Chapter 43: The princess and the ogre

Clyde had left the dry dock two weeks before, after a thorough overhaul. She was a sound ship but she had been in dire need of a new copper bottom. Whilst her main deck armament — twenty-six 24-pounder bronze guns — had been fitted with new flintlocks, her 12-pounder guns on quarterdeck and forecastle were replaced by 24-pounder carronades giving her exceptional firepower for a frigate. Only the four long nine-pounder guns remained as bow and stern chasers.

She had also been given a rebuild of her aft section, with added cabins and a larger stateroom. She was intended as a flagship for frigate squadrons and the refitting added the necessary quarters for a flag officer or commodore. Therefore, she was also ideally suited to convey a royal personage to her destination.

Tony had received his orders two days before and he was back in Portsmouth to confer with Acting Captain His Serene Highness the Prince of Hohenstein. The freshly appointed captain had not yet seen his posting in the Naval Gazette — hence the acting rank — but he was certainly not dawdling. He had picked officers and crew from the Asia‘s complement and his main problem had been to turn down those who could not find a berth in the smaller ship. Clyde was a frigate — a big one at that and fast — and thus considered one of the sweetest raisins in the big pudding of the Royal Navy. To serve in her was a privilege.

Tony found his new quarters more than adequate. As the commodore, he had the newly built port side cabin. The prince would normally have the use of its starboard counterpart, but this cabin was now reserved for the Princess Isabella. Two more cabins had been built: one would be occupied by the prince and the other by the conde. The latter was a ranking passenger, but he was not yet a governor, and in a Navy ship the squadron commander came first. The princess was from an allied royal house and the prince was a ruling monarch in HM ministry’s eyes. Hence, the conde would be the low man, so to speak.

Tony’s orders were to convey the conde and his advisers to Cartagena where he would take office as the new governor. He was also to transport the princess safely into the hands of her uncle. There was also the provision that he was to attend all ensuing festivities as the representative of the Crown.

Another paragraph in his orders dealt with the delicate situation of the newly appointed captain of HMS Clyde. Tony was to “afford His Serene Highness with the guidance and support deemed necessary for the transition into his new rank”. There was also the interesting point that Tony would be captain and commodore with a supernumerary captain attached for the day to day handling of the ship. In other words: the prince was not in official command of Clyde. If he were to fail in his tasks their Lordships would be quick enough to lay the blame on the rightful captain — Tony — whilst washing their own hands of the situation. Tony shrugged. The young prince was able and conscientious and he would not commit any major blunder.

The main point of this paragraph in the orders was his own ranking. If he was still in command of Clyde, could he count himself as commodore of the first class? The difference was in the uniform coat he was allowed to wear. A commodore first class was entitled to a rear-admiral’s uniform whilst a commodore second class had to wear his captain’s coat. Tony guessed that the Foreign Office wanted him to attend the official functions in Cartagena masked as an admiral to increase his standing, but Their Lordships were probably leery of making that step so early in Tony’s captaincy. This needed clarification in writing Tony decided.

Other points demanding his attention were the attached sloops-of-war. Kite, 18, was sailing under Commander Burroughs, a man who had held his lieutenant’s commission for over twenty years before he made the leap to commander at the ripe age of forty-five. Thetis, 18, on the other hand was under the command of a bona fide hotshot officer. Commander Pickleberry had been a lieutenant for less than two years when he was promoted after a daring boat raid on the harbour of Honfleur. He was twenty-one years old, less than half as old as his junior in rank, Burroughs, whose appointment was more recent.

This was a delicate situation, especially since Tony himself had risen rather quickly through the ranks. At thirty years of age he was a captain of well over six years seniority. The prince was only nineteen years old and already captain. That had to grate Burroughs.

Yet there was something to learn when they met in Tony’s cabin for dinner. Burroughs was not the bitter man Tony had expected. He did not look his forty-five years either but rather like a man in his mid-thirties, well-built and trim-looking, with an open smile. Tony revised his opinions. It was clear that Burroughs was elated rather than embittered, for he had — as he admitted laughingly — despaired of ever being promoted.

On the other hand Pickleberry would bear some close watching. He seemed to burn with ambition and the looks he cast at Burroughs showed disdain. It was astonishing how the prince held his own in this round being the youngest of them all. He was cordial with Burroughs and ready to parry the barbs from Pickleberry who seemed to resent the newly appointed captain who would be his superior for the rest of their lives.

The prince was now styled Sir August — he had been made a Knight of the Garter upon reaching captain’s rank — which made the address less complicated than “His Serene Highness August Heinrich Prince of Hohenstein”. In a surprise move the young man had also freed himself of his pompous chamberlain who had been appointed to Master of the Royal College of Surgeons, with the prince pulling the strings as Tony was sure.

The new ship’s surgeon, a Mr. Whales, came highly recommended by Jonathan Wilkes. Tony had already interviewed the man in the afternoon; he seemed young and energetic. Still, after the sorcerer-like reputation Jonathan had enjoyed with the crew, Mr. Whales (RCS members officially styled themselves “Mr.”, not “Dr.”, as a snub to the Royal College of Physicians) had his work cut out for him.

After dinner, Tony prepared a list of items he and Harriet would need during the crossing. The cot was a wide one; the prince had shown that much foresight. There were some things they would need but most of those were with his private cabin fittings that had been removed from Asia‘s quarters. In a way it felt good to be in a frigate again. Not that his service in the Asia had been boring — far from that. Yet, to be his own master again, now even in command of a small squadron, would be a welcome change.

Tony felt like masquerading in his brand-new rear-admiral’s uniform. The clarification from the Admiralty had come only three days ago, and Elizabeth Wilson’s seamstresses had worked around the clock to provide him with the necessary number of coats. The five coats had set him back by over £50, almost eating up his recent pay increase. As commodore first class Tony received the same pay as the captain of a first rate ship, £820 a year, a huge increase over the £320 he had drawn whilst commanding the Medusa.

He forced himself back into the present. Harriet was ready, too, wearing a sea green silk dress that complimented her colours.

“Ready, darling?” he asked.

Harriet smirked and nodded. It was their first night on board. They would sail with the morning tide and Harriet had other ideas of how to spend the evening than having dinner with the conde. Tony had already learned that the Spanish grande had not even thought of bringing his own cabin stores, clearly expecting his host to provide him with three free meals.

The first clash had already occurred when the conde sent billets to Tony and to Sir August, “commanding” them to dinner. Tony had sent for the conde’s major domo and disabused the man of the notion that a civilian passenger could command anybody or anything on board Sir Anthony Carter’s flagship. Dinner would be a strained affair.

The conde was already sitting at table when Tony and Harriet emerged from their cabin, eyeing the set table with a frown. Tony had given instructions to serve a supper, not a grand dinner, and his new steward, Green, had followed the orders to the letter.

“My dear Sir Anthony,” the conde started. “Surely you are jesting when you serve royal personages with commoner’s fare? I do hope that I can expect more of a person of your means?”

Tony gave the man a smile.

“But of course, your Excellency! We shall have a real dinner on Sundays. On weekdays, I fear, the fare is what you see. With the limited exercise we can get in a ship, a rich fare will cause our girths to expand until we look like capons. I assure you that the ship’s biscuit is of the finest quality and the smoked mutton leg came from the first butcher in Portsmouth.”

The conde’s mouth opened and closed once without a sound before he had his reply ready, but then, the princess entered and he felt compelled to rise. The princess had been let in on the joke by Harriet. Seeing the laid table she clapped her hands.

“How thoughtful of you, Sir Anthony! I cannot stand a rich dinner, in particular now that I have to go without my regular horseback riding. Don’t you agree, Cousin?”

The conde was indeed a third cousin of the princess, nothing unusual with the inbreeding that was common among the royalty.

“I could do with a more refined fare, to be sure,” the conde answered stiffly.

“Tut-tut, my dear Cousin! This is a man-of-war, not the St. James Palace,” the princess answered serenely. The prince entered the cabin and she turned to him. “Sir August, how good of you to join us.”

The prince gave her a somewhat forced smile before he answered. “It is my privilege, Your Highness.”

He helped the princess into her chair whilst Tony performed the same service for Harriet. Only then the men sat. Whilst the rest of the company ate with good appetite the conde showed his distaste for the pedestrian supper openly. More than once he complained and twice he commented negatively on the ale that was served. Tony could feel how Harriet wanted to respond forcefully but he calmed her down with a smile.

Eventually, the supper ended when Green served brandy for the gentlemen and tea for the ladies. The brandy was of the finest French quality but even this was not good enough for the conde.

“Dios mio! What I would give for a decent brandy from my own lands! Those French brandies are just not in the same class!”

“Since your own brandies are no doubt helping the digestion of some French general tonight we must resign ourselves to what the French produced,” Tony answered with amused detachment.

The conde glowered at Tony in response and Tony felt that Harriet was softly shaking with suppressed giggles.

“I can find no fault with this brandy, Sir Anthony,” the prince stated. “Perhaps, the Conde’s understandable love for his lands is clouding his tastes?”

That was a mild rebuke, one that the prince could easily deal given his exalted position as a grandnephew of King George. The conde turned purple.

“I cannot see how a German princeling can allow himself to judge food or drink. The unrefined tastes of so-called German nobles are well known.”

“It is in poor taste to insult my great uncle who offered you a safe haven when Napoleon drove you from your home!” the prince answered hotly. “Our gracious King George is one of those German princelings by descend.”

The conde realised that he had overstepped bounds. “Hrhm, far be it from me to insult our steadfast ally, the King George. I was referring to those pitiful sovereigns whose reign extends over a few miserable villages at best.”

“Yet some of those princelings fight against the usurper whilst your own king has chosen to be a kept man of Napoleon,” the prince retorted coldly.

“He is a prisoner of the vile usurper!” the conde almost shrieked.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Tony interposed. “I suggest that you both control your tempers. Captain, please remember that the Conde is our guest. Your Excellency, please refrain from insulting my other guests. I believe it is time for us to retire. I apologise to the Princess for the undignified cock fight she had to witness.”

The prince blushed and bowed to the princess. “I apologise, Your Highness,” he said.

“My dear Sir August,” the princess smiled, “I cannot find fault with your behaviour.”

The conde’s eyes bugged at this sting from his promised, but she smiled sweetly.

“Lady Carter, may I ask the pleasure of your company for a few moments?”

“Certainly,” Harriet responded, rising from her chair.

Tony and the prince stood immediately, but the conde mulled the issue for a moment before he, too, rose. Perhaps it was the look Tony had cast at him. He had felt annoyance at the rudeness of this so-called nobleman and without him being aware of it he had fixated the Spaniard with a stare that had obviously conveyed a message. Once Harriet and the princess had left, there was a strained silence. Tony broke it.

“Your Excellency, Captain, I hope that I shall not have to witness another such undignified outburst. His Majesty’s Secretary for Foreign Affairs has assured me that we are allies in the fight against the Corsican usurper. I must ask both of you not to forget this.”

Again, the conde seemed poised to flare up but again something was conveyed in Tony’s stare that made him deflate. The prince must have noticed it too, for Tony could see how the edges of his mouth were being tugged at by a suppressed smile.

“I understand, Sir Anthony,” the prince said demurely.

The conde nodded curtly. “Of course,” he said gratingly.

“Then we have an understanding, gentlemen,” Tony closed amicably. “I wish both of you a good night. Anchor up at sunrise, Captain?”

“Indeed, Sir Anthony. The ebb tide will be running from two bells onward.”

“Splendid. Let us hope that we shall have a pleasant crossing.”

With that, both men were dismissed and left the stateroom. Only a moment later Harriet emerged from the princess’s sleeping cabin. She was shaking her head.

“The poor girl,” she whispered to Tony. “To have this uncouth lout as her intended is almost akin to ... Oh, never mind.”

“You mean Palmer, don’t you?” Tony asked lightly. The times when he was flustered by the mentioning of Harriet’s first and unlamented husband were long gone.

Harriet nodded. “The conde reminds me of him in many ways.”

“I commiserate with her but what is there to do? She will be under her guardian’s care and if I understood the story correctly the betrothal is all but settled.”

Harriet pulled him into their own private cabin. She whispered now.

“Tony, she is planning something rather desperate.” She saw his look of alarm. “No, not that desperate. She plans to visit the chaplain to take lessons.”

Tony realised that his mouth was hanging open. He closed it with an effort. “She plans to swear off the Catholic faith?”

“She’s thinking — and she may be right — that by swearing off her faith and accepting baptism by the chaplain she can demand to be returned to England. In New Spain she’d be treated as heretic.”

Tony sat down on the edge of the cot with his thoughts whirling. That would truly create a diplomatic mess. A Spanish princess, a niece of His Most Catholic Majesty, turning against Catholicism and accepting the rites of the Church of England might just trigger a break-up of the feeble alliance between Spain and Britain. Yet could he, should he thwart this plot? The legal position was clear: any person could convert to the Anglican church and thus enjoy protection of the Crown. However, how such an event might play out on his mission was another matter and the Foreign Office would not look kindly on the officer who allowed it to happen.

“It’ll be quite the mess?” Harriet asked.

Tony took a deep breath and shook his head. “Well, let us say that I have a chance to wear an admiral’s uniform on this journey. It might just be my last chance.”

“That bad?”

“It will completely derail this mission, yes. Legally, I am safe.” He smiled weakly. “It may just be the exit into civilian life that I wanted.”

“Oh darling, don’t say that! Should I talk Isabella out of it?”

Tony took another deep breath. Could he really force a young, vibrant and bright girl into a union with a man as despicable as the conde? He could defer the sailing, of course, and hand over the entire affair to the Foreign Office. That would place the responsibility with somebody else but it might also put the young girl under the pressure of the expatriate community. He rather liked the girl and he knew that Harriet had taken her under her wings. He managed a fatalistic shrug.

“No, leave her be. She is a good girl and he is an ogre. I’ll have a few months to plot how to pull my neck out of the noose. Let the girl follow her heart.”

Harriet stepped close and pulled him up into a passionate embrace.

“Anthony Carter, you are the best and stoutest man I could ever find. Whatever may come out of this, I love you and I shall always stand by you. Perhaps ... now that is an idea!”

“What is?” Tony asked, bewildered by the sudden mirth in Harriet’s voice.

Harriet gave him a smug smile. “Do not worry. I may not be as skilled in tearoom politics as my mother, but I have eyes to see and intuition. Let your wife save your career, my darling.”

“Will you tell me what this is about, Harriet?”

“I don’t think so, my dear. You are an honourable man after all, and you might ruin my schemes with your scruples.”

After the bitter cold of the last months Tony felt true elation as the Clyde rode easily over the moderate rollers of the South Atlantic. Three weeks out of Portsmouth they had caught the northeasterly trade winds and now Clyde was racing over the waves under full sail. There was no feeling remotely as satisfying as sailing a fast frigate. With a grin, Tony corrected himself. Just an hour ago he had unwrapped himself from Harriet’s embrace. Compared with the comfort she gave him, even sailing before the trades was paling a little.

There was the prince. He was controlling the chalk board near the wheel. Tony had seen it already. During the night, Clyde had logged an average of nine knots, even without her royals. Now she ran closer to ten knots.

The prince approached. “Good morning, Sir.”

“Good morning, Captain,” Tony replied in a friendly tone. The young man had really performed his duties admirably so far. “This promises to be a very fast crossing.”

“Indeed, Sir. By God, she flies, doesn’t she?”

“Clyde is the best ship I ever sailed,” Tony agreed. “With her new bottom there is not a ship that can match her both for speed and for firepower.”

“The sloops are keeping up well though, Sir.”

Tony smiled. “Yes, but they had to run out the stuns’ls to keep up.”

It was true: both sloops had their stunsails rigged at the ends of their yardarms, adding to the canvas they carried, and they needed it just to keep up with Clyde.

“Can we expect the conde at table today, Sir? The swell has gone down a little.”

There was a certain malicious tone in the prince’s voice. Ever since sailing from Portsmouth the issue of supper had been moot, for His Excellency had been incapacitated by seasickness. Even yesterday when Clyde had been dancing over the low rollers under a sunny sky the conde had not shown outside his private cabin. As far as Tony knew the man sustained himself on teas and broth prepared for him under Mr. Whales’ instructions.

“I should be surprised if he showed, in particular if he showed for service.”

It was Sunday, and the chaplain would hold the Mass on deck after the watch had changed.

“The chaplain has informed me that there will be a baptism today, Sir,” the prince informed his commodore.

Tony swallowed hard. That could only mean one thing: the princess was following through with her scheme to avoid the marriage with the conde. Tony forced himself not to show any surprise but he could detect an uneasiness about the prince. Did he know about the girl’s plans?