowed to be. D'you know that? This war - this war has dragged on
...
When it began I was a young man. Nothing would have pleased me more than to have led an army in the field - to have taken some
active
part in a campaign.' He contemplated the thought with satisfaction, nodding his big head in agreement with the words. 'I'm not a coward. Good God, I'm not a coward. Nor is my family without military antecedents. But - because I am heir to the throne I am allowed no active part at all! I must be - cocooned like some expensive and irreplaceable silkworm, so that when my father eventually dies I am available to take his place: to sign documents, to appoint ministers, to help preserve the body politic of England! But
personally,
for
myself,
as a human being, I am deprived of the satisfaction of achievement to further the greater good - or at least the greater stability -of the nation. And although you may envy me the luxury of my sheltered life, Poldark; indeed you may; I envy you the freedom of being what in fact you are - a soldier, a politician, a man of action; we might even say, using the word in its less offensive sense, an adventurer.'

'I adventure on my own behalf only in mines, sir,' Ross said drily. 'As for the rest, through my life, occasions have presented themselves.'

The Prince yawned and stretched his fat legs. He was wearing silver buckle shoes and white lisle stockings with openwork inserts.

'And now you have been presented to me, eh? When did you first meet Lord Wellington?'

The question was sharply put. Ross hesitated a moment. 'Wellington? . . . After Bussaco, sir. But briefly. He had much to occupy his attention.'

'You must have met him before?'

'No, sir.'

'And
Wellesley?'

'I have seen him at receptions. Once we exchanged a word in the House. Until last week. Then
I
presented this report to him.'

'And Canning?'

'Oh, Canning I know well, sir. Have known for seven or eight years.'

'Yes, so I thought. So I thought. This - all this - has very much the smack of Canning's contriving.' 'All
...
this,
your Highness?'

'Yes, and do not look down your long nose at me. You know what I mean. Canning sho
uld be called Cunning!
He considers himself too big a man'to be out of government, so when he is out he constantly tries to interfere and run a little government of his own. What possible other purpose could your visit to Portugal have had when the government is receiving its own perfectly adequate accounts of all that is going on there?'

'I asked that, sir, before I went.'

'Oh? And what were you told?'

'That an independent report might be of value by someone who has nothing to lose or gain and who, rightly or wrongly, has earned some reputation over the years for - impartiality.'

The Prince turned the snuffbox over and ran his finger along the bottom. 'It has been repaired - but skilfully. I don't think my father would "notice, do you?'

Again Ross did not reply.

'You have a stiff back, Captain Poldark.'

‘
Sir?'

'I say you have a stiff back. Don't pretend you don't understand me
...
Well?' 'Well, sir?'

'Well, sir, say what you have to say. Elaborate on this report. Tell me what you saw, what you found, and what you deduced. Pray give me a sample of your eloquence.'

Ross swallowed. It was in his mind to bow and excuse himself and stalk out. To hell with this fat fop and his dandified manners and his lisle stockings and his snuffboxes. If this was the future King of England, then God help England. This interview was taking its predestined course.

But
...
this was not a
personal
matter on which he was being granted an audience. If he walked out, it was not
he
who lost. If he stayed, if he persevered in face of this discourteous invitation, nothing would be won, surely nothing
could
be won from this paunchy prince; but
he
would have done all that could be done. He could not reproach himself later - as he had a number of times in his life, when his pride - perhaps a false pride - had induced him to act in a way that cut out any hope for the cause he was promoting. It was not a time now to consider personal inclination. The issues were too large.

He began to speak - awkwardly, haltingly, at first looking at the Prince, who continued to finger the snuffbox - then away from him, at a statue to the left of the sofa on which his Highness was sitting. It was a statue of some Greek god; probably Titan, he guessed from the beard and the horn. He tried to forget the living man, who might or might not be listening, and address the man in stone.

He talked for perhaps ten minutes, barely pausing; and during the last five with some feeling as the. subject took hold of him. He eventually stopped and looked down. The Prince had put the snuffbox away, and his head was on his chest. His breathing was steady. Ross stared at him with growing anger and contempt. The other man opened his heavy lids and sighed and said:
'Is that the end?'

'That is the end
..
.’

'They were right, Poldark, you do talk well once you're started. It helped me to a pretty nap.'

Ross swallowed, trying to contain himself.

'Then, sir,
I
have failed as I expected to fail. If I may now have leave to withdraw
..
'No, you may not.'

Ross waited. A French clock struck the hour. The Prince said: 'What do you mean, you expected to fail?'

'I expected that you would not be interested.'

The Prince yawned. 'I have been told that at Bussaco General Merle reached the top of the ridge almost unopposed. Why did Wellington allow that?'

'He had too long a line to guard, sir. They were not unopposed, but they came up sudden through the fog, and we had not sufficient fire power at that point to hold them.'

'Why was the defensive position so extended?'

'Because otherwise it would have been turned.'

'So the battle nearly ended in disaster to begin?'

'No, sir. Wellington was holding troops in reserve for such a situation. From his position he could see the whole ridge but because of the dawn fog little of the ground below. As soon as he saw the French break through to the top he sent in the
88th
Foot -
and I think some of the 45
th; there was a bloody fight which went on best part of twenty minutes and then the crack French battalions were driven off the ridge, with something like two thousand casualties.'

'Were you involved in this?'

'No, sir, I attached myself to my nephew's company which was a part of Major-General Craufurd's 43rd.'

'The 43
rd,' said the Prince, and yawned again. 'Then you were more than an observer in the further stages of the battle.'

'Yes, sir. In that charge later in the day on General Loison's Division. I confess I have never seen men better led or more fierce towards the enemy. You see, General Craufurd when ordering them to attack shouted that they were to avenge Sir John Moore.'

'Moore,' commented the Prince. 'Another failure!'

'All who fought with him believe otherwise. They say he was given impossible orders from London.'

'That would not surprise me. That would not surprise me at all. All the same, he was defeated. As Wellington himself is now admitting defeat.'

'Not defeat, sir. A tactical retreat. With such superior forces against him he would soon have had his flank turned and his communications, cut.'

The Prince took out his own snuffbox and pushed a little snuff into each nostril.

'That is not how
I
have it reported, Captain Poldark.
I
am told the British Army became a rabble, intermingling with the rabble of refugees all fleeing for Lisbon before the triumphant French. It is the usual story: inefficiency, bad generalship, careless officering, ragged, drunken, plundering soldiery!'

'Perhaps, sir,' said Ross coldly, 'you have later and more detailed news than I.'