Devil to Pay (5 page)

At this moment there was a hail—not a challenge—from the jetty. A man there said that he was a friend, adding “Vive le Roi,” to make his position clear. Delancey gave the password “Navarre” but it was not returned correctly. Uneasy about this, Delancey nevertheless led the way ashore, followed by Major Moncrieff and two marines. He then ordered Mr Warren to push out and keep the boat three fathoms clear of the jetty. The Frenchman, meanwhile, explained to Moncrieff that his landing was expected. He mentioned Lord Moira by name and said that he was the guide who would lead them to where their friends were gathered. No light was shown but the party reached the end of the jetty without mishap and followed a path inland. After a hundred yards or so the path curved to the left and descended to a stone bridge which evidently crossed the stream at a point some distance above the harbour, into which it evidently emptied. The path led uphill on the far side, flanked by trees, and the guide went up to a cottage which stood alone on the right of the track. He knocked at the door, the sound being evidently pre-arranged (rap—rap-rap) and then waited, motionless and silent. At that moment Delancey heard someone trip over a stone. The sound came not from the cottage but from the bridge they had crossed. There was no going back but Delancey felt in an instant that he and his party were trapped. All but silently they had been followed, and now their escape was cut off—or was this fear groundless? He and Moncrieff drew and cocked their pistols.

The cottage door opened and light shone across the path. The man who was their guide motioned to them to enter, which they did, but Delancey paused for a moment while he told the two marines to stay outside. The interior of the cottage was candlelit and there were a dozen men there, armed and in enemy uniform. One in the centre, evidently in command, levelled his pistol and said, “Englishmen, you are prisoners.” At that instant Moncrieff shot him dead. Delancey, who was in the doorway, turned on the guide, shot him at close range and saw him fall. It would seem that the object was to take them prisoners for their fire was not at once returned. Several voices called on them to surrender but Moncrieff shouted, “Surrender yourselves!” He fired his other pistol and then drew his sword, calling to Delancey, “Run for it!” Delancey had drawn his sword at the same time but Moncrieff had fallen before Delancey could help him. Both marines then fired into the room, allowing Delancey to run past them in the smoke. “Follow me!” he shouted and ran down the path. He quitted it, however, so as to avoid the bridge, swerving left (upstream) and running through the trees, the two marines at his heels. There were sounds of pursuit, footsteps pounding along the path and orders being shouted, but these noises were drowned by musket shots—probably the result of the men from the cottage running into their own ambush at the bridge. Delancey himself splashed through the stream, ran uphill through some bushes, swerved right and headed for the jetty. There was enough confusion round the bridge to enable him to arrive there before the enemy. He found the longboat alongside and Mr Warren ashore with half the boat's crew. These fired a volley which checked the pursuit for the time needed for all to embark. As the longboat backed out, stern-foremost, there was a burst of firing from the jetty, a marine being killed and three seamen wounded. The three-pounder replied with a charge of grape shot which cleared the jetty. The longboat was not under fire again but a lugger in the harbour discharged her swivel guns at the
Royalist
as she made sail, doing some damage to the rigging and badly wounding Mr Burrows. Soon after daylight the cutter was rounding the Casquets and heading into the Russel. By the time she dropped anchor in the roads, Mr Burrows and one of the wounded seamen had died. Delancey went ashore in the gig, noticing on the way that the
Daphne
had already returned and was moored alongside the breakwater. He reported at once to Captain D'Auvergne's headquarters.

“The Captain will be here in a minute,” said Bassett. “What happened?”

“The enemy were expecting us. Major Moncrieff fell and I was lucky to escape. We have three others killed and two wounded.”

“I feared as much when I saw the shot holes in your mainsail!”

“I see the
Daphne
is back . . . ?”

“She fared no better. M de Mortemart was captured on landing, Mr A tells us.”

“And he will tell the enemy all he knows.”

“They also have his despatch. Mr A informs us that the French troops at St Malo are marching to save Cherbourg. Lord Moira has countermanded his orders for the landing.”

“Our failure, then, is complete.”

“So complete that the French have already struck back. They have a frigate squadron heading this way and Sir James Saumarez is actually outnumbered.”

D'Auvergne entered quickly at that moment and the others stood to attention.

“I'm glad to see you safe, Mr Delancey. What happened?”

“We walked into a trap, your Highness. The cottage where we were to meet our friends was held by our enemies. Major Moncrieff refused to surrender and was killed. He killed two of the enemy first—shot one and ran the other through. We had other losses, three killed and two wounded. We were lucky to save the cutter herself.”

“And the despatches?”

“The enemy have them.”

“You think that you were expected?”

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“But how can they have known? I don't understand it, can hardly believe it. Enough of that for the moment, though. You look worn out.”

“I have been on my feet for 48 hours, sir.”

“Take some rest now. Report back here at midday. Lord Moira will be here then and will want to hear your own story.”

When Delancey had gone, D'Auvergne asked Bassett: “How were we betrayed?”

“Perhaps in London, sir.”

“But the details of the plan were not even
known
in London!”

“Perhaps at La Gravelle, then. Someone took fright and betrayed the rest.”

“Could that happen at
both
places and at the same time?”

“Unlikely, sir, I must confess. There remains only the one alternative. We were betrayed here.”

“Where the plan was known only to Lord Moira, the governor, to you and me, to Moncrieff and Delancey, to Mr A and the Vicomte de Mortemart. Of these eight men one must be a traitor.”

“Do you think it possible that Mr A is a double agent?”

“It will be a disaster if he is. He is at the very centre of our intelligence system. He knows everything—more than I do.”

“I can see no possible traitor among the other seven. There was some careless talk at the banquet, I'll admit.”

“Yes, but not in any detail.”

“So it has to be Mr A.”

“I fear that you may be right. We've played and lost and the stakes were high. It remains to find out how the dice came to be loaded.”

It was a smaller meeting at midday than Delancey had expected. There was Lord Moira, D'Auvergne and himself—no one else. The Earl was very much at his ease and only mildly interested in the reports he heard.

“So the French have both despatches?” he asked finally.

“I fear so, my Lord,” said D'Auvergne.

“And their army is on a forced march from St Malo to Cherbourg?”

“We have a reliable report to that effect.”

“And I hear now that Sir James Saumarez has had a partial action with their frigates, using his local knowledge to trick them. They were last seen on their way back to St Malo, looking extremely foolish!”

“So I understand, my Lord.”

“On our side we lost Alan Moncrieff, a fine young officer. I shall write to his father. A pity you could not have saved him, Mr Delancey I have no doubt that you did your best.”

“I was at his side, my Lord, and would have liked to prevent the despatches from falling into the hands of the enemy. But I was also responsible for the safety of the
Royalist.
I did what seemed best, my Lord, and am only sorry that my mission should have failed.”

“Your mission did
not
fail, Mr Delancey.” There was a full minute's silence, broken by D'Auvergne.

“Your Lordship cannot mean that we succeeded?”

“Listen, gentlemen. What I am going to tell you is for your ears alone. It will be known to no one else, not even the governor. First, then, I owe you both a very humble apology. It has been my duty to deceive you from the beginning. There was never any serious plan for landing an army near Cherbourg. The rumour heard in Portsmouth was that my troops are destined for Flanders. Well, that is in fact the truth. That is where they are going.”

“Then why, my Lord,” asked D'Auvergne, “—why in heaven's name did you come here at all?”

“To prevent the French from capturing Jersey. That threat was real enough. Our reply was to make a feint against Cherbourg. The result was to make the enemy march to save that port, which we never dreamt of attacking.”

“I see it all now . . .” groaned D'Auvergne.

“I want you, Mr Delancey, to see it too. You feel now that you have risked your life for nothing—that the enemy could have been tricked some other way. But I want you to learn now one of the first rules of war. It is this: we only believe the information we have gained with difficulty by our own efforts. The captured document convinces us. So does the intelligence dragged from a prisoner under threat of execution. I gave Moncrieff a despatch addressed to a real insurgent leader but almost certain to fall into enemy hands. I gave Pierre de Mortemart the verbal plans for invasion which he would certainly reveal when questioned. It was vital that Moncrieff and Mortemart should believe in the invasion and quite as essential, Captain D'Auvergne, that you should believe in it yourself. This made it certain that all the enemy agents in Guernsey would tell the same story.”

“But how did the enemy come to know in advance about our two missions? Who warned them, my Lord?”

“Haven't you guessed, Captain D'Auvergne?”

“It was Mr A, I suppose.”

“Exactly, Jean Prigent of St Helier, a double agent from the beginning.”

“I hope to see him hanged!”

“Softly, Captain! We shan't hang Prigent. We shall use him. And when he's no longer useful we shall betray him to the French, who'll put him before a firing squad. Be patient, though. That won't happen for years.”

After Lord Moira had gone, D'Auvergne sat at the table, utterly dejected.

“Here ends our attempted invasion of France!” he said bitterly. “The scheme is abandoned. More than that, the plan never even existed. It was all a feint, a gesture, a momentary phase in the war, an incident too small to merit even a line in the history book. We are used, you and I, and then tossed aside.”

“Isn't that the nature of war, sir?”

D'Auvergne did not reply but, rising to his feet, he caught sight of the map on the wall, the one he had used in explaining the campaign. He stared at it for a minute as if the Castle of Navarre were actually marked. Following his glance, Delancey asked, “Shall I take this map down, sir?”

“Yes,” said D'Auvergne, “take it down. Tear it up! Burn it! We shan't need it again. What chance we had is gone!”

I
N THE AFTERMATH of the landing at La Gravelle Delancey had several days' work to do; the repairs to the
Royalist,
the arranging of the burials, the writing to the relatives of the fallen, the care of the wounded and the return to store of borrowed equipment. It was while reporting to Bassett on these matters that he first heard of a sequel to the affair which he had never expected.

“I feel bound to warn you,” said Bassett, “that there is talk among the military here about Moncrieff's death. Some officers are saying that he should have been rescued—that he was left to his fate by the navy— that his life was thrown away.”

“It was thrown away, I must confess. But rescue was out of the question—I saw him killed.”

“I know that this is the truth and I have explained this to an officer of the 42nd who told me of the feelings that had been aroused in his mess.”

“But Moncrieff was in the 7th Foot.”

“Yes, but he was on Lord Moira's staff. Being absent from his own regiment he had been messing with the 42nd and was very popular with his brother officers of that unit.”

“That does not surprise me. He was liked, I suppose, by everyone.”

“That seems to be the fact. And that is why some harsh words have been said about you.”

“Does Captain D'Auvergne know about this?”

“Yes, and he has spoken with Major Simmons, presently commanding the 42nd. Their colonel is out of the island at present and Simmons is rather young to be left on his own. His Highness doubts whether Simmons has much authority over his captains, several of whom are older than he and have been in battle.”

“I see,” replied Delancey slowly. “Strange to think that Moncrieff, had he lived, would have been perhaps my best friend. Our efforts could not have been better concerted, and now I am thought to have deserted him.”

“The accusation is absurd—I know that.”

“I could have landed more men and done some damage to the enemy but the probable result would have been to lose the
Royalist.
And my orders were explicit, as you know—to be away again before daylight.”

“All that is perfectly true. I think it quite disgraceful that a story like this should be repeated.”

“Thank you for the warning. I believe we shall meet again this evening?”

“At the Golden Lion? Yes, I am to be there and I understand that Captain Bastable will be the prince's other guest at supper. The
Cormorant
is back again from Jersey and will sail for Portsmouth tomorrow afternoon.”