HMS Diamond (14 page)

      
The only thing he could remember from his last meeting with Lady Fuhrmann was her mentioning that she lived on Rue Bastide, so that was as good a place to start as any—wherever it might be.

      
He turned on the Rue d’Alger and followed it past the Palais de Justice until it hit the Boulevard de Strassbourg. A short distance ahead he could see the Parc d’Artillerie and decided he was too far north. He turned left following the boulevard and turned left again on the Rue de Pasmareau. This took him past the large open field of the Champ de Mars and the magnificent Cathedral of St. Louis. He turned right on the Rue du Canon and kept walking until, to his amazement, he was at the Rue d’Alger again. He looked around in frustration at having wasted almost an hour, and cursing the fact that he could not speak French.

      
People were coming out of their houses now in ones and twos. They seemed to be of two types. The first were glassy-eyed, almost zombie like. They did not seem to know quite what to do or where to go; but felt like, with the dawn, they should be doing something. The second were just the reverse. These were people with "a plan" of some kind—rushing about thinking that if only they could get to Monsieur X or Colonel Y all would be well. The world would again make sense.

      
Suddenly a boy emerged from around a corner, running and shouting an alarm in rapid-fire French. People up and down the street stopped, listened, and then sped up their pace. At about the same time Walker could hear the random pop of musket fire from the east and he understood what the boy was saying. The Republican Army was entering Toulon. He now knew he had to take a chance with his half-baked French. "Just keep it short and simple," he told himself. "Find someone that’s in a hurry."

      
He grabbed a man’s arm that was rushing by. "Monsieur! Monsieur, où la rue est-elle Bastide?" The man yanked his arm free, let loose a torrent of oaths, but pointed in a direction. It was all Walker needed.

      
Twenty minutes later he found himself walking down a fashionable street not far from where he started on the waterfront. There were two houses large enough to fit Walker’s notion of what a British peer might inhabit; and he got lucky with the first one. On the brass doorknocker was engraved the word he was looking for: Fuhrmann.

      
Beyond his unease in exploring a complete stranger’s home uninvited, Walker immediately felt like something was wrong. Everything looked normal enough. The furniture was not overturned; the paintings were still on the walls, the crystal was still in the dining room cabinets, clothes were still neatly arranged in their closets, and so forth. But, still, something was... and it hit him. The thing that was wrong was that nothing was wrong.

      
Susan and Inge must have known there would be large-scale looting once the Republican Army took the city; yet everything seemed so normal; it was as if the owner had just stepped out. No, more than that, it was as if the owner was inviting the thieves to take whatever they wanted. There seemed to be no attempt to hide anything.

      
But why would they do that? Unless... unless that was precisely what they wanted them to do. Loot the place and get out. Go on to other pickings. There would be no sense in looking around the house very carefully; not when the goods are all laid out in front of you.

      
That was when Walker knew they were still in the house.

      
He re-checked every room, every nook and cranny, as quickly as he could. It would not be long before the looters made it this far into the city. Yet, he could find nothing. The last room he checked was the kitchen. Still nothing. He was about to give up when he noticed a thin seam on the floor. "Of course," he muttered to himself. "A root cellar."

      
He tossed back a small rug that was partially covering the trap door, grabbed a small recessed handle and pulled up.

      
The crash of the pistol shot was magnified many times by the hard cave-like walls of the root cellar. Walker didn’t hear that sound nearly as distinctly as he heard the ball going past his right ear—a tearing sound like a small piece of cloth being ripped.

      
"JE-ZUS!!" Walker cried out and fell back to his left hoping he was out of the line of fire. "For Christ sake, it’s me! Lucas!"

      
"Lucas?" Two eyes cautiously rose above the floor level, peering at him through a mop of uncontrolled and uncontrollable brown hair.

      
"Lucas! Oh my God, I almost killed you." Susan was now scrambling up from the ladder. "Are you all right? Oh, my God, I am so sorry." She rushed over to him to make sure he really was unharmed.

      
"Susan, I know we’ve had our disagreements, but this is..." Walker was going to try to say something witty when he saw Susan’s face. The concern in her eyes was very real and that caused him to pause and think about how closely he had just come to being killed. "Damn," he thought. "Another inch or so to the right and...

      
"I am all right. Is Inge down there with you?" Walker asked, then saw Lady Fuhrmann emerging from the trap door.

      
"We’ve got to get out of here," Lucas snapped. "Susan, reload that pistol. We might need it. The Republican Army is pouring into the city and the first place they’re going to head will be neighborhoods like this one."

      
Lucas ran to the front door to see if he could see any patrols through the glass.

      
"Where are we going? Susan asked.

      
"I don’t know." Walker thought for a moment. "Wait, maybe I do. How’s your French, Susan?"

***

      
Walking down the Rue du Canon, Walker and Fuhrmann looked as forlorn as could be. Walker had a large bag slung over his shoulder and Lady Fuhrmann carried a smaller one. Behind them was Susan, pistol drawn, marching them along. Somewhere along the route she had picked up a bright red Phrygian cap, the "Cap of Liberty," proudly worn by all true believers in the revolution.

      
Patrols were everywhere, some looting, some going about official business, some doing both at the same time. Fortunately, they were stopped only once.

      
"And what do we have here, citizen?" the soldier growled.

      
"I have two
aristos
, Sergeant. Caught them hiding," Susan replied. "I am taking them to Colonel Bonaparte. Should fetch a fat reward, don’t you think?"

      
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. And, perhaps it depends on what’s in those bags." The sergeant reached over to grab the sack from Walker, but stopped when he heard the click of the hammer being pulled back on Susan’s pistol.

      
"I think whatever’s in those bags is mine, don’t you agree?"

      
The sergeant eyed her warily and decided she really would pull the trigger if she had to. What was the point of risking his life over a couple of sacks when there were probably better and certainly less threatening pickings all around him? He withdrew his hand.

      
"Bitch!" He spat, and continued on his way.

      
Before long they had reached the Champ de Mars, a large field originally designed to drill and parade troops. Dominating the southeastern corner was the massive Cathedral of St. Louis whose huge oak doors lay open and slightly askew. The three looked around to make sure no one was paying particular attention to them, and ducked into the church.

      
Walker felt the same sense of wonderment he had once felt at Westminster as he walked down the central aisle. Along both sides of the nave were huge Doric colonnades supporting a massive timbered roof. High above the altar was a lantern dome supported by ten small Corinthian columns. The dome itself was frescoed but he could not clearly make out the figures in the dim morning light. In contrast to the imposing scale of the building, the nave and alter were barren. Apparently anything of any value had long since been either stolen or hidden.

      
Walker glanced around and saw what he was looking for to his right—a spiral wooden staircase heading up to the bell tower. "Over here," Walker said, and the three ascended the stairs.

      
The church had been built in the 17th Century but the bell tower was new, having been built a mere 50 years earlier. Like the church, it was made of stone capped by a belfry some 20 yards square. A large arch was open to the air on each of the four walls and on either side of each opening was a smaller arch covered over with latticework. It was the perfect hiding place. Despite the official atheism of the revolution, few soldiers were keen on desecrating a church, especially if they knew it had already been looted. Even better, the latticework arches allowed them to keep a lookout in all four directions without the slightest chance of being seen from the ground.

      
"Well, we’re here. Make yourselves at home," Walker quipped.

      
"We’re here, all right. But what do you have in mind next?" Susan asked.

      
Walker outlined the agreement he had with Sidney Smith to rendezvous off of Cape Cepet each night at midnight. "And that’s why I had you bring the lanterns," he concluded.

      
"How do you plan to get out of the city?" Lady Fuhrmann asked.

      
"I don’t know."

      
"And, if you do, how do you plan to make it past the patrols and out to the cape?" She continued.

      
"I don’t know."

      
Inge Fuhrmann glanced at Susan with an anguished look on her face.

      
"Oh, don’t worry, Inge," Susan said while tucking a curl under her newly acquired red cap. "This is actually one of their better thought out plans."

***

      
Walker was grateful that he had worn his heavier clothes. Even though it was southern France, in December the temperatures were only in the upper 50’s during the day and in the chilly upper 40’s at night. Nevertheless, the three were reasonably comfortable in the tower.

      
Lady Fuhrmann was keeping a lookout over the city through a latticework arch to the north. Susan was looking out to the west, and Walker had the east and south. Not much was being said. About 3 o’clock they decided to tap into some of the food they had brought along and Walker had a chance to assess his two companions.

      
Susan was reacting as he expected. Calm, collected, seemingly unconcerned but keeping a watchful eye on everything that happened. He knew from times past that he could depend on her if and when things went wrong. The wildcard was Lady Fuhrmann. She was looking considerably more disheveled than Susan and he could see occasional flashes of fear in her eyes. This was a "Lady" after all, a purebred member of the nobility—the House of Hanover. The greatest crisis she had probably ever faced was the time the cook burned the strudel just before an important dinner. But, there also seemed to be something else there; but what was it? Could there be some steel under all that blue-blood frippery? Unfortunately, there was no way of knowing for sure. Walker did know this, however. If she came unglued at the wrong moment, they could all be very dead, very quickly.

      
The bread and cheese they brought with them was quickly consumed along with a rather excellent, buttery, bottle of chardonnay. Inge was placing the leftovers back in the sack when Susan spoke up.

      
"Lucas, something’s going on."

      
He slid over to Susan’s window and looked down at the Champ de Mars. "Where?"

      
"Over there, down that side street; and over there by the water pump."

      
It was true. Soldiers were dispersing all over the city nailing up flyers of some kind. Eventually one got nailed to the cathedral door and Walker went to retrieve it. Susan did the translation:

CITIZENS OF TOULON

      
The Republic understands that you have been misled by a handful of Royalist agitators in your midst; and, in its generosity, is prepared to forgive your transgressions. Toulon is a great seaport and is to be the home of the Revolutionary Navy’s invincible Mediterranean Fleet. We must get this seaport and that fleet fully operational as soon as possible.

      
Accordingly, all persons who were employed in the arsenal or in the shipyard while the English were in possession are to attend a roll call TOMORROW at NOON at the CHAMP DE MARS. This is to include all head workmen, skilled laborers, common laborers, clerks, and any other person as gave service during the occupation.

      
All other persons—male or female—seeking employment, or spectators interested in witnessing the MERCY of the REVOLUTION, may attend as well.

      
"What do you make of it, Lucas?" Susan asked after finishing her translation. "If you were a resident of Toulon, would you go?"