The Firebird

The general laughed. ‘He is no spy, and I myself will own to it, if he will not. Like General Dillon, he has merely had, upon occasion, some unfortunate companions. Is that not so, Edmund?’

Edmund dragged his gaze from Captain Hay’s and sitting forward once again remarked, ‘So it would seem.’

Sir Harry Stirling, in his own good-natured way, disarmed the situation with, ‘I see your bruises have now disappeared, Mr O’Connor.’

‘Very nearly, aye, Sir Harry.’

‘I am glad to see it.’ With a grin, Sir Harry added, ‘I have heard the harlot’s husband is yet in his bed.’ He sent a charming look to Mrs Lacy. ‘Madam, my apologies for sullying the conversation, but you have a table full of men and I’m afraid we cannot always mind our manners as we should.’

The general smiled as well. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘we ought to let our Edmund deal with Captain Deane, when he arrives.’

That made the other men, save Father Dominic and Edmund, burst out laughing, and Vice Admiral Gordon said, ‘In truth, I’d pay to see him do it.’

Edmund, looking round at Gordon, asked, ‘And who is Captain Deane?’

Anna knew most of the tales about Captain John Deane. She had never much liked him the few times she’d met him, but that had been mainly because he’d so clearly disliked the vice admiral, and being a child that alone had been reason for Anna to think poorly of any man.

It had only been afterwards, when he had first been court-martialled, then sent out of Russia, that she had begun to hear the stories that had reinforced her own ill-favoured view of Captain Deane.

Edmund had, before today, heard none of them, and even when the final course was cleared and they had moved into the drawing room, they’d only reached the court martial itself.

‘So he was never tried for Captain Urquhart’s death?’ asked Edmund, frowning.

Gordon answered, ‘No. We could not make him pay for that.’ His voice still held the buried anger Anna knew would always be there when he thought of Adam Urquhart crushed to death beneath the great mast of a ship that foundered on a sandbank close to Cronstadt. Urquhart and a second captain, new to Russia’s service and still unfamiliar with the waters, had been led by Deane, who knew that coastline well and had been charged to bring them and their ships to Cronstadt in all safety. Deane had given charts to both the other captains, and instructed them on how to steer their course, then he had steered his own ship on a safer one and let the others founder. Both the other ships were lost, young Adam Urquhart lost his life, and all who heard about the incident did count it no coincidence that Urquhart and the other captain shared one common thing that Captain Deane could not abide: they were both Jacobites.

Vice Admiral Gordon said, to Edmund, ‘Urquhart’s death was never any accident, but with the charts conveniently lost we had no evidence to prove it. We could prove, however, that Deane had colluded with the Swedes some two years earlier, to sell them back their own ships that he’d captured, at a profit to himself. That was no secret amongst any who had served with him, but none would dare to speak, until …’ He paused, and shook his head, and finished, ‘What he did to Urquhart went beyond the pale, for even Deane’s own friends.’

‘And so the Tsar dismissed him?’

Gordon nodded. ‘Banished him at first, into Kazan, then called him back here and dismissed him all in anger, with an order he was never to return.’

‘Aye, well, he’s taken that to heart,’ remarked Sir Harry, who was setting up the chess pieces.

‘The Tsar is dead,’ said Gordon with a shrug. ‘No doubt the English do believe that Empress Catherine is a fool, or more forgiving, else they never would attempt it.’

‘They attempted it two years ago,’ Sir Harry said, ‘but it was stopped in time by our associates in London.’

‘Had he come two years ago,’ said Captain Hay, ‘the Tsar himself, on learning Deane had disobeyed his last instruction, would have met him when he landed and ensured he neither walked nor chewed his food again, and we’d have had no problem.’

Mrs Lacy, who’d been dozing in her chair beside the window, roused herself enough to ask, ‘And why is it a problem now?’

Her husband answered her, ‘Because, my darling, Captain Deane is in the pay of England’s chief of spies, Lord Townshend, who would send him like a rat among us now, to learn our business. And because Deane is a naval man, he’ll see what other men would not.’

Sir Harry said, ‘Not if we find a way to stop him.’ He had finished setting all the pieces in their places on the chessboard. Now he looked at Captain Hay. ‘Come, William, have a game.’

‘Thank you, no. I have a vivid memory of my last defeat.’

The general, with a smile of mischief, said, ‘Play Mistress Jamieson.’

Anna had not sat beside the window, as she often did. Instead she’d picked a chair well in the corner, cast in shadows, from where she had sat till now and watched, outside the conversation, keeping to herself. On any other day she might have asked what they were worried Deane might see, here in St Petersburg, but she was thinking still about her Uncle Maurice, and felt far too miserable to play an active part in the discussion. ‘No, I thank you,’ she replied, before Sir Harry even framed the question. ‘Do forgive me, but I do not wish to play.’

Sir Harry said, ‘A lucky thing for me, I think, for I have heard Miss Gordon say that you defeated the vice admiral on occasion, and I know he is a formidable player.’