‘General Wellesley, you and General Dalrymple will forgive my bluntness,’ Lord Liverpool said, breaking in, ‘but as unpleasant as these terms are, we may well find them preferable to the ones he offers us in March. I hope my remarks are not taken as judgement upon the Army, but it is a plain fact that Bonaparte has beaten every force that took the field against him, the Russians, the Austrians, the Prussians, the Turks, and us. We should perhaps agree to whatever he wants, while the Army and the Navy are preserved a little while, and the King safe; anything to get him out of London and back to Paris. Then we can manage Murat—’

‘Are you—’ Wellesley cut himself off, and began again in a flat tone, ‘We can end this with a single victory while Bonaparte is in England; not only the invasion, but the entire war, this conflict of ten years and more. The last thing we want is to see him go; the only damned thing to be thankful for is that he has put himself within our reach. In a month we will have fifty thousand men here, and at Edinburgh another sixty. We have a hundred and fifty fighting beasts, on our own ground; in a month—’

‘Half the Grande Armée is sitting on the coast of France waiting for their turn to come over for a share,’ Eldon said. ‘In a month, Bonaparte will have two hundred thousand men, or more.’

‘No, he will not.’ The door banged, and Jane Roland came in, stripping off her gauntlets. Blood streaked her face and hair, and stained her coat. ‘What?’ she said to their startled questions, and looked at herself in the glass on the wall. ‘Oh, I look a fright. No, it isn't any of mine; I suppose it is that poor damned Frenchman's. I broke a sword on the fellow.’

She took the glass of brandy offered her anyway, and drank it straight. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, setting it down, ‘that puts life in one's breast. I beg your pardon, gentlemen, for coming in my muck. I am fresh from the coast. He tried another landing at Folkestone, but he did not have as much luck as he would have liked. We have countered his harpooning trick. Our smiths have made us some sharp wire, and working in twos, the couriers can cut the ropes in a trice. Here are the dispatches,’ she added, as Frette trotted in behind her and laid packets down on the table in front of Mr. Perceval, ‘from Admiral Collingwood: of ships of the line, he has taken six, sunk four and burnt two; and not a thousand men landed out of sixty.’