George Washington's Ghost

“And after luncheon I plan to take a stroll in the grounds…” Her voice trailed off because she very nearly had to bite her tongue to stop herself saying: “Because we probably won’t be welcomed back again when we make our shameful confession about the Submarine Treaty to whoever turns out to be the new German Emperor!”

She was relieved her husband was not reading her mind, or if he was, he hid it well.

“Yes, Ranji and I do tend to jabber on a bit about bat and ball, and the politics of the International Cricket Council,” the King conceded apologetically.

Cricket and Association Football – respectively the national summer and winter national games – were alike to Eleanor; once, early in her marriage she had suggested, in all earnestness, to Bertie that both games would be much improved as a spectacle if each side had their own balls…

Their marriage had, fortuitously, survived that first crisis and flourished; which only went to show what could be achieved if there was a little bit of good will and plenty of give and take on both sides.

When they were first married, they had holidayed and travelled in the German Empire, a thing impossible since the late 1950s although visitors from Germany often quietly called on the family in London or at one or other of its country retreats. But discreetly, for discretion had been the key word in all ‘higher-level’ Anglo-German contacts in recent times.

However, the next visitor to the royal couple’s rooms was not the cheery Jam Saheb of Nawanagar, it was a very grim-faced Sir Hector Hamilton, who thus far in Berlin had cut a sorry, somewhat diminished figure. He had kept the ‘great secret’ from his King for what he had determined were the best possible of reasons, his motives had been good, patriotic but he had wilted under the white heat of his monarch’s anger, and hardened political operator that he was, he was not about to recover his equilibrium any time soon.

“Hector, what is it?” Eleanor asked anxiously. “You look as white as a sheet?”

The Prime Minister bowed.

“George Walpole stayed behind at the Embassy,” the newcomer explained. “Telegrams are coming in all the time. We have received reports that the redoubt defence lines around San Antonio in Texas have been breached, and that our reserve forces of last resort, are in full retreat.”

The King’s face darkened, his scowl deepened.

“I regret that I must report that there are no substantial forces between the invaders and the Mississippi River, sir,” Sir Hector Hamilton went on. “But,” he added, holding up a hand. “That is not the worst of it, forces of the Triple Alliance supported by many warships are reported to have seized the port of Pensacola. If this is true, then it is likely that the Delta and the city of New Orleans may soon be cut off and in due course, besieged; or worse, the enemy may strike east and isolate Florida from the rest of New England.”

The King compelled himself to take several long breaths.

It did not help.

“And?” He asked tersely, knowing that there must be more very bad news.

“And an enemy squadron is reported to be bombarding English Harbour on Antigua, our main garrison in the Leeward Islands…”

Eleanor was bewildered.

She looked to her husband.

“I don’t understand,” she confessed. “What on earth is the Navy doing about all this, Bertie?”

Chapter 13

Friday 28th April

HMS Surprise, 35 nautical miles SW of Bermuda

Surgeon Lieutenant Abraham Lincoln, RNAS, had adjusted to the sameness and clockwork routine of life on board HMS Surprise faster and with a lot less angst, than his friend. Ted Forest, notwithstanding he was still recovering, rather than rehabilitating from what had been life-threatening wounds, freely confessed he was getting ‘cabin fever’, shut up in their claustrophobic new world.

‘I joined the Air Service because I hate confined spaces and I actually like the wind in my face!’

For Abe, this surreal entrapment below the waves, was a priceless opportunity to regain his mental and physical equilibrium, and to allow his battered body and perturbed psyche to heal itself. Of course, he worried about Kate, and what she must be going through, probably thinking in her heart that he was dead but there was nothing he could do about that and, hopefully, all his wife’s grief and hurt would, in time, be repairable, if and when he eventually got home. If he had died on the Achilles, or on Little Inagua, Kate would never have known where his bones lay. As it was, although his and Ted’s sojourn on the Surprise seemed interminable – this was actually only their fifteenth day aboard – it would surely end one day. In the meantime, he had been devouring the submarine’s medical library like a starving man suddenly presented with a banquet fit for a king!

And the quietness was pure bliss…