DUDLEY POPE
Ramage and the Renegades
For Kyle and Doc
AUTHOR'S NOTE
The tiny island where Ramage and his men fought out their battle actually exists as described, 673 miles from Bahia. Still uninhibited, it belongs to Brazil. It was first surveyed by Captain Philip D'Auvergne R.N., Prince of Bouillon in 1782 and his original chart, in the British Museum, shows he made an error of only about twenty-five miles in plotting its position.
DP.
Yacht Ramage
Marigot
St Martin
French Antilles
CHAPTER ONE
Ramage lowered the copy of the Morning Post and listened. A carriage was clattering to a stop outside the house and old Hanson, muttering 'Coming, my Lord, coming!' as though someone was already hammering impatiently at the door, was shuffling across the hall. Pausing for a moment when he saw Ramage sitting in the drawing room he called: 'The Admiral's back, Master Nicholas!'
Dear old Hanson; for as long as Ramage could remember the butler always muttered 'Coming, coming' as he walked across the hall to answer the front door, and at every third step his right hand, with thumb and finger extended, lifted to his face to push his pince-nez back up over the bridge of his nose. It must be a most sensitive nose because Hanson's spectacles rarely slipped right off the tip to dangle from their black cord. Ramage remembered as a boy, fifteen or twenty years ago, watching fascinated as the butler lovingly polished the silver. Would they ... would they ... yes, there - but a quick movement of the right hand would, disappointingly, catch them just in time.
Hanson was always so relieved when any of the family returned home to the house in Palace Street, even after only an hour's absence, as though a social call or a shopping expedition was as dangerous as a foray into dense jungle. On this occasion Ramage's father had been over to Wimpole Street to call on Lord Hood (who, as a characteristically brief note explained, was beneaped in his house with gout). The two old admirals enjoyed gossiping and discussing foreign affairs, and certainly Bonaparte's latest move must have given them plenty to talk about. Had father been able to learn more than the rumour reported in the newspapers?
Gianna would be pleased the carriage was back: she was anxious to use it to call on her dressmaker. Instead of having the woman visit the house, Gianna wanted to go to her establishment to inspect rolls of materials, and Ramage was hoping his mother would go with her: as the first week of his first leave for nearly two years came to an end, he was at last managing to relax quite happily in an armchair. In a few more days he might agree to plunging into the London social activity, to be shown off by his mother and Gianna, but for the moment (as Gianna had grumbled last night) the bear was happy sleeping at the end of his chain, and would have been much happier to have come back to England and found Gianna and the family staying in Cornwalclass="underline" Blazey Hall, sitting four-square among the crags and rolling hills, was always peaceful; the village of St Kew was 'home', not London with its noise, smells and crowds.
Yet London this morning was still surprisingly quiet: the hucksters and piemen had not yet reached Palace Street, the air was still and the house seemed glad of the rest. The high ceiling made the room seem larger than it was, and his mother's choice of a very pale grey paint and a blue the shade of ducks' eggs set off the oak panelling. The glass of the diamond panes in the windows showed that Mrs Hanson had kept a close watch on the window cleaner, and the doorknobs shone with a brilliance that would bring an approving nod from most first lieutenants.
He heard the sharp clatter of the carriage steps unfolding. His father said something to the coachman, Albert, and a few moments later was in the hall, with Hanson taking his coat, hat and cane. Both Gianna and Lady Blazey had heard the arrival and were now coming down the stairs, greeting the Admiral. Ramage heard his mother ask if there was anything wrong, and the Earl must have answered with a gesture because she said: 'We'll join Nicholas in the drawing room and you can tell us about it.'
Ramage stood up as his mother came into the room, followed by Gianna. The Countess of Blazey, wearing the large amethyst brooch Ramage had given her last week on her fifty-first birthday (causing her to burst into tears, exclaiming that his unexpected return to Britain and a month's leave was the best present she could have), sat down and said: 'Your father is just going to change into some comfortable clothes . . . Now, tell us what the newspapers have to say, so we are all prepared for his gossip.'
Ramage knew Gianna was becoming excited by the rumours, but both he and his father had discounted them to her; there was no point in letting her build up hopes to have them smashed when it was discovered that the British government was the victim of a spiteful jest by Bonaparte.
'I haven't read The Times yet, but the Morning Post only reports what we've already heard.'
'Read it, caro,' Gianna said.
'There are a few lines on the front page and I am sure it's just speculation, not based on anything they've been told by the Secretary of State's office.'
'Read it, anyway,' Gianna said firmly. 'This Lord Hawkesbury is still so pleased at finding himself His Majesty's new Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs that he talks only to the King and the Archbishop of Canterbury.'
The Countess laughed. 'Surely you hardly expected him to reveal matters of state at last night's ball, my dear? After all, the Duchess of Dorset was standing beside you, and she's a terrible gossip.'
'I expect him to provide information for the ruler of a friendly state invaded by Bonaparte. After all, I am the Marchesa di Volterra!'
'Yes, dear,' the Countess said, smiling at what she called Gianna's 'imperious outbursts', 'but if Hawkesbury had any news about Volterra or, indeed, Tuscany or even Italy, he might tell you if you called at his office in Downing Street, or his home in Sackville Street, but hardly at a ball!'
'He did not suggest I call,' Gianna said coldly. 'Is he one of these new Irish barons? Wasn't he known as "Jenks"?'
Her tone, Ramage knew, was haughty enough to freeze even the chilly Secretary of State. 'He's the son of the Earl of Liverpool. He's also Member of Parliament for Rye and his nickname comes from his family name, Jenkinson.'
'This Liverpool - a new creation?'
Ramage laughed and the Countess joined in. 'Yes, "a new creation". His father received an earldom about five years ago and Jenks has one of his father's courtesy titles. Like me, in fact, except I don't use it.'
'I wish you would,' Gianna said, beginning to thaw. 'You are not ashamed of being the son of the Earl of Blazey, and you inherited one of his titles, so why not use it?'
'Darling, I've told you enough times,' Ramage protested. 'Admirals with knighthoods don't like having young captains serving under them with titles like "earl", or "viscount". It can often mean midshipmen and junior post captains have higher precedence at receptions than their commander-in-chief.'
The Countess said: 'If Nicholas had attended a dinner at which Hawkesbury was present, before he became a minister, Nicholas would have had much higher precedence - if he used his title.'
'All the more reason for using it,' Gianna said. 'Jenks is a cold pudding.'
'A cold fish,' Ramage corrected.
'Accidente! I always know when I am winning an argument because you begin correcting my English!'
'Nicholas,' the Countess reminded him, 'you were going to tell us the news in the Post.'