Ramage was angry about the tone of Goddard's questioning - although it had been predictable - but, alone in the cabin, he found he had a vague feeling of uncertainty. Had he really been slow to guess the Peacock's, intentions? Should he have ignored the need for surprise and set off a few false fires to raise an alarm, or fired some rockets or a couple of guns?
If he had done so, and then found the Peacock was simply leaving the convoy, he'd have looked foolish, and Goddard could rightly have blamed him for giving the convoy's position away to the enemy. As he thought about it, he realized that his present uncertainty was not entirely due to the Admiral. He wanted to know what Yorke thought about it. Was he angry about the Triton's, late arrival? He might be. Yorke knew, as the Admiral did not, that Ramage was aware that the Topaz carried the "valuable cargo".
The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that Yorke - and the St Brieucs - must think he'd let them down. Originally they had been pleased to hear that the Triton was to be close to them, yet they'd been attacked from that very direction. Out of the darkness a ship full of privateersmen had appeared and as far as they knew Ramage had seen nothing until the last moment. To them it must have seemed lamentably late.
Perhaps Yorke was coming on board to make an official complaint. As the minutes passed, Ramage became more and more certain of it. He imagined a written complaint to the Admiral, signed by St Brieuc: Goddard would find that invaluable in hammering nails into Ramage's coffin.
Ramage suddenly sat down in the nearest chair: his knees no longer had any strength. The skin of his face was cold and covered in perspiration; his stomach felt as if cold water was swilling around inside it. The sun streaming in through the stern lights was now just a harsh glare; there was no joy or beauty in the blue of the sea or the sky: it was all without purpose. Doubts, questions, half answers and more doubts chased through his mind like mice in a treadmill; his hands were clenched as if to let go meant he'd fall into limbo. He had no idea whether time was passing quickly or slowly until he heard loud voices.
Suddenly the door was flung open by Croucher and Goddard strode in past him, looking back over his shoulder and saying angrily, "I resent the implication, sir; I resent it, I say."
"I've no doubt you do, Admiral; I think I'd resent it if you didn't."
Yorke's voice was calm but cold and Ramage realized the Lion must have luffed up, backed a topsail, let Yorke get on board, and got under way again without him noticing. He stood up but Goddard, whose face was swollen with rage and shiny with perspiration, did not notice him.
"Dammit, Mr Yorke; how was I to know the Peacock was French?"
"It wasn't hard to guess: every man in my ship was suspicious of her. She's obviously foreign built; those sails were never stitched in an English loft, and Lieutenant Ramage had warned you that she was behaving oddly the night before."
Ramage glanced up in surprise: how on earth had Yorke guessed that?
Goddard was equally startled. "Mr Yorke, you can't possibly know anything about Mr Ramage's activities!"
"But he did warn you, didn't he, Admiral? I heard his lookout hailing the deck the night before and I presume the Triton's boat delivered his report yesterday morning. But why don't we ask him, since he's here?" Yorke's voice was mocking.
Goddard glanced round in surprise and Ramage realized that he was so disturbed by Yorke that he had forgotten his cabin was not empty.
"By all means. He did make some sort of report, but it was only vague suspicions."
"I fail to see how his suspicions could have been anything but vague, since he and the Peacock were at opposite ends of the convoy. But you failed to act on the report and you yourself had no suspicions at all. After all, it was you who let the Peacock join the convoy."
"Come now, Mr Yorke; how could you possibly know what action I took?"
"Come now, Admiral, I saw you signal to the nearest frigate to ask the Peacock if all was well on board. The master of the Peacock answered - quite truthfully, I am sure - that it was. My officers and I were expecting you to order the frigate to send a boarding party to investigate both the ships involved."
Ramage felt like singing: the sea was blue and so was the sky. Yorke might not be able to save him from Goddard in the long run. The Admiralty, Sir Pilcher Skinner, the Articles of War and tradition were agreed that, no matter what had happened, no admiral could be in the wrong if it meant putting a young lieutenant in the right. But Ramage valued Yorke's and the St Brieucs' verdict more than Goddard's or Croucher's.
Goddard sank into the chair Ramage had just vacated. He looked as though he had flinched from a blow, and the movement had toppled him over.
Yorke took a couple of steps towards him, holding out a white envelope with a heavy seal on it.
"This is addressed to you; it's from ... It concerns my freight."
Goddard snatched it, broke the seal and started reading. Slowly his heavy jowls sagged; slowly the redness in his face turned to white. At last he seemed to realize that he was in for a terrible beating.
"This is ridiculous. Most unfair. Please, Mr Yorke, I'm sure that when you explain everything to M. St Brieuc he will see fit to withdraw this complaint and decide not to deliver the other letter he mentions."
"Which letter?" Yorke asked, and Ramage guessed that the question was put only so that he could hear the reply.
"The ... the letter he has written to Lord Grenville. After all, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs is hardly concerned ..."
"On the contrary, Admiral; when you think about it you'll realize that Lord Grenville is his only official channel of communication and is most concerned about his safety."
"I quite see that, Mr Yorke. My point is rather that I'm hoping you'll be able to persuade M'sieur - the writer of this letter - that there is no cause for complaint."
"With respect, Admiral," Yorke said, his voice still deceptively quiet, but choosing his words with care, "not only can I hold out no hope of so persuading him, but I'd be misleading you if I didn't warn you that I shall not attempt to do so since I fully agree with him."
"Come, come, Mr Yorke," Goddard said, his voice wheedling. "You know well enough that in battle chance plays a major part and ..."
"In battle, yes," Yorke said, like a relentless prosecutor setting out an unbeatable case. "But you were not in battle. The battle is separate and there is no complaint about how it was fought, thanks to Mr Ramage here. It was the whole sequence of events from Carlisle Bay, when you took this French privateer - pirate is a more accurate description - under your wing and assigned him the most perfect position in the convoy for carrying out his plan."
A few minutes ago Ramage had listened to Goddard distorting everything so that the blame fell on the Triton; now Yorke was outlining the same facts so that all the blame was back on Goddard's shoulders, and with it the implication that there might be treachery involved in the Peacock's presence in the convoy.
Goddard waved a helpless hand, physically as well as mentally beaten. Croucher looked away and Ramage wondered whether the wretched man was finally disgusted by his patron. With exquisite politeness, giving the impression that he had no idea the effect his words had already had on Goddard, Yorke said: "However, Admiral, there is one piece of good news that it will be an honour to give you."
Goddard's eyes lifted hopefully and Croucher turned back to look at Yorke.
"There is a second letter for Lord Grenville."
"Indeed, and what does that one say?" Goddard was trying to hide the hopeful note in his voice by being jocular.