"Christ, no! I'll throttle ye, an ye do that," he growled. "No, keep him talking. Let him flirt wi' ye, a wee bit, if he wants. A very wee bit," he added warningly.
Which put Beth in the enviable position of having to appear flattered whilst a man she found physically repulsive and had formed an instinctive antipathy towards, flirted with her, while her jealous husband glowered at her from the corner, and then no doubt took her to task for every gesture he found inappropriate when they got home. Wonderful. She couldn't wait.
In the event, she was not treated rudely by George. She was not treated at all, but completely ignored. And Sir Anthony had no need to re-establish his rapport, having hardly completed his bow before being seized by the arm by the king.
"Ah, mein freund, ich habe heute sehr gute Nachrichten bekommen! Komm, ich zeige dir!" And so saying, he dragged his friend off to the same large table she had seen on their last visit, still covered with maps and diagrams, although they were presumably not the same ones as last time, the geographical location of the current conflict differing from the previous one.
Prince William, Duke of Cumberland was, as expected, present, clad in beige, his jewelled waistcoat buttons straining over his stomach. He slid smoothly to her side the moment her husband had left it.
"Do you speak German, Lady Elizabeth?" he asked.
"No, I have not that privilege, Your Highness," she replied.
"We have received excellent news this very morning, regarding the situation with the French. Are you aware of what is happening?" he said.
Beth adjusted quickly to the fact that every comment was going to be addressed to her breasts, whose outline was clearly visible through the rose silk bodice of her court gown, in spite of the lace fichu that she had employed to cover her cleavage.
"I think everyone in the country must be aware of the terrible threat posed by the perfidious French invasion," she said. Was that too much? Apparently not. The duke laughed. His chin wobbled. His belly shook. She reflected on the fact that he was the same age as Prince Charles. She stopped her lip from curling.
"A threat no more, madam," he said. "But I will not bore you with tedious news of war. Would you care to take a stroll in the gardens? The weather is not inclement."
Sir Anthony lifted his head from the map he was perusing and shook his head minutely, although Beth had not been going to agree, anyway.
"I do not find news of war tedious, Your Highness," she replied. "What has happened? Or is it confidential?"
"No. It is not yet publicly known, but will be as soon as we have rounded up any of the remaining Jacobites waiting on the coast for the French to arrive."
Oh, God. This was going to be worse than she had envisaged, for reasons she had not envisaged.
"Do not keep me in suspense, I beg you," she pleaded, smiling coquettishly.
"Very well." He smiled, laying his podgy hand on her arm and moistening his red lips with his tongue. "The French are defeated. A report has arrived this morning from Admiral Matthews. It has been known for some time of course, that the French had assembled and provisioned a fleet at Dunkirk under Saxe, and another at Brest, under Roquefeuil. On the eighth, Roquefeuil's fleet was sighted by Matthews, who gave chase and managed, in spite of the storm that was rising, to get within three guns' shot of them by dusk. The following morning he set off to engage them, with Rear-Admiral Rowley leading the van, but he realised after a short time that the French had no intention of doing battle."
"The cowards!" exclaimed Beth.
"No, madam, their intention was to draw us away, and so leave the way open for Saxe to cross the Channel and invade, by way of the Thames, most likely. Once he realised this, Rowley then gave up chasing the French, and instead engaged the Spanish, who were supporting the French, under Admiral Navarro. The Spanish had some excellent gunners, I must admit, and they shot mainly at the masts and rigging of our ships to disable them, with the result that only nine of our men were killed, and some forty or so wounded … do you find this tedious?" He stopped.
"No, not, at all!" Beth cried, searching for the right words. "How could I find the deeds of our brave men tedious? And you explain it in such plain terms, so that even I can understand! Please continue."
"If you are sure … the Spanish were defeated, and we managed to take one of their ships, although we could do nothing with it, as all its masts were destroyed. Rowley engaged three of the French ships, but most of them kept their distance. During the night the French succeeded in recapturing the Spanish ship, although they still would not engage." Cumberland's eyes were sparkling, and Beth could see him running through the complex manoeuvres of the ships, even as he simplified it for her. He was a born soldier, that was clear, enthralled by war. He had even forgotten to speak to her bosom. "The following morning we set to chasing the French again, recapturing and firing the Spanish ship, but we could not catch them, and the weather was so bad by then that the admiral had to put into Port Mahon. Are you still following me, Lady Elizabeth?"
Yes, you condescending pig.
"I think so," she said. "It is all very exciting. But you said earlier that the French were defeated. What of Saxe's fleet, and those of Roquefeuil that you did not engage?"
"Ah, yes. If we needed proof that God is on our side, we have it now. The weather has done most of our job for us. Saxe's troops were loading at Dunkirk when a terrible storm arose, which destroyed eleven transports and countless other ships, along with all their supplies, and rendered it impossible for them to sail. Indeed, the same storm damaged several of Norris's ships, too. And some of Roquefeuil's as he sailed back to Brest. But it is now reported to be impossible for the invasion fleet to sail, although our ships are still ready for them if they do foolishly attempt to. And we have four detachments of Dragoons searching the river from London to the estuary. If they do succeed in getting any ships through, which is doubtful, they will find no one to navigate them up the Thames."
Across the room Beth saw her husband clap his hands and exclaim in joy at the ruination of all their hopes. King George had been explaining events in much more detail to Sir Anthony than Cumberland had to her, punctuating his torrent of German with stabs at the maps.
On their way home, her husband filled her in on the details, and also gave her the joyous news that the long-postponed Handel concert was to take place in two weeks, and they were invited. The coach was filled with gloom.
"Do you think it's as bad as the Elector and Cumberland have made out?" Beth said, lowering her voice.
"Yes, it probably is," the baronet replied. "I must send Angus as soon as we get back, to warn Foley about the search parties. He probably already knows what's happened, but just in case … .he said the weather was getting up, and if the French fleet has been damaged, it'll give Louis the perfect excuse to call the whole thing off. I'm starting to think William was right."
"William?"
"Highbury. When he said it was just a feint to distract the British. If it was, and Charles finds out, he'll be livid. I just hope he keeps his head. But there's not much I can do about that. I can't risk going to France at the moment, and I'm probably better off here, trying to find out what I can. He has advisors there. I just hope they know how to handle him."
CHAPTER TWO
On the fifteenth of March 1744, King Louis XV officially declared war on Britain, giving as his reason that the King of England had persecuted France under the pretext of defending Austria. In Louis' opinion, the abortive invasion attempt had been successful, in that it had, as intended, diverted a great many British and Dutch troops to England to await the French attack, leaving the Low Countries vulnerable. Louis now started the redirection of his coastal troops to Flanders and Germany. Then he promised to allow the Stuart prince to gain valuable military experience by fighting with the French in Flanders if he did as he was told, which was to leave the coast, make his way incognito to the rural house of the bishop of Soissons and lie low there until sent for.
Charles Edward Stuart, being a prince of the blood royal, was accustomed to giving orders, not obeying them, and had never laid low in his life. He had no intention of doing so now, either. Instead he remained on the coast at Gravelines, raising several pertinent and uncomfortable points with Marshal Saxe regarding the failure of the first invasion, and encouraging him to attempt another. Then, when he realised this was not to be, he looked around for alternatives. Recognising that the flames of British Jacobitism were burning brightly at the moment, and not wishing to lose the impetus generated by recent events, Charles suggested sending the Irish Brigade, currently fighting for France, to Scotland. Or, if all else failed, he would go to Scotland himself, alone. The clans had assured him of a hearty welcome whenever he arrived. They at least would rise for him, he said.