'And I shall never again see Volterra
'Perhaps not: you must always have that in mind.'
'So how can I argue with Lord Hawkesbury to have Volterra included in the peace, or the subject of a further treaty?'
The Admiral shook his head. 'My dear,' he said in his calm, gentle voice, 'we have not encouraged you either to see Hawkesbury or to think Britain can help you. Just remember that Jenks is a politician, not a gentleman, and you should treat him as such.'
Lord St Vincent's office was the next beyond the Board Room, high-ceilinged with a polished table on the far side, opposite the door and where the First Lord sat in an armless chair with his back to the window. His large head and a natural stoop made him appear smaller than he was.
The room smelled of guttering candles: St Vincent was usually the first to start work at the Admiralty, and the first officers he wanted to see would find their appointments timed for seven o'clock. Between seeing people - who ranged from captains receiving orders to politicians seeking favours for the nephews of friends - he attacked the papers neatly piled on his table, calling in the Board Secretary, Nepean, who often worked at the huge mahogany table in the Board Room itself.
The old Admiral wiped his pen with a piece of cloth and carefully placed the quill in a wooden rack before looking up at Ramage, who had been announced by a messenger, summoned into the room, and now waited while St Vincent went through the ritual of completing one task before starting another.
Unexpectedly he stood up and held out his hand. The two men shook in silence, and the Admiral gestured to the single straight-backed chair as he sat down himself.
'You've been busy since I last saw you. At the Duchess of Manson's ball before you went off spying in France, eh?'
'Yes, sir,' Ramage said.
'Since then you've been collecting a number of Gazettes.'
'Thanks to you, sir.'
A captain's dispatch after an action was addressed to Nepean, the Secretary to the Board, and began with the time-honoured phrase 'Be pleased to lay before their Lordships . . .' A description followed, showing success or failure - and often revealing something of the character of the writer. Ramage's dispatches were concise rather than brief; he had long ago noticed that the officers cultivating brevity did so quite deliberately, knowing that a reputation for such a style would be useful when reporting near failure.
When their Lordships considered that an officer had done particularly well, his dispatch (after being edited in case it contained information of use to the enemy) was sent to the office of the Secretary of State for the Home Department, further along Whitehall, to be handed over to the Gazette printer, Andrew Strahan, who had his office there.
His father had been the first to draw Ramage's attention to the importance of writing careful dispatches. He pointed out that a good captain did not need his dispatch to be published in the Gazette, because the Board knew his worth, but for a deserving officer serving with him in the action, a mention in a dispatch was invaluable; it was often the only road to promotion. It was useful for a lieutenant seeking promotion to be able to show a Gazette or two in which he was mentioned. And, as his father had emphasized, if a man has a common surname make sure you give the number by which he is known in the service.
The number of lieutenants John Smith in the Navy List was startling; it was not unusual to see 'Lt John Smith the Fourth' or seventh or tenth in a Gazette. Yet, again proving that a dispatch often revealed a good deal about its writer, it was not unusual to read one in which not a single officer or man was mentioned, so unwilling was the captain (or even the admiral - and St Vincent himself had been guilty of it after the battle which gave him his title) to share either credit or glory.
St Vincent tapped a copy of the Gazette lying on the table. 'You read yesterday's issue?'
'Yes, sir,' Ramage said, his voice neutral.
'What did you think of the main announcement signed by the Secretary of State and Otto?'
St Vincent was a friend of Addington; the Prime Minister was obviously proud of the treaty with Bonaparte, since his own Secretary of State had negotiated it. But Ramage, knowing that a wise man would tell a white lie but refusing to be a hypocrite, simply turned down the corners of his mouth.
'You don't like it, eh? Why?'
St Vincent never wasted words; he doled them out, spoken or written, as a miser might give a coin to an improvident nephew. Did a wise post captain with a good deal less than three years' seniority really reveal his views to the First Lord? Well, St Vincent was shrewd; probably he really wanted to know what Admiral the Earl of Blazey thought, and guessed his son's views were similar.
Ramage turned his hat in his lap, to give the impression he was taking time to consider his reply.
'With respect, sir: Bonaparte has made fools of us.'
St Vincent's eyebrows shot up. 'I don't think Lord Hawkesbury would like to hear you say that.'
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. 'My father has already told him that - and a good deal more - a couple of days ago.'
'In what way is Bonaparte supposed to have made fools of us?' St Vincent asked sarcastically.
'Our blockade has emptied his warehouses; he has no rope, canvas or timber to repair his ships. Now he makes us lift the blockade. We captured many of his islands - you yourself took Martinique, sir - and now he gets them all back, at no cost.'
'Not all,' St Vincent protested.
'All that matter, sir,' Ramage said stubbornly. 'We've lost thousands of men from sickness but very few from fighting, and spent millions of pounds on the war - to no purpose.'
'I didn't know you were a strategist,' St Vincent growled. 'If you intend to go into politics, let me give you some advice -' the Earl broke off when he saw the expression on Ramage's face. 'Yes, well, you take after your father in that respect.'
Ramage inspected the inside band of his hat.
'Now peace is signed,' St Vincent said, 'are you sending in your papers?'
Ramage looked up, startled. 'No, sir. At least, not unless their Lordships ask me.'
'You don't need the halfpay,' St Vincent said.
'I had no intention of requesting it, sir,' Ramage said tartly. 'As far as I know, I am still on full pay in command of the Calypso and on a month's leave.'
St Vincent had moved the Gazette, which had hidden a bulky letter bearing the Admiralty seal. The Earl picked up the packet, turned it over so that Ramage could read the superscription, and slid it across the table to him.
'Captain the Lord Ramage, H.M. frigate Calypso, Chatham.'
As Ramage reached out for the packet, St Vincent held up his hand. 'Don't open it yet: read the back.'
Just below the seal, copperplate handwriting said: 'Secret orders - not to be opened until south of latitude 10 degrees North.'
Ten North! That was south of the latitude of Barbados in the West Indies or the Cape Verde Islands off the coast of West Africa. So the orders concerned the South Atlantic. The coast of Africa or South America in peacetime? What on earth could be happening down there?
St Vincent stood up and walked to the window. There was not much to see; Ramage knew that this and the Board Room's three other windows overlooked a stable. The early morning sky with its scattering of cloud was now becoming overcast; there would be rain by teatime.