Ramage’s Prize

More usually, though, Nepean would come into the Board Room, with his pile of papers and letters just received, and sit comfortably at the table instead of being crowded in the corner. Next to him would be the second secretary, William Marsden, who would keep the rough minutes recording what questions had been raised and what had been decided. The First Lord would be present and perhaps one other. Much of the Board's business was dealt with by a single member, although as far as the recipient of an order was concerned it seemed that at least three or more of Their Lordships were involved. Ramage knew that Nepean's routine with letters was quite simple: the bottom left-hand corner of the letter was folded over and up, and the gist of the intended reply scribbled on the blank triangle.

Three long windows overlooking a stable lit the room on the south side; beside the door on the north side was a large fireplace which still bore the arms of Charles II.

"A moment, Ramage," the First Lord said without glancing up. He dipped his pen into a heavy silver inkwell, scribbled a signature on the document he had been reading, and put down the pen carefully before looking up.

"I was expecting you tomorrow," he said, making it obvious his usual greeting, shaking hands, was going to be omitted.

"I posted, sir," Ramage explained.

"Don't expect the Admiralty to pay for it," Spencer said abruptly, waving Ramage to a chair on his left. It meant Ramage had to walk right round the long table, and seemed a piece of petty irritation suited to the First Lord's icy ma

"Well, what more have you to tell me that justifies you posting to London?"

Lord Spencer's hostility was an anticlimax for Ramage. Up to that moment the information contained in the long and carefully written report in his canvas bag, with the corroboration of Yorke and Much, had seemed of great significance; worth risking his life to ensure its safe delivery. His discoveries were to put the Government, the Horse Guards, the Admiralty and Downing Street back in communication with the rest of the world.

Certainly he had anticipated some trouble over his first guarded report to Lord Spencer from Lisbon, but his Lordship was not just chilly but downright frigid; not only uninterested in hearing more details but apparently anxious to get back to signing his letters.

"You received my preliminary report from Lisbon, sir?" That was a damned silly remark, he realized, since the ransom had been paid.

Lord Spencer nodded casually and gestured to a closed folder to his right. "Mr Nepean brought it in to refresh my memory."

"Was there confirmation from the underwriters about insuring the ventures, sir?"

"They have not been asked," Spencer said shortly.

Ramage was too slow to hide his surprise, and the First Lord added sharply, "The Cabinet were not very pleased with your attempt to blame the Post Office men, Ramage."

"I imagine not, sir," Ramage said bleakly. So they did not believe him. They had paid to have the packet released, and that was all. A good bargain, no doubt : they would have had to pay out £4,000 to Stevens if the ship was lost to the enemy; but by paying the ransom they had got it back with the ship's company for £2,500...

"Am I to take it that my first report is not believed, sir?" Spencer nodded, glancing down impatiently at the papers awaiting his signature.

Ramage looked at the wall to his left on which was something like an enormous clock with a circular map of Europe on its face and the points of the compass round the edge. A pointer with its axis where London was on the map was oscillating slightly, showing the wind direction and moved by a cu

"I have a second and very full report here, sir, giving all the details of insurance frauds and so on," Ramage said, indicating the canvas bag on the chair beside him.

"You'd better leave it," Spencer said, picking up his pen, his voice still distant. "I take it the report doesn't indicate any change of mind on your part about what happened?"

"No, sir."

"All you lacked in your first report was proof, my dear Ramage - as Lord Auckland was quick to point out at a Cabinet meeting. And the only thing you aren't likely to get - as the Prime Minister was equally quick to point out - is proof."

Ramage thought of the dead sentry, the kidnapping of Gia

The Port Admiral's report from Plymouth must have merely reported that Lieutenant Ramage was coming to London, and not mentioned that the Lady Arabella had arrived with a dozen packetsmen in irons ... The Port Admiral had wisely decided to keep his nose out of something he did not understand. Tiredness from the long journey up from Plymouth - and perhaps the strain of the past weeks - was fast catching up with Ramage. The few hours' rest snatched at the Star and Garter at Turnham Green had not been enough. It was not just physical tiredness either: he was tired of men who tried to dodge responsibility, starting with Sir Pilcher Ski

Ramage lifted the canvas bag on to the table and, rather perversely, wished it had dried fish scales on it, or even white crusted salt from dried seawater: anything that would leave a temporary mark on this highly polished mahogany table to remind Their Lordships of the broad oceans and fighting ships, and take their minds from the stuffy, almost incestuous, atmosphere of the Houses of Parliament.

He unlaced the bag, removed his report and Much's, and put them both down on the table, then glanced over at the Langley Bradley clock in the corner by the door. A quarter past ten. That clock, he remembered Spencer telling him during a happier visit to the Board Room more than a year ago, had told Their Lordships the time for nearly three-quarters of a century, while the wind vane had told Their Lordships if the wind would serve to let the French Fleet escape from Brest. The mirror on the front of the clock had reflected Board meetings that had sent Vernon to Cartagena, and Anson on his great voyage round the world. And given Byng a tiny squadron and sent him too late to save the Balearic Islands from the Duc de Richelieu and Admiral Galiso

And out of that shameful episode had come a delight for gluttons - the new sauce the Duc de Richelieu's chef had created to celebrate the fall of Mahon and named maho