Walpole was already talked of as Aislabie's successor at the Exchequer. The Treasury might soon be within his grasp. Then where would Stanhope's precious new continental polity be? Walpole was a narrow-minded Norfolk squire. He knew nothing of Europe. He would ruin everything Stanhope had worked so long and assiduously to bring about.
The threat of such ruin galled Stanhope the more because it had arisen from the greed and stupidity of other people. He was personally blameless. Yet it seemed he could not escape punishment. It was enough to drive a man mad. And it was certainly sufficient to fray his temper as he perused Dalrymple's urgent communication.
£100,000? For what? Dalrymple must be losing his reason. Perhaps it was time to send Cadogan back to The Hague if this was the measure of the man representing British interests in the United Provinces. It must surely be obvious, even to Dalrymple, that if the ledger spoken of by his mysterious Dutch visitor were truly a compendium of Knight's deepest secrets, it would not have left his side. Dalrymple seemed to suppose that the mere mention of what he semi-fabulously described, with breathless capitals, as 'The Green Book' would somehow justify his effrontery in passing on such a request. But Stanhope would show him his error. Kempis was clearly a mountebank. And mountebankery could only work its magic on fools. Stanhope had been visited by troubles enough on account of the foolishness of others. This was one instance where he could bear down hard upon it.
Stanhope seized his pen, dipped it in the ink-well, and began to write. Dalrymple would not have to wait long for his answer. He would have it short, but far from sweet.
Nicholas Cloisterman, meanwhile, was also composing a letter. His conversation with the odious Jupe had persuaded him that there were sinister ramifications to the murder of Ysbrand de Vries. The package Spandrel had delivered to de Vries on behalf of Sir Theodore Janssen contained something worth killing for, something connected with the fugitive Robert Knight and the failed South Sea Company. Cloisterman did not know what it was and in many ways was happy not to. But clearly he could no longer keep the little he did know to himself. Dalrymple, charge d'affaires at the Embassy in The Hague, would have to be told. Let him make of it what he pleased. Cloisterman would have done his duty. At least, he would be seen to have done it. And that, he had tended to find, was more important in the long run.
CHAPTER TEN
Hell to Pay
Evelyn Dalrymple, charge d'affaires at the British Embassy in The Hague, regarded the visitor to his office with suppressed apprehensiveness. Kempis had come for his answer. And Lord Stanhope had made it very clear what that answer should be. Indeed, he had made it very clear that Dalrymple should not have needed to be told how to respond to such a demand. But Stanhope had not met Kempis. Staring into the Dutchman's wine-dark eyes, Dalrymple detected no weakness, no lack of confidence in the terms he had set. He did not look like a man whom it was wise to dismiss out of hand.
Dalrymple was also troubled by various pieces of information that had lately come his way. From the Embassy in Brussels he had received notification that on Friday last, the day on which Stanhope had written to him, Robert Knight had been arrested while trying to leave Brabantine territory and removed to the citadel at Antwerp. No mention had been made of any papers found in Knight's possession. Dalrymple could only assume that any so found would by now be on their way to London and Stanhope's desk in Whitehall. Oddly, however, Cloisterman, the vice-consul in Amsterdam, seemed convinced that some vital South Sea document was now in the possession of the errant secretary and widow of a murdered V.O.C. merchant called de Vries. He had written to Dalrymple, warning him to be on his guard, but failing, typically, to suggest what he should be on his guard
The threat of such ruin galled Stanhope the more because it had arisen from the greed and stupidity of other people. He was personally blameless. Yet it seemed he could not escape punishment. It was enough to drive a man mad. And it was certainly sufficient to fray his temper as he perused Dalrymple's urgent communication.
£100,000? For what? Dalrymple must be losing his reason. Perhaps it was time to send Cadogan back to The Hague if this was the measure of the man representing British interests in the United Provinces. It must surely be obvious, even to Dalrymple, that if the ledger spoken of by his mysterious Dutch visitor were truly a compendium of Knight's deepest secrets, it would not have left his side. Dalrymple seemed to suppose that the mere mention of what he semi-fabulously described, with breathless capitals, as 'The Green Book' would somehow justify his effrontery in passing on such a request. But Stanhope would show him his error. Kempis was clearly a mountebank. And mountebankery could only work its magic on fools. Stanhope had been visited by troubles enough on account of the foolishness of others. This was one instance where he could bear down hard upon it.
Stanhope seized his pen, dipped it in the ink-well, and began to write. Dalrymple would not have to wait long for his answer. He would have it short, but far from sweet.
Nicholas Cloisterman, meanwhile, was also composing a letter. His conversation with the odious Jupe had persuaded him that there were sinister ramifications to the murder of Ysbrand de Vries. The package Spandrel had delivered to de Vries on behalf of Sir Theodore Janssen contained something worth killing for, something connected with the fugitive Robert Knight and the failed South Sea Company. Cloisterman did not know what it was and in many ways was happy not to. But clearly he could no longer keep the little he did know to himself. Dalrymple, charge d'affaires at the Embassy in The Hague, would have to be told. Let him make of it what he pleased. Cloisterman would have done his duty. At least, he would be seen to have done it. And that, he had tended to find, was more important in the long run.
CHAPTER TEN
Hell to Pay
Evelyn Dalrymple, charge d'affaires at the British Embassy in The Hague, regarded the visitor to his office with suppressed apprehensiveness. Kempis had come for his answer. And Lord Stanhope had made it very clear what that answer should be. Indeed, he had made it very clear that Dalrymple should not have needed to be told how to respond to such a demand. But Stanhope had not met Kempis. Staring into the Dutchman's wine-dark eyes, Dalrymple detected no weakness, no lack of confidence in the terms he had set. He did not look like a man whom it was wise to dismiss out of hand.
Dalrymple was also troubled by various pieces of information that had lately come his way. From the Embassy in Brussels he had received notification that on Friday last, the day on which Stanhope had written to him, Robert Knight had been arrested while trying to leave Brabantine territory and removed to the citadel at Antwerp. No mention had been made of any papers found in Knight's possession. Dalrymple could only assume that any so found would by now be on their way to London and Stanhope's desk in Whitehall. Oddly, however, Cloisterman, the vice-consul in Amsterdam, seemed convinced that some vital South Sea document was now in the possession of the errant secretary and widow of a murdered V.O.C. merchant called de Vries. He had written to Dalrymple, warning him to be on his guard, but failing, typically, to suggest what he should be on his guard
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