The Wardroom - 22. Chapter 22

February 6, 1794

Granger sat in the waiting room with a leather portfolio containing all of his notes and journals from his voyage to Portsmouth. He'd already given Sir Phillip his dispatches, which included reports from Hood and Trogoff. He had grown to like the little French admiral, but he was a fickle man, and Granger was unsure what he would say about him. He stared at the huge clock. 9:30am. It was expected that he would have to wait, a mere lieutenant coming to see the First Secretary, but it was still agonizing.

He stood up and walked across to the mirror and looked at himself. The household staff had managed to revive his full dress uniform, the gold lace glittering in nice contrast to the blue coat. A crisply washed and ironed white shirt and waistcoat, snow white trousers, a new pair of silk stockings, and gleaming shoes with polished gold belt buckles. He smiled and admired his teeth, white and relatively straight except for the lower ones, which seemed to have a mind of their own. It gave him a nice smile. Granger thought about the face that he'd see in a few months when summer was here, when the sun would bleach his blond hair to a much lighter shade, and his pale skin would develop an almost golden tone. He saw a figure behind him and blushed, guilty of admiring himself in the mirror.

“His lordship will see you now,” the clerk said. Then he grinned. “You look very nice sir.”

Granger chuckled slightly. “Thank you.” His lordship? So Chatham himself wanted to see him? He felt his stomach churning. The clerk ushered him into the familiar office and there was Chatham, looking older but still vital.

“Ah Granger, back again, and you brought a fleet with you,” Chatham said.

“Yes my lord,” Granger said. The door opened and Sir Phillip walked in. “Good morning Sir Phillip,” Granger said to him.

“Mr. Granger,” Sir Phillip said, acknowledging him.

“I've had a chance to read the reports,” Chatham said. “I think you are unique in being the only lieutenant to act as a flag officer, commanding a squadron of some 20 vessels.” There was a twinkle in his eye, so he must think that Granger had done well.

“Yes my lord. Lord Hood advised me not to run aground in Spain, so I duly followed his orders,” Granger said, cracking a joke. It was very daring, and it worked, getting a small smile from both of these powerful men.

“So tell me about these ships you've brought home with you, and the ones you destroyed,” Chatham said, focusing on the business at hand. Granger gave him a detailed account, basically reiterating what was already in his report.

“The Commerce de Marseilles is unsound, you say?” Chatham asked, finally getting to the crux of the matter.

“I believe so, my lord. One of the lieutenants on board, Meurice, seemed to have a background in shipbuilding. He was able to delineate the problems and potential fixes for the Dauphin Royal, the sister ship of the Commerce de Marseilles. In my conversations with him, my lord, he showed a familiarity with French ship design that may be useful, begging your pardon my lord.”

“You certainly took great efforts to catalog the condition of the various vessels,” Sir Phillip observed.

“Thank you sir,” Granger said. “When I was assigned the task of selecting the ships for the deportee fleet, I had an opportunity to take a complete inventory of their ships of the line, with the help of Captain Nelson and his crew. Then when I selected a ship to bombard the French batteries, I had a similar opportunity to inspect the frigates. I didn't gather data on their corvettes. I'm sorry sir.”

Chatham smiled. “You did quite well Mr. Granger. Even Sir Phillip thinks so, and he's a tough critic.”

“I merely ask for good results, my lord” Sir Phillip said, hiding a small smile.

“Thank you sir, my lord,” Granger said, trying to maintain his severe countenance.

“Sir Phillip also said you'd explained the victory in Toulon to his satisfaction,” Chatham said. “In fact, your report will be released for publication in the Naval Chronicle.”

Chatham looked at Sir Phillip, who continued. “I am assuming that you plan to attend the King as soon as convenient, and to visit Carlton House?”

“Yes sir, unless you would prefer that I not,” Granger said, a little worried.

“On the contrary, Mr. Granger. We'd like to encourage you to do just that, and to explain what really happened in Toulon to those who are interested.”

“Yes sir,” Granger said, hiding a smile. In other words, he was to be the on-site expert to thwart naysayers in Parliament.

“And how is your good lady Granger?” Chatham asked.

That got a genuine smile from Granger. “She's quite large, my lord. She's been confined to bed, so I suspect her time is near.”

The other two men smiled back at him. Perpetuating dynasties was something they understood. “Well, we still haven't decided what to do with you Granger, so you can stay in London and enjoy some leave for the next few weeks at least,” Chatham said. He was being dismissed, but he had another issue or two to raise.

“Thank you my lord. May I ask two questions of you gentlemen?” Granger asked delicately.

Sir Phillip's eyebrow went up, while Chatham scowled. “Go ahead Granger, but make it fast.”

“What is to happen to the French officers and crews, my lord?”

Chatham looked to Sir Phillip, who answered. “We haven't decided yet. Is there something you had in mind?”

“They are good sailors sir, and with some training, I think they could make a good addition to the fleet. And if they were marked as British seamen, say, by a tattoo or something, they'd fight harder than anyone.” They knew as well as he did that if a French seaman was captured fighting for the English, he'd be executed. A strong motive for a man to fight, to be sure.

“Your idea bears merit,” Chatham said. Manning the fleet was a constant problem. “Anything else?”

“One more thing my lord,” Granger said. “A few of the French officers expressed an interest in buying a small ship and fitting her out as a privateer. They are quite capable, my lord. They asked me to bankroll their venture. I wanted your permission first, before I financed them.”

Chatham eyed him carefully. “You think they have some talent, eh?”

“Yes my lord,” Granger said.

“Well, I see no problem. Perhaps you can let Sir Phillip and me know about this venture when it happens. You seem to have a talent for making money.” Chatham and Sir Phillip as investors? Now that was interesting.

“Yes my lord, Sir Phillip,” Granger said, bowing to each. “Thank you for your time.” Then he left the room and the Admiralty, feeling strangely in limbo. They'd given him no definitive idea of what to do, other than to socialize. He thought of Nelson, and how frustrated he'd be, stranded here on land with nothing concrete to achieve. He sighed, and then smiled. He would be able to be here with Caroline, maybe even for the birth of their child, and he'd get to see Brentwood at last.

Granger walked into his room to find Caroline in bed, just as he left her, only Michel was sitting next to her holding her hand. He made to get up and leave but Granger stopped him.

“George, you look so handsome today,” she said. He kissed her and tousled Michel's hair.

“Thank you dear. You're looking bigger today,” he teased.

“What a horrible thing to say,” she said, pretending to be offended. “You have brought home quite a gem here.”

“You mean him?” Granger teased, pointing to Michel. He smacked Granger playfully.

“Yes I do,” she said.

“Thank you Mrs. Granger,” Michel said politely.

She frowned at him. “Mrs. Granger. If we're to adopt you, that seems a bit formal, don't you think?”

Granger watched her in motion, knowing where she was going, and loving her more than ever for it. “What shall I call you then?” Michel asked.

“Well, if we are to adopt you, then that will make me your mother. If that is what you want?” He nodded at her shyly, blushing. “Then I think you should call me Maman. Is that not French for mother?”

“It is what I called my mother before she died,” he said sadly. Then smiled at her and hugged her carefully.

His precocious side asserted itself, and he turned to Granger. “So what shall I call you?”

“Sir,” Granger said, with mock sincerity. They looked at him, shocked, until they saw his grin forming. “If she is Maman, should I not be Papa?” Then Michel, livewire that he was, flew through the air and landed on Granger, almost tackling him. There was a knock at the door, and one of the footmen entered after being beckoned to do so.

“Sir, there's a Commander Travers here to see you,” he said. Granger positively beamed at that.

“A friend of yours George?” Caroline asked.

“My best friend,” Granger said. She raised her eyebrows a bit. “I will bring him up to meet you. I suspect he will be staying with us.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she said. It was all Granger could do to walk out of the room calmly before charging down the stairs like a kid. He got to the drawing room and there, in his dress uniform, looking as handsome as he ever did, was Travers.

“Welcome!” Granger said to him and shook his hand. “I'm so glad you're here!”

“It's good to see you too,” Travers said, smiling.

“How long are you to be here?” Granger asked.

“I met with Chatham and he told me they'd give me a new ship, that I should stay in London and report back to the Admiralty on Monday.”

“Excellent,” Granger said. “You will stay here.”

“You are giving me orders now?” Travers teased.

Granger looked around to make sure no one could hear. “Wait until I get you into bed, then you'll see some orders.” They both laughed. “Come on. Caroline wants to meet you.”

“Your wife?” he asked nervously.

“Yes, my wife. You'll like her, but she's a bit huge.” He dragged a reluctant Travers up the stairs and knocked on her door before entering. “Caroline, this is John Travers.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you ma'am,” Travers said as he approached the bed and stooped down to kiss her hand gallantly.

“It is nice to meet you too. You must call me Caroline, and I will call you John,” she said assertively. He grinned.

“It is an honor Caroline,” he said.

“I have heard so much about you, but George did not tell me what a handsome man you are,” she said, flirting.

“Thank you,” Travers said shyly. Granger looked at them, at what should have been an awkward situation for him, but it wasn't. He loved both of them.

“I understand you are to be staying with us?” she asked.

“Yes ma'am, I mean Caroline, if that is alright with you,” he said gallantly.

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” she said, smiling.

“I thought if the weather was pleasant we might ride out to see Brentwood tomorrow,” Granger said. “I'm anxious to see your dowry.”

Caroline laughed. “My father is still angry about that. He barely speaks to me.”

“He stares at me with daggers,” Granger observed.

“What do you expect George? You deflowered his daughter,” she said.

“But I made an honorable woman out of you in the end. Surely that's worth something?”

She laughed. “Evidently it's not worth Brentwood.”

“You should rest,” Granger said. “We'll come see you later. I'm supposed to go to Carlton House tonight, and you must fill me in on whom to be nice to and whom to hate.”

She giggled. “Go help John settle in, and then I'll fill you in.” They left her room and headed down the hall to the room Granger had taken instead of his own, to give her space. He sensed it would make her uncomfortable to have him next to her.

“You can stay with me,” Granger grinned, locking the door behind him. Then he wrapped his arms around Travers and planted his lips on him. He felt Travers body respond, then he felt Travers take control, ripping Granger's trousers down, then his own, and entering him quickly. It was fast sex, much faster than Granger wanted, but he chalked it up to Travers missing him. He was wrong.

“I feel so guilty,” Travers said.

“Why?” Granger asked.

“Your wife is so nice to me, so charming, yet here I am in her home fucking her husband behind her back. It's just wrong.”

“She already told me to find pleasure elsewhere since she cannot help me out. And it's not her home, it belongs to my parents. I love you John. Don't let this ruin our time together,” Granger pleaded.

He looked in Travers' eyes and realized that it was no good. That Travers would never be comfortable having sex with him in Caroline's house, or at least while she was around. “I'll try,” he said insincerely.

“You mean everything to me,” Granger said. “If it is the deception that bothers you, I will tell Caroline about us, but I can't do that until after she has the baby. She is too fragile now.”

“I don't want you to tell her about us,” Travers argued.

“Well you're telling me that we can't be together because you feel guilty. And that's not an option. We are together; we're going to be together. So it seems the only thing I can do is explain to her that I like it when you put your dick in my ass,” Granger said, grinning.

“I'm not sure that would go over so well,” Travers said.

“It may not. It is the honest thing to do, though. But I can't do anything about it now, and I already have her blessing to fuck you like a rabbit, so let's not worry about it right now, OK?” Granger was hoping he could bring Travers' fussy sense of justice around to his way of thinking. Their time together was so precious, too precious to waste arguing or worrying about such banalities.

“I guess you're right,” Travers said. Then he kissed Granger again, a soft, gentle kiss, which got increasingly more passionate until they made love once again.

February 7, 1794

“As I explained to you yesterday, it is important that you see His Majesty before you go to Carlton House,” the Earl of Bridgemont explained to his son as they rode in the carriage to St. James Palace. His frustration was audible, since they'd had an unpleasant row about this the night before.

“Yes Father. I have to trust your judgment on that,” Granger said, still irritated, but hiding it well enough. He'd been in the mood to drink and carouse last night, but the mood hadn't passed. Tonight would work just as well. “I didn't know the King held his levee on Friday.”

“He doesn't. He wanted to see you.” Granger gaped at him, but not nearly as much as Travers, who sat across from them.

“Should I be here, my lord?” Travers asked. “I wouldn't want to intrude.”

“Nonsense. Two young distinguished naval officers coming home, His Majesty wants to give you a mark of thanks by seeing you alone.”

“But if he sees us alone, who will know?” Granger teased.

“Everyone will know, and it will make you both seem influential. That way, when you go to Carlton House, or to Court, or to other parties, and you make your case for the victory at Toulon, it will carry more weight.”

So it was all about politics. That took some of the pleasure out of it. “I see,” Granger said.

“You don't. You think you are a pawn, that you are being used. Well, you are. That's how things are. As you grow in power and influence, you will no longer be the pawn. But right now, you are,” the Earl said severely.

“Then we must be good pawns, my lord,” Travers said, smiling slightly. Granger saw his father actually smile.

“Indeed you must.” The carriage drew up to St. James Palace and they followed the Earl to the doors which opened as if by magic, but actually by efficient footmen. The Lord Chamberlain met them, scanned them for flaws in their appearance, then led them to the King's study.

Granger had only seen the King at his levees, when he was magnificently attired and seated on his dais. Here, in his study, he seemed like a normal man. His clothes, while nice, were nothing more than the average courtier had. And off his throne, he seemed much less imposing, and much shorter. They bowed when they entered, following the Earl's lead, then approached and bowed again.

“We are pleased to see our friend, the Earl,” the King said, acknowledging Bridgemont.

“The pleasure is mine, your majesty,” the Earl said. But they weren't here for the King and the Earl to talk about horses or politics; they were here for him to meet with the two junior officers.

“Mr. Granger, Mr. Travers, we have read of your exploits. We are impressed by your performance,” he said, addressing them.

“Thank you, your majesty,” they said in unplanned unison.

“This business with Toulon troubles us,” the King said.

Granger looked to Travers, as the senior, to answer, but he seemed positively paralyzed here in front of the King. “Indeed your majesty?” Granger asked.

“There are those in Parliament who think Lord Hood blew a chance, missed an opportunity.”

“I think they are wrong, your majesty,” Granger said directly. “I watched Lord Hood skillfully manage the resources at his disposal.”

“Then, Mr. Granger, why did you leave some 16 battleships behind?”

“Your majesty, those ships were the property of His Majesty, King Louis XVII,” Granger said, appealing to the King's sensibility to another monarch. “It wasn't until the last day, the day before we left, that we realized that we had no option.”

“Why were there no contingency plans for evacuation?”

Travers picked up the ball, at last. “I do not know, your majesty. If I were to guess, I would say that there was such a focus on victory, defeat did not seem like an option. I worked closely with the military, your majesty, and they fought bravely throughout the expedition. It wasn't until the end, when there were some significant setbacks, that things turned against us.”

Granger took control of the floor then. “In addition, your majesty, the Spaniards were most insistent on participating in the scuttling and seizure of the remaining French vessels. I attended the meeting with General Langara and Admiral Gravina, where they specifically selected the Old Arsenal. Alas, they were unable to seize or burn the ships as promised, so it was only our fleet that achieved its goal on evacuation.”

“Still, we note that there are some 16 French battleships left in Toulon that could have been added to our own navy,” the King observed wryly.

“That's not entirely true, begging your majesty's pardon. Those ships, were they captured, would have been prizes of His Majesty, the King of Spain. As it was, His Most Catholic Majesty's navy had to make do with capturing only one frigate,” Granger added, daring to contradict the King. It worked. Was that a small smile? Hard to say.

“We are pleased with both of you,” the King said. “You especially, Mr. Travers. You have gone a long way toward redeeming your father's dishonor.”

“I must thank your majesty for your merciful forgiveness,” Travers said uncomfortably. Reminders of his father were always painful for him. Then the King stared at them, dismissing them. They bowed and backed out of the room, bowing again as they left. The Chamberlain escorted them out to the waiting carriage, while they said nothing until they were safely ensconced in the coach.

“I am proud of both of you. You handled yourselves quite well.”

“Thank you father,” Granger said.

“You especially, Mr. Travers. I do not think I've seen the King so sincere in forgiving past transgressions. You may find things significantly easier for you in the future.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Travers said. “If that is the case, I owe my debt of gratitude to your lordship.”

“You are a talented young officer. I am only doing what is best for my King and Country,” the Earl said stolidly.

“Of course, my lord,” Travers said.

Carlton House was brightly lit, as always, and crowded. A Friday night party, much more enjoyable than the dowdy entertainments one would find at St. James Palace. Granger smiled at Travers and his nervousness. Carlton House would be a challenge for him, less structured with more activity, two things sure to make him feel insecure.

“Commander John Travers, Lieutenant the Honorable George Granger,” the chamberlain bellowed. Granger lead Travers through the crowd, pausing only briefly to greet those he knew, eager to pay his respects to their host.

The Prince of Wales was already well on his way to drunkenness when Granger and Travers approached him. He was at a table playing Hazard, but looked up politely when they approached him and bowed low to show their respect. “Well well well, if it isn't our two young naval heroes,” he said, laughing.

Granger knew Travers couldn't be relied on for an answer, he was too awestruck. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness, but we're hardly heroes. We just follow the example Your Royal Highness sets.”

“You're a polite young man and a smooth talker Granger. Always have been. How's your lady?”

“Confined to bed, Your Royal Highness.”

“That's appropriate, since that's where this whole thing started!” he said, laughing, and everyone laughed with him, of course. “Join us. Let me win some of that prize money you've been accumulating,” he said politely, and more warmly than he'd ever been before. “What do you say; shall we let our new player be the caster?”

Granger looked at the panoply of power around them. Lord Fitzwilliam, The Duke of Portland, and William Windham, all powerful Whig politicians, and all most likely to make the most of a defeat in Toulon. They were joined by Charles James Fox, the revolutionary firebrand. Granger smiled. Fox was probably the man most detested by Tories, and his father had often joked that if the King could have absolute power for one day, the first thing he'd do was have Fox beheaded. The Prince handed him the dice as the others murmured their assent to his turn as caster. Granger bet, then threw out. That made him pretty popular. In fifteen minutes he'd lost 1000 guineas, but ten more minutes found him back on top, 2000 guineas to the good, before he relinquished the dice back to the Prince of Wales.

Fox was the first person to broach the topic of Toulon. He made the same accusations that Granger expected, and Granger gave them his canned responses.

“Well Granger, it sounds like the government let Hood down,” Fox said acidly.

“I can't really speak to that,” Granger said. “I don't know what other pressing demands were currently being made on the military.”

“I do. Dundas has the troops dying in the West Indies trying to seize a bunch of islands. He only cares to fatten the purses of his friends,” Fox said bitterly.

“Good God, Fox. Must you spew such vile thoughts when we're trying to have a good time,” Portland said. “Granger sits here sucking guineas out of my purse while you ramble on about Dundas.”

“I must beg Your Grace's pardon,” Fox said insincerely. “Mr. Granger, would you mind losing so we can carry on our conversation?”

Granger laughed with them. “I fear I'd rather win sir.”

“Now that's a sign of good decision making abilities,” observed Fitzwilliam.

“Still, that's a lot of pressure for someone of Hood’s advanced years,” Fox said.

“I've never noticed his lordship suffering from fatigue,” Granger said. “Just a bit grouchy at times.”

“Ha! Sounds like you Windham,” Fox said.

“Putting up with your tirades Fox would make any sane man grouchy,” Windham replied with a casual air.

“Or losing while you talk. Bloody hell, Fox, he's won another 500 pounds just while you blather on,” Portland exclaimed. “Seems the sooner you're out of the country, the richer I'll be, Granger.”

“I must beg Your Grace's pardon,” Granger said, smiling. “I appear to have run into a streak of luck.”

“How about if I just give you the money and you talk to Fox and keep him out of Parliament?” he joked.

“I am not for sale, unlike some of the King's ministers,” Fox said indignantly.

“Good Lord, Fox. Everyone's for sale. You're just more expensive,” the Prince said, and everyone laughed. Everyone always laughed at his jokes, even when they weren't funny. And so it went, until Granger extracted himself from the table and the conversation some 10,000 pounds richer.

“Aren't you supposed to lose?” Travers asked as they walked around the room.

“What? I may need that money. We'll have to see what Brentwood looks like tomorrow.” Travers laughed. Granger saw a familiar face in the corner and headed over there, Travers in tow.

“Arthur,” Granger said coolly.

“George!” Arthur exclaimed. “Good to see you!”

“Arthur Teasdale, this is John Travers,” Granger said, introducing them. “Arthur is an old school chum of mine, and likes to hang out in Parliament with Charles James Fox.”

“Hardly,” Arthur laughed. “It is seldom that we are even on speaking terms.”

“Well it's nice to meet you,” Travers said.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Arthur said, eying Travers' handsome form lustfully.

Granger contained his fury. “I met a friend of yours in the Mediterranean. Lieutenant Blackwell.”

He saw Arthur blanch at that, finally understanding the reason for Granger's coolness. “Is he back?”

“He is. I put his name forward to command one of the French ships. He was missing you so desperately.” Arthur looked nervously at Travers, who quite perceptively appeared to understand nothing.

“Well then he should be home soon. I can't wait. Thank you for letting me know George, and for getting him back.” Arthur looked at him nervously. “If you'll excuse me, gentlemen,” he said, and made his way out of the party.

“What was that all about?” Travers said.

“I'll tell you later,” Granger said. They made one more round of the crowd, then went home, went to bed, and made passionate love. Travers' qualms about Caroline seemed to have faded quickly enough, or at least Granger hoped they had.