Northern Exposure - 60. Chapter 60

May 22, 1801

HMS Calliope

The Baltic Sea

Granger stood in his chart room, staring at the poor schematic of the Gulf of Finland, wondering if these were the only charts available or if Smythe had been frugal when stocking maps for his deployment. Based on Smythe’s focus on making Calliope comfortable, he suspected it was the latter. The only useful piece of information he derived from it was that their location was some five miles south of Russaro, a Finnish island in the middle of the Gulf. Granger walked out onto the quarterdeck. “Mr. Douglas, a cast of the lead.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said. The poor man seemed constantly surprised by Granger’s requests. Presumably Smythe had not bothered to check the depth when they were safely hove to on calm seas. It took some time to get the gear out and to throw the weight into the water, but finally Granger got his report.

“20 fathoms, my lord,” he said.

“Excellent,” Granger replied. “Anchor.”

Douglas blinked again at Granger’s command, clearly not expecting that. “Aye aye, my lord.” As he began pelting out orders to drop the anchor, Granger turned to Colston.

“Mr. Colston, signal Blanche to close with us,” Granger ordered. Granger was significantly senior to Hamond which gave him the authority to issue such orders, and Blanche was a good five cables away from Calliope. There was no need to keep that much distance between anchored ships, and it would make travel between the two ships much easier.

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said. Granger watched the activity as Calliope dropped her anchor and signals soared up Calliope’s main mast. “My lord, Blanche has acknowledged.”

Granger watched as Hamond deftly coaxed his ship to within half a cable of Calliope, then picked up his speaking trumpet. “Captain Hamond, I would be obliged if you would anchor.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Hamond shouted back. Blanche anchored, and Granger smiled to himself, satisfied at having made the interaction between the two ships much easier. His self-satisfaction was destroyed by another hail from Blanche.

“Granger, would you be so kind as to join us aboard?” St. Helens asked. The last thing Granger wanted to do was leave his new command, but there was no point in arguing with St. Helens.

“Of course,” Granger shouted back, then turned to Douglas. “I’ll need my gig.”

“We left it afloat, my lord. I’ll detail the crew at once,” Douglas said.

“Excellent,” Granger said. He turned to the master, who was still clearly annoyed at having this young captain discredit his brilliant ideas. “Mr. Carson, I’ll trust you to ensure that after the guns are secured, the ship is trimmed two points up in the bow.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Carson said. Granger felt that he’d effectively asserted his authority over this man, and now was the time to try building a better rapport. “We’ll see if that helps in the stays. It if doesn’t, we’ll have to readjust.”

“I’ll be interested to see how this turns out, my lord,” he said, then relented in his own way. “She seems like she should be faster for a ship with her lines.”

Granger nodded, returned to his cabin to make sure his appearance was spruce enough, then returned to the quarterdeck and descended into the gig, only to find an argument in progress. Jacobs had squared off with another man, whom Granger assumed was Smythe’s coxswain. “What is the problem?” Granger demanded, annoyed enough to let that show through in his voice. He did not need a public display of inefficiency, especially since, in his brilliance, he’d had Blanche move close enough to witness such an event.

“My Lord, Carpenter here claims he’s the coxswain of your gig, and I was explaining to him that I’m your coxswain,” Jacobs said. Granger could sense that beneath Carpenter’s outrage was a sense of sadness, so he altered his mood.

“There are always some details to sort out with a change of command,” Granger said soothingly. “Jacobs, why don’t you help Winkler sort out my cabin and get those new covers crafted for the 18-pounders, and I’ll let Carpenter take me to Blanche. We’ll sort things out later.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Jacobs said with a hint of grumpiness, then got more cheerful, probably realizing that with his cabin empty, he may just get an opportunity to fuck Winkler. He mounted the side of the ship while Granger took his seat. He looked at the gig’s crew, which was well turned out in white pants and primrose jumpers. The gig was painted to match, and the whole effect was to make the gig as feminine as Smythe’s cabin had been. Granger was not a fan of the color or its effect, but for now, it would have to do.

“I’m sorry to make an issue of that, my lord,” Carpenter said.

“If I had given you an order to relinquish command of my gig to Jacobs and you had argued, you would be facing the cat right now, Carpenter,” Granger said firmly. “But in this situation, I will chalk it up to general confusion. Now to the Blanche.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said, and skillfully guided the gig the brief distance to Blanche.

He was welcomed with the appropriate honors and greeted by Hamond. “Welcome, my lord. How do you like your new ship?”

“Thank you, Hamond. I find her to be sound with a good crew. I am wont to escape from here so I can find out how she sails.”

“I can well understand, my lord,” he said pleasantly, then led Granger aft where St. Helens had apparently appropriated the great cabin, or at least most of it.

“Granger, thank you so much for coming here. At my age, visiting one ship of war in a day is quite enough,” St. Helens said in a friendly way, and gestured to Granger to have a seat and join them.

“It was certainly no problem,” Granger said. Hamond’s cabin was much more sparsely furnished than Calliope’s, but he had a big table and comfortable chairs.

“And how is our new ship, George?” Daventry asked.

“She seems to be in fine shape, and once we make a few adjustments, I’m confident she won’t have the problems she had before,” Granger said candidly.

“She had problems?” St. Helens asked, as if expecting to hear of a mutiny or some other nefarious event. Daventry thankfully explained the issue to St. Helens in non-nautical terms, saving Granger from tackling that effort. St. Helens digested that, then his eyes zeroed in on Granger. “Did not Captain Smythe detect these issues? Was he incompetent?”

“He was not,” Granger insisted. “He is an older officer, and I get the sense that he had a style of command that may be reflective of that. I am guessing that he managed that aspect of the ship with the Master, and I am further guessing that he has had most if not all his service in English ships. I am fairly positive neither of them understood that certain French designs handle under sail much differently than ours.” Granger did not say that in his opinion, a good captain would have worked diligently to eradicate any flaws in his command.

“It is ironic that the broad length of Smythe’s experience paled in comparison to your lesser number of years in command,” Daventry said, giving Granger a compliment and gently slamming Smythe. It was Daventry’s way of purposely trying to annoy Granger, and as Granger knew that he hid his normal reaction.

“It seems that in this case, length is irrelevant,” Granger said, making Daventry snicker at his double entendre. St. Helens was not all that amused by their sophomoric humor.

“Daventry has been telling me of what I can expect in St. Petersburg, and I am confused on a few points,” he said.

“I would be happy to help provide clarity, if possible,” Granger said.

“Daventry seems to think you had a much more intimate relationship with the Tsar than he did,” St. Helens noted. Granger knew he meant ‘intimate’ as being closer, but using that term tore the scab off Granger’s emotional wound such that it was all he could do to maintain his calm façade.

“That is true,” Granger agreed.

“Why?” St. Helens asked. As much as Granger respected this man, he found that question annoying.

“I would think that anyone of sound mind would choose me over Daventry,” Granger said playfully to dodge the issue.

“That is as may be, but it does not answer my question,” St. Helens persisted. That doggedness finally irritated Granger enough to respond in less friendly terms.

“I do not think it is necessary or required that I disclose the various levels of friendship I have,” Granger asserted strongly.

“The issue is your insistence that it is useless to try to form an alliance with Russia,” St. Helens stated, seemingly avoiding the previous topic.

“That is correct,” Granger said. “To badger His Imperial Majesty would merely annoy him and may cloud his opinion of the intentions of our government.”

“My directives from Lord Hawkesbury make forming such an alliance a top priority after resolving the current conflict,” St. Helens said, then stared at Granger in frustration, which quickly softened into a more paternal attitude. “George, I have known you since you were a baby and I have complete trust in you. I am not questioning what you say, but you must see this from my point. If I am to toss out a prime directive from the cabinet, I must have some basis to do so. If you and the Tsar were mere acquaintances, I would be remiss in accepting your bonafides.”

Granger nodded in understanding. The strategy he suggested was in stark opposition to St. Helens’ orders. If he defied them, he would have to answer for them. “I understand your dilemma and I am sorry to have resisted your original question,” Granger said as gallantly as possible.

“That is quite alright,” St. Helens said, then waited.

“On the night of the coup when Tsar Paul was killed, I was able to help the Tsarevitch. That sparked a friendship, assuming such a thing is possible between a British peer and the Emperor of all the Russias,” Granger said, pointing out the huge difference in their social standing. “He included me in some of his sessions after he mounted the throne where he explored plans to further modernize his country.”

“Indeed?” St. Helens asked, shocked that Granger had been that close to the Tsar’s inner circle.

“The Tsar would like to transform Russia into a country that is more similar to Britain politically, and to do that he will need time,” Granger said. “That means avoiding war if at all possible. And that is why he will avoid any alliances that may embroil Russia in a conflict.”

“You are telling me that the greatest autocrat in Europe wants to give Russia a parliament?” St. Helens asked, even more stunned.

“Clearly he has not witnessed how our own Houses function,” Daventry noted dourly, but in a joking way.

“Clearly,” Granger said, chuckling, then answered St. Helens. “Tsar Alexander was raised by his grandmother and his father. From his grandmother, he studied Voltaire and other philosophers, and with his father he learned military drill and rigidity. He sees that modernizing Russia will strengthen the Empire and help his people, and he looks to those principles he learned at his grandmother’s court to guide him.”

“I remember Catherine well,” St. Helens said, referring to the Tsar’s grandmother. “I even toured the Crimea as part of her party. She was a formidable woman, and quite enlightened. I can see how Alexander would want to continue her mission.”

“When he speaks of her, it is always with the utmost respect,” Granger noted.

“I am unsure what to expect from him,” St. Helens said, seemingly flummoxed.

“Transitioning between those worlds seamlessly has made him wily and shielded,” Granger said. “I think it will be difficult to read his real thoughts and emotions correctly, rather I think you will need to try to see things through his eyes to discern his real motives.”

“Thank you,” St. Helens said. “That is most useful.”

“And a good way to explain it,” Daventry said supportively.

“If you were I, how would you handle this mission to Russia?” St. Helens asked. Granger did not know the exact mission, but he understood what St. Helens was asking in the larger sense.

“I would make completing a treaty resolving the issues between Britain and Russia the priority, and I would accomplish that as soon as possible,” Granger said, then explained. “That will enable commerce to recommence, and Russia needs to be able to sell its products if the Tsar is to improve his realm.”

“And the talk of alliance?”

“I would not raise that as an issue,” Granger said. “If the Tsar wants an alliance, he will seek us out. The French are there constantly harassing him about such a bond, and he will not yield to them no matter how they phrase it. You, in contrast, will be seen as someone who is not difficult, and in fact was able to finalize peace and restart the commercial rapport between our countries. You will be aiding him in his mission, while France will be sidetracking him.”

“And you do not think that if they constantly pester him, he will yield?” St. Helens asked.

Granger actually laughed at that. “He is not a man to be pestered into doing something that is not in his or Russia’s best interest. I fear you have spent too much time in Spain.” St. Helens had been the diplomat most responsible for the alliance between Britain and Spain in 1793.

“They would appear to be much different,” he said, chuckling with them. “It sounds as though the Tsar is much more like his grandmother than his father.”

“I cannot speak to that since I did not know her,” Granger said, “but perhaps it would be better to think of him as an amalgam of Catherine and Paul, with Catherine being the stronger influence.

St. Helens pondered Granger’s words. “I will do as you suggest. I had originally gone on the assumption that most monarchs are easily swayed. It is very useful knowledge to know this one is not.”

“He sees himself on a mission, much like Peter the Great, to modernize Russia and see her as a truly European nation,” Granger said. “Anything you can do to help him in that quest he would appreciate.”

“I understand,” St. Helens said with a gentle smile. “I also understand why you were reluctant to share the reason the Tsar became enamored of you.” His use of the word enamored once again prodded Granger’s wounded heart.

“I did not want that action to be something that was held over his head as if he owed me a favor, and I certainly didn’t want it used by His Majesty’s government to pressure him into a course of action,” Granger explained. “It is a mark of my trust in you that I exposed the issue.”

“For that, I thank you,” St. Helens said. “I am mindful of the trust you have placed in me and am flattered by that confidence.”

Granger decided the conversation had become encumbered by a bit too much diplomatic flummery, so he changed the subject. “You said you had news of my family?”

“Ah yes,” St. Helens said with a chuckle, shaking his head. “Your father is doing well, although he has been sorely stressed by His Majesty’s illness.”

“And how is the King?” Daventry asked.

“There was rumor of improvement when I left, but it has not been good,” St. Helens said. “There is talk again of a regency, and that has caused the real state of the King’s health to be extremely guarded.”

“I can well understand,” Daventry noted. “It’s quite likely Prinny would toss out the current government if he held the reins.”

“That is how the government sees it, and how the Queen sees it,” St. Helens said, then turned his attention back to Granger. “Your wife and your father seem to be working together, although there is little warmth between them.”

“There is an obvious rift between them?” Granger asked, stunned and annoyed by that.

“Only to those who know either or both of them well,” St. Helens said, reminding Granger he was that close to his father.

“One hopes they are able to limit that to their inner circles,” Granger said, not quite satisfied.

“They were working together to acquire some crown lands near Chelsea, expecting that London will ultimately expand in that direction,” St. Helens said. “They were successful but had to pledge they would not allow papists as tenants at Bridgemont, Heathford, or Brentwood.”

“I am not sure there are any Catholic tenants at Bridgemont,” Granger said hopefully.

“I am told there were four families, who will be evicted from their holdings,” St. Helens said. Granger was infuriated by that, that Caroline would betray the trust of their people for some land in London, but he held his tongue. Granger felt deeply obliged to the people who worked the land for him and was disturbed that his implied compact with them had been severed by his greedy wife.

“That is most unfortunate, but as I am not there to prevent it, there is not much I can do about it,” he said fatalistically, even though he seethed beneath his calm words.

“I think it was also important for them to make that concession so your son could inherit the Heathford title,” St. Helens added. “There was opposition mounted by the Havershams, who wanted it to go to the lieutenant that was formerly the first lieutenant of your ship.” That would have explained a lot of Haversham’s attitude to Granger.

“They are a difficult lot to begin with,” Granger said woefully of his in-laws.

“It is fortunate that Heathford was so determined that his estate be settled the way it was, and that he planned it out so deliberately,” St. Helens said. “It made a suit much less likely to succeed.”

“Nonetheless, this grand bargain will ultimately be sealed by the eviction of good tenants who did nothing wrong but worship God in a different way,” Granger said, a bit too tersely.

“Sensitivities about Catholics have been revised after the failure of Catholic Emancipation,” St. Helens noted. “The sale of the crown lands, along with the settling of Lord Heathford’s estate and title on your wife and son, were the price for a few inconvenienced tenants and for your support of the new government, which is crucial to them if they face a regency crisis.”

“I would hardly call an eviction an inconvenience,” Granger responded, and actually let his annoyance show.

“The Duke of Cumberland was involved in this deal, and he has no qualms about making other people’s lives miserable, nor does he harbor any love for Catholics, so maybe you can see now why such strictures were put in place,” St. Helens said. He was referring to Ernst, the King’s son, who was in Granger’s mind a truly horrible person anyway. Pinning this whole thing on that man let Granger put his anger with Caroline aside. St. Helens opted to change the subject. “Your brother is attempting to style himself as a politician.”

“Indeed?” Granger asked.

“He took over a seat controlled by your father, but that has not gone well. He is perhaps more of a tory than your father, and expresses his views in a dogmatic way,” St. Helens said. “Even that could be overlooked if he was a commanding speaker. He comes across as shrill, arrogant, and aloof.”

“That is unfortunate, but not surprising,” Granger said ruefully, thinking of his stodgy older brother.

“It is not,” St. Helens agreed. “It will probably also not surprise you that he has become close to the Duke of Cumberland.”

“That is certainly not a good turn of events,” Daventry said with scorn.

“They are hoping to satisfy your brother, or more specifically his wife, with a lord lieutenantship or some similar appointment. It was thought he could perhaps be the Lord Lieutenant of Derby, but as that is currently in possession of the Duke of Devonshire, that was all but impossible.”

“He has had a difficult time finding a purpose for his life,” Granger said.

“I am not sure that he really needs one,” Daventry observed.

“There is a certain competition among us,” Granger noted. “That both Bertie and I have been successful in our own ways will propel him into thinking he must do better.”

“And that feeling was no doubt fueled by a letter he received from Lord Blakeney after Bertie received his peerage, which I am told was like a red cape to a bull.”

Granger laughed at that. “I had anticipated such a communique and can only imagine how much Bertie relished it.”

“To have the family black sheep turn his life around such that he earns a peerage in his own right is quite an achievement,” St. Helens noted. Granger was unimpressed with those words since he knew how Bertie had used illegal or immoral means to earn such success. “Tossing that in Frederick’s face and implying that he had done nothing to merit his position was turning the knife in the wound.”

“There is a considerable amount of rivalry between those two, rivalry which rarely seems to include me,” Granger noted.

“Perhaps that is true with Bertie, but I would not be so confident about your older brother. My impression is that this latest exchange with Bertie has made him look at both of you with a considerable amount of envy,” St. Helens said. That shocked Granger so much that he was speechless for a moment.

“That is certainly not a very good development when one thinks that dealing with an unfriendly Freddie means also dealing with his wife,” Granger said ruefully.

“My perception was that up until now, the battles were largely between your two spouses,” Daventry said.

“For the most part,” Granger said, remembering when he’d been in Davina’s line of fire and how unpleasant that had been.

“Despite all the political wrangling, they are well,” St. Helens said. “Caroline is in the process of arranging for William to attend Eton next term.”

“I hope he enjoys it as much as I did,” Daventry said.

“I hope he does not,” Granger said with a smirk, implying that Daventry’s school years had been rowdy and unhinged. He was not wrong.

“You are no fun,” Daventry chided good-naturedly.

“That is no great surprise, as we had talked about that already,” Granger noted, but there was a question in his tone, since St. Helens made it seem as if there were some particular reason for him to be sent off.

“He is evidently very bright and it is thought he would learn more in that environment than from his tutors,” St. Helens noted.

“Are you sure he is your son?” Daventry joked. Despite his life of debauchery in school, he had been a stellar student, while Granger had performed at a more average level.

“I would point out that as my father is a duke, clearly there is great intelligence in his lineage,” Granger countered playfully.

“I am not sure, based on many of the dukes I have known, that the rank is related to intelligence,” St. Helens joked, making them all laugh. Granger took his leave of them and returned to Calliope, where he found that the hubbub of the day’s changes had passed, and the ship had settled down into her normal routine.

He walked into his cabin and the first thing that struck him was the smell of paint. “Welcome back, my lord,” Winkler said a bit frantically.

“Thank you,” Granger said. “I smell paint.”

“Yes, my lord,” Winkler said, and guided him into his cabin, where Jacobs and a few other men were busy painting the walls. “When we inquired about paint for the covers over the 18-pounders, we discovered there was some blue paint. It was pretty dark, but we mixed it with white until we got it to this shade.”

The cabin had been painted primrose on the bottom half, then above that there was wallpaper with pink and yellow flowers. Winkler had repainted the lower part this shade of blue which went quite well with the other colors, including the rug, and made it less overpoweringly pink. “Excellent job!”

“Thank you, my lord,” Winkler said, smiling at having made his chief happy.

“I think I will spend some time on the quarterdeck and stay out of your way,” Granger said. He left them, went back onto the deck, and began pacing the lee side as was the captain’s prerogative. He found he was in such a good mood he was almost elated. He was back in his familiar venue, captain of a fine ship with what appeared to be a fine crew and officers whom he could meld into a good team. For the first time since leaving Russia, he wasn’t miserable. Fitzgerald had the watch and was standing by the binnacle. “Mr. Fitzgerald, walk with me.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said. He strode over and seamlessly fell in step with Granger.

“When I had spoken to Lord Nelson, he indicated that he planned to keep you with him so you could return with him to England,” Granger said. “My understanding was that he felt he would be better able to convince Lord St. Vincent to advance your career that way.”

“That was His Lordship’s plan, my lord,” Fitzgerald said a bit nervously.

“Yet that plan clearly changed,” Granger said. “I am curious as to why that is?”

“It was at my request, my lord,” Fitzgerald said. “I have wanted to serve under Your Lordship since I was just a lad entering the Navy.” When they turned, Granger could see the wild-eyed hero worship that seemed to possess Fitzgerald, and it made him uncomfortable.

“That is kind of you to say,” Granger said a bit awkwardly. “I fear you may have damaged your career with that decision.”

“While that surely is a risk, my lord, I think that it is worth it,” he said. “I have learned much from Lord Nelson, but you have a different style of command, one that I feel mirrors my own feelings.”

“You are referring to my unwillingness to flog men?” Granger asked. “That is hardly an attribute worth trading away compared to time with Lord Nelson. He is, in my opinion, the most brilliant admiral England has ever produced.”

“I agree with you, my lord, and begging your pardon, I think Lord Nelson would agree with you as well,” he said with a grin, making Granger chuckle. “It is more than that.”

“Well I hope I don’t disappoint you, Mr. Fitzgerald,” Granger said a bit stiffly.

“I think that is rather my line, my lord,” he said. His eyes sparkled a bit, with a hint of a double entendre, which made Granger wonder if the man was flirting with him.

“I think that is unlikely,” Granger said in a similar tone, then ended their conversation on that high note. “I think I will leave you to your watch and see if my cabin is suitable for supper. They are repainting it.”

“Indeed, my lord?” he asked curiously.

Granger should have just left, but there was something compelling about this young lieutenant. “When you are done with your watch, join me and I will show you the changes we have made. If there is any food left, I will try to put some meat on your bones.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said pleasantly.