Flashman's Escape (30 page)

“You have no defence then,” the man accused sharply. “While other citizens of France loyally serve their emperor, even though they are old or wounded, a young, fit and healthy man thinks he can malinger and even claim the sympathy rightly earned by others.” His voice rose in anger as he spoke and I realised that I would have to say something or he could have me ordered to a firing squad there and then.

“I have served my emperor,” I replied at last, “and suffered wounds in his service.”

“Really,” responded the man derisively. “I have spent the last weeks sweeping the sick bays of the army for reinforcements, sending men with hands, feet and eyes missing back to the front line. Yet you stand complete before me and claim to have a debilitating injury.”

For the second time recently I had cause to be grateful for my earlier wounds. I remembered the effect my scar had made on the policeman and with fumbling fingers I reached up to my shirt and pulled it to reveal the wicked star-shaped musket ball exit wound in my chest. “I was shot through the body and I have another hole in my leg. I cannot march far without coughing up blood,” I lied. “To go all the way to Russia would kill me.”

The man gave a grudging nod of acceptance as he stared at my wound. “So why did you not get a certificate of exemption for this wound if it is that bad?” he asked.

“I tried but I was refused.” I remembered Sophie telling me about the hostility between the minister of war and the minister of police and decided to try to appeal to it. “I did not want to cause difficulties for the police, but you must know that the ministry of war will not listen to reason. They allow hardly any exemptions.”

The man behind the desk smiled wolfishly. “Who do you think I am?” he asked quietly.

“
Monsieur
Savary, the minister of police,” I suggested hesitantly, fast coming to the conclusion that I had just made a very bad mistake.

“No,” the man said, still smiling. “I am Henri Clarke, Duke of Feltre, the minister of war and, as you rightly say, I allow very few exemptions.”

“I am sorry,
monsieur
,” I apologised abjectly. “I had not wished to cause offence.”

“Nor have you,” he responded briskly while watching me closely. He must have seen the uncertainty play across my eyes as I reassessed the situation. If he was not the police minister then what did the minister of war want with me? He surely did not personally interview every deserter; there had to be something else. If he did not know I was British then there was only one other obvious possibility and the thought turned my guts to jelly.

Almost as though he could read my mind, Clarke now spoke again. “Last week with Madame Trebuchet you visited citizen Malet in his rest home. Why did you do that?”

“Sophie, I mean Madame Trebuchet,” I replied, thinking fast, “asked me to accompany her. The general is an old friend and I think she visits him regularly.” That, I thought, was safe enough: Sophie did visit him regularly, and if they had been watching the old lunatic, they would know that. But I had made a slip and Clarke was quick to pounce.

“How did you know he was a general?” asked Clarke. Then, before I could answer, he casually added, “Did he show you the uniform in his trunk?”

Mention of the trunk brought beads of sweat out on my brow. Had they overheard our conversation or intercepted the letters? How much did Clarke know? “Trunk, what trunk?” I managed to gasp, but the horror must have shown on my face and Clarke laughed in triumph.

“I know all about Malet and his conspiracy and I know that you have seen inside the trunk. The mastermind of your little scheme told one of the orderlies that a French officer had suggested he get a chain to secure it.”

“Dear God,” I muttered in abject dismay, slumping back in the chair in defeat.

“You seem surprised at your leader’s ineptitude,” declared Clarke, enjoying himself now. “Did you know that this is his third attempt to overthrow the government? The last time he shut the doors of Notre Dame, trapping the congregation, while he climbed on a monument and declared that the emperor was dead and announced the new republic. You should be impressed; in comparison this is a much more thorough affair.”

“But why don’t you arrest him?” I asked, bewildered.

“Arrest him? We are the people who set him free.” Clarke saw my puzzlement and explained: “His plots have no chance of success, but he is useful in attracting others opposed to the government.”

“I swear to you, sir,” I protested vehemently, “that I am not in any way opposed to the emperor. I had no idea about the plot until I visited the general.”

Clarke held up a hand to still any further protest. “What is your relationship with Madame Trebuchet?”

I hesitated, wondering what else he knew. His people had tracked me to her house, so he knew I lived there. “We are lovers,” I told him. “She is giving me somewhere to live while I try to sort out a proper exemption.”

“And what is your role in the conspiracy?”

“I have no role,” I insisted immediately. “General Malet suggested I could be one of his aides but I have not accepted. I want no part in the scheme at all.”

“Did you know that General Lahorie, who would be police minister under the new republic, was also a lover of Madame Trebuchet?”

“I had no idea. By God, sir, she has played me for a fool!” I tried to sound outraged at being duped by my lover into helping her free an earlier companion. “I will leave her at once and I can assure you, sir, that I will have no further contact with any of them. In the circumstances, perhaps I should risk the journey to Russia after all,” I suggested hesitantly.

“On the contrary,” pronounced the minister firmly. “You will carry on exactly as before and offer to be an aide to Malet.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It is quite simple: I want the plot to proceed and for a few hours to be a success. I of course will escape arrest and lead the forces that round up the conspirators. Amongst their papers we will find documents implicating a number of individuals who currently have imperial protection. Your job will be to tell me when the uprising is about to happen and to hide papers that I will give you in the homes of the conspirators.”

Suddenly it all became clear. This Machiavellian minister was using Malet as bait to attract conspirators. But as well as those daft enough to become involved directly with the plot, he also planned to use the scheme to attack other enemies. I was to be his agent and an inconvenient witness to his treachery. I had no doubt that Clarke would ensure that I was killed when the brief republic was overthrown, but I had to pretend that I was taken in by his scheme.

“If I do as you ask, what will happen to me?”

“If you do a good job then you will be sent to Russia, so that you are out of the way while the investigations are undertaken. You can take your time getting there as the emperor may well be on the way back by the time the plot is revealed.” He looked at me sternly. “But if you fail in any way, I will have no choice but to round up the conspirators and you will all be executed for treason.” He paused and then added, “And if you are thinking of tipping off your fellow accomplices and making a run for it, remember that you and the house will be watched day and night. You are not the only spy I have in this conspiracy, and if your reports differ from those of the other informers, you will also be arrested.”

I knew then that I was stuck fast in his web of intrigue, but at least I would be able to walk out of the ministry. That was more than I dared hope just a few minutes ago. “I see, sir. I accept,” I declared solemnly.

“Accept? Of course you bloody do. You don’t have a choice, unless you want to be shot now.” I got up to leave but he waved me back. “Wait, you will be wanting this. The police will not dare challenge that one and they should keep out of your way.” He handed me a stiff sheet of parchment. Staring down I saw it was a new exemption certificate, made out to ‘the bearer’ and displaying the ministry crest with the signature and seal of Clarke himself.

Still in something of a daze, I walked out of the office. The man in the dark suit was waiting for me in the corridor. He guided me down a grand staircase to the main front entrance. There he made me wait for a few minutes while he spoke to some of his colleagues, probably to arrange my surveillance. I used the time to peruse the announcements pinned to the wall. There was a wide range of notices and posters, some announcing promotions, others detailing changes to brigade structures as well as miscellaneous announcements.

I almost missed it, but just as I was turning away I saw a pamphlet with a drawing of two faces on it. They seemed vaguely familiar. Under the heading ‘Wanted’ the notice announced the escape of the notorious British agent Major ‘Colquin’ Grant, believed to be travelling with a French officer using the name of Moreau, pronounced a traitor of France. Five hundred francs was offered for our capture with dire threats of punishment to anyone harbouring us.

Chapter 29

The man in the dark suit signalled I could go and one of the ministry’s most hunted men stepped back out onto the street. Once in the sunshine I paused to take a deep breath. I was at some form of liberty again. Certainly I was a wanted man trapped in a mess of conspiracy and blackmail, but a short while earlier I had been expecting to take that breath in front of a line of men loading muskets. I had faced worse dangers before, and while it seemed certain that sooner or later some people would face a firing squad, I was going to do all I could to make damn sure I was not among them.

I tried to adopt a casual stroll as I sauntered down the road, apparently unaware of those watching me. The dark-suited man did not bother to try to hide as he followed me at a discreet distance. At the next junction I saw the brown-suited man also watching from a side street and there were probably others out there that I did not recognise. Clearly Clarke did not trust me an inch, which was fair as I did not trust him further than I could spit a hedgehog either. They seemed to expect me to make a run for it and that was exactly what I was planning to do, but I would have to tread carefully.

At least for the moment I was safe. I had a genuine exemption certificate that would frighten off any policeman and the plot was not due to take place for months. Maybe I could lull them into a false sense of security. But when we did make our move they would know within hours and then they would be out for us with a vengeance. They certainly did not suspect me of also being the infamous Lieutenant Moreau, but if they ever found out about Grant’s existence in the house, it would surely not take them long to put two and two together.

That got me wondering who else Clarke might have spying on the plot. I could not believe that Sophie was a Bonapartist agent. Surely she would not have split with her husband if she was that committed to the emperor. She also seemed genuinely passionate when talking about the republic. The only other candidate in the house was Anna, but she knew about our real identities, which Clarke manifestly did not. I was about to dismiss the idea of her as a spy when I remembered that if she revealed our real names, she would also incriminate her cousin. Perhaps she only gave them limited information to protect her family.

I decided to be wary of her as a precaution, but the person I really could not trust with information was Grant. It was not that I thought him a spy; it was just that I knew he was a dangerous idiot. He was convinced that the plot would bring him fame and glory and he was bound to blurt out that it had been betrayed. He would probably press to activate it immediately and want to arrest Clarke himself.

My best chance, I decided, lay with me keeping quiet about the meeting with Clarke and acting as normal to all concerned. I just had to buy some time until Marcel, the boat owner, finally appeared and then we would have to try to give those watching us the slip.

A short while later I walked up the alley at the back of the garden. As I approached the garden gate I looked back and could see the dark-jacketed agent settling himself on a bench in the street at the end of the alley. I had no doubt that someone was also watching the front of the house. If they maintained this level of vigilance then getting past them would be a challenge.

“Where have you been?” Grant demanded imperiously as soon as I approached the chapel.

“I needed some time by myself,” I told him, glancing around to check we were alone.

“You can’t just go off on your own now,” he rebuked. “We are involved in affairs of state. The future of this nation depends on us, Flashman, on our courage and determination to succeed.”

France really was doomed then, I thought. “For God’s sake, keep your voice down,” I told him. “Let’s go up to the belfry. We need to talk in private.”

Grant looked intrigued as he followed me up the wooden ladder to the platform at the top of the bell tower. I slammed the trapdoor shut and we both sat on the straw mattress he used for a bed.

“Listen carefully,” I whispered at him. “I went out for a walk and while I was wondering about I saw a noticeboard. It had a wanted poster for you and Lieutenant Moreau, your travelling companion. There were drawings of us and a description of you with your red coat. They must have spoken to General Souham because they are searching for us in Paris.”

“Posters of us all over Paris,” breathed Grant, with a note of pride to his voice. “We will be famous. But we must stay hidden until we are ready to declare the new republic.”

“No,” I whispered back. “It is even more important that we leave, but we must do it carefully at night so that we are not seen. As soon as we hear from Lacodre we have to go together.”

“But I want to stay and help create the new republic,” Grant whined like a petulant child. “Think of the recognition we will get if we help stop the war. If we are on a barge or back in Spain when the republic is declared then our moment is lost.”

“You are right, I suppose,” I acknowledged, pretending to consider his point of view while I planned a new angle of attack. Thoughts of glory were driving him and so the threat of disgrace would turn him. “But what happens if we are captured before the republic has been declared? You are very distinctive in your red coat and Sophie says that everyone in the city is a potential spy. Think who knows we are here: Lacodre, his parents, Anna, Clothilde, the boys – any one of those could accidentally say something to someone that could lead to our discovery.”

“Yes, but...” Grant started to object, but I held up my hand to stop him and then held a finger to my lips. I had heard a scraping sound in the chapel below. I reached forward and threw back the trap door, which fell back on the platform with a bang.

Anna stood at the bottom of the ladder, one foot on the first rung. She stared up with what I thought was a mixture of guilt and alarm. “I was just coming to tell you that I have brought your food,” she announced, gesturing at a covered basket that she had left on the stone altar.

I looked down at her with growing suspicion. “Thank you, Anna. We will be down presently.”

She turned for the door and I watched her walk out of the ruined end of the building. Then I shuffled over to the slatted sides of the bell tower to watch her walking away towards the house.

“You surely don’t suspect Anna as a spy?” exclaimed Grant.

“She does not normally come up the ladder to tell us about food,” I reminded him. “Normally she just leaves it on the altar and goes. Right now I don’t think I trust anybody.” I turned back to him. “We might not be betrayed by a committed Bonapartist; it might be someone who is being blackmailed by the authorities. Or little Victor might tell a friend at school about a man with a red coat who lives in his garden. There are a hundred ways we could be betrayed.”

“Yes, but even if we were captured, we would not talk.”

“Everyone talks eventually. They might use opiates so you are not thinking clearly or drive you mad with pain until you say anything to make it stop. You are right: the republic is the most important thing,” I lied. “Imagine if we were captured and the French government proclaimed that we had betrayed the plot. They would claim that our evidence resulted in the arrest and execution of the conspirators, people like Sophie. Is that what you want? The British press and society would decry us as the greatest villains, betraying those who had tried to bring peace and prosperity.”

Grant’s eyes opened wider in alarm as his previously imagined glory turned into ignominy and condemnation.

I pressed on. “We have already sent our despatches to Wellington. If the plot succeeds then we will share in the glory, and if we can make it back to Britain or Spain, we can be sure that the messages got through.”

Grant sat there for nearly a minute, thinking this through, and then he looked up. “You are right, Flashman,” he conceded. “The republic is the most important thing and we must do all we can to protect it.”

Having convinced Grant not to show himself in public again and to leave as soon as we had heard from Lacodre, I headed back up the garden to the house. Anna gave me a strange look as I passed through the kitchen. I wondered again if she was a spy for Clarke. If she was, she might have been informed that I was also working for Clarke. She might be just as worried about me betraying Lacodre as I was about her revealing our true identities. It was an absurd situation in that neither of us could trust or talk openly to the other without being certain of their treachery. If Anna was just inquisitive or had been asked to watch us by Sophie then it would be fatal to admit that I was being blackmailed by Clarke.

The mistress of the house, however, seemed to have no such suspicions and happily told me that she had arranged for a length of chain and a lock to be delivered to Malet’s room at the rest home.

That evening I tried to play cards with Sophie and the boys. My mind was not in the task. I could not help but wonder what would happen to them once Clarke moved against the conspirators. Even if Savary was trying to help her, it would surely be impossible for him to protect her if she was up to her neck in a plot to overthrow the emperor. She seemed certain to face the guillotine, but at least the boys should be saved and given to the custody of their father. While Sophie and her sons laughed with delight at the turn of the cards, I sat there feeling increasingly morose.

I was more convinced than ever that we had to escape. There was no way I was going to play a part in Sophie’s downfall or implicate other innocent victims for Clarke. I had grown fond of Sophie and the boys over the last couple of weeks, especially little Victor, who seemed to have a powerful imagination. He would often sit beside me and ask me to tell him tales of the war in Spain.

What is this? I hear you cry: Old Flash getting sentimental and chivalrous? Not a bit of it, although of course I would have been sorry to see poor Sophie lying face down underneath the ‘national razor’ as it was known. In this case, while Sophie did not know it, our interests were completely aligned. If I was forced to plant papers incriminating others in her house then she would be further implicated in the republican scheme. Equally, I knew full well that the minute I had planted those documents, I would be a dead man. Clarke would not take the risk of me being used by one of his political opponents to reveal his involvement in the conspiracy. But it would be no easy task for Grant and I to escape both our friends and our enemies to make it to that barge.

Even if we did manage to get away, I wondered what would happen to Sophie. Clarke would not give up on his plan of using the conspiracy for his own ends. Perhaps someone else would plant the incriminating documents and our escape would make no difference to Sophie’s fate. I pondered if I should simply tell her that the plot had been betrayed; but she was bound to tell Malet and that was as good as telling Clarke. The minister would then have us all rounded up and executed without delay. My imagination was filled with an awful image of staring down into a basket waiting to collect my head. I shuddered with horror at the thought and then, taking the brandy bottle with me, I slurred my apologies and retired for the evening.

I awoke the next morning with a thick head and what felt like a furry tongue. For a few blissful moments I lay enjoying the sound of the birds and the early-morning light shining through the half-drawn curtains. Then, like a black cloud, the memories of the previous day filled me with gloom. The walls of the room seemed to close in and I felt more ensnared than ever before. I had been in prisons and cells before and faced some grim prospects, but here there were so many layers of intrigue and confinement that it seemed almost impossible to break free. I got dressed and went outside, but there was no escape there as I remembered I was due to report to Clarke’s men at the start of each day.

I made my way through the bushes in the garden, avoiding sight of the chapel. I slipped quietly out of the gate and walked down the alley to the street. The man in the brown suit was sitting on the bench across the road, unshaven and slightly dishevelled as though he had been on duty all night, and perhaps he had. I walked across and sat next to him.

“What news do you have?” he demanded curtly.

“Not much. I told the minister everything I knew yesterday.” I paused, thinking that there was one piece of information that I could safely give them as they would find out for themselves shortly. “Madame Trebuchet has sent General Malet a chain and padlock for the box under his bed.” Glancing across at him, I added, “I presume you people can pick the lock?”

The man looked at me with contempt. “Yes. But find out where she bought it in case we need an identical lock.”

I got up and started to walk away. The lock probably had the maker’s name stamped on it; the man was just trying to exert his power over me. I had walked several paces when he spoke again.

“Wait,” he called, and I turned to face him. “Who is the second deserter staying at the house?”

I paused momentarily in shock before I managed to utter, “Second deserter? There is no second deserter.” It was a poor lie and we both knew it. The man smiled at my reaction.