Scarborough Fair - Chris Scott Wilson [19]
Paul Jones attended each party, voiced pleasantries, and remained impervious to the subtle advances from both wives and husbands. His heart lay not in the arms of a woman or at the bottom of a brandy glass, but down where Duc de Duras headed up into the wind, her peeling bowsprit aching to taste the salt of fresh oceans, forever wary of the call of the breaker’s yard.
And still he waited.
***
Sartine’s cough sounded like a nervous girl clearing her throat. It was growing worse. How much longer did he have? So much to accomplish and time slipping away. And it was always worse when he was upset. Who could not be upset in a job like this? Minister of Marine, and war’s knuckles rattling on his door. He dabbed at his mouth with his handkerchief. Unable to restrain himself, he examined the tiny blood specks on the lace. The familiar panic twisted in his stomach. He was glad the American Commissioners had left. They stole his time, and that Franklin! Like a stubborn ox, hammering the same point again and again. John Paul Jones. Sartine’s lips curled with distaste as he stared at the name again, written in tiny handwriting on the blotter pad before him.
“M’sieur Franklin was on form today, Minister.”
Sartine glowered up at de Chaumont who was standing in front of the desk, his black woolen suit rumpled from the long meeting. “It seems he has outflanked us,” Sartine conceded, trying not to show his anger. “He has a brain like quicksilver and he is as devious as a fox. I have no doubt he put Jones up to buying his own ship, and if the truth be known, probably put the money in his pocket to do it. Not that they would have to find the money. He knew that too.” He coughed again, turning away as his shoulders heaved.
De Chaumont politely averted his eyes, allowing them to roam the magnificent tapestries that coated the office walls as though it was a palace. “Sometimes I think Franklin can see right through me with those steely eyes,” the Privy Councilor remarked.
The minister grunted. “He sees far too well. Apparently it was obvious to him we are reserving all the best ships for our own brave French Captains. God knows, they will soon be sailing against the English. He must have seen the best way to get a ship was to find one himself, knowing King Louis had promised to foot the bill. Franklin is well aware I cannot refuse to pay now, or the king will appear to be a liar.” He paused, breath rasping through his nose as he fought down another coughing fit. “And the King does not want to appear a liar in front of the whole world. Blame would fall on my shoulders quicker than Madame Guillotine. And there is too much to do to risk my career over an arrogant glory hunter.”
De Chaumont’s lips drew a thin line in sympathy. He knew how much Sartine hated to be out-manipulated. “Perhaps it is all for the best to give him his ship now and be done with it. He can do part of our navy’s job for us, sparing French ships. As you say, he is eager to snatch glory by whatever means necessary. He will either die for nothing or become a hero.”
Sartine frowned. “You think him more than competent?”
De Chaumont’s jowls shook. “There is something about the man—magnetism, and he has an original mind. I feel he will do something outrageous, and if he fails he will be a reckless fool, but if he pulls it off he will be a genius.”
“I sometimes wonder if the two are not so far apart,” Sartine commented. He studied his papers for a moment. “Do we have more business?”
“Only the appropriations for the fleet at Brest.”
“That can wait. Send for my secretary. I will write to Captain Jones now and then it is done with.” Sartine raised an eyebrow, voice a dry crackle. “From now on his fortune lies with God.”
***
The letter arrived in early February. John Paul Jones could almost see Sartine’s teeth clenched as he dictated that he was delighted to inform Captain Jones “in consequence of the distinguished manner in which you have served the United States, and the complete confidence that your conduct has deserved on the