‘But why do you not ask him, Stephen? Why have you not told him all this?’
‘Why,’ said he, looking down at his eggs, ‘in the first place there has been no time; I have been away. And then again there is a certain awkwardness, do you see? The role of deus ex machina is not one that I care for, at all. You would do it far better. If he raises the point, you will say that there is no obligation in the world: the one supplies the capital, the other the skill – I could not sail a ship across a horse-pond, nor attack a simple rowing-boat; and I should certainly never sail with any other captain. Pray tell him I hope to look in this evening to hear his good word. I must be away. God bless, now. Remember, you must not say privateer or corsair; you must say letter of marque, or private man-of-war.’
As Stephen approached Sir Joseph’s door in Shepherd Market he saw Colonel Warren come out, step into a chariot that bowed under his weight, and drive off. He knew that Warren was the Horse Guards’ new representative on the Committee, an unusually active, stirring, sharp-witted man; but he did not wish to be known to him, and he walked on for a few minutes. When he made his call he found his friend looking extremely grave. ‘At this rate,’ said Sir Joseph, ‘I shall be suspecting Lord Liverpool and half the cabinet of high treason. There are some utterly inexplicable contradictions. . . perhaps Cerberus himself has run mad . . . how I wish this business were half as easily resolved as
yours.’ He opened a drawer and said ‘Here are your letters of marque against France, Holland, the Italian and Ligurian Republics, the United States of America, vessels bearing the flag of Pappenburgh, and half a dozen others. I have had them ready for you since Wednesday.’
‘God set a flower on your head, dear Blaine,’ said Stephen. ‘I am exceedingly grateful, and I should have looked in on Wednesday itself so I should, but it was two in the morning when I passed through London on my way to a town called Bury I have been going to see every important man or woman in the kingdom who has the least kindness for me’
‘If you were travelling in Aubrey’s favour, and I make no doubt you were, you might have saved your coach-hire You can no longer bribe judges in this country, nor cause them to be bribed, nor persuaded, still less commanded There is only one single exception, as I could have told you before you set out, and that is where the judge happens also to be a member of the cabinet, which is the case with Lord Quinborough; he is by definition responsive to the political wishes of his colleagues. Now your name has already been put forward as the ideal man for this entirely unofficial contact with Chile and possibly Peru to which administration attaches very great importance: it was represented that you were bilingual in Spanish, a tried and tested intelligence-agent in the ideal vessel with the ideal excuse for his presence in those waters, and that you would be a Catholic dealing with other Catholics, many of them Irish or half-Irish themselves – the younger O’Higgins, for example. These qualifications, together with that of a very
large private fortune, were conclusive. The restricted gathering was delighted, and rubbed its collective hands. But a gentleman then observed that although you possessed all the virtues, you certainly would not sail unless the ship was commanded by Aubrey. So since the matter presses, I believe you may rest easy about the imprisonment.’ Sir Joseph looked at the clock and said ‘If you mean to be there for his appearance in court, you must hurry.’
‘I do not,’ said Stephen. ‘It seems to me that onlookers are strangely out of place. But I have taken the liberty of desiring a message to be sent to me here.’
‘Excellent,’ said Sir Joseph. ‘But I am afraid the sentence will shock you. Quinborough may not imprison, but he will jet out his venom in some other way. This was a very vile job, you know – the other men having bail so that they might walk off when they were found guilty -Aubrey alone held in prison. Of course there was the political side, the destruction of the Radicals, which was perfectly comprehensible in those whose political passions incline them that way; but there was some hidden malice as well, and this inveteracy against your friend . . .’
‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said Mrs Barlow. ‘A message for Dr Maturin.’
‘Open it, I beg,’ said Sir Joseph.
‘Pillory,’ said Stephen in a hard, cold voice. ‘Fine and the pillory. Shall pay the King a fine of two thousand five hundred pounds and be set in and upon the pillory opposite the Royal Exchange in the City of London for one hour between the hours of twelve at noon and two in the afternoon.’
‘I was afraid of it,’ said Blaine after a long pause:
and then ‘Tell me, Maturin, have you ever seen a man pilloried in England?’
‘I have not.’
‘It can be a very bloody spectacle, on occasion. Oates was nearly killed; many people are maimed; and I once saw both a man’s eyes put out by pelting. Since there is an evident personal malignance here, might you not be well advised to hire a guard of bruisers? Your thief-taker would know where to find them: he would recruit them for you.’
‘I shall send to him at once: thank you for this warning, Blaine. Now tell me, what do you think of Lady Hertford?’
‘Do you mean physically, or morally, or socially?’
‘As a means for preventing Jack Aubrey’s name being struck off the list. Mrs Fitzherbert advised me to apply to her.’
‘Struck off he must necessarily be. That is the invariable rule. The real question is restoration to the list. It has been done, even with the former seniority, when officers have been dismissed the service for duels and that kind of thing, and occasionally for harmless false musters, though it generally takes a very long time and a great deal of influence. But in a case like this . . . Do you know the lady?’
‘Only to bow to. But I understand that at present she is all-powerful with the Regent, and I am told that Andrew Wray is well with her. It occurred to me that with a proper introduction and a proper present I might perhaps induce her at least to start the matter moving in the royal mind.’
‘It might conceivably answer. But at present the royal mind is in Scotland, displaying the full bulk of the royal form in a little cloth petticoat to his knees, a tartan cloak, particoloured stockings and a highland bonnet; and I rather fancy Lady Hertford is with him. If you like I will enquire and let you know.’
‘That would be kind. In the meanwhile I shall call at Grosvenor Street on my way to the Marshalsea.’
‘You know of course that between an odious woman and a clever showy coxcomb like Wray you are likely to lose both your present and your time?’
‘Of course. Good day to you now, dear Blaine.’
Mr Wray was not at home when Dr Maurin called
at Grosvenor Street, but Mrs Wray was: she heard him give his name at the door, came running down the stairs and seized both his hands. She was ordinarily rather a plain, thick, swarthy young woman but now she looked almost pretty: her face glowed and her eyes sparkled with generous indignation. She had already heard the news and she cried out
‘Oh how unjust! Oh how wicked! The pillory for a naval officer – it is unthinkable. And he is so brave, so distinguished, so handsome. Come into my room.’ She led him into a little boudoir all hung about with pictures of ships, some of them commanded by her father, but more commanded by Captain Aubrey in the days when Babbington served under him.
‘And so tall. He used to take such kind notice of me when I was only an awkward lump of a girl, though my father was very hard on him sometimes. Charles thinks the whole world
of him – Captain Babbington, I mean – and fairly worships him. And Dr Maturin,’ she added in another tone and with a conscious look, ‘Charles values your advice most amazingly: I am so glad. He put into the Downs last night.’ Then resuming, ‘But oh to think of his poor wife, standing there helpless while he is pelted – it is monstrous, monstrous. And the shame of it all, the hooting and the jeers, must kill him, sure.’
‘As for that, ma’am, you are forgetting that he is innocent, which must do away with the bite of shame.’