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  “I believes I have already received h’intimation of such a promotion, Miss Stephenson. Commander Ripley have suggested the need for an officer to inter’duce the new ship officers to their duties by makin’ the Spiteful the floatin’ school. The Admiralty wishes to purchase the vessel . . . as soon as the new dock work be done, and have myself command the vessel at Chatham. ’Twould be a Commander’s post.”

  “Why, how gratifying for you, Lieutenant. But I must admit to some loss that we would suffer from your good fortune.” Roberta paused to marshal her words. She had never considered him before as more than a congenial inspector of her work, but she had to admit that his down to earth good sense and encouragement had been of great value to her. “You have been more than an Admiralty inspector, you have been an engineering partner in many respects.”

  “Well . . . I . . . ,” Worthington began. “Er . . . Shall we continue our inspection o’ the ship? What would you see next, Mr. Holmes . . . the ram bow?”

  Roberta smiled to herself, quite sure that if they were located in a brighter lit area of the ship she would see that his face was as bright a hue as it had been in the Admiralty boardroom. What did that signify? Was his deferential manner to her liking or was it not?

  Lord Bond stood at the stern, as close as the splashing from the two paddlewheels allowed. They were mostly invisible behind a light iron shroud, that Roberta had explained had been introduced as a convenience, but now after their Channel voyage, would be strengthened into a heavier structure to prevent following waves from submerging the paddlewheels before they dipped into the sea.

  She was somewhere below, conducting Symington on a tour of the ship on this first day of their resumed voyage to Clydebank. They were somewhere near St. David’s Head in St. George’s Channel, about to pass from the narrows into the Irish Sea.

  What was he to do about the Old Man’s veto?

  He felt certain that she was the only person confident enough to put together the information about the French behemoth and allow the building of a ship strong enough to counter it. She had devised the Spiteful on third hand knowledge of the pyroscaphes. But even Viscount Melville disapproved of his plan to take her to Antwerp.

  He now had enough documentation to insert a team of four persons into the Netherlands—two escorts using the spies’ papers and two intelligence gatherers using the American passport. Surely he could keep her safe with the extra help.

  But the Old Man had refused his leave of even offering Roberta the security of a Platonic marriage to protect her respectability from the likely necessity of cohabiting with a “husband” on the journey. The Old Man had told him to use Symington. Symington! Clearly the Marquess didn’t understand the personal reasons why such a suggestion would be meaningless. And at any event, he was the one who wanted to cohabit with the woman. His nights were the nights becoming troubled with dreams of her.

  He noticed the master leave the quartermaster at the wheel and walk to the starboard rail, and decided to join him. “How is our voyage progressing, Mr. MacRae? Should we see St. David’s Head?”

  “Steamin’ fair, My Lord. I sees the rocks called The Smalls droppin’ astern so we should see the Head in another hour’s steamin’.”

  “Rocks?”

  MacRae pointed. “There, My Lord. Where ye sees the waves break, about eight cables’ length distant.”

  Lord Bond stared, but it took several minutes before he fancied he could make out the place where the waves broke against the rocks. “We are clear when we see them astern?”

  “Aye, My Lord. I jus’ be lookin’ fer confirmation afor I changes our headin’ to starboard, and pick up the fifth degree of longitude as us be leavin’ St. David.”

  “I see. You must have sailed this course before.”

  “Many times, My Lord. I were master of an East Indiaman, the Berkshire, afore I gave up the ocean to ply the waters of the Firth of Clyde. I had a wife then, y’see.”

  “And now you are away from home again in Miss Stephenson’s service.”

  “Aye. She be a fine lady, and ’tis an honour to serve her.”

  Lord Bond had to agree, but with only an unspoken assent to himself. He stood watching the change of course and musing upon the benefits and drawbacks of the state of marriage until Roberta and Symington arrived on deck from below.

  It was later that night before he found the time to speak his mind to Symington; they were preparing for the night in the cabin they shared.

  “What did the Old Man have to say?” Symington asked as he sat on the edge of his cot unfastening his boots.

  “About what?”

  “You know very well what about, Julian. Do not try to play games with me. Did he ask about the ships, the next spying mission, or the young lady?”

  “All three. He suggested that you should be the man to escort her.”

  “Me? I thought you were smitten by her.”

  “Smitten? Is that where he gained such an impression? You are his eyes and ears in the Admiralty—what did you write in your reports to him?”

  Symington pulled off a boot and pushed it under the cot. “What’s this? You are accusing me of spying upon you?”

  “Somebody had passed him a quite thorough report.” Lord Bond hesitated―the incompleteness of the Marquess’ information about the Spiteful suggested he had received word of the official account; of the French sloop being sunk by a steam tug. Of course, Symington was devious enough to leave out the exact details on purpose. “Do not pretend that you do not pass on Admiralty secrets when he asks.”

  “Good Lord! Next, you will be suspecting me of being the Frenchmen’s informer.”

  “No, we are closer to identifying him, I am told. Several of the King’s German Legion officers suspect Gottliebe is the same person who betrayed two Line Regiments when the French created the Kingdom of Westphalia, in 1807.”

  “That is the puppet government ruled by Napoleon’s brother Jerome?”

  “Yes, but you have not answered my question about informing the Old Man.”

  “I tell him as little as I can, brother mine. Mostly about the doings of post captains and admirals and the back-room jockeying for promotion.”

  “Really?” In retrospect, he did not doubt the truth of the answer. They had grown up together once his mother had passed away and there was no one in the household to complain about raising a bastard son as a family member. Symington had always been a secretive sort of fellow. “Who do you think has sent the Old Man this latest report?”

  “Ah, pure speculation will not answer your question, but I would suspect any number of private secretaries to Their Lordships. What did they tell him of Miss Stephenson?”

  “Only that I was enamoured of her.” Bond paused as the thought struck him. This feeling was nothing new, he had loved and fallen out of love before. “He has taken a very firm stance against that.”

  “You still want her to be a part of the spying at Antwerp?”

  “Who else is qualified to make sense of the scraps of incomplete information we might glean from our observation of the shipyards? Do you feel a competent naval architect from your inspection this afternoon?”

  “I feel I have a growing understanding, but confess it to be less that of our fine naval lieutenant’s at this juncture. But he is already spoken for—the engineering department wants to place him in command of this vessel to school the officers and ratings who will be posted aboard the other ships of the class.”

  “You learned this from the Admiralty?”

  “No. From Worthington’s own lips this afternoon when we were on our inspection tour. I also learned one more thing—our Black Gang lieutenant is as smitten by our lady captain as are you; and she is very pleased with the quality of his engineering knowledge.” Symington smiled slyly. “He proposed a valuable suggestion that might ease the difficulties with transferring the incomplete hulls to Tyneside.”

  “Did he, by damn?”

  “She was very impressed—you have
a very powerful rival for her affections there.”

  “Rival! What nonsense. I doubt he earns more than fifty pounds a year . . . and should be astounded if there were the slightest suggestion of a subsidy from a wealthy patron. All I need do is turn the Old Man’s mind to a more accepting frame and the lure of the nobility will cast him into the nether darkness . . . .” Bond laughed shortly. “Back to the stokehold he rose from.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Assessing the Gentlemen

  Late in the morning of the next day the Spiteful steamed up the Clyde toward Clydebank. Symington Holmes stood in the bow watching their progress and smelling the mix of river weeds and heather from the hills. Almost all the river traffic seemed to be steam powered; the few merchant brigs in sight seemed out of place with the black smoke smears and higher wakes of tens of Clyde puffers bustling like ants around them.

  He’d heard of the puffers, of course, but never visited their home waters to see them. So called because of their puffing one-cylindered steam engines, they were small vessels adapted from the traditional gabberts, single-masted sailing barges plying the trade routes of the islands in earlier years. Today, he felt sure more steamers plied the Clyde than the Thames at London.

  “We’ll be mooring at Clydebank within the hour,” a voice behind him broke his reverie.

  He turned to see Miss Stephenson had exchanged her seaman’s garb for sturdy travelling dress and even a jaunty flat-brimmed hat tied under her chin. It was not the first time he’d seen her in a woman’s finery, but remembered the earliest occasion had been while she plied the corridors of the Admiralty, and he had been one of the curious who had found a reason to leave his office for a glimpse. He felt a slight disquiet; customarily, young women had never attracted this attention from him.

  “Thank you for the information, Miss Stephenson. I have never been on the Clyde before and find it enough enjoyment to be pleased if our journey should even last longer.”

  She smiled, rather familiarly, but then he knew it merely a sign of her confidant manner. “I feel sure you will be sailing in the Clyde enough these next two weeks that you will come to know it as well as you do the Thames, Sir.”

  “I look forward to that. The town we just passed—what name would it have?”

  “On the North bank? That would be Dumbarton. Mr. MacRae has his family there in a pretty rented cottage.”

  “I see you have let Mr. MacRae bring the Spiteful in this morning. He told Lord Bond he used to sail here with an East Indiaman.”

  “Yes, the Berkshire. He knows the river so much better than I that it would be foolishness for me to claim the command in his stead. I feel somewhat the truant, but it really is time for me to put aside my captaincy and resume the management role.”

  “And what honorific must we use to address you in this role?”

  She laughed, her whole face lighting up with amusement. “Why, Mr. Holmes, I assure you that I claim no false dignity with the role. To friends and colleagues alike I will answer to Miss Roberta when in the works. The factory and the shipyard are no places for much formality.”

  “Really? I find that most unusual. In the Admiralty everyone is addressed either by his naval rank or as Mister. One soon gains an impression that the ceilings would fall in if anyone strayed into such informality . . . but then you are now acquainted with its ways . . . although I do believe you are the first young lady ever to enter the premises on business.”

  “I suspected as much, Sir. I was very glad of the kindness and support His Lordship offered me in those meetings.”

  “But I doubt if even he would go so far as to address you as Miss . . . ah . . . Roberta.” There—he had done it. It felt almost like falling off a cliff, and he dreaded to think what would happen should he reach the bottom. No, he would take stronger guard and be sure that he should never fall that far.

  Mr. George Stephenson arrived at the works jetty as the Spiteful completed tying up. The first down the gangplank was Roberta in a respectable travelling outfit spoiled by one of her frivolous bonnets; she came to him for an exchange of filial kisses.

  “Welcome home, my dear. I hope this voyage was uneventful.”

  “Perfectly, Father. Is all well here?”

  He smiled slightly and allowed his shoulders a slight shrug before the next arrival, his sister Nelly, whom he bussed with a slight peck on the cheek. “Comfortable journey, old thing?”

  “Old thing yersel’, I bin livin’ the life of a duchess wi’ a ship full o’ grand gentlemen.”

  Roberta introduced Lord Bond in a marked reversal of etiquette. He vaguely remembered the young man from an Institute meeting a year previous. All parties pretended that nothing inappropriate had taken place. Perhaps it hadn’t; he had set his daughter on her own course through society when he had agreed to make her a manager in the business. He should be glad and accept that Lord Bond had taken the novelty with good grace. Perhaps the young man was a stout heart and no fop for false dignities—he should be grateful for that. “Welcome to Clydebank and the Stephenson Shipyard, My Lord. Please consider us at your complete disposal. We are honoured to have you visit.”

  “Indeed, Sir, it is I who must express my fullest gratitude at your—and your daughter’s—offer of hospitality, and perhaps some inconvenience with ignorant noses poking about in your premises.”

  “Not at all, My Lord. We would be no less pleased to place ourselves at your convenience than we are to do what we can for Britain in these difficult times.”

  Lord Bond smiled and turned slightly as another gentleman reached the jetty. “I must introduce you to this stalwart of the offices of Admiralty, Mr. Stephenson. Please meet Mr. Symington Holmes, an advisor to the offices of finance for the Royal Navy . . . and in the present moment a student of steamship design and construction for our investigations into the plans of the French.”

  “Delighted to meet you, Mr. Holmes. I must assure you of our most diligent assistance to your endeavours while you are here. My daughter’s letter tells me that you have offered to speak of a number of interesting applications of mathematics of value to engineering. We are not well schooled in the science but are more than eager to learn as much as we may be able to absorb.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Stephenson, for your generous support of our affairs. It will be most gratifying if we find mutual interests and mutual benefit in our association.”

  Holmes seemed a rather strange fish to Mr. Stephenson, perhaps a slight function of the deerstalker hat he wore, but also in his rather offhand use of manners. He had not included Roberta for her share of the thanks when given the opportunity, which common courtesy would surely expect; but his daughter had seemed entirely unmoved by the omission. Did he sense something there? He would know better when he’d seen these visitors about the works . . . he was a common man who would rather make his judgements in familiar surroundings.

  The last to be introduced was the naval lieutenant, Worthington, an entirely familiar object of interest in that he was a product of coal and steam worked upon in good Northern industries. His voice proclaimed him a man of modest upbringing and straightforward understanding and Mr. Stephenson was glad to walk in his company as they made a brief tour of the shipyard before leaving for the company mansion for dinner. The rear of the party was also a good vantage point to watch Roberta guiding the two gentlemen through the activity . . . and particularly to watch their attentions to her.

  Roberta turned from the shipyard gateway as the carriage carrying her father and the guests clattered away over the cobbles. Her father said he would send the trap for her when they reached the mansion. She turned to Clara Brad, her number two in the shipyard. “Do we have enough coin in the safe to pay off Spiteful’s crew, Clara?”

  “I don’t think so, Roberta. Perhaps half of them, but remember, men will be needed to unload the ship stores and coal before she goes into dry dock on Tuesday.”

  “I think enough live locally that we can expect to have sufficient hel
p for that task. Let’s go to the office. I cannot take the Admiralty warrant to the bank in Glasgow until Monday morning, but I can at least pay the married men who will need to take money to their families.”

  On the way to the office they walked past Spiteful and she called up to those tightening mooring lines. “I will need the married men to be paid off to come to the office soon, Mr. MacRae.”

  “Right y’are, lassie. I will leave the starboard watch aboard this evening to clean up the ship.”

  “You can have twenty-four hours at home, if you like. The ship goes into dry dock on Tuesday.”

  “Very good. I’ll be back to make certain we’re ready for that; Mr. Anderson can look after what needs done until then.”

  Anderson was the first mate of the deck crew. “Would you ask Miss Grandin to come to the office as soon as she’s finished in the engine room? And please bring the crew log when you come, so I can see what is owed.”

  “Aye aye. Miss Elizabeth has already been pullin’ the fires in the boilers.”

  She and Clara Brad looked over the records and shipyard orders for the period she had been away. Her father had done the same, but may have missed items he had not been familiar with before his arrival. She saw his entry about his visits to the shipyards she had arranged for construction of the contracted out spiteful hulls. One of them had proven difficult—claiming an unavoidable delay completing a vessel on one slip. Her father’s note made her smile—he suspected the “blaggards” of inventing difficulties to demand more payment. She would make her own visit as soon as she could find the time.

  When Elizabeth Grandin arrived at the office they discussed what engineering and boiler room artificers would be required for the dry dock work. “Those men we will need to start work on Tuesday . . . no, make that Wednesday. The ship will not be ready until the low tide has allowed the dock to drain . . . those men have their time off first. I’m short of coin at the moment, but will pay everyone who needs to leave tonight.”