'Is he the fellow that shot Peterson, first luff of the Perdrix, in, what, ninety-eight?'
'The same fellow. And the court-martial upheld his defence that Peterson, though senior, had refused to obey a lawful order…'
'Having the name Pitt helped a great deal, I don't doubt,' said Rogers. 'He resigned after it though, a regular kill-buck by the look of it. I thought Drinkwater was going to have a fit when he came aboard.'
'Oh he'll get away with almost anything. He's related to Lord Grenville by marriage, Billy Pitt by blood, and, I believe, to Sir Sydney Smith. I daresay it's due to the latter pair that he's been employed as an agent. I wonder what he was doing in France?'
'Mmmm. It must take some stomach to act as a spy over there,' Rogers's tone was one of admiration as he nodded in the direction of the cliffs of Gris Nez.
'Oh yes. Undoubtedly,' mused Hill, 'but I wonder what exactly…' The conversation broke off as a thunderous-looking Drinkwater came on deck.
'Are we ready to anchor, Mr Rogers?'
'Aye, sir, as near as… all ready, sir.' Rogers saw the look in Drinkwater's eye and went forward.
'Very well, bring-to close to the flagship, Mr Hill, then clear away my barge!'
Drinkwater had had a wretched time with the obnoxious Camelford. In the end he had virtually imprisoned the spy in his own cabin with a few bottles and spent most of the time on deck. Actually avoiding a ridiculous challenge from the man's deliberate provocation tested his powers of self-restraint to the utmost. He found it hard to imagine what on earth a person of Camelford's stamp was doing on behalf of the British government in France. After they had anchored, Drinkwater went below and found Camelford slumped in his own chair, the portrait of Hortense Santhonax spread on the table before him. He opened his mouth to protest at the ransacking of his effects but Camelford slurred:
'D'you know this woman, Captain Drinkwater?'
'The portrait was captured with the ship,' Drinkwater answered non-committally.
'I asked if you know her.'
'I know who she is.'
'If you ever meet her or her husband, Captain, do what I wanted to do to those fishermen. Shoot 'em both!'
Drinkwater sensed Camelford was in earnest. Whatever the man's defects, he was, at that moment, making an effort to be both conciliatory and informative. Besides, experience had taught Drinkwater that agents recently liberated from a false existence surrounded by enemies were apt to behave irrationally, and news of Santhonax or his wife held an especial fascination for him. He grinned at Camelford.
'In his case I doubt if I'd hesitate.'
'You know Edouard Santhonax too, then?'
Drinkwater nodded. 'He was briefly my prisoner on two occasions.'
'Did you know Wright was captured in the Morbihan?'
'Wright? Of the Vincejo?'
'Yes. He was overwhelmed in a calm by a number of gunboats and forced to surrender. They put him in the Temple and cut his throat with a rusty knife.' Camelford tapped the cracked canvas before him. 'Her husband visited the Temple the night before, with a commission from the Emperor Napoleon…'
'The Emperor Napoleon?' queried Drinkwater, bemused by this strange and improbable story.
'Hadn't you heard, Captain?' Camelford leaned back. 'Oh my goodness no, how could you? Bonaparte the First Consul is transfigured, Captain Drinkwater. He is become Napoleon, Emperor of the French. A plebiscite of the French people has raised him to the purple.'
Following Camelford's welcome departure, Drinkwater was summoned to attend Lord Keith. As he kicked his heels aboard Keith's flagship, the Monarch, Drinkwater learned that not only had Napoleon secured his position as Emperor of the French but his own patron, Earl St Vincent, had been dismissed from the Admiralty. The old man refused to serve under William Pitt who had just been returned as Prime Minister in place of Addington. Pitt had said some harsh things about St Vincent when in opposition and had replaced him as First Lord of the Admiralty with Lord Melville. But Drinkwater's thoughts were not occupied with such considerations for long. His mind returned to the image of Wright lying in the Temple prison with his throat cut and the shadowy figure of Edouard Santhonax somewhere in the background. He wondered how accurate Camelford's information was and what Camelford was doing in France. Was it possible that a man of Camelford's erratic character had been employed to do what Cadoudal and Pichegru had failed to do: to assassinate Napoleon Bonaparte? The only credible explanation for that hypothesis was that Camelford had been sent into France in a private capacity. Drinkwater vaguely remembered Camelford had avoided the serious consequences of his duel with Peterson. If that had been due to family connections, was it possible that someone had put him up to an attempt on the life of Bonaparte? Pitt himself, for instance, to whom Camelford was related and who had every motive for wishing the Corsican Tyrant dead.
There was some certainty nagging at the back of Drinkwater's mind, something that lent credibility to this extraordinary possibility. And then he remembered D'Auvergne's obscure remark to Cornwallis. Something about 'it would be soon if it was ever to be'. At the time he had connected it with D'Auvergne's passionate conviction that invasion was imminent; now perhaps the evidence pointed to Camelford having been sent into France to murder Napoleon. D'Auvergne's involvement in such operations could have made him a party to it. He was prevented from further speculation by the appearance of Keith's flag-lieutenant.
'The admiral will see you now, sir.'
He looked up, recalled abruptly to the present. Tucking his hat under his arm, Drinkwater went into the great cabin of the Monarch, mustering in his mind the mundane details of his need of firewood, fresh water and provisions. His reception was polite but unenthusiastic; his requisitions passed to Keith's staff. The acidulous Scots admiral asked him to take a protege of his as lieutenant in place of Gorton and then instructed Drinkwater that his presence had been requested by the new Prime Minister, then in residence at Walmer Castle.
Drinkwater answered the summons to Walmer Castle with some misgivings. It chimed in uncomfortably with his train of thought while he had been waiting to see Keith and he could only conclude Pitt wished to see him in connection with the recent embarkation of his cousin, Camelford. It was unlikely that the interview would be pleasant and he recalled Camelford's threats when he had prevented the shooting of the fishermen.
The castle was only a short walk from Deal beach. Many years ago he had gone there to receive orders for the rendezvous that had brought Hortense and then Edouard Santhonax into his life. On that occasion he had been received by Lord Dungarth, head of the Admiralty's intelligence service. To his astonishment it was Dungarth who met him again.
'My dear Nathaniel, how very good to see you. How are you?'
'Well enough, my Lord.' Drinkwater grinned with pleasure and accepted the offered glass of wine. 'I hope I find you in health?'
Dungarth sighed. 'As well as can be expected in these troubled times, though in truth things could not be much worse. Our hopes have been dashed and Bonaparte has reversed the Republic's principles without so much as a murmur from more than a handful of die-hards. Old Admiral Truguet has resigned at Brest and Ganteaume's taken over, but I believe this imperial nonsense will combine the French better than anything, and that shrewd devil Bonaparte knows it… But I did not get you here to gossip. Billy Pitt asks for you personally. You did well to get Camelford back in one piece.'
'It was nothing, my Lord…'
'Oh, I don't mean embarking him. He's a cantankerous devil; I'm surprised he hasn't challenged half your officers. His honour, what there is of it, is a damned touchy subject.'