Page 70 of Unlikely Heroes
“Sit, you two,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Pour me some port, Master Six, and take some for yourself.”
Able did as asked, but took none for himself, fearing it would come right back up.
William Pitt drank deep, then looked at the two of them. “Captain Ogilvie, I am not used to be summoned this way, without a by your leave. This had better be good.”
“It is of vital importance, Mr. Pitt,” Ogilvie said. He opened his portfolio and took out a single sheet. “Please read this, sir. It is under the aegis of both Admiralty and Trinity House.” He indicated the portfolio. “All of the supporting documents are here.”
The prime minister took the sheet. His eyes opened wider as he read. “Damn,” he uttered softly, then read it again. “Admiral Gambier warned me that something was afoot.” He slapped the page with some vigor. “But this?”
“It is the result of nine months of observation, both here and in France and Spain,” Ogilvie said.
“I don’t doubt you. Please assure me that – my God, him! – this…this traitor at Horse Guards is no longer roaming free.”
Ogilvie took out his timepiece and gave it a good appraisal. “I believe he has already met with an unforeseen accident, while in the custody of Royal Marines sworn on pain of death to secrecy.”
“Good. And Sir Clive Mortimer? Admiral Gambier has told me about Sir Clive.”
“Rumor has it that very soon, most likely this afternoon, Gambier will remove him from his position at Admiralty and send him home to Kent for a repairing lease.” He sighed most theatrically. “I anticipate a brutal roadside accident.”
Pitt leaned back in his chair. “That should end the matter most discreetly. Captain Ogilvie, join with me and the Privy Council soon. I think we should take a thorough look atalllevels of government to see if there are others….so inclined. We must be merciless.”
“Aye, sir, and that brings me to Master Six.”
Able took a deep breath as the prime minister looked at him down the length of his long nose. “Sir, why are you here?”
Able didn’t bother to make a rapid inquiry of his mental mentors. All he needed to do was tell the truth, as odd as it would sound. “Sir, my father is a grandee of Spain, Francisco Jesus Domingo y Guzman, Conde de Quintanar. He is the royal accountant – quartermaster if you will – of the Spanish fleet and he is currently a guest in my home in Portsmouth.”
The silence was stunning. Mr. Pitt blinked a few times, tried to speak, blinked some more, then slammed his hand down on a desk that had probably suffered similar torment through many a prime minister.
“Able, why in God’s name are you harboring the enemy in your home, in the vicinity of a sensitive naval base?” Mr. Pitt glared at Ogilvie. “Angus, is this the first traitor we are flushing out of the sewer? Is that why you brought him here?”
“No, most emphatically,” Angus said. “We are here to acquaint you with his story. If the word gets out about the count – yes, yes, our enemy – I would not for the world want you to ever think Master Six is anything but a loyal servant of the Crown and a damned good one.”
Mr. Pitt nodded, his expression enigmatic. “Angus, there had always been some suspicion that you did not have a heart. I am starting to think you do.”
Able noted Angus’s sour expression. “He does have a heart, Mr. Pitt. It is a generous one. May I tell you my story?”
“Please do, Master Six.”
Able told him of the portrait Captain Rose had shown him at Trinity House. “I looked just like the portrait. I never thought to see him until Captain Ogilvie…I…”
“Will, let me assure you that Able did not expect to meet the count,” Ogilvie said, interrupting. “On one of my, ahem, expeditions to Cádiz, I noticed a gentleman aboard theSantísima Trinidadwho looked remarkably like our master genius here. Jean Hubert…”
“…a thorough-going scoundrel,” Pitt inserted under his breath.
“Possibly, although we need him now and then to forge documents,” Ogilvie said smoothly. “On impulse, I suppose, Jean and I snatched the count, trussed him good and carried him to theMercury. Able wanted to know who his father was. What an opportunity! Back to you, my friend.”
My friend. Able didn’t try to rein in his emotions as he described his reunion with his father and grandmother, and the knowledge about his mother’s actual origins and her own thwarted genius. “Everything I thought was wrong, sir,” he concluded. “The count and my mother loved each other, and were cruelly kept apart by her father.”
“How long have you been harboring an enemy of England?”
Well, that didn’t sound too promising. “For a little over two weeks now, sir,” Able continued. “We have been getting acquainted. I have come to know a good man who never intended to desert my mother, and who has suffered ever since.”
He knew he had said enough, but there was one thing more. “I know we are at war with Spain and France, sir. I acknowledge that freely, but you will agree with me that we all dance to Napoleon’s gavotte.”
“Aye, we do, lad,” Pitt said, his voice much kinder. “It has turned me into an old man at forty-seven.”
“I saw this reunion as a small moment of grace,” Able said softly, not wanting to disturb the camaraderie that had settled in the room between a prime minister, a spy and a bastard genius. “With your permission, I will return my father to a spot near Cádiz, alive and well.”
