Steam & Stratagem Read online

  Roberta answered while brushing aside a loose red lock of hair—she denied dressing more carefully for her guest, but one needed a certain standard. “We began the ship’s trials at Clydebank two months ago and began our voyage to Chatham to show the vessel to the dockyard superintendent just two weeks hence. Our present voyage to the coast of the Low Countries and back is presently approaching four days old.”

  Lord Bond looked around the table at petty officers, able seamen and engine room artificers drinking strong Scottish ale and ladling stew into their mess tins while talking and laughing about their fight with the French sloop—all the signs of a happy ship. “And for what purpose did you bring the ship to Chatham?”

  “I have had a communication from the Lords of Admiralty that they would consider my proposal to supply Their Lordships with a number of vessels of like design to constitute a squadron of steam galleys to operate in coast defence. The superintendent looked over the ship and then appointed Lieutenant Worthington,” she paused to nod at the lieutenant sitting opposite, “to sail with us and report on the utility and reliability of the vessel’s engines.”

  Lord Bond inclined his head sympathetically. “And here we limp back to Dover as cripples. Bad luck, my dear.”

  Lieutenant Worthington looked up from his stew. “If I may’st interject a word or two, My Lord—”

  Lord Bond smiled and nodded.

  “Thank you, My Lord. As I were going to say . . . what I have seen h’indicates no great disadvantage to Miss Stephenson’s vessel or engines. They have performed harder service than those on any ship I served in previous. I’d venture to say that there is likely no steamship built that could have performed half so well. The bearing that have failed only did so under the extreme stress of dire action. Even then, it have not caused major damage to the engine which can likely be repaired in a few days at a royal dockyard.”

  Roberta took a relieved breath and exchanged smiles with MacRae. Worthington had seemed an honest and steady fellow before, but now she thought him one of a very rare breed. Most men would have asked for silver before offering such a recommendation. “We too are required to travel to the Admiralty to report our findings upon return to England. Perhaps you would consider offering a few words about your recollection of the fight with the French sloop, My Lord.”

  “A pleasure, my dear. Your timely assistance requires no less. It was an impressive action.”

  Worthington appeared encouraged by His Lordship’s permission to enter the conversation. “We was ordered by the Admiralty to sail close to French shores, My Lord, as a provocation . . . but we expected to find no civilian yacht doing likewise.”

  Lord Bond’s expression soured. “Quite.”

  Roberta hurried to the Lieutenant’s aid. “I feel quite sure His Lordship was not in dangerous waters heedlessly, Mr. Worthington—as I am sure he is not at liberty to speak of it. But his need to reach the Admiralty as soon as possible suggests his journey has been of the utmost importance.”

  Worthington’s eyes lowered to his stew. “Yes, Ma’am. I apologize, My Lord, for my foolish question.”

  “No harm done. I would assuage your curiosity if it were appropriate. I have a question for your captain. Were you instructed to be on the lookout for French steamships, Madam?”

  Roberta smiled. “I fear we were not. I take it you are of the opinion that their existence is not an unfounded rumour. No one will give us an official answer, but we hazarded our time, energies and money on offering our ship as a counter to those things that have been spoken of so often in gossip.”

  “But you must have had some certainty to undertake such an expensive endeavour, dear lady.”

  Roberta shrugged. “My father had certainty of a steam vessel that served on the Seine at Paris in 1783, My Lord. Called, I believe, the Pyroscaphe.”

  Lord Bond nodded. “A steamship of that name did sail in that year in France, but the river was the Saone and the experiment was not a success. However, I can see the truth is very important to you so I will amplify the story further. The Emperor saw fit to have the experiments repeated in more recent years, and the rumour of the experiments refer to vessels that can tow barges―that are called, after the original, pyroscaphes.

  “That could tow invasion barges across the Channel, My Lord?”

  The whole company stilled their conversation and watched, wide-eyed, to await His Lordship’s answer.

  “I believe that is the intention, but I can say no more . . . here. However, if we are both to travel to the Admiralty, Their Lordships might well consider it appropriate to enlarge upon the discussion between us in their secure surroundings.”

  The other diners resumed a buzz of conversation—now directed, no doubt, on the possibility of further clashes with the French after their successful one just a few hours past.

  Lord Bond set down his ale mug. “I know it might, in some circles, be considered improper—even scandalous for a man and woman who have not been properly introduced, but it could be a wise undertaking for us to travel in company to London, Madam. We both have information that could be considered confidential. You were intending to take the train?”

  “Yes. Lieutenant Worthington and I were intending to take the last train today, but I fear we will be too late for it. I would be pleased to have a double escort for a journey on tomorrow’s six o’clock departure. I believe the urgency of our wartime business outweighs normal considerations of propriety.”

  “Then I will look forward to your continuing company, Miss Stephenson. I hope you will see fit to apprise me more of your remarkable ship. Was there damage to your prow from the ramming?”

  “No, My Lord. The scantlings were designed for the duty. We could safely ram a vessel more than twice our tonnage.” Roberta was not completely reassured at his turning the conversation to technical matters. His address had been somewhat provocative—and she was quite sure she recalled hearing of his less than exemplary reputation with the ladies. She felt secure in that she was no impressionable girl to have her head turned by the company of a peer of the realm—heir to the Marquess of Tiverton—and not in need of more than customary prudence in her manner.

  Chapter Six

  Six O’Clock Train

  Lord Bond and Roberta stood in the concourse of the Dover station while Lieutenant Worthington went for their tickets. A few early morning travellers drifted in with the morning mist from the street, but the station seemed mostly empty. Well, it was. The plans for the South Eastern Railway had been formed and put into action during the brief truce in 1802 for the Treaty of Amiens, when all the rich and fashionable had taken channel packets to a Continent they’d had to abjure for ten years. Alas, the truce only lasted a year and by the time the rails reached Dover there were very few passengers en route for Calais.

  Roberta listened most inattentively to Lord Bond’s monologue of pleasantries as they waited, merely nodding her head and smiling at those junctures when a response seemed expected. Passengers at train stations always took on an air of adventure and mystery—so many people to whom one had not been introduced, all preparing to enter upon the inconveniences and possible alarums of these next few hours of being whisked, at speeds far in excess of thirty miles to the hour, across the face of England. She, of all people, should be used to it, but the thrill of a new journey never left her.

  That well-dressed couple awaiting their manservant’s arrival with their luggage were surely bound for London to visit with their newly married daughter and her husband. The soberly dressed fellow with a bible under his arm must surely be an evangelical low-church preacher destined to reduce some chapel congregation to spell-bound silence with the power of his oratory. Those two stiff-necked gentlemen half obscured by the porter’s trolley of parcels seemed to have something foreign about them—nothing overt, perhaps only the impolite way they had of surreptitiously observing herself and Lord Bond in the centre of the concourse.

  Worthington returned to them. “I fear the authorit
ies has placed an obstacle in the path of my duty, My Lord. They agree that they can h’accommodate the three of us in their train for the journey, but only two of you in First Class for the fee of four and twenty pence. They do not entertain our paying the difference to upgrade my own travel warrant from the Navy from Second Class for me to accompany you.”

  Lord Bond’s eyes glared across at the ticket wicket under lowered brows. “Did they not, indeed? What rot. I shall see about that.”

  The three of them advanced upon the official behind the window like a French column assailing an Austrian brigade.

  “Listen here, fellow. My name is Lord Bond and I am determined to travel to London aboard your train in the company of this lady and this naval officer. I surely hope you do not expect us all to ride in Second Class to accomplish the plan. I demand to speak to the Stationmaster. Fetch him at once.”

  The Stationmaster duly arrived and stood in respectful silence as Lord Bond entered into a lengthy dissertation on the dismay that would be caused to the Chairman and Directors of the South Eastern Railway, with whom he was personally acquainted, when they learned of the most unsatisfactory and niggardly treatment meted out to respectable passengers by their stationmaster and staff at Dover station. Roberta eased her embarrassment for the poor fellow by watching the two stiff necked gentlemen, who seemed gratified to learn the identity that Lord Bond announced loudly to the whole gathering.

  As a result of Lord Bond’s complaint, Worthington was invited to upgrade his Royal Naval travel warrant and join the others in the best First Class compartment that could be found for the honoured guests of the railway. “It was no wish of mine, My Lord, to impose an inconvenience upon the Officer or on the Royal Navy—that Heaven knows has kept the terminus viable these past years with their official traffic between the city and the Squadrons based in the dockyard and harbour. Merely a difficulty with the manner of reporting the ticket sales to the accounting office—which I’m sure I can account for with a personal letter to the comptroller.”

  “Excellent.” Lord Bond regarded his fellow travellers. “Then I suggest we take our seats.”

  “I will have the head porter show you the way, My Lord,” the Stationmaster assured them. “I would venture to enquire if you were able to breakfast before setting out this morning. I will have an attendant from the First Class dining room bring tea and some Chelsea buns for your journey.”

  “Thank you, my good man. Most accommodating of you.”

  They followed the head porter to the First Class carriage of the waiting train. Just before she stepped up through the door the worthy held open for her, Roberta glanced along the platform long enough to see the two stiff necked gentlemen climb into the nearest Second Class compartment in the second carriage of the train.

  Lord Bond looked about their railway compartment while the porters stowed their meagre luggage on an overhead rack. This carriage was one of the non-communicating kind that he preferred. It had a door giving egress to a station platform on each side, but no means of connection to the rest of the train. He handed the departing porters a generous shilling each, feeling anything but the perfect peer of the realm, despite his exaggerated outburst at the station. If truth were told, he was acquainted with the Chairman of the South Eastern Railway, but each despised the other. He took off his travel soiled gloves to place on the seat—he would have to visit his club as soon as he arrived in the city to take a bath and access the fresh clothing he always kept there.

  The head porter put his head in for one more piece of information before wishing them a pleasant journey and closing their door. “I must h’inform you that there will be a slight delay near Tonbridge, My Lord. A goods train have suffered a minor derailment which is h’expected to cause a late arrival in London of about seven minutes.”

  “Thank you for the information.” He looked at Miss Stephenson as she took her seat with her back to the engine, opposite him and Worthington who shared the other. What arrangements she might make for her own accommodation in the city? As the head of a prosperous manufacturing business, and daughter of another, she was certainly not poor—worth a thousand a year, he surmised. Attractive too, with her red hair, pleasant face, and a slim, well-shaped figure—enough of that—he had Admiralty business to attend to first.

  “Do you need advice on accommodation in London, Miss Stephenson? I presume our business with the Admiralty will not be of mere hours duration.”

  “My father retains a few rooms for company officers on city business at an establishment in St. James’s Square, My Lord. I expect to find lodging there.”

  “Excellent location,” he replied as the train jolted into motion with a great huff from the locomotive. “And you, Worthington?”

  “I expect to find a room at the Army and Navy, My Lord.”

  “That will be on Pall Mall, quite close to Miss Stephenson.”

  “Yes, I suggest Miss Stephenson and myself might share a hackney carriage to travel from the Bricklayers’ Arms—if that would suit you, Miss Stephenson?”

  “I thought we might all share a growler to take us into town from the station,” Lord Bond remarked, “but there is plenty of time to discuss that on our journey. I suggest our first call in the city will be at Admiralty House to arrange our appointments.”

  “Of course, My Lord.”

  “If I may divert the conversation a little,” Miss Stephenson interjected. “I wonder if we might remark upon some of the fellow passengers who boarded the train at Dover.”

  Lord Bond noted her slight colouring as she spoke. “If you wish, my dear. What did you find remarkable about them?”

  “I expect you were attentive to the two gentlemen near the porters’ cart, My Lord?”

  “Two cavalry officers by the look of them. Yes, but I didn’t pay them particular mind.”

  “Possibly cavalry officers, if you say so, but I thought that from their manner they were not English gentlemen. They seemed impertinently inquisitive about us.”

  “Really? What do you suppose that signified?”

  “Well, as a lady . . . I should say they would give reason for her to take care for her accessibility and seek some reliable company while they were present. Purely a woman’s concern you may think, but we are in possession of important information that unsavoury individuals might seek some profit from.”

  “Hmm. I would not dismiss your concern for a moment, Miss Stephenson. I always give regard to a lady’s intuitions.” He offered her an encouraging smile. “But this train has, as you see, no connecting corridor, so we need not bother ourselves until we leave it at London. I would venture that if they do entertain some unwelcome concern for our business, it might only be significant at our destination.”

  She looked at him uncertainly. “But what if they’re . . . French—or possibly other Europeans in French service?”

  “The only way they can reach us would be over the carriage roof—a perilous journey that might well attract the attention of the train’s guard and ticket inspector.” He smiled again, a little less serious this time and gestured toward the door. “If we should note a pair of feet descending from above, we should promptly let down the window and seize them. Worthington, you might take that door and I shall take this.”

  “You are both laughing at me,” she said with some heat. “I presume you are armed, My Lord?”

  He nodded casually. He always kept his Jover & Belton repeating pistol close to hand when on Royal service. He could not help but draw back in surprise as the lady withdrew a nasty little over-and-under pistol from her muff. Made by Henry Nock of London, by the look of it. “What about you, Worthington? Do you conceal a naval cutlass beneath your Officer’s breeches?”

  “No, My Lord. I apologises, but can add no armament to our defence.”

  “Ah, no matter. Miss Stephenson and I could bring down a brace of Frenchmen, should they fly past. I thank you for your shrewd observations, my dear. As long as we keep our eyes open I feel sure we will arrive s
afely at the Bricklayers’ Arms terminus.”

  Miss Stephenson replaced her pistol in its hiding place, although her dark expression suggested she felt an urge to discharge one barrel at him. Ah, he had always liked spirited young women.

  Chapter Seven

  More Strikes Against His Lordship

  As the train left the environs of Dover and made for the entrance to the first part of the Shakespeare Cliff tunnels, the three of them set about the refreshments provided at Dover station. Lord Bond was condescending enough to hand out the plates of Chelsea buns while Roberta poured aromatic Lapsang Soochong tea into china cups decorated with a blue willow pattern.

  Lieutenant Worthington held up his cup to peer at the contents, clearly dismayed not to find his usual beverage of black tannin smoothed with cow’s milk. He offered no comment, but Roberta had to smother a smile—her own workmen would likely down tools if fed the same genteel brew.

  Roberta only gradually calmed her pique at the cavalier response her warning about the strange gentlemen had garnered. Earlier, His Lordship had intimated to her in private that his ill-fated trip had been in return from spying upon the French invasion preparations. Surely he had not been so careless about possible threats to his person while in the Low Countries? If his attitude meant he was not prepared to accept her concern, she resolved to pay close attention to any approach to their compartment door while the train was standing in the stations along their way. Luckily, that would be no more than four times, in the major communities along the route—this train being placarded as being in “express service.”

  The compartment darkened as they entered the first of the Shakespeare Cliff tunnels—a small oil lantern above one door making itself visible with a dim glow that had not been evident in daylight. She looked out the window to see sparks from the engine flying past in the invisible smoke as the locomotive driver used steam to draw more air into his boiler fire to raise the combustion rate. Oh, leave it, girl. You have lived too long with steam—take this opportunity to engage in the kinds of conversations heard when quality meet.