Rochefort, ordering him to move south quickly to Finisterre and battle.”
Able’s hands closed on the bag, already tarred and weighted, should it be necessary to throw it overboard. He had seen Sir B, Captain Hallowell and other captains hold such bags. Now it was his turn, as commander of the Mercury. He breathed deep of the tar and appreciated silence from his cranial cohorts. He didn’t need them. This was his moment.
“How soon, you are wondering? Master Six, you have short leeway. If you sail in five days for Rochefort, will that be enough time to see the Mercury victualled and shipshape?”
The Mercury was ready now. So were the Rats. He still needed to locate Harry Ferrier, however, to cover his classes in seamanship. Five days, and he didn’t even know where Master Ferrier lived. He also knew there was only one answer.
“Aye, Admiral. We sail in five days for Rochefort, sooner if we can. After that, sir?”
“Return to your classroom. You will be subject to the requirements of the service, as ordered,” Gambier said. He parceled out a smile then, did Dismal Jimmy, enthusiastic Christian who bored many an unrepentant crew with sermons of hellfire and damnation. “I suspect you will be more out of port than in, so find a suitable substitute at St. Brendan’s for yourself.”
“I have one in mind, Admiral, provided I can locate him.”
There was nothing more to say. The three of them made their bows – Smitty’s second time was an improvement on the first – and hurried back to Trinity House for dinner with the available Brothers, and the offer of beds for the night.
Able overruled the offer of lodging, as much as he wanted to stay. The upstairs chambers were comfortable, but time was wasting. Five days, after all, and so much to do. He had asked the postilion earlier to be ready for a return journey. A visit to the kitchen saw the man and his post boy eating to the bursting point and flirting with the scullery maid and cook. “Thirty minutes,” was all Able needed to say.
With Captain Rose’s permission after a quick meal, Able took Smitty up another flight of stairs to a little-used storeroom. He opened the door and held the lamp high over the gilt-framed portrait. “Here he is, Smitty, my father the enemy. Just as I told you.”
“Good God,” Smitty said, startled. He glanced at Able, and back at the likeness that watched them both under heavy-lidded, familiar eyes.
“His name is Francisco Jesus Domingo y Guzman, Conde de Quintanar,” Able said. “You remember Captain Ogilvie, do you not?”
“Aye, sir. He gives me the willies. ‘E just pops up here and there.”
Well put, Able thought, amused. “This is the chap he saw in Cádiz by the Santísima Trinidad.”
“Take the portrait with you.”
Captain Rose stood in the doorway, quiet and composed, the perfect Elder Brother to lead Trinity House through a war. “If you meet the man in the frame…well, you will know what to do. He is an enemy to England.”
Would he know? Small portrait in hand, Able went downstairs to see the aforementioned Captain Ogilvie standing beside the branching stairwell.
As usual, Angus Ogilvie wasted not a moment. “Stay here, boy,” he ordered Smitty, and took Able by the arm into a darker corner. Come to think of it, Ogilvie flourished in dark corners.
“I need to leave n…”
“I know, I know. Give me a moment.”
Able waited. Ogilvie looked around and moved closer. “Lord Gambier gave me orders, too, the kind that don’t come with documents. You are to inform me when you sail with dispatches for the Channel Fleet.”
“Why, sir?”
Ogilvie made an impatient gesture. “Sometimes I might need to accompany you and slip ashore. Whether this is the right time or not…” He shrugged. “Circumstance will dictate.”
Able nodded. He was not surprised. “Where will I send such a notice?”
Ogilvie grinned at him. “Send a message to Ezekiel Bartleby at the bakery. He has a spare room and I do love doughnuts.”
Able couldn’t help his laughter. Serve you right if you get too fat to fit into a jolly boat, he thought. “Aye, sir.”
He turned to go, but Ogilvie stopped him. “And Lady St. Anthony? How is she faring?”
“As well as can be.”
Ogilvie surprised him then. His voice turned surprisingly tender, considering that the man probably hadn’t a sympathetic bone in his body. “She was dealt a poor hand, but she knew that going in.” He released Able’s arm. “She played it well.”