And out of that shameful episode had come a delight for gluttons - the new sauce the Duc de Richelieu's chef had created to celebrate the fall of Mahon and named mahonnaise, and which was becoming very popular these days...
Suddenly Ramage noticed that his Lordship had made no move to pick up the reports; in fact he had returned to reading and signing his letters. Was he indicating that the report was politically unacceptable? Was he telling Ramage not only that he had failed, but that he had earned everyone's contempt by trying to blame the poor defenceless packetsmen?
It was one or the other, and Ramage no longer cared which, even though the mutiny in the Arabella had been the final proof he needed. He wanted to be with Gianna again: he wanted to see his mother and father and wander through Blazey Hall, see the portraits of his forebears watching him from the walls. Perhaps they would approve of what he had done. He would walk through the gardens and the fields and forget the Navy, the Post Office and politicians. He wanted to walk through the fields holding Gianna's hand like some rustic with a milkmaid.
"This is my final report, sir: it contains all the proof you could want."
Lord Spencer nodded without looking up. "I'll look at it when I have the time."
"May I have leave, sir?"
"You have no ship," Lord Spencer said, "so you're on half pay. Your time is your own..."
It was true, of course; but the voice was still as friendly as cold steel. It said, without uttering the actual words, you are on half pay now, and that is how you will end your days, because you were given a splendid chance and your first report went all the way up to the Cabinet, and all along the way it was disbelieved.
One grunt of disapproval from the Prime Minister over a lieutenant's activities, and the lieutenant might wish he had died nobly as an enemy shot knocked his head off. The alternative was rotting on the beach on half pay...
"Thank you, sir," Ramage said and stood up. He moved the report so the bottoms of the two packets were parallel with the edge of the table.
Spencer nodded curtly, still without looking up or saying any more, and Ramage, his now empty canvas bag tucked under his arm, left the Board Room and made his way down to the entrance hall. Yorke and Much sprang from their chairs in the waiting-room as he entered, but Ramage shook his head, indicating that he wanted to say nothing within hearing of the messengers, and gestured towards Whitehall.
The two men followed him out of the waiting-room, across the entrance hall and out through the doors. They strode down the wide steps and across the cobbled courtyard. The two stone beasts over the top of the archway that Ramage had never been able to identify - they comprised the head, shoulders and wings of an eagle grafted to the tail of a sea serpent - seemed to ignore them, as usual, as they emerged into Whitehall.
Ramage looked up and down the street for a carriage. On the opposite side a tinker was busy hammering at the bottom of a pot, while next to him an upholsterer patiently mended the padding of a chair. There were the usual carts and wagons - one laden high with cords of firewood was passing a brewer's dray loaded with a pyramid of puncheons, more than enough weight for a pair of horses to haul.
"What happened?" Yorke finally asked.
"He didn't believe the first report from Lisbon, and the Cabinet agreed with him. They all criticize me for putting the blame on the Post Office men. I gather it doesn't fit in with Government policy."
"But what about the last report - the one you've just delivered?" Yorke asked incredulously.
"I was told to leave it," Ramage said flatly.
"He didn't read it?"
"No."
"But you told him-"
"I told him it contained all the proof he needed."
"So he doesn't know anything about the mutiny and the kidnapping of the Marchesa, then?"
"I assume not; but it won't make any difference. The policy had already been laid down in Downing Street; that's obvious, even if it means they go on losing packets."
"Perhaps it'll be different when Lord Spencer reads the report," Much commented hopefully.
Ramage snorted, then said, "Anyway, here's a carriage."
"Well, I'd better say goodbye, sir," Much said.
"Why? Aren't you coming with us?" Ramage asked in surprise.
"Where are you going, sir?"
"My family have a house in Palace Street. It's about half a mile beyond the Houses of Parliament. You're coming, aren't you Yorke?"
The young shipowner nodded. "Many thanks; I don't keep a town house and don't want to take another carriage down to Bexley for the time being; I've had enough of travelling..."
By then the carriage had stopped. The coachman, leaping down to unfold the steps, was standing with the door open.
Ramage motioned Much in, taking his acceptance of the invitation for granted, and followed Yorke. "Palace Street," he told the coachman. "Blazey House."
The coach smelled dusty and gave the impression there was heavy mildew under the cushions, but the springs had been greased and the coachman controlled the horses without the usual noisy flourishes that they seemed to think necessary to increase the size of the tip.
The three men sat in silence as they passed the Houses of Parliament: Ramage felt that Yorke was not going to try to get Much interested in them again.
"The Abbey," Yorke said suddenly. "That's Westminster Abbey."
Much nodded, but was not impressed, and Yorke sat back in his seat.
Suddenly there was the clatter of a horse's hooves right beside them and a hand was banging on the window. Much jumped up with a warning yell of "Highwaymen, by God!" and, banging his head on the roof, sank back to his seat glassy-eyed and almost stupefied.
Yorke, sitting in the forward seat and looking back, said to Ramage quickly, "It's one of those messengers from the Admiralty!"
The carriage stopped before they could call out to the coachman, and, as he opened the door, Ramage heard the urgent call, "Lieutenant! Lieutenant!"
Ramage stared at the messenger on horseback. As far as he was concerned he had made his last visit to the Admiralty; in the brief carriage drive he had decided to resign his commission and ask Gianna to marry him...
"What do you want?"
"Lieutenant Ramage, sir! Will you return to the Admiralty at once, sir? First Lord's orders, sir, at once sir, it's urgent sir, no delay his Lordship said, it's urgent-"
"Belay it," Ramage snapped, although the last "urgent" would have been the final one for a few moments since the man was now taking a painful gasp of breath.
Yorke muttered, "He's just read your report!"
"Yes, you'd both better come back with me."
He called to the coachman to return to the Admiralty, and a small group of passers-by, peddlars and hucksters who had stopped to watch, moved out of the way as the coachman reined the horses round with a flourish.
Fifteen minutes later Ramage was sitting in the same chair in the Board Room.
"Are you trying to make a fool of me?" Lord Spencer asked furiously. .
"No, sir! Why?" Ramage exclaimed.
"Your report! Why the devil didn't you mention the mutiny, the attempt to murder you and the kidnapping of the Marchesa di Volterra - though God knows what she was doing on board?"