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become
acquainted as a midshipman, was the head of the British Admiralty's
intelligence network. Drinkwater's personal relationship with the earl
extended to a private obligation contracted when Dungarth had helped to
spirit Drinkwater's brother Edward away into Russia when the latter was
wanted for murder. The evasion of justice had been accomplished because
he had killed a French agent known to Dungarth. Edward had in fact
slaughtered Etienne de Montholon because he had found him in bed with
his own mistress, but Dungarth's interest in Montholon had served to
cover Edward's crime and protect Drinkwater's own career. It was an
episode in his life that Drinkwater preferred to forget.
    'What do
you
know of Santhonax?' he
asked at last.
    D'Auvergne looked round him. 'That he commanded this ship in
the Red Sea; that you captured him and he subsequently escaped; that he
was appointed a colonel in the French Army after transferring from the
naval service; and that he is now an aide-de-camp to First Consul
Bonaparte himself.'
    'And your opinion of him?'
    'That he is daring, brave and the epitome of all that makes
the encampments of the French along the heights of Boulogne a most
dangerous threat to the safety of Great Britain.'
    Drinkwater's hostility towards D'Auvergne evaporated. The two
had discovered a common ground and Drinkwater rose, crossing the cabin
and lifting the lid of the big sea-chest in the corner. 'So I have
always thought myself,' he said, reaching into the chest. 'Furthermore,
I have this to show you…'
    Drinkwater returned to the table with a roll of canvas, frayed
at the edges. He spread it out on the table. The paint was badly
cracked and the canvas damaged where the tines of a fork had pierced
it. It was D'Auvergne's turn to show astonishment.
    'Good God alive!'
    'You know who she is?'
    'Hortense Santhonax… with Junot's wife one of the
most celebrated beauties of Paris… This…' He stared
at the lower right hand corner, 'this is by David. How the devil did
you come by it?'
    Drinkwater looked down at the portrait. The red hair and the
slender neck wound with pearls rose from a bosom more exposed than
concealed by the wisp of gauze around the shoulders.
    'It hung there, on that bulkhead, when we took this ship in
the Red Sea. I knew her briefly.'
    'Were you in that business at Beaubigny back in ninety-two?'
    Drinkwater nodded. 'Aye. I was mate of the cutter
Kestrel
when we took Hortense, her brother and others off the beach there,
émigrés
we thought then, escaping from the mob…'
    'Who turned their coats when their money ran out, eh?'
    'That is true of her brother certainly. She, I now believe,
never intended other than to dupe us.' He did not add that she had been
Hortense de Montholon then, sister to the man his own brother Edward
had murdered at Newmarket nine years later.
    D'Auvergne nodded. 'You are very probably right in what you
say. She and her husband are fervent and enthusiastic Bonapartists. I
have no doubt that if Bonaparte continues to ascend in the world, so
will Santhonax.'
    'This knowledge is learned from your station at St Helier, I
gather?'
    D'Auvergne smiled, the sardonic grin friendly now. 'Another
correct assumption, Drinkwater.' He regarded his host with curiosity.
'I
had heard your name from Dungarth in the matter of some enterprise or
other. He is not given to idle gossip about all his acquaintances, as a
gentleman in our profession cannot afford to be. But I perceive you
have seen a deal of service…' he trailed off.
    Drinkwater smiled back. 'My midshipmen consider me an ancient
and tarpaulin officer, Captain D'Auvergne. Very little of my time has
been spent in grand vessels like the one I have the honour to command
at this time. I take your point about the need to guard the tongue, but
I also take it that you have a clearing house on Jersey where
information is collected?'
    'Captain,' D'Auvergne said lightly, 'you continue to amaze
with the accuracy of your deductions.'
    The