'Him? What him? Nathaniel, if you are going to speak of ruin, please don't use riddles ...'
Drinkwater shook himself out of his introspection. 'I am sorry, Bess, it's something of a shock. This', he took the letter gently from her unresisting hand and folded it, 'is from my brother Edward. You know a little of his circumstances. He left this country many, many years ago and, after some time, obtained a position along with many other foreigners in the Russian Army. I had some dealings with him during my service in the Baltic ...'
'Was he connected in some way with Lord Dungarth's Secret Department?'
'Yes, loosely. Certainly he sought to gain credit by assisting me and, by implication, Lord Dungarth. I suppose, from what this says,' he tapped the letter, 'he reached Paris when the Allies occupied the city last year. I would judge that there he met the ever-resourceful Hortense, and at some stage in what I deduce to be an affaire, he may have revealed his true identity' Drinkwater paused. 'Indeed,' he went on with a profound sigh, looking at Elizabeth directly, 'it seems only too probable that he revealed everything.'
'And that everything constitutes our ruin, I assume?'
'Yes.'
'But why?'
'Because when he left this country, he was wanted for murder.'
'Murder?' Elizabeth faltered, her face draining of colour and an edge entering her voice. 'And you, of course, being you, helped him escape.'
'I was a damned fool...'
'But she is dead and this letter ... I wish I had never opened the glove, but I thought it something important, that you should know of it and that ...' Elizabeth faltered, and then added with sudden conviction, 'It doesn't matter though, does it? The letter asks that you should go to Calais to meet the person who signs himself "O". You have merely to ignore it, to pretend it never arrived ... I mean, how are you so sure that it is from Edward?' And with that Elizabeth snatched the offending paper back and tore it swiftly into pieces. Drinkwater looked on with a chillingly wan smile.
'But it did arrive, Bess. You know it, I know it, Susan Tregembo knows it. Even Frey must be aware that something is up.'
'But you don't know it was from Edward. You are guessing, aren't you?' Elizabeth pressed. 'It is signed O. Of what significance is that?'
'Only that Edward's assumed name, the name by which Lord Dungarth knew him, was Ostroff. In Russian it means island, a small piece of land surrounded by a hostile sea.'
'You are certain?'
'I am as certain as I can be. In fact I think I recognize the hand now', he added, 'from the way my, no, our surname is formed.'
There was a brief silence as they regarded the fragments of paper littering the cabin deck. It was broken by Elizabeth. 'Well, you are surely not suggesting you go to Calais?'
'If my brother is in Calais now, then he is stranded there, a Russian officer in a French port which has become Bonapartist again. He might be murdered there, which would be retribution of a sort, but otherwise there is nothing to stop him crossing the Channel by hiring a boat or bribing a fisherman. If I can at least try to reach him, I may discover his intentions. Perhaps, after all these years, we have nothing to fear, but I cannot live the rest of my life knowing that I abandoned my brother, feckless devil though he is and possessing as he does the power to ruin us all.'
'And what shall you do if you do meet him? Shoot him?' Drinkwater laughed. 'Would you prefer I drowned him?' 'I wish to God you had never had anything to do with him ...' 'And what would you have done when your own kith and kin came to you in the extremity of desperation ...?'
Elizabeth bit her lower lip and shook her head. 'I don't know. But murder...'
'Well, I am not exculpating him,' Drinkwater said with a sigh, 'but he caught his mistress in bed with another man. You yourself found the merest suspicion of such conduct betwixt Hortense and myself a thing deeply disturbing. An intemperate man like Ned, in the high, indulgent passion of his youth, was scarcely to be expected to react other than as he did.'
Elizabeth considered the matter for a moment, then it seemed that she braced herself as she made up her mind. 'You shall go to Calais. And I shall come with you.'
'No. I shall go to Calais,' Drinkwater said with sudden decisiveness. 'Edward, through Hortense, knows where we reside. You shall go home and stand guard. If Edward comes to you, send Vane to leave word at the Three Cups in Harwich. The letter shall state that the mare has produced a fine black foal and you thought I should know. Remember that. Occupy Ned, and I will return as soon as possible. Mercifully, I can leave Frey in command and absent myself without occasioning any trouble. My only concern at this moment is to detach myself from this place. Come, we must go ashore at once. Take those damned gloves to Susan. I wish her joy of them. Let us lay this confounded ghost once and for all!' And taking his wife in his arms, he crushed her to him. 'Now, put on a happy smile and look as if you are pleased to see me while I escort you ashore.'
Having seen Elizabeth off, with a smiling Billie Cue lashed happily upon the box, Drinkwater ducked into the Three Cups. He had met Lieutenant Sparkman in its taproom some eighteen months before when Sparkman, an inspector of Sea-Fencibles, had reported the arrival of a strange Neapolitan officer on the Essex coast and lit a train of powder that had led to the fight with the Odin and the death of James Quilhampton in the Vikkenfiord. A woman bobbed in front of him, her stays open to reveal her breasts, offering him a drink. He did not remember Annie Davis, though she had delighted Sparkman all those months ago and, more recently, had put a smile on Billie Cue's face, though it had cost him a small fortune. Now Drinkwater swept past her and made for the back room where Captain Scanderbeg held court.
'Ah, Captain Drinkwater, pray do sit down.' Scanderbeg sat back in his chair and lifted a pewter mug interrogatively. A drink?' Drinkwater shook his head. 'Thank you, no.' Scanderbeg was in his shirt-sleeves, the table before him littered with papers, some of which had found their way unintentionally to the floor while others were more purposefully arranged in a wicker basket at his feet next to which was coiled a small spaniel. A ravaged quill pen stuck out of a large ink-well and a pen-knife lay beside them. 'I have ordered a small draft of men for you ...' 'So I hear and thank you for that, but it is not the cause of my visit. Captain Scanderbeg, I can see you are a busy and, if I mistake not, a harassed man ...'
'By God, sir, I have never known such a thing as this damnable embarkation. I was Regulating Captain here a year ago and was resurrected for the present emergency in this blasted incarnation.' Scanderbeg tapped his breast as though this revealed his change of status. 'I tell you, sir, governments know not what they do when they declare war with such alacrity! Would you believe that I had a pipsqueak captain of light dragoons in here this very forenoon complaining, complaining mark you, that my men, the seamen that is, were taking insufficient care of his blasted horses. When I asked to which ship they were assigned, the Adventure, Philarea or Salus, he said he did not know, so I asked which troop he meant, the first or second and so forth, that I might divine the men responsible. He said, "Oh, I don't mean troop horses, damme! I mean me own chargers, sir!" I asked how many of these festering chargers he had and he said four, two of which had cost him four hundred guineas. Four hundred guineas! God, sir, I hope the poxy French shoot the fucking things out from under his arse! I told him that if he had nothing better to do than complain, he had time enough to see to the matter himself and that a couple of hundred guineas to the tars embarking the cavalry mounts would see each of his damned chargers piggy-backed out on the backs of a score of mermaids! Bloody popinjay!'