Beneath the aurora

'I perfecdy understand the logic, Mr Barrow,' Drinkwater broke in, 'and it is not what I have come to discuss with either Mr Croker or yourself.'

'Oh, I see, then what may I ask ...?'

'Templeton is somewhat anxious about his future as, I admit, I am for my own.'

Barrow was immediately deceived by Drinkwater's opening. He was used to self-seeking, whether it was that of clerks or sea-officers, but it was crucial to Drinkwater that he should know whether or not the Admiralty had any plans for himself.

'We thought perhaps some furlough; you have not had the opportunity to spend much time on your estate, nor to enjoy the society of your wife and family.'

'You have no plans for me to have a ship?'

'Not immediately, Captain, no. There are Edwardes and Milne both clamouring for release from the American blockade, and when Green returns from the West Indies…'

'I am not anxious for a seventy-four.'

'No, quite, blockade is a confoundedly tedious business, I'm told.' Barrow smiled. 'Since you're too old for a frigate,' he added with a laugh, 'it looks as if your Suffolk acres will have to serve you for a quarterdeck.'

Drinkwater ignored the mockery and changed the subject. 'I have been away, Mr Barrow, and I desire you to communicate a matter of some importance to the Foreign Secretary directly.'

'And what is that?' Barrow asked with unfeigned surprise.

'I have, in my custody, a Colonel Bardolini of the household cavalry of King Joachim of Naples. The King, if that is what he is, wishes to secure a guarantee from His Britannic Majesty's government that, irrespective of the fate of the Emperor of the French, Joachim Napoleon will remain King of Naples.'

'But King Ferdinand ...'

'I have explained all the ramifications attaching to the matter,' Drinkwater said wearily, drawing from his breast pocket Bardolini's diplomatic accreditation and laying it on the desk before Barrow. 'Moreover, I am of the opinion that King Joachim is a reed awaiting the stronger breeze. Nevertheless, Bardolini has been invested with plenipotentiary powers and sent here on a mission to the Court of St James's.'

Barrow leaned forward and drew the document towards him. 'Murat,' he murmured, reading the paper, 'well, well.'

'There is another matter, Mr Barrow,' Drinkwater began, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

'Come,' Barrow called, without looking up from Bardolini's paper.

Templeton approached across the carpet and held out a sheet of paper. Drinkwater took it and stared at it. Templeton had written: The Downs, The Nore, Ho'sley Bay, Yarmouth, The Humber, Tyne, Leith, and under each the names of one or two ships.

'What is that? What do you want, Templeton?' Barrow looked up, frowning at the intrusion.

'My fault, Mr Barrow,' Drinkwater put in quickly, 'I asked Templeton to bring me a list of ships in the ports of the east coast...'

'What on earth for ...?'

'Thank you, Templeton, kindly wait for me in my room.'

'Very well, sir.' Reluctance was in every step of the clerk's retreat.

'Captain, if you please, explain ...'

'Of course, Mr Barrow, of course. There is another matter arising out of this approach from Marshal Murat…'

'I presume this other matter touches us ... I mean their Lordships, rather than the Foreign Secretary?'

'You are an astute man, Mr Barrow.'

Drinkwater explained, repeating Bardolini's revelation and adding the corroborative evidence from Herr Liepmann at Hamburg sent through the British-held island of Helgoland. When he had finished, Barrow was silent for a moment. 'I recollect', he said gravely, 'your report on the destruction of the American privateers, and the concomitant matters you raised.' Barrow frowned, deep in thought. 'You are uniquely placed to understand the importance of this intelligence, are you not?'

'Hence this paper, Mr Barrow.'

'The paper?' Barrow frowned again, but this time with incomprehension.

'I want two things, Mr Barrow ...'

'You want... ?'

'You give my office a brief stay of execution and you give me', he looked down at the paper Templeton had brought to where his thumb lay adjacent to the note Leith, 'the frigate Andromeda.'

'But I ...'

'Come, come, I have been here long enough to know Lord Melville will put his name to anything you recommend, as will Mr Croker…'

Barrow grunted, fell silent, then said, 'But is one frigate enough, Captain? You had a flying squadron at your disposal before.'

'Another thing I have learned is that we have few enough ships to protect our own trade, Mr Barrow. How many can you spare me? The cutter Kestrel used to be at Lord Dungarth's disposal, but she has long since…'

'No, no, you may have her, if you wish, as a tender or dispatch vessel.'

'And I may write my own orders?'

'You may draft your own orders, Captain,' said Barrow smiling, 'and you may retain Templeton to do it...'

'I was thinking of taking him to sea.'

'A capital idea.'

'I think their Lordships might permit me the luxury of a secretary.'

'I think they might be persuaded.' Relief at having the problem of Templeton so neatly resolved delighted Barrow.

Drinkwater rose. 'What of Bardolini? He is safe enough with me for a few days and I shall want a week to make my preparations, but after that he will be an encumbrance.'

'Give me a day or two, Captain Drinkwater, and I will let you know — by, say, Thursday?'

Drinkwater nodded. 'What d'you think Castlereagh will do?'

'I would imagine almost anything to string Murat along and prevent him giving his wholehearted support to Bonaparte.'

'So we will send Bardolini back with a diplomatic humbug?'

'It is not for me to say, but I would imagine so.'

'Poor fellow.'

' C'est la guerre, n 'est-cepas? You may send him to Helgoland in the Kestrel. He may then be landed near Hamburg and rejoin his master at Dresden.'

Drinkwater nodded. 'Very well. I shall hear from you by Thursday?'

'Of course.'

Whether or not Barrow recalled their past disagreement, Drinkwater had forgotten it as he left the room.

Templeton was not in his room when Drinkwater returned to it, and he sat and contemplated the papers on his desk. A dozen dispatches and reports had come in in his absence, an unusual amount for two days and ironic in the light of the imminent demise of his office. The sheets were neatly minuted in Templeton's impeccable script and, where necessary, additional sheets of paper were pinned to the originals, decryptions of enciphered text.

He riffled through them. They were tediously routine: a deciphered message from a Chouan agent in Brittany recounting the numbers of French warships in Brest which would serve merely to corroborate the sightings of the blockading frigates off Ushant; a report from St Helier in the Channel Islands about a small convoy which would have reached its destination by now; and a report from Exeter concerning the escape of a score of American prisoners-of-war from a working detail sent out from Dartmoor prison.

Templeton entered the room at that moment. 'I'm sorry, sir, I...'

Drinkwater waved aside the man's apology. 'No matter. How do we come to receive this? This is a matter for the civil authorities.' He indicated the report concerning the American prisoners.