The Moonless Night, page 7
“Maybe you’d like to have a look at the Royal Naval station while we’re here, Mr. Benson?” David asked.
He was not averse, but it was the thorn in their side, Lord Sanford, who suggested they go in and say hello to the officers. David suggested going along to the inn to await him, but Benson, too, was curious to go to the station, so they all went along. It was no less a personage than Admiral Lord Keith, commander of the navy in the area, that Sanford asked for when he stepped in. He was told the admiral was at sea, aboard the Tonnant, and the officer, Captain Wingert, asked if he could be of assistance. Wingert was a young officer, brown-haired, apple-cheeked, and very keen. It was his youth perhaps, or his relatively junior rank more likely, that set Sanford’s back up.
“Are you the second in command at the station?” his lordship inquired in a haughty accent.
“No, sir, Rear Admiral Rawlins is second in command, but he’s very busy. Can I be of assistance to you?”
“No, I will see Rawlins.”
“I’ll see when he’ll be free, sir,” Wingert said, and sent off a message, remaining with the callers himself till Rawlins’ arrival.
“I see supplies are to be put aboard tonight,” Sanford commented idly.
Wingert stared at him. “May I ask how you know that, sir? No one has been told outside the station.”
“I read the flags,” Sanford told him.
“Oh, you read semaphore,” Wingert said, satisfied with the explanation, but unhappy with the fact.
“In a shipping community, I cannot be the only to do so. Keith should have set up a secret communications system. Are there not tight precautions taken for the loading?” Sanford asked.
“Certainly there are.”
“Night seems a bad time to do it. Daylight would be better.”
“Are you sent down by the Admiralty, sir?” Wingert asked cautiously, feeling no other reason could account for his didactic manner, and that in this case Rawlins would wish to be told.
“No, I am here as a concerned citizen,” he was told, in a lofty manner. There was a plethora of concerned titled citizens making themselves obnoxious to Rawlins, and Wingert realized his duty was to be rid of this one as soon as possible.
“We are working under Admiral Keith’s orders, sir,” Wingert told him in a polite tone. “A pair of ships go out, both armed. Every precaution is taken.”
“How about the stuff put aboard, the food, the drink? Where are they procured?”
“From our own naval stores. It was the first move Admiral Keith made when we took Bonaparte, to set a guard on the storehouse twenty-four hours a day, to see nothing was tampered with. It would be easy enough to dope the wine or something of the sort, and set the stage for a takeover of the ship. But nothing is left to chance. The supplies will be taken aboard after dark when the sightseers are gone, and it will be done under close supervision. Only naval vessels are allowed within one hundred yards of Bellerophon. Fears of an escape are exaggerated. If any vessel other than a ship of the British navy were to get too close, they would be shot out of the sea in a minute, and it isn’t likely one of our own vessels would free him.”
The visitors listened closely to this, nodding their heads in approval of this strict surveillance. It struck Marie that any effort to free the General must die unborn, and her hopes of being engaged in some romantical adventure were very slim indeed.
“I expect the men who are used for any communication of this sort are hand-picked, too?” Sanford asked.
“There wasn’t time for that, unfortunately. It is the regular crews that are used. It all happened rather quickly, of course,” Wingert replied. “But I think the British navy is to be trusted.”
“What makes you think anything of the sort?” Sanford asked, his face a mask of astonishment “The crew of these ships you speak of, if they are like every other ship afloat, are made up of sailors who were pressed into service against their will. One can hardly imagine patriotism forms any small part of their makeup. They might easily be bribed to help Napoleon escape.”
“Still, they are Englishmen...”
“Yes, if they aren’t Yanks, pulled off American vessels during the blockade of America.”
“I assure you, there are no such persons aboard any of our ships here,” Wingert told him.
“Well in any case, they’re only human beings like the rest of us. Everything has its price.”
“What do you consider the price for Napoleon Bonaparte, milord?” Benson asked him, in no serious way at all.
“It would be very high indeed,” Sanford replied, unsmiling.
“Thank you. You know I always like to assess everyone’s worth, but could you suggest a figure in pounds and pence?” Benson asked, with a little smile towards the Boltwoods.
“No, no, Benson. I merely hinted it was your friends’ fortunes you were interested in. With your deep-seated disgust of Napoleon’s open jackets, I acquit you of having made a bosom bow of him. But about the navy, the men are press-ganged and the officers largely culled from younger sons with their pockets to let.”
“In that case though, sir,” Wingert pointed out with deference that hid his anger, “it would be a whole ship that would have to be bribed, and while we make no claims to being other than human, I doubt you would find a whole shipful of venal seamen.”
Sanford listened, then answered, “It wouldn’t take a whole shipful, would it? Only a captain. The men would do as they’re told.”
Marie’s hopes soared at this speech, seeing that she might yet get in on an adventure. She considered the discussion, then said, “But if he—this hypothetical corrupt captain— managed to get Napoleon transferred to his vessel, where would he take him? If he made for France or America, the whole navy would be after him and give chase.”
“Yes, and I wish you could convince your father that he wouldn’t make for Bolt Hall, either,” Sanford added. “What he would do is make for an unguarded spot of coast and scramble upon a rope, to hide out somewhere till the heat died down.”
“I expect that is why Admiral Keith takes such careful precautions,” Wingert said, wishing to be finished with these visitors.
“He should do the shipping in daylight,” Sanford said, returning to this finished point
“An interesting idea you spoke of, Sanford, but our hypothetical captain wouldn’t have Napoleon turned over to him without signed orders from Admiral Keith,” Benson mentioned.
“Or Rawlins,” Wingert added. “He is in charge during Keith’s absence. It is he who gave the order for transferring supplies.”
“I suppose you’re well acquainted with this Rawlins?” Sanford asked.
“I know him fairly well. He doesn’t strike me as a man who would sell his honor. Of course, I’ve only been here a month myself.”
“You are a swift judge of integrity, Captain,” Sanford told him in a supercilious way.
“It is all nonsense,” Marie said impatiently. “If any attempt were made to free him it would not involve the British navy. He would slip over the side of Billy Ruffian some dark night and swim to shore, or be picked up by a small waiting boat.” Then with a laughing eye towards Sanford she added, “which would take him to Bolt’s Dock, where the winch and chain would stop him.”
She was surprised to see a little flash of amusement in Sanford’s lazy eyes, but Wingert spoke up, distracting her. “No, it could never be done that way. His cabin door is not locked, but it is guarded twenty-four hours a day, and if he goes above he is watched. There are men posted all around the decks of the ship. Poor Boney couldn’t throw a crumb to a gull without having a gun at his back.”
“A guard would be easier to bribe than a captain,” she pointed out.
“No one can get to him to bribe him. The ship is incommunicado, except for official dealings with the British navy.”
“Anyone who is already on board can get to him,” Sanford objected. “Better check the supplies being put aboard tonight for secret letters, too.”
“What a suspicious bunch we are. I see the captain narrowing his eyes at us. Who shall blame him?” Benson asked, laughing. “One would think we were trying to spring him to hear us. I assure you, Captain, I came along only to bear Lord Sanford company. When Napoleon is spirited off, I trust you will arrest Sanford, and not me.”
“When he is spirited off, Benson?’ Sanford asked with a challenging smile. “I see it is already considered a fait accompli in your mind. I spoke of unlikely possibilities only.”
“Upon my word, you have the mind of a spy, milord. You leap on an innocent word. If he is set free. Is that better?”
“Much better. But then it is the unconsidered word that reveals our true thoughts, is it not?”
“You see, already I am guilty,” Benson joked, “and it is yourself, Sanford, who raised the subject of corruption in the King’s navy. I shall hold you guilty if any plan is discovered to turn that monster, Bonaparte, loose on us again. Who but you could afford it? Certainly I am not wealthy enough to bribe even a lowly guard. My comparative poverty must be my proof of innocence.”
“Your poverty as compared to what, Benson?” Sanford asked with a meaningful look.
“Compared to, let us say, yourself.”
“Ah, but it is poverty that is the motive, Benson, so you have thrown yourself into suspicion again,” Sanford riposted, the whole discussion being made in a light, bantering way. “I am too wealthy to be bothered picking up a million pounds or so only for delivering Napoleon.”
“Delivering him to whom?” Marie asked. “Who is it that wants him so badly he would pay a million for him?”
“Who indeed?” Benson seconded her. “I could find more amusing uses for a million pounds than a slightly used Emperor. By the by, is it actually a million pounds bruited as the going price? By Jove, I am tempted. But then I am such a wretched sailor, I'd probably lose him between Billy Ruffian and shore.”
“You have an unaccountable reputation for losing things,” Sanford said, still smiling, but in a rather unpleasant way that made Marie wonder what he was talking about. Benson, she noticed, looked uneasy, uncomfortable.
“You haven’t told us who is willing to pay so much money for him,” she reminded Sanford.
“He still has many influential friends in France, and other places. But about the round figure of a million, it was chosen at random. You might find the price to be considerably lower when you actually try to sell him. Between the bad teeth and the thinning hair, he might be devalued to a hundred thousand or so.” He turned to Benson. “I’m afraid I can’t give you a closer estimate than that. As to the odd shillings and pence, you can make your own guess.”
At the mention of the familiar figure of one hundred thousand, David gave a start of recognition. He looked to Benson, and saw the flash of understanding in his eyes, but soon Benson was laughing nonchalantly. “I don’t deal with generals in pokes. If you hear of a firm offer for a million, let me know. Otherwise I’ll leave him for someone more purse-pinched.”
“But who is more purse-pinched than you, my dear Benson?” Sanford asked in a silken, hateful voice. “Shall we be off, folks?”
“Will you not wait to see Rawlins, milord?” Wingert asked.
“I can’t dawdle about all day. I’ll be back soon. Tell him I was here. And tell him I disapprove of loading the supplies at night.”
Holding in all his spleen at the various slurs lavished on the navy, Wingert bowed and said he would inform Rawlins of the pleasure awaiting him, and of the suggested change in hours of loading.
The party repaired to the inn.
Chapter 7
Having arrived at the inn at the common hour for the noon meal, they found the place was filled to the doors. Not a private parlor nor even a table in a corner was available. “We might as well go on home,” David said, looking around, and seeing a long wait would be necessary.
Sanford and Benson were also scanning the room. Benson turned to leave, but Sanford beckoned to a harried waiter and had some words with him, passing a folded bill into his hand. He soon turned back to the others. “There is a private parlor about to be vacated,” he said. “We will just have time to wash up.”
This trick would better have come from the spy, but still it was a relief that they were to stay, and Sanford was forgiven his finesse. They were soon ensconced in a cozy parlor that offered a view of the main street of Plymouth, busy with pedestrians and clumps of people standing talking about the wonderful doings in town. Sanford suddenly jerked to attention, and Marie, noticing him out of the corner of her eye, followed the line of his gaze to see Madame Monet sauntering down the street, again wearing her garish peacock-blue ensemble. She looked closely at Sanford, and wondered that he should smile in pleasure at such a common looking woman, though really she was rather striking in a way, and more particularly from this distance. There were several masculine heads turning to admire her. Sanford looked back to the table, intercepting Miss Boltwood’s scrutiny of him.
“Madame Monet, by any chance?” he asked, indicating her with a nod to the window.
“Yes, she stays here at the inn.” As Marie spoke, Madame turned in at the door.
“Excellent,” Lord Sanford said, and arose at once to go to the door of the parlor and on out into the hallway. Before a minute was up, he entered the private room with Madame on his arm. David was secretly delighted, but as Benson wore a disapproving scowl at the woman’s appearance, he schooled himself to wear a similar face. Marie noticed Benson’s instinctive withdrawal and approved his taste.
“Madame tells me she has the pleasure of your acquaintance,” Sanford said to the Boltwoods. “I have convinced her to join us for luncheon, as she will have to wait eons for a table. You know Mr. Benson, Madame?” he asked, looking to the new guest.
“Je crois que non,” she answered, examining Benson with avid interest and those strategic eyes, her best feature.
“I thought it might be possible, as Mr. Benson was on the Continent after Napoleon was sent to Elba,” Sanford remarked.
Mr. Benson, already on his feet to acknowledge a new lady amongst them, bowed and said he believed he had not previously had the pleasure.
“I am happy to be able to give you the pleasure now,” Sanford said, and introduced them.
“What brings you to Plymouth, ma’am?” Sanford asked next, when he had seated her beside himself and offered a glass of wine.
She explained her motive, the Château de Ferville requisitioned, her wish to see Bonaparte gotten rid of. “Sir Henry, there is a man who knows what he is about,” she finished up.
“You refer to the petition?” Sanford asked.
“Bien entendu. I have signed it, me. I approve.”
“I don’t,” Sanford said bluntly. “I am surprised that a gentle-born lady like you should be so bloodthirsty, Madame,” he went on in an arch tone. Marie was surprised to see this arrogant creature sinking to flirtation.
“As to bloodthirsty, the General has shed more than his share. Time for him to pay now the debt to society.”
“He has more than repaid it,” Sanford said. “He has advanced military strategy by a century, and civil law by a millennium in France. The Code Napoleon is the best thing ever happened to France. Now you, as a French lady, Madame, must appreciate that.”
“Quant à ça, he did little enough for us women. We are chattels still in France, as elsewhere,” she countered.
“Oh but women are incapable of looking after themselves, and must be protected,” Sanford pointed out, with a face so serious and noble that Marie took the idea he was roasting Madame. A wicked flash leapt out at him from those two azure pools that were Madame’s eyes.
“Protection? I received no protection, nothing, not a sou, for my husband’s home. Were it not for les saphirs Monet, my necklace of which I have spoken to the Boltwoods many times, I would be destitute. Had I been a man, I think some recompense would have been made to me. But they think nothing of robbing a helpless woman. It has left me uncomfortably short of money, and it is very expensive living at an inn, so very inconvenient. I appreciate your kindness in having me at your table, Lord Sanford. The meal times are the worst of all, standing in a line like a pauper waiting for a loaf.”
“I am surprised you choose to stay at an inn,” he said. “Surely some of your friends would be charmed to have you visit them.”
“Ah, but I have no friends in England. This is my first visit here.” The eyes flitted between David, Benson and Sanford. It was not a demanding or angry look, but helpless, pathetic. Even Marie felt an involuntary spurt of pity, which she soon controlled.
“You are friends with Sir Henry, I think you mentioned?” Sanford asked, creating an extremely unpleasant situation for Sir Henry’s offspring, who knew they dare not offer Madame the hospitality of Bolt Hall. Nor did he leave it at that, but pushed on to embarrass them even further. “You must explain Madame’s plight to your father,” he said to Marie.
“Sir Henry is not at all well,” Benson explained, upon intercepting a desperate glance from Marie. “It upsets him to have company in the house.”
“Nonsense! He already has us,” Sanford went on. “I cannot think such a charming lady as Madame Monet would discommode him in the least. She would be company for Miss Boltwood—the elder Miss Boltwood, I mean,” he explained to Marie, whose heart fell at the inappropriateness of this remark. There was a thundering silence while Sanford and Madame looked hopefully from David to Marie, all in vain. “I wish I had a home here myself that I might offer you shelter, Madame,” he said after the long pause.
The Boltwoods were as one in wishing the same thing. “You are too kind,” Madame told him, eying the inhospitable pair with diminishing hope. She soon settled on David as the more susceptible, but he was forced to sit with his tongue between his teeth, feeling an utter fool, and knave into the bargain.
“If Sir Henry’s hard heart is not touched by your position, Madame, you must do me the honor to come to me,” Sanford continued. “I would be happy to welcome you at Paisley Park, in Devon, or on the Isle of Wight, where I shall shortly be going myself. Or in London, if you prefer the city. You would like London, and London would be aux anges with you,” he added with a glowing smile. Strange the way his face softened with a smile, Marie noticed. Nor was Madame untouched by all his gallantry.
