Page 72 of Unlikely Heroes
Angus Ogilvie opened the door. “I apologize,” he said. “This is still hard story, even though some years have passed. Have you come to Bertram yet, Will?”
“That’s where I am.”
Ogilvie picked up the story. “Bertram took my brother-in-law to St. Brendan’s, hauled him upstairs and into what is a classroom today, possibly yours, where two children pawed through slimy cabbage for something edible. You should hear Bertram tell this story: ‘Says I to me master, “git yerself out of t’dumps and make a school here. Fit these little wretches for sumpin”.’ Ogilvie was silent a long moment. “And so he did. It’s no wonder Thaddeus keeps Bertram on. His debt is enormous.”
“I need to think better of Bertram,” Able said, filling the yawning silence with contrition.
“I would advise it,” Mr. Pitt said. “Yes, Bertram is irritating, but he pointed Thaddeus toward a great work.” He gestured to Captain Ogilvie. “Angus, take this genius home to his wife and family. Able, leave as soon as you can with the count. It matters.”
Able stood and bowed. “Thank you both for not throwing me to the wolves without a chance to speak for myself. I found my father, and I am better for it.”
“Then I am pleased. When the war ends, you will see him again, I have no doubt.”
Angus Ogilvie made a visible effort to lighten his own load. He stared at the bookcase, then smiled. “Mr. Pitt, Able is too shy to ask, but he would like to borrow your copy ofGargantua. Our genius scanned your titles in ten seconds flat…”
Six seconds, Able thought, but said nothing.
“…and saw it – where?”
With a blush, Able pointed. “By all means, borrow it,” Pitt said. “I’ll warn you, it’s in antique French.”
“That won’t make any difference,” Ogilvie said with a laugh.
Able retrieved the volume in question. “I’ll take good care of it.” Perhaps he could tease Ogilvie in turn. “If the captain is not too voluble on the return to Portsmouth, I’ll read it and have it back in your hands with the next courier north.”
Oh, the mellowing sound of laughter. Pitt gestured grandly to the door. “Stay the night in London. Stop here in the morning. By then I will have a letter for your father. It won’t be of any importance, I suppose. This personal letter won’t wander into history, especially since I will write it and not involve my secretary.”
When Pitt spread his hands out on his desk, Able noticed they were shaking. Pitt watched him. “Able, I have grown old too soon in the service of England, as you can plainly see. I want to express my sincere wish to your father that we here on this island would like nothing more than to be friends of Spain again.”
“I look forward to it myself,” Able said most formally. “I pledge my best efforts to you, and those of the Gunwharf Rats.”
“Even when England has treated you all so poorly?” Mr. Pitt asked gently.
“Even then.” Able looked at Captain Ogilvie, really looked at him. “We all have our sorrows, and now and then, our victories. My story is no harder than anyone else’s. Good night, sir. God keep you.”
Chapter Thirty-two
“If this letter conveys even a tiny portion of the admiration and respect I have always felt toward the Spanish people, I will be content,” Mr. Pitt told Able the next morning as he handed him the promised letter. “I fear Spain is in for more years of continental misery from Napoleon, which grieves me.”
And probably keeps you sleepless, Able thought as he accepted the letter. To say that William Pitt looked wretched so early in the morning was a gross understatement.I am looking at a man too young to have aged so much.“I’ll give this to the count and he will treasure it, I am certain. Thank you for your kindness to my father.”
“I wish he could stay, but we daren’t keep him here, mainly for your safety,” Mr. Pitt said. He produced a familiar bag from his desk. “These things reek to high heaven,” he said. “The First Lord obliged me by issuing what he called folderol orders for you, giving you permission to do anything you want. It’s a marvel of obfuscation.” His eyes bored into Able’s. “What you are to do is to take the Count of Quintanar to Spain as soon as possible, then get the hell out.”
“I will do that, Mr. Pitt,” Able said, as he took the bag.
“I know you will,” the prime minister said. He held out his hand. “Good sailing. If there is a battle – all signs point that way – Admiral Nelson will want a swift ship to bring the news home. I hope, for the memory of our Sir B, that it is theMercury.”
Able shook hands with the prime minister of England, accompanies by a cranial chorus of “aahs” from his brainy residents. In a blinding rush, his birth, his entire life in the workhouse, his early years in the fleet, and his recent successes rushed through his head. As he shook the hand of William Pitt, Prime Minister, he was hard put not to caper about with the sheer delight of the moment.
“I hope it is theMercury, too,” Able said. “You know we Rats will do our best.”
“I know. I have great faith in you.” He smiled and it threw off illness and premature age, if only for a moment. “My best to your sweet wife, as well. And if you would, give Gracie a nudge from me.”
How easy it was to laugh and enjoy the small moment with a man of such power. “A nudge? She might slap me for my impertinence. I’ll chance it, Mr. Pitt, for you.”
What a pleasure to part in such a way, and so Able commented to Captain Ogilvie, when they were seated in the post chaise for the return to Portsmouth. “I must say, Angus, never in the midst of my bleak early years did I ever suppose I would be joshing someday with England’s prime minister.”
“Never in my life did I expect to be party to anything like this, either,” Ogilvie said. “Able, you have a remarkable capacity to land on your feet.” He shook his head and looked out the window at London waking up to a new day. “You’re starting to astound me.”
