Chapter 8: Diplomacy; the Dark Art

By the time Otto and I came to break our fast Claudia had left for Milan, and the innkeeper handed me a letter she had left for me. In it she reiterated I was welcome to stay at the Villa Agostino. She apologised for upsetting me, but not for trading in White Lady/Columbian snuff, and hoped we could remain friends, even if we disagreed on the subject of her trade.
Claudia finished her letter by assuring me she would continue to investigate the whereabouts of my sister and Eloise de La Zouche through her trading partners.

I felt ashamed of my childish outburst. Claudia was right to accuse me of being naïve and infantile. I realised it was not the dangers of White Lady driving my anger/fear of the substance but that the manufacture and distribution were in the hands of unprincipled and manipulative men, aided by a woman who I had vowed to kill.

Although it was true those addicted to White Lady had chosen to take the substance freely and without coercion, my sister had been duped into her addiction by Shelley. He had paid the price for his deception, and it behoved me to now track down Eloise de La Zouche and exact a fitting retribution for her murderous activity, including the eviscerations of young girls at West Wycombe.

The weather matched my despondent mood as Otto and I made our way from Genoa along the Via Postumia towards Tortona. We followed Capitano Carlo Ponti’s advised route, and for several miles the road was well maintained, but as we wound through the foothills of the Ligurian Apennines the way became mired and potholed. A wayside inn was a welcome respite, and a warm fire and a full belly lifted my gloom.
I will not bore you with a description of the rest of the journey, which took us through Placentia, Cremona, and Brescia before reaching Verona twelve days after leaving Genoa. At times I cursed Ponti for sending us on this Via Dolorosa. The state of the road varied from good to nigh impassable, depending on the wealth and energy of the commune through which the road passed.

The British Consulate in Verona was housed in a dilapidated building in a narrow lane near the Arena, a well-preserved Roman amphitheatre, which if smaller than the Coliseum in Rome was reputed to be in a better state of repair. The British Consul, James Frazer, was almost as dilapidated as his house. He was a dark haired, dark jowled, long nosed, cadaverous man in his fifties, and it did not surprise me to discover his occupation was embalmer and undertaker. Fortunately, he conducted his business in a building several streets away from his residence.

He greeted Otto and me with the information we could lodge with him during the congress. He named an amount of money for the privilege that could have bought his residence, and probably the rest of the houses in the lane.
Frazer saw the astonishment on my face at the exorbitant price he quoted.

“Aye, the cost might seem a wee bit steep, but the congress has attracted every harlot, courtesan, mountebank, and scallywag from across Europe. Adding to their numbers the many delegates to the congress means accommodation in the city is in great demand. The citizens of Verona are making hay while the sun shines and setting high rents. Anyway, as you will be recompensed by the government your lodgings will not cost you anything in the long run.”

“Recompensed? I would probably be in need of your services by the time the Treasury sees fit to repay me, Mister Frazer. Thank you for your kind offer, but my companion and I already have lodgings awaiting us.”

He sniffed. “Well, you will find any rental far higher than my asking price. Suit yourself; no doubt others in the British delegation will be glad to stay here.”

“Speaking of our delegation, Mister Frazer, I am instructed to report to the Chief Secretary of the delegation when he arrives. Have you any idea who he might be, or indeed when the delegation is due to arrive?”

“The delegation is due to arrive in a week’s time. I have no idea as to who will be heading the delegation, but with Castlereagh gone some insignificant clerk will be sent in his place, I doubt Canning will spare anyone of import as he has little interest in what happens in Europe”

“Canning?

“George Canning has been appointed Minister for Foreign Affairs, the obvious choice as he has held the position before. Ironic to think the former foreign minister and the current minister fought a duel on Putney Heath in eighteen oh nine. Canning ended up with a ball in his thigh, and both he and Castlereagh had to resign from the government.”

Frazer had been instructed by Whitehall to rent the Carli Palace for Lord Castlereagh and his staff, and supposed whoever was taking the late Lord Castlereagh’s place as head of the delegation would be accommodated there.

“So how is it I and my aide have not been allocated rooms in the palace,” I said, my anger rising at this apparent slight to my rank.
“I am a Lieutenant Colonel in His Majesty’s army, and warrant as good a billet as any bunch of inky fingered scribes.”

“Lieutenant Colonel you might be, but you don’t work in the Foreign Office, and it’s them who are footing the bill.” Frazer said, a sneer fixed on his face.

I swallowed my ire with difficulty. He had done as ordered and that was that. To calm the charged atmosphere I asked him what he knew about the death of Lord Castlereagh.

“How did Lord Castlereagh die? Had he been ill? Was it a horse riding accident?”
I stopped abruptly as the realisation dawned on me that Castlereagh had been a most unpopular politician, especially hated by his fellow Irishmen, a fact which prompted my next question.
“Was he assassinated?”

James Frazer shook his head. “No, and although there are plenty of Irishmen who would have been more than happy to do the deed, he cut his own throat.”

“Suicide?” I was astonished, then recalled being told by Major General Norton Fitzwarren that Castlereagh was, along with his fellow members of the Cabinet, ‘as a mad as a bucket full of frogs.’

“He gave no thought to the poor embalmer who had to stich up his slit throat so his loved ones would not be too distressed when gazing at his body,” Frazer said with a sniff of disdain. “Some folk simply have no regard for others.”
He paused for a moment in thought. “Although, had he blown his brains out with a pistol, the embalmer would have had a more taxing job to make the corpse presentable, so we must be thankful for small mercies.”

We left the lugubrious embalmer and headed via the East gate out of Verona along the Via Venezia for about three miles until reaching the Villa Agostino. The complex consisted of a grand, colonnaded building, with many outhouses and stable, surrounded by an extensive area of vineyards and olive groves.
Otto roused the factotum from the main house, and after he had read the letter from Claudia, showed us to adjacent rooms in the main building.
The rooms were well appointed and furnished, and in mine was a huge bed. The thought of rolling around within its confines with Claudia came unbidden to my mind, and I hoped our disagreement in Genoa would not result in me sleeping alone. Otto questioned Guido the factotum, who was indeed the coachman from Firenze, and learned Claudia and her guests were expected at the end of the week. He was unable to enlighten us as to whom the guests might be.

The next day Otto and I rode the three miles into Verona from the comfortable Villa Agostino, checking at the Carli Palace for signs of arrival of the British delegation, where we were informed they were expected ‘any time soon’.
We left our horses at a livery stable and wandered around the city, which if not as fine as Firenze has a beauty and ambience of its own, although I noted practically every balcony in the city was labelled as where Romeo first saw Juliet.
The basilicas dedicated to St. Anthony and St. Francis, the great bronze equestrian statue of “Gattemelata” – “Honey Cat” -- a most peculiar name for a mercenary captain, the sculpture garden, and the Roman gate, all competed with the Arena for our admiration.

James Frazer may have been a skilled embalmer, but his prediction as to who would be leading the British delegation at the Congress of Verona was completely erroneous. Two days after Otto and my arrival in Verona the British delegations took up residence in the Carli Palace.
Rather than the ‘insignificant clerk’ Frazer had predicted the delegation was led by no less a person than His Grace the Duke of Wellington.

The once quiet Carli Palace soon resonated to the sound of messengers and gallopers arriving and departing hither and yon.
Wellington did not stay in the Carli Palace, but had a suite in the Palazzo Canossa, where the heads of the other delegations, including the Tsar of Russia, were accommodated.
The Tsar of All the Russians was accompanied by two hundred Imperial Guardsmen, housed in a tented camp in the extensive gardens surrounding the palace, and the men of the Preobrazhensky Regiment were a magnificent sight to behold when mounting guard each morning.
Judging by the numbers of adoring young females goggling at them through the railings surrounding the palazzo I would assume the guardsmen also did a great deal of mounting at night.

I reported to the Carli Palace as instructed, and was ordered to attend the Duke of Wellington in the office he maintained on the third floor of the Palace. I admit to feeling apprehensive when I entered his office on his command ‘Come in’.
The great man, in the uniform of a Field Marshall, was seated at a large desk in the centre of the room, and I noted a civilian sitting in an armchair near a window. He gave me a slight smile as our eyes met.
Wellington looked up from a document he was perusing as I entered. He gazed at me intently for a moment.

“I know I have seen you somewhere before, Colonel, but I’m damned if I can recall where.”

“You awarded me a battlefield commission at Ciudad Rodrigo, Your Grace.”

He stared blankly for a moment, and then broke into a broad smile.
“Of course! You were the berserker on the ramparts of the redoubt. With your thirst for battle I am surprised you survived the campaign in Iberia.”
He turned and addressed the man seated in the armchair.
“This fellow decapitated several Frenchmen in less time than it takes to tell the tale. I shall put him in your charge, Ferdi, in case the Colonel forgets we are at peace with the Frogs and starts laying about him at the Congress.”
The seated man rose from his chair, came over, and shook my hand while Wellington introduced us.

“Colonel Greenaway, meet The Honourable Ferdinando Stanley. The two of you can discuss aspects of the Italian question in your office, Ferdi. Colonel Greenaway may have some insight into Austrian intentions in the peninsula. He has also been in charge of training the Greeks. A complete waste of time and money in my view, but the fact a British officer has been responsible for raising the skill of the Greek patriots” – Wellington said that last word in a sneering tone of voice – “might give us some influence with the Russians and Austrians.”
He turned back to his desk, picked up another document and began turning the pages.

I took that as my permission to leave, and saluted, before following the Honourable Ferdinando Stanley into a smaller office further along the corridor. Stanley sat in a chair behind the solitary desk in the room and indicated I sit in a companion chair opposite.
He was of slender build, slightly shorter than me, had a receding hairline, and a pair of sharp, penetrating, grey eyes. I judged him to be at least ten years my senior.

He opened a cupboard in his desk and took out a decanter of brandy and two tumblers. He poured a full measure into both glasses, then offered me one of the brimming bumpers.
“I was Lord Castlereagh’s private secretary at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Colonel.”
I saw a shadow pass over his face at the mention of his former superior.
The Honourable Ferdinando Stanley obviously had held the man in high esteem.

“There is not much more to say about the training of the Greeks than in my reports to Horse Guards, Mister Stanley...”

He held up a hand. “Forgive me for interrupting you, Colonel. We shall be working closely together, and I think we will accomplish the task more efficaciously if we are less formal between ourselves. My colleagues in the Ministry refer to me as Ferdi, which I hope you also will.”