“Do you mean to say,” my brother enquired, “that the entire seven months you were resident at The Larches, you were working upon the lady of the house? — Endeavouring to win her trust, with the object of defeating the Comte de Penfleur?”
“How succinctly you put things, Mr. Austen, to be sure,” Mr. Emilious returned. “Sothey was charged with winning the lady's confidence, and with supplying her with some information that was … shall we say, less than accurate. Mrs. Grey became Canning's most useful channel for the confusion of the enemy; for her sources were so varied, in comprising half the county, and yet so much in conflict with one another, that the Comte could hardly determine which intelligence to credit, and which to discount. Sothey's being so much a friend to Mr. Grey, and so clearly in his confidence, must argue assurance in his regard; whereas the more suspect among the group — such as Denys Collingforth, a desperate man, and Lady Forbes, a very silly woman — might be dismissed. However much truth they managed to convey.”
“I must congratulate you on a certain brilliance in your conduct, Sothey,” my brother said. “It defies belief. And Mr. Emilious Finch-Hatton, I presume, is your superior in Canning's line?”
“Call me colleague, rather,” Mr. Emilious said, “and I am satisfied. Certainly I should never have trespassed so long upon my brother's generosity, by remaining at East-well, had not Sothey required the possibility of a bolt-hole. Should the need of quitting The Larches arise, I was to be depended upon. And in the meanwhile, I may say that I served as his occasional counsel. Little that Mrs. Grey had under contemplation was unknown to me.”
“But to what end?” I broke in. “The matter of Spanish lace?”
Both men stared, then looked at one another in perplexity. “Spanish lace?”
“That is what the Comte de Penfleur was wont to call it. Neddie and I assumed it referred to considerable monies, of which the French government is in daily expectation. We understood from the letters that Mr. Grey was to be influenced by Mr. Sothey, towards the end of procuring foreign funds — possibly in Amsterdam, or in Spain. But we cannot determine whether the monies ever arrived — or whether Mrs. Grey was killed before the plan was effected. Certainly the continued presence of the Comte de Penfleur in England would argue a doubt.”
“As would the failure of the French fleet to invade our shores,” Mr. Emilious returned gravely. “There cannot be an invasion, my dear Miss Austen, without there are funds to drive it. You may be assured those funds — whatever Mrs. Grey may have intended — will never arrive.”
“The funds were drawn from Grey's bank, I presume?” Neddie's countenance was carefully controlled, but his eyes glittered strangely as he looked at me. He was in the grip, I should judge, of a powerful excitement; while for my part, I felt only a curious lethargy — the result, one assumes, of too much conversation and too little sleep.
“Grey's bank? Good Lord, no!” Mr. Emilious laughed. “He was required to offer surety for the funds' transferal, of course — that is the usual way of things, in such matters of international finance — but the monies were to be shipped from the Americas.”
“The Americas?”
“From Spain's colonies, to be exact. You must know that every summer, before the onset of the hurricane season, the Spanish treasure ships set out for Cadiz. They have done so for nearly two centuries, bearing cargoes of silver and pieces of eight.”
“But what has that to do with Mr. Grey?” I cried.
“Very little. Pray hear me out, Miss Austen, and all shall become clear.” Mr. Emilious looked at me sternly from under his elegant grey brows, and I was forced to submit. I wondered, however, how such a man could ever have formed a friendship with Lord Harold. While the one was bruisingly to the point, the other was tedious in the extreme. Both, I must suppose, were assiduous in the marshalling of fact, however; and in this, their talents might be prized.
“According to her treaties with France, signed over two years ago, Spain is required to contribute six million francs each month to the French treasury.”
“But that is incredible,” Neddie cried. “How is half such a sum to be paid?”
“I used the term contribute only loosely, to be sure,” Mr. Emilious replied. “It is the most blatant extortion, at which the fiends of Buonaparte are too sadly adept. But to continue: Spain has failed in its payments for nearly a year, and the French treasury has suffered. There are rumours of bankruptcy, and of an Emperor grown desperate at the cost of power.”
“We have heard those rumours,” I told him.
“Spain offered this year's treasure fleet in payment of its debt. But you may recall, Miss Austen, that we are presently at war with Spain; and that only last summer, a Royal Navy squadron was so daring as to seize the annual shipment from the Americas, to general lamentation in Cadiz. Spain could not sustain such a loss again. The very stability of the Spanish crown must depend upon its fulfillment of Buonaparte's demands.”
“Yes, yes,” I returned impatiently. “But what of Mr. Grey?”
“The Spanish crown approached our Prime Minister, Mr. Pitt. They informed him of the difficulties they faced on every side. They spoke of complicated arrangements. They looked for expressions of good faith. The Government could hardly extend an obvious hand of assistance — no more than it should do on behalf of France. But Mr. Pitt believed that an accommodation might be found.”
“That being?” Neddie enquired. His voice was as taut as a bowstring.
“The result of these delicate negotiations has been that the Spanish treasure was to be transported this year in English vessels commissioned in the Royal Navy.[60] The money was to be received in Amsterdam, by the House of Hope, which undertook to extend a loan to the French government. Mr. Grey's part in all of this, was to indemnify the British ships, in the event of a loss at sea. A minor role, but a necessary one.”
“The House of Hope has recently refused its loan,” I broke in, puzzled. “You told me yourself that Lord Harold was sent to Amsterdam, as Mr. Pitt's envoy. Has the entire matter gone awry?”
“I believe that it has gone exactly as was intended,” Mr. Emilious replied with satisfaction.
“The treasure ships never arrived,” Neddie concluded.
“They struck a reef not far from these shores, and unfortunately were lost. It is a pity that Mr. Pitt chose to consign the treasure to some of the Navy's oldest vessels; but it cannot be helped. With Mr. Grey's indemnification in hand, the Navy might build several new ships of the line, of course, and hardly see themselves the poorer.”
“Unlike Mr. Grey,” I said, remembering Henry's assessment of his household.
“Oh, you need not concern yourself with Grey, Miss Austen. A grateful Crown will make all possible amends, I am sure.”
“And the treasure?” Neddie asked.
“—Is presumed to have been lost with the ships.” Mr. Emilious Finch-Hatton's gaze was blandly innocent. “How even Lord Harold intends to smooth those troubled waters, I cannot begin to think. But I shall trust, as ever, in his inimitable powers.”
To my surprise, Neddie almost smiled. “And we have this to thank for the preservation of our peace! They may say what they like of the Tory Pitt — drunkard, idiot, enfeebled dotard — but, by God, he is a man of policy! If England stands another year without a Frenchman on her shores, we shall have Pitt to thank!”
“And now I may inform you of a piece of news I received by messenger yesterday morning,” Mr. Emilious said. “The French are reported to be breaking camp at their Channel ports. The mass of armed troops — nearly an hundred thousand men, who have been rotting along the coast for two years — have been ordered to the Empire's eastern borders. It is almost certain that Buonaparte intends war with Austria.”[61]
60
Alan Schom refers to this remarkable instance of intergovernmental cooperation in
61
Finch-Hatton had early news of the troop pullout, something we may attribute to George Canning and his Secret Funds. As historian Alan Schom points out in