“Perfectly expressed,” Fox said happily. “I think that tomorrow you will do fine, just fine.”
The meal, while a strain, went as well as could be expected. They were seated with the junior officers, far from the high table with its admirals and even a marine general. Toasts were drunk to the Queen, something the Americans had mixed feelings about. It was noisy and hot, which made it very easy to drink too much, so caution had to be shown. Sherman was seated across from a veteran naval captain who had many decorations and much gold bullion on his uniform. After his first terse nod of greeting, the captain had ignored the Russians and attended to the eating and drinking. Now, very much in his cups,
he began to take a firm dislike to Sherman.
“You speak English, Russki? Do you know what I am saying?”
He raised his voice as though volume would increase comprehension.
“Nyet, nyet,” Sherman said, then turned away and sipped from his wineglass.
“I’ll bet you do. Sitting there and eavesdropping on your betters.”
Fox saw what was happening and tried to defuse the situation. “Pardonnez-moi, monsieur,” Fox said. “Mon compagnon ne parle pas anglais. Parlez-vous français? ”
“And none of that frog talk either. Your lot should not be here. We whipped you like curs in the Crimea, now you come crawling around like spies…”
Korzhenevski, farther down the table, stood up quickly and barked what sounded like an order in Russian. Lieutenant Simenov pushed his chair back from the table and jumped to his feet; Fox and Sherman saw what was happening and stood as well.
“I am afraid that our presence here is an embarrassment and that we must leave,” the Count said.
“You’ll leave when you are damn well told to leave,” the captain shouted, climbing unsteadily to his feet.
It was Commander Johnstone who appeared suddenly and tried hard to calm the situation.
“This is not the time nor place for this—”
“I agree, Mark,” Korzhenevski said, pointing his thumb toward the door. “It would be wisest, though, if my officers and I just left. Thank you for your kindness.”
They beat a quick retreat, anxious to be clear of the situation, relieved when the door closed behind them to cut off the captain’s drunken shouts.
“That was not good,” Korzhenevski said as soon as they were out of the building. “There is still much bad feeling here about the Crimea, and this sort of thing only stirs up old hatreds. We don’t dare sail tonight, much as I would like to. Too suspicious. But we will start back downriver in the morning as soon as I can get a pilot.”
No one slept well that night. At dawn, one by one, they assembled in the main cabin, where the steward had set out a steaming pot of fresh coffee.
“I shall return with the pilot as soon as is possible,” the Count said. He put down his cup and slapped his side pocket, which clanked heavily. “I am prepared to bribe my way if I must. A continental custom which has not yet caught on in this country. Though people do learn very quickly at the sight of a gold coin. Lieutenant Simenov is watch officer, which means that the rest of you can stay out of sight.”
Less than an hour later Fox had just finished shaving and was pulling on his jacket when he heard the shouting at the gangway. He hurried on deck to witness an angry encounter. An English army officer had climbed the gangway to the deck — with five armed soldiers behind him. Simenov was blocking his way and shouting at him angrily in Russian.
“Da!” Fox called out, all he could think of at the moment. Simenov turned and called out to him. Fox nodded sagely and turned to the angry officer.
“Excusez-moi, mais nous ne parlons pas anglais. Est-ce que vous connaissez français?”
“No bloody frog — nor bloody Russian either. You are in England now, and if you don’t speak English you are not welcome. This is my authority!” The officer waved a sheet of paper under Fox’s nose. “An English officer has filed a complaint against certain officers of this ship. He says that you are spies. I want you to know that this is a military establishment and charges of this kind are taken very seriously. This is my warrant to search this ship.”
Fox accepted the sheet of paper, shook his head with lack of comprehension, and passed the warrant back.
“Follow me,” the officer called out, and the armed soldiers clumped up the gangway. Simenov barred their way.
“Nyet!” Fox shouted, and waved the Russian officer aside. Simenov started to protest — then realized the futility and danger of what he was doing. Reluctantly, he stepped back.
“Search the ship,” the officer said as he led the soldiers below. Fox stayed close behind him. The first door at the foot of the gangway was General Sherman’s. It was unlocked. The officer threw it open and marched in. Sherman looked up from the chair where he was seated smoking a cigar.
And reading a book!
“I’ll take that,” the English officer said, taking it from his hand.
Fox leaned close. Should he attack the man? Would the crew help them to seize the soldiers? Was there anything that could be done?