A Masquerade in the Moonlight(59)
“True, Mr. Donovan,” Sir Ralph answered, slipping into the chair the American had just vacated. He felt better now, more in control. “However, it’s also three ships more than you will receive, unless I have something more concrete than your assurances your president will not simply take what we are offering and declare war anyway. It’s imperative your government merely show its teeth, and not bite. We want you to have enough well-equipped ships to harass ours and make us look foolish, while at the same time our soldiers lose battles on the Peninsula because they are badly supplied. When England is forced to sue for peace with France, we need to know we will not be threatened by you colonials as we go about the business of removing the imbecilic Farmer George from the throne and his parasitical, spendthrift sons from the succession. It is imperative England be rescued from its warlike folly before she destroys herself. We want, need, nothing more than we do peace with the rest of the world. If we are all equally strong, no one will seek war, and England and your so-called United States will be free to trade with each other once more.”
“Fancy that, Tommie!” Dooley exclaimed, helping Donovan into his greatcoat. “It’s just like you said it would be. Well, almost, except for that last bit. Shame on me, for doubting you. Oh—sorry about interrupting you, your lordship. Go on. I’m listening.”
“I think not. You’ve said too much already, Ralph,” Sir Peregrine said forcefully. “As I already warned you, this man has ambitions of his own, and I think he acts more from personal greed than patriotism. He’s Irish first, remember, and we all know they’re not the sort to be trusted.”
Lord Chorley, who had been busying himself throwing a pair of dice, one hand against the other, tugged on Sir Peregrine’s sleeve. “Don’t go casting aspersions on the fellow’s ancestors, Perry. It’s not nice. What do we care what the American wants? I just want my debts gone.”
“I think my sweet Georgie would like some of Prinny’s jewels,” Lord Mappleton said consideringly, stuffing a handful of grapes into his mouth. “And maybe that monstrosity he’s building in Brighton. We could use it as our summer home.”
“You’re paper-witted, shortsighted buffoons, the pair of you,” Sir Peregrine stated firmly. “Debts! Jewels! You have absolutely no understanding of the benefits to be accrued from the power we shall wield, the monies we could direct toward studies of the sciences and literature and art.”
Sir Ralph looked to each man in turn. The meeting was getting out of hand. His cohorts were wallowing in their own blockheadedness and greed and the American was preparing to leave, just as if he had been the one to call for the gathering in the first place and had now motioned for adjournment. He slapped his palms against the bare wood of the table, to bring everyone back to attention. “I will not act—not on three ships, not on the agreed-upon fifteen—nor will I allow Arthur or Perry to act, until I have written assurance from President Madison that he will not declare war on us, now or once the king is removed and we reestablish open trade between our two countries. Without that letter to protect us, we cannot and will not proceed with any part of the agreement. If we are to go down, Mr. Donovan, we go down together, we and your president.”
Donovan’s smile was maddening, infuriating, unsettling. “And now, Sir Ralph, I believe we have a problem. I have the paper you requested in my possession—but I have orders not to turn it over to you until the full shipments of arms and money are on their way to the West Indies.” He spread his hands wide, palms up. “What to do, Sir Ralph, what to do? Paddy—the time, if you please.”
“Almost nine, Tommie,” Dooley responded, slapping his own hat on his head. “Time we were heading back. I have to get up and seek out a Mass tomorrow morning, don’t you know. We aren’t all heathens like you, sleeping till noon on the Lord’s day.”
“You heard my friend, gentlemen,” Donovan said, holding on to the door latch as he turned to face the room. “I can’t keep a man from his religion, now can I? Sir Ralph? I do hope you can work things out among you. As you said, we are all peace-loving people. You don’t want war. We don’t want war—having beaten you so soundly already. We both, I believe, also admire money and power very much. So much alike, we patriots. Do let me know what you decide.”
A moment later, Donovan and Dooley were gone and the room was deathly quiet.
But not for long.
“You said too much, Ralph,” Sir Peregrine began.