He knew he could do it: already his mind was seething with possibilities. His ethnical studies had given him a certain name in scientifical circles that was genuine and would open doors abroad. And he was virtually unknown to the French. The Mr Smith who had gone to Paris on cartel was untainted by discovery and would never be mistaken for the elegant Lord Farndon, while the activities of an obscure ship’s secretary in the remote Caribbean would not be brought up in the glittering chancelleries of Europe.
And, above all, it was an honourable and decent occupation.
Natural caution, however, dictated he find out more before accepting.
He spent a restless night but there was never any question: if his queries were satisfied he would consent.
“Well, dear fellow, have you considered your position?”
“I have, sir. And I’m to say that I do accept, should certain queries I have be satisfied.”
“Good man! Well, fire away.”
They were quickly dealt with.
In the matter of his standing with the government of the day, he would be made a Lord Chamberlain’s Gentleman of the Presence, to kiss hands with the King as his liege man of demonstrable privy loyalty, but his prime and only contact would be a certain Mr Congalton in the Foreign Office, the only one to know his true mission-and who was most keen to meet him.
Necessarily his actions, if revealed, would be repudiated by the authorities and no military or civil jurisdiction would have knowledge of him. While this left him completely alone, on the other hand it allowed him to act without orders, hindrance or the necessity to report to a superior.
It would become more complicated if he should need to invoke external forces. As a matter of routine each flagship in the Navy, wherever based in the world, would carry among its sealed orders a single envelope. He could demand its opening with a code phrase and it would contain an instruction to the effect that the name it contained was authorised to request a movement or action of a ship or squadron forthwith.
Communications would be sparing: he would be left alone to make decisions with the best information to hand and it would be understood that any action of his would have been made in the light of this.
In all, it was a relationship of complete discretion, immense trust and grave moral responsibilities. And precisely as he would want it.
“Sir, you have answered me in full. I do now accept the honour.”
The formalities were settled without delay. After his visit to the palace he was immediately taken to see Mr Congalton.
A spare, abstemious man of indeterminate years, he inhabited a windowless office at the rear of the grand building in Whitehall. In its hushed atmosphere Renzi was left to make acquaintance of the man who would know everything, whose reach spanned the planet and who would stand between him and those who would never know of him.
“The marquess has served us faithfully since the American war,” Congalton said drily. “He will be a hard man to follow, sir.”
It was a long afternoon but he heard much more of the marquess’s career, his many successes and rare defeats. It was a useful way to perceive how it had been done: the stratagems and intelligence, creative improvisation and inhuman patience that had achieved so much, always over extreme odds.
He saw how his position in the world was paradoxically both a perfect character for his work but, as well, made him a figure of prominence unable to step back into an anonymous background. Too important to overlook, too exalted to suspect.
He learned of the limitations of his office: the tyranny of time, of being unable to be in two places at once-the stark impossibility of some situations.
A post of great loneliness with none to applaud and none to grieve.
“You will want to be apprised of the state of the world as you would see it, my lord.”
He did, and his eyes were opened. This was no dry reciting of the news of the day: this was a view from the centre of the web, informed by intelligence won from the heart of the opposing forces, which hid nothing of the desperate grappling of the two principals on the world stage and the scrambling of lesser powers to profit by their preoccupation.
He was exhilarated-and awed. How could he, a single man, conceivably alter the balance in this titanic struggle?
“What in your opinion is the greatest threat to us at this minute?” Renzi asked.
“For your answer, I ask you to recall our strategy at its core. That Bonaparte is imprisoned in Fortress Europe, and while he may strut up and down he is helpless in the larger arena. He needs to burst out into the world, either by crushing and eliminating us or finding a corridor out of the continent.”
“Yes, I grant this.”
“He has an opportunity.”
“The Levant?”
“He sees that our allies, Turkey and Russia, are poised for war against each other. If he is successful in an intrigue with Sultan Selim in Constantinople and detaches him from us he stands to gain an overland route direct to India and the world, not a fathom of salt water to send our fleet-and we are lost.”
“Quite. Are the French succeeding, do you think?”
“They began in 1802 at the armistice, and ever since have been steadily wooing him with advisers and soothing words and now, it’s reported, with guns. Our ambassador there, Arbuthnot, is no match for the French in this game, especially ranged against their General Sebastiani, who is a close friend of Bonaparte. He’s a fellow Corsican and was hand-picked to ingratiate himself to a commanding position, which now, we must grudgingly admit, he has achieved.”
A reluctant smile appeared. “I have the distinct feeling that my first engagement will be among the pavilions and harem of the Topkapi Palace. Am I right?”
“It is always yours to refuse, my lord.”
“Very well. Shall we plan?”
There was remarkably little to discuss. The only operational objective that could in any way be defined was that the French intriguing and influence in Constantinople must at all costs be countered. The stakes were colossaclass="underline" if they succeeded in taking Turkey from the British, Bonaparte would have his highway out of Europe, and falling on India from landward, the end of Britain and its empire would not be long behind.
It was now left to him to travel out as soon as it was possible to do so.
“Oh, Nicholas, darling! Please pay attention, I beg. I was talking about the arboretum. If we plant now, they’ll blossom next summer and what a wonderful show they’ll make. We have only to pull down that old barn and put up one of those new glass houses and-”
“I’m sorry, Cecilia, I was thinking on other things. Shall we go inside?”
It couldn’t be postponed any longer. There was a dispatch cutter leaving from Plymouth for Gibraltar and he dared not miss the chance, not with its speed in the face of the urgency.
“Dearest, you’ll never guess who I met in London.”
“Tell me!”
“The Marquess of Bloomsbury.”
“Oh, how wonderful! Did you tell him-”
“He extends to you every wish for happiness, my dear.”
“Did he-”
“Dear Cecilia,” he broke in. “I don’t know how to-to break this to you.”
“Nicholas?” she said uncertainly, her hand going to her mouth in concern.
“You know his work dealt with diplomatic matters of the highest degree of discretion?”
“Yes, but he never spoke of it.”
“He told me much, you may believe. Enough that I know now the frightful peril that England lies under at this moment.”
“Nicholas, why did he … ?”
“He knows me of old and has been told of Paris, Jersey and Curacao. And since learning of my ennobling he has conceived that … that I am the one best placed to take up his work.”
“You-you mean to be like him, to go about the world and … and …” she said, breathless.
“That is what he desires me to do.”
“You mean to say, to be the new …” She laughed delightedly. “Oh, darling! This is wonderful news! No-it’s marvellous! You’ve no idea how worried I’ve been that you’d be so discontented with a quiet life. This is just what you need.”