Scandal and Secrets Page 3

  “Oh, Lassie.”

  She shrugged and tried her questions again. “How is the progress with the ships?”

  “Quite fair, Lass. The least trouble has been the one at Urquhart and McArthur―it was a good thing that we settled their hostility with goodwill. The two teams on our slips are still making a race o’t, and I have had to be careful they have skimped nothing.”

  Roberta smiled. “That is good. On the other matter―did you receive the summons from the Army to build their military railways in Kent?”

  “That I did, a very gracious letter from the Field Marshal himself―but I do not see how I may find the time to accomplish what he needs.”

  “Lord Bond and I learned about it in London and I took the liberty of asking the Admiralty to intervene because of the priority presented by the spitefuls. Lord Bond went to the Government to have the Field Marshal accept others of our railway engineers in Kent and to have you as the overall manager, with only visits from Clydebank or Newcastle.”

  “Who would the army accept?”

  “Why, Mr. Postlethwait, who led the opening discussions at the War Office. I told them that you were completely confident with his ability.”

  Father eyed her shrewdly. “Is this a benefit or a penance for your nemesis?”

  Roberta laughed. “He has every opportunity to make of it as he will.”

  “Ah, my Girl. Dinna tak too much o’ your husband’s duplicity. I loves ye better the way ye were.”

  She rose from her chair and stepped across to throw her arms around him. “And I will do my best to remain as I was, but I fear I have already become an expert at deception, Father. I needed all that I could muster since I have been a lady and a spy―and the ways of the nobility are tempting assets to use.”

  Lord Bond mulled over the last two days as the carriage rumbled up the Exe Valley highway from Tiverton. The Old Man was not going to soften his anger. Even this errand on a cold October the First was no more than a lesson in spite.

  He had noted that an issue within the Exe barony was rightfully Bond’s problem and had handed its rectification to him. “It has been almost a year since the bailiff of the stone quarry at Cove requested to be relieved of his duties,” he had said. “Now you are here, you can see to it.”

  His instruction ended with the Old Man gracing him with a self-satisfied smirk. “The quarry contributes almost fifty pounds to your annual allowance. Perhaps you should look to its troubles in the event you might one day need every penny―the barony being your only property by right of inheritance.”

  Bond glowered at the wooded valley outside the carriage window. That was a sly threat. The barony represented his only estate the Old Man could not deprive him the revenues of; and the whole was not worth five hundred a year. He spent that much on his tailor’s bills.

  The Tiverton estate agent knew very little of the problem and so Bond found himself making the journey amid intermittent showers of rain that were steadily turning the highway into a marsh. Very likely a health issue, the agent’s clerk had suggested. “The bailiff must be nigh on sixty, and his only son died a few years back.”

  That meant he would have to consider all the current stone-cutters for one who might carry the authority to become the man’s successor. He doubted he would see Tiverton again until Sunday.

  He was required to be in Tiverton for Sunday service. “The Bishop of Exeter will be with us and will give both Lessons,” the Old Man had said. “I particularly want you to meet him.”

  No doubt. The Bishop would be opening the artillery barrage of the battle of his and Roberta’s marriage. He would have found a great number of questions to ask the man, but would best forgo that if he was too deep in the Old Man’s pocket. Symington had offered to sound out a few of the divines closer to London for him to see when he was “allowed” back from Devonshire.

  He really should write to Roberta, but needed to score a few points over the Old Man before doing so. Likely she would be too engrossed in her ships to notice if he wrote or not.

  He had laid his plans carefully for the proposal of marriage and even then had been on tenterhooks until she had ended her recitation of his misdemeanours and actually accepted him. She must have been in love with him all along.

  And what had the poor girl landed into? He really had been a beast. The only thought that had convinced him she was up for the fight he expected them to face was her very careful vetting of his qualities before committing herself. She was the steady hand on the tiller he needed, and being a very delectable bed-mate besides―although she had not let herself accept it until their last night in London―made her doubly worth all the effort he had put into winning her.

  The Old Man might hold most of the aces, but he was not going to win this fight.

  Chapter Five

  Back in Harness

  For the next two days Roberta had to go over reports with Clara Brad to sign off on issues that had disturbed the work of the yard while she was gone.

  “Four of the workmen hired on from other yards have proved to be troublemakers, and the foremen have fired them,” Clara said. “I have prepared their outstanding earnings and need you to sign off for deductions.”

  “Let me see.” Roberta took the slips from her. Some of the foremen themselves were new, and she had to approve what they had done. The troubles all seemed to be over deductions for unaccepted and substandard work, and she felt that it would only be turning the screw to deduct more money for work that had already lost them their jobs. She did not think it soft-hearted of her―by the time the Admiralty contract was fulfilled the shipyards would be short of trained men. She may even need to hire some of these men back.

  “I will write a note explaining why they were dismissed to include with their pay slips, but will not make deductions,” she said. “I have always been fair with the men, and it may do us good to let that be more widely known.”

  Clara shrugged. “Very well, My Lady. If that’s what you want.”

  “It is what I want; but I do not want all my old friends calling me ‘my lady’ all day. What is next?”

  “Some iron plate failed Mr. Humphreys’ tests, Chief. What do we do with it?”

  Roberta grinned. “That’s better. Let me see Mr. Humphreys’ report.”

  She read his test figures from a new batch of iron plates and found that fully half of them had failed to reach the specified tension strength of 20 tons per square inch. She looked at the delivery slip and found they had come from a company in Staffordshire she had not used before.

  “Why did we order from these people, Clara?”

  “There is a growing shortage of iron plate, it seems. Theirs was the only iron I could obtain the week you went to London. Mr. Humphreys suggested it might serve for canal barges.”

  “Do we know what yard is building barges?”

  “I can find out.”

  “Yes, please do. I will write a letter to this company and explain why we are not making payment and that we will try to turn the plates over to another yard at a lower price. If they object we will ship the material back to them at their expense.”

  After the administrative work was completed, Roberta went for a walk of the yard, starting with the construction of the new slipway for Antiochus. She felt anxious that it should not be delayed; they could not start building the ship until the stonemasons had finished their work.

  She had barely arrived at a point from which to survey the work than a heavily-built gentleman with a gold watch chain across his waistcoat came up to her. She had never seen him before.

  “Would you be Mr. Stephenson’s daughter, My Lady?”

  “I am. And I do not know your name, Sir.”

  “The name is Hardcastle, My Lady. I am the superintendent of the slipway contractor.”

  “I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Hardcastle. Would you have the time to show me the work in progress?”

  “Delighted, My Lady. We are about three quarters finished with the concre
te work, My Lady.”

  “Indeed? You have been very expeditious.” Only the preliminary staking and instrument observations for level had been conducted when she had left the yard for London. “You say concrete, and not flagstone, I notice. Is that why I see no stockpiles of rock nearby?”

  “Yes, My Lady. Your father agreed with us that the whole floor of the slipway should be constructed in poured concrete using Mr. James Parker’s patented hydraulic cement. You may be aware that the entire West India Dock in London was built with this material.”

  She remembered seeing the docks when in London selecting subcontracting yards for the two spitefuls to be built on the Thames. “I have not studied that construction method, but if my father has approved it, I am perfectly satisfied. Even more than conventionally satisfied if it means I may lay down iron for the vessel to be built here earlier than I had expected. Can you venture a date for me?”

  “Well, My Lady, it do depend upon good weather in which to pour the slabs, but we might be done in a week, and then you must wait for the material to completely cure before handing over the structure to the company erecting the hoists.”

  “Why, that is excellent news. I must ensure the materials and working crews are ready on time.” She smiled at him. “I have only one other thing to say and that is my hope that my supervising staff be spared the formalities of calling me ‘my lady’ at every point in a conversation. I used to be addressed as Miss Roberta by everyone in the yard, and see no reason why the form of address should be anything more than ‘Lady Roberta’—and not used except to ensure I should pay attention to a new communication.”

  “If’n thee wishes, My Lady.” Mr. Hardcastle’s ruddy face grew a mite redder, and they both chuckled at the mistake.

  “Yes. Well, if you are more comfortable with those words, by all means use them. I expect I will grow accustomed to them myself in time.”

  “O’course thee will. I should have remembered that congratulations are in order, My Lady. Is His Lordship here in Glasgow?”

  “Not at the moment, Mr. Hardcastle. He has business to attend to in Devonshire.”

  When her inspection of the slipway was complete, she thanked Mr. Hardcastle and walked toward the closest of the slipways where she could see the hull of a spiteful taking shape. The progress of the construction pleased her greatly, but his words had reminded her of a less satisfactory matter. It must be all of four days since her husband had arrived at Tiverton, and there had been as yet no letter from him.

  She felt sure that this was not a situation where “no news” was good news. She could only conclude that he had not written to her because he had been unable to report one portion of his discussions with his father that might be described as positive in their hopes to bring the Marquess to look upon some quality of hers of which he might approve. The fact of his disinclination to write was of less significance than the reason for it . . . and the length of the duration could only mark the extent of his failure. One thing she knew well about her husband was that he was loth to admit failure.

  She visited both spitefuls on their slips and had to thank every workman and foreman present for their hearty congratulations, and a few cheeky suggestions that they would have to sweep and scrub down the littered working floor to make it suitable for her inspection in future.

  “I became the wife of the heir to a nobleman while I was away―and not the First Lord of the Admiralty,” she answered them. “Save your spit and polish for the work at hand, and I will be content.”

  The men all cheered, and she thought a few more words would cement the moment.

  “While I was away I learned that we are in a race with the French―and it is vital that we win it. Have no doubts, we are far better iron shipbuilders than the French will ever be. Now get back to work before I dock you all a shilling.”

  That brought more cheers and laughter, and she enjoyed the heightened mood all the way to the main gate office. She looked in to see the older men on duty―all shipwrights of an earlier age who through injury or years could no longer work within the yard.

  “We ha’ received a letter fir ye, My Lady Roberta. It come not half o’ the hour since.”

  “Oh, thank you,” she said. “I have been expecting one.” She took it and looked at the address. The writing was not Lord Bond’s but a far less expert hand. She took a seat in the corner of the office and slit open the sheets.

  It was from Bloggins at Chatham. She looked to his words and then stopped with a gasp.

  I fears I has nort but bad news fer yer Ladyship. We’s buried young Willis this mornin’. The surgeons took the arm the very day us arrived Chatham, but the pison ne’er left. He didna look well ever after an’ spoke o’ no more than his mother who had lost a son already. We is so sorry ter be the beerers o’ bad news and will be off to Devon by coaster come the morrer. Yer obed’nt servants―

  Roberta’s eyes teared up before she could read the names of the whole crew written below. She put down the letter and turned away from the men so they could not see her distress.

  Chapter Six

  News by Post

  That evening Roberta went into the library and sat down to write several letters. She thought she should pen one to her husband, but first undertook to prepare the ones duty dictated. The missive to the Staffordshire iron works came first, and she appended a copy of Mr. Humphreys’ test values to her page of censure for the poor quality of the plates. Next she wrote a letter that blended sadness with the pleasure of being able to write a good and valued friend for an indulgence.

  My Dear Commander Worthington,

  I do hesitate to add to your already busy round of duties but I received the sad news today from Mr. Bloggins, the master of my husband’s yachts, that Midshipman Willis passed away from the effect of his wound incurred on duty as we seized the craft carrying Mr. Holmes and Captain McNab to what must have been their interrogation & subsequent execution. I feel it is incumbent upon me to determine what burden this might place upon his parents & ensure His Lordship and myself respond appropriately to assist them. However, I am not currently in a position to obtain the details and address of his family & I therefor hope that you could oblige me by forwarding the pertinent information from the records of the Royal Naval hospital at Chatham, or possibly from the log book of the Medusa should you encounter her while at sea.

  I hope you might feel some pleasure in knowing that I am back at Clydebank since October First & find all at the shipyard in fine fettle with two spitefuls already showing their lines in the shape of riveted frames & the slipway for Antiochus, the new larger craft, within a week or two of receiving the laying down of the first plates of the keel. I look forward to the launching of the first two ships before the end of December & hope that you will be bringing the new crews to receive them yourself in the new year so you may see that the work has been satisfactorily completed.

  She stopped to read the letter and wondered if she might manage an appropriate line or two of a more personal nature, but had to conclude that, in the circumstances, no lines of a more personal nature were appropriate. She settled for a short mention that her husband was at present in Devon visiting his father.

  She sealed the letter and took up more sheets of paper to write something to send to Devon. This proved a much harder task. She knew not why Lord Bond had not written. She could not decide whether to write a note of warm inconsequentials or merely a recitation of her actions since leaving him at London. She had a terrible vision of the Marquess seizing whatever she managed to write and demolishing her words with bitter erudition. Before long she had more pages crumpled upon the floor than on her writing table.

  She felt some degree of relief when her father came in with some new technical matter that had been brought to his attention. “You should read this, Roberta. I feel there might be time for you to design the Antiochus with this new method of propulsion.”

  She turned to look at him and took the pamphlet from his hand. The title page
declared “On the Utility and Practicality of Propelling Steam Ships with an Archimedean Screw Propeller with a Consequent Saving of Coal and Achievement of Greater Speed.”

  “Read it, My Dear. It relates how a small launch built by a Mr. Pettitt Smith was tested from Gravesend and made the Nore light in but two hours and fourteen minutes.”

  “Yes. A fair effort, but Spiteful can match that.”

  “I think you should read the pamphlet before making up your mind, Roberta.”

  “Yes, Father, but I cannot alter the design of the spitefuls at this stage.”

  “Of course not, but you might consider the method for the Antiochus. Mr. Worthington did consider the stern paddle-wheels were at a disadvantage in a heavy following sea.”

  “Yes. Thank you, Father. I will read the pamphlet this evening, but I would ask you to bring me a great deal more information of this experiment before I might divert some of my time from what I have designed at present. The Admiralty’s need is for a workable vessel in ten months’ time―I would suggest that adding improvements must wait until the French are defeated.”

  When Roberta saw the uncommonly large congregation for Sunday kirk at Old Kilpatrick, she soon realised that most of the newcomers had purposed their worship to be an excellent opportunity for inspecting the commoner newly honoured into the nobility. Few of them had been on her acquaintance list before this day and even fewer had ever set eyes upon Lord Bond, but it seemed they all intended to rectify that situation forthwith.

  “I fear we may have to employ an appointments secretary if we offer time of day to all these folk,” she whispered to her father.