St. Vincent - 11. Chapter 11

November, 1796

George Granger stared at the documents scattered across his table and sadly shook his head. It was a colossal scheme that had been brewed here, one that would, if successful, make Granger’s father a marquess, and successfully remove 100,000 pounds from Bertie’s pocket. The sums of money being handled here were astronomical. Granger thought about how he’d almost been unable to comprehend the size of the Prince of Wales’ purported debts of some 600,000 pounds, and here his own relatives were playing around with money that was a sixth of that.

There was only one man on board who could fill in the blanks for him, and that was Chartley. He knew the man desperately needed his rest, but Granger needed to know the story, and he suspected that until Chartley knew where Granger stood on this, the man would not be at peace. He went into his cabin and found Chartley on his cot sleeping fitfully, his teeth chattering. Granger had been oblivious to the cold, and found himself angered considerably that no one had thought to at least pile up some warm blankets for the wounded man.

“Winkler!” Granger shouted outside the cabin.

It took a bit for Winkler to arrive, but Granger was too irritated and preoccupied to worry about what he’d been up to. “Sir?” a dazed and out of breath Winkler asked.

“Lord Chartley is in his cabin, shivering from the cold. Has no one thought to get him warm blankets? Must I think of everything, down to the details of how to care for the wounded on board?” Granger snapped.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Winkler said, abashed. “I’ll get him some blankets at once.”

“Make sure they’re warmed,” Granger directed. “And I don’t care if you have to get them to stoke the galley stove!”

“Aye aye sir,” Winkler said, and dashed from the cabin. As he ran forward to acquire these heated blankets, his mind filled with concern; not for Chartley, but for Granger. He’d not seen his captain this agitated for some time.

Granger went back into Chartley’s cabin and sat next to him, trying to get as close as possible to hopefully transfer some of his body heat to this friend of not just Bertie, but of his family. He took Chartley’s hand and felt it squeeze his weakly. Granger stroked the back of his hand lovingly.

A scant few minutes later, Winkler came in carrying warm, but not hot, blankets. “I brought a few back as soon as they were reasonably warm, sir,” Winkler said, as he helped Granger spread them over Chartley. “I’ll go back and get another that’s been heated properly.”

“Thank you, Winkler,” Granger said, acknowledging him and dismissing him at once.

“Better,” Chartley wheezed.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Granger said.

“You were reading?” he asked.

“Yes,” Granger said. “You are a good friend to Bertie.”

Granger saw Chartley try to smile. “He’s been a good friend to me as well. Between the two of us, we’ve managed to restore some of the fortunes of our heritage we’d squandered away.”

“I know you need your rest, but I have some questions for you, if you are able to answer them.”

“I will do my best,” Chartley said.

“Why does Bertie want to buy land in England?”

“I think he is paving the way for his grand return,” Chartley said, and tried to chuckle so Granger knew he was joking. “I think there are two reasons. First, I think he sees land in England as a safe bet, and things in the Indies are usually uncertain.”

“That makes sense,” Granger agreed.

“Second, I think he wants to do something for the family, and especially something grander than Freddie would do. He sees Freddie as a leech, sucking money out of the estates. This is his chance to step in and pay back your father, your family, for the pain and scandals he’s caused.”

“There is a certain amount of competitiveness between the two,” Granger conceded. His mind drifted, and he was so relaxed and into the conversation he allowed himself to think aloud. “I worry that he feels the same way about me.”

“Now George, that is truly nonsense,” Chartley said. He seemed to regain some of his strength, strangely enough. “You are his little brother. He feels very protective toward you. Any success that comes your way makes him happy. If you are to be annoyed by him, it is because that attitude is sometimes patronizing.”

Granger was amazed at what an enigmatic man Bertie was, and how even after all this time, revelations about Bertie still surprised him. “I probably should be flattered.”

“Possibly,” Chartley allowed.

“So Bertie is transferring 100,000 pounds to England to invest in land, estates,” Granger said, getting them back on track.

“Yes. His original intention was to simply buy the land himself. I think he is hoping that your father would lobby for him to acquire a peerage in his own right, maybe one of your family’s subsidiary titles.”

“But he changed his mind?”

“Yes,” Chartley said. “He’d been corresponding with Freddie about it, and they cooked up a scheme to buy several thousand acres of land and instead of Bertie owning it outright, he’d attach it to your father, to the Bridgemont estates.”

“And then my father would go to the King and request an elevation in the peerage, based on my family’s wealth and holdings,” Granger said, completing the sentence.

“The King likes your father. It was originally thought possible to turn this into a dukedom, but it seems that is too ambitious. A marquess is the best he can hope for.”

Granger pondered that for a moment. Bridgemont was an old earldom, and a well-recognized one. But an elevation in the peerage brought increased prestige and honor to his family, even if it meant his father would be sporting a new title. And Granger himself would get a new name as well. As the younger son of an earl, he’d been the Honorable George Granger. As the younger son of a marquess, he would become Lord George Granger. “I would think my father would be happy with that.” Moving the family up in power and prestige was a central tenet of the earl’s.

“I think he would be as well.”

“So where is the problem in all of this?” Granger asked.

“Bertie signed the papers to acquire and transfer the lands into your father’s name, but he was tricked into doing the transfer of funds first.”

“Why is that important?” Granger wasn’t following him.

“The money will become part of Bridgemont, and then it will be used to purchase land.”

And then Granger got it. “And the estate cannot be broken up by the rules of primogeniture.”

“That is correct. The original plan was for the land to be appended to the estate until your father’s death, at which time it would revert to Bertie.”

“But this way,” Granger continued, “when my father dies, the land will all go to Freddie.”

“Bertie will have a claim on it, but that it tenuous. It would be in court for years, and the scandal from a pitched legal battle about such a topic would be prodigious.”

“Freddie did this?” Granger asked, the fury rising in his body, but calmed himself. This didn’t sound like something Freddie would do.

Chartley shook his head, to the degree that he could. “I suspect it is your sister-in-law.”

“She is scheming to do this without Freddie’s knowledge?”

“No,” Chartley said. “Freddie worked with Bertie on this arrangement in good faith up until the end. I think that is when his wife interceded, although it is possible that she engineered this from the beginning.”

“My father will not allow this,” Granger said.

“No, he won’t,” Chartley agreed. “At least we hope not. That is why I am trying to get to London as quickly as I can, to alert him.”

“He is unaware of the consequences of the sequence of purchasing the land second?”

“I would imagine his eye is on the prize, on becoming a marquess, and that blinds him to the intrigues. I am not sure about that entirely, though.”

“You came from the Indies, and you must have come through Egypt?” Granger asked.

“Yes. It was not a pleasant journey,” Chartley said with a wince.

“Who could possibly be ahead of you in this race to London?” Granger asked. “It seems you must surely be in the lead.”

“That is where Iggy comes in. He is carrying signed agreements from Bertie. If he gets there first, and the agreements are implemented, then Bertie will be out much of his fortune.”

Granger thought about that for a moment. At first, he could not believe that Iggy would do such a thing, but then he reminded himself that Iggy was Freddie’s friend first and foremost. “Iggy has taken the land route, and you are hoping we will be faster.”

“There’s a bit more to it than that,” Chartley said, and actually smiled.

“Indeed?”

“I suspect Lord Calverton will have a few mishaps and delays on his way back to England,” Chartley said, with a weak but evil smile.

Granger chuckled. “I see. A tree felled in the road, a fouled wheel on the coach, and other such events.”

“Precisely.”

“I don’t think Iggy will appreciate your efforts.”

“I think you are correct,” Chartley said.

“Is it possible that my father will ignore this issue and focus on the prize, as you have put it?” Granger mused more to himself than to Chartley. The Earl of Bridgemont was an honorable man, but he put family above all else, despite his loyalty to the crown. It would be a sad commentary on his father’s honor, though, to have him knowingly defraud one of his sons. Granger pondered it more deeply, putting himself into his father’s mind, and decided that he possibly could do it. He would rationalize that he could do something for Bertie to compensate him once the whole promotion in rank was accomplished.

“It is a risk,” Chartley acknowledged. He’d clearly thought this through as well, probably with Bertie’s help.

Another thought crept into Granger’s mind, a truly horrible thought. “What does my wife know of this?” Surely Caroline wasn’t complicit in this thing.

“I would guess she knows very little, if anything. There is no love lost between your wife and your sister-in-law.” Granger was well aware of that already. “I think this will be a coup she will toss in Caroline’s face.”

“You must take these papers, this information, to Caroline.”

“Bertie was unwilling to get the two of you involved,” Chartley said. “I have violated a number of confidences to tell you of this matter.”

“Does he not trust me either?” Granger asked.

“He is in awe of your wife, as well he should be. She is a skillful politician. It goes back to the original conversation we had, George. He does not want to involve you in this unsavory business. He sees you as being somewhat angelic, and doesn’t want to put you in a situation where you’ll have dirty hands. He wants to protect you, George.”

Granger thought back to his time in India, when he’d had an oil bath with the governor. Bertie had been worried about him. It was a bit frustrating that his older brothers seemed to think he was some delicate doll that had to be insulated from the outside world. It was even more irritating when he juxtaposed their attitude with the fact that he’d just beaten off a pirate attack, while Freddie sat safely ensconced in his townhome. He pulled himself from his introspections to respond to Chartley. “Surely he knows I’m not angelic,” Granger said, almost flirting.

“Perhaps that is not the best descriptor,” Chartley said. “As for Caroline, there is no benefit for her to intervene.”

“You are suggesting she would not intervene just to do what is right?” Granger asked, jumping to his wife’s defense.

“I am not sure she would feel the need to get involved. Think about it George. It is Bertie’s money, and it will be used to enhance the family position. She has nothing to lose from Bertie idiotically giving away his money, but she stands to gain from the transaction, nonetheless.”

“She will intervene if I ask her too,” Granger said.

“I think that is certain.”

“So you and Bertie were not sure that I would ask her to?”

“I need to rest,” Chartley said. The poor man was backed into a corner, and there was no way out of that question.

“Yes, you do,” Granger said gracefully, giving him his escape for now. “I am sorry to have troubled you with these matters in your weakened state.”

“You knew that I would not rest until we discussed this matter,” Chartley said, echoing Granger’s own thoughts.

Winkler interrupted again at that point and put a very warm blanket on top of the others. “That should keep you warm for a while, my lord. I’ll make sure you stay that way.”

“Thank you, Winkler,” Chartley said. Granger simply smiled at him; they knew each other well enough not to have to say anything. Winkler saluted and left them alone again.

“I will give you leave to rest,” Granger said.

“If you have time, I enjoy it when you are here,” Chartley said. For a brief period, he ceased to be a scheming peer, and transformed into a boy, a boy who was hurt and lonely and probably not a little scared.

“If I have time, I enjoy it when I am here as well,” Granger said, smiling at him. He sat next to Chartley for some time, stroking his hand, and occasionally his long, blond hair.

Granger paced the deck, his coat bundled around him as the November weather finally asserted itself. He watched as the men bustled around on deck, moving quickly more so to keep warm than from the urgency of any task.

Roberts approached him cautiously and, gauging his time perfectly, began walking with Granger. “We’ve completed the repairs to the stern, sir.”

“That turned out to be a bigger job than we had expected,” Granger acknowledged ruefully. The curved wood of the stern, and the location of the shot holes, had almost required them to reconstruct entire sections of the aft part of the ship.

“Yes, sir,” Roberts agreed.

“The carpenter and his mates worked quickly,” Granger said, making a mental note to tell them that.

“How is Lord Chartley, sir?” Roberts asked.

“It is hard to tell. His wound does not seem corrupt, but he is feverish and weak. He has been eating broth, but nothing more.” Granger had let his own worries about Chartley show in his language.

“Will he recover, sir?”

Granger bit back the angry retort that formed on his lips. “I think we will have to wait and see.” They paced a few more lengths of the quarterdeck in silence. “We should be in Gibraltar shortly.”

“Yes sir,” Roberts said. “We’ve had favorable winds since we met up with those damned pirates.”

“I am going below,” Granger said. “Call me if I am needed.” He went below to his cabin, to check up on Chartley. As he suspected, Chartley was not alone.

“I’m sorry sir,” Brookstone said hastily and made to leave.

“Be at ease, Mr. Brookstone,” Granger ordered. The young midshipman had spent much of his off-watch time with this man who had saved his life. “You are welcome to spend as much time here as your duties permit.”

“He needs to rest,” Chartley said weakly. It was as much a statement of fact as a dismissal.

“Yes, sir,” Brookstone said, getting the point. He shuffled out of the cabin, leaving Granger and Chartley alone.

“I think you have become his hero,” Granger teased.

“I think I am but one of them,” Chartley joked back, with much more energy in his voice.

“I worry that I exhaust you. You are so much more animated when we talk,” Granger said as he took Chartley’s hand.

“I think it is rather that I find your company the most stimulating,” Chartley said. He was fun and playful when he was being himself, not all that unlike Bertie.

“The competition on board is not overly taxing,” Granger joked.

“You are not happy with your officers and crew?”

“They are the best,” Granger said with resolve. In his mind, there was no question about that. “But you require someone more sophisticated to keep you entertained.”

“And you are sophisticated?”

“You do not think so?” Granger riposted back. “Previously you thought I was angelic.”

“That was clearly a poor choice of words,” Chartley said.

Granger sat there smiling at him, enjoying their time until he allowed that train of thought to intrude upon his serenity. “So Bertie did not trust me?”

“No, actually I was the one that didn’t trust you,” Chartley said. “That was before I knew you, though,” he added hastily.

“You knew me.”

“George, you were a boy. Look at you now. One of the youngest post-captains in the Royal Navy, with a string of successes, idolized by the mob, and respected by your own peers. Isn’t that a far cry from the boy I wrestled with at Bridgemont?”

“I can still wrestle,” Granger said playfully, to acknowledge that he was right.

“For the record, Bertie had no such qualms. He told me that if I needed help, if I needed reinforcements, that then and only then could I bring you into this matter. You are the only one he would allow me to talk to.”

“It was amazingly good luck that I was the one that picked you up in Naples, then,” Granger said.

“Luck?” Chartley asked. “I think not.”

“So you specifically singled out me and my ship for this mission, and had Sir William send a summons for me?”

“I did,” he said, with a challenging look, as if to dare Granger to deny it was the smart move. “It was known that you were either in Corsica, or on your way to that Godforsaken island.”

“Sir William did not seem friendly to your cause,” Granger observed. “How did you get him to do it?”

“He was not aware of my mission at the time,” Chartley said. “When I got there, they were most accommodating. But I carried dispatches with me, and that meant personal letters as well. Evidently one of those must have contained some description of what was going on.”

“So Hamilton and Iggy found out, and that’s when Iggy left?”

“There was a period of coolness, whereas while my prior requests had been readily granted, now there was hesitation. I got wind that Iggy was leaving three nights before he did, and that enabled me to make arrangements to delay him.”

“How did you find out?” Granger asked suspiciously.

“His manservant, a young Italian lad named Paolo. He is apparently none-too-enamored of his master.”

“I’m not sure that’s correct,” Granger said nervously. “They were quite, uh, close.”

Chartley laughed, and then cringed in pain. “You are referring to them being intimate?” Granger said nothing. “It is no great secret George. He is a handsome lad.”

“And now you make me wonder what techniques you used to sway his allegiance,” Granger teased.

“And I shall leave you wondering,” Chartley teased back, and then answered the question. “Gold.”

“That is almost disappointing in that it is so common,” Granger sniffed, pretending that bribery was a base act.

“In any event, it was a smart one. Paolo is angry at Iggy because Iggy gave him the pox.”

“The pox?”

“The whore’s disease,” Chartley said with a nod. “So you would be wise to avoid sleeping with either one of them.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Granger said. Iggy had managed to get the pox, and to spread it to Paolo. “How long has he had it?” That was important. Granger hadn’t slept with them for three years now, but how could one really know how that dreaded disease worked.

“I don’t know,” Chartley said. “You’re worried you were exposed.” Now he was digging. That was interesting.

“Hardly,” Granger lied. There was a gentle knock on the door, to which Granger shouted, “Enter.”

Dr. Jackson came in, looking much harried. He’d had his hands full with the wounded from the battle. “We lost Stokes, sir,” he said sadly, referring to one of the wounded seamen. He’d had his leg amputated, but never quite recovered from the shock of it.

“That’s too bad,” Granger said sincerely.

Jackson put on his game face to deal with Chartley. “And how are you today, my lord?”

“Better than poor Stokes,” Chartley said.

“That much is certain,” Jackson said. His orderly appeared, and together they removed Chartley’s bandage. Granger felt his stomach churn at the site of the wound, the massive chasm down Chartley’s torso. It had started to heal up nicely at the upper and lower ends, so now it was the central part, the part below the rib cage and across the upper abdomen that was still gaping. Jackson lowered his nose to the wound and sniffed carefully. He probed gently, but that seemed to cause intense pain for Chartley, who grimaced and tensed up. “I’m sorry, my lord.”

“That’s quite alright, Doctor,” Chartley said in more of a gasp. “Just do your job.”

Jackson put some more vinegar on the wound, and then replaced the bandages. “My lord, you are healing up quite well. I see no signs of mortification, and more importantly, I can smell none.”

“Why is he so weak and feverish?” Granger asked.

“His body is fighting off the ill humors that invaded it with the wound,” Jackson said. “The weakness and fever are the outward sign of the pitched battle that is going on inside.”

“What must I do?” Chartley asked.

“You must remain quiet and still and allow your body to recover. Eat what you can, and avoid any strenuous activity.”

“I will endeavor to avoid climbing up to the main top,” Chartley said with a tinge of sarcasm.

“That is most wise, my lord,” he said with a grin, then left them.

“I seem to be recovering,” Chartley said to Granger. “Can you take me to London?”

“I am not sure that is possible,” Granger said. “I have orders to meet Sir John Jervis in Gibraltar. His instructions suggested that I would be needed then.”

“So I would need to be moved to a different ship?”

“I think you would be wise to stay here, or ashore,” Granger said.

“I must attend to this matter, George. I must get to London.”

“You must rest and recover. I will find a way to get this information to London. You must rely on me now.”