The Man in the Green Coat (2 page)

Once more they nodded. Gabrielle’s heart was beating so hard she was surprised the Frenchman didn’t hear it. The squad passed them and galloped on, raising a swirl of dust that made them cough and splutter.

“I must suppose they did not appreciate our singing,” said Gabrielle wryly, when she could draw breath.

“No more music for me until I am safely ensconced in Madame Aurore’s drawing room!” said Gerard firmly.

Not long past noon, they topped a gentle rise and saw in the distance the port of Dunkerque, dominated by its modern fortress, and beyond it the blue sparkle of the English Channel.

“Thank heaven!” Gabrielle exclaimed. “I am not in such agony as I was after that first ride, but I shall be heartily glad to see the last of this beast.”

Gerard scanned the road ahead and the fields and farms to either side. A cloud of dust rising from a farm track caught his attention.

“I believe that is our friends down there,” he said grimly.  “I saw a flash of polished steel. We must go cautiously.”

“The soldiers? I do hope they have not caught the little man in the leggings, whatever he has done.”

They started down the slope. At the bottom a small stone bridge crossed a stream lined with silver-green willows. Before they reached it, a uniformed figure stepped out of the shade of the trees and barred their way with bayoneted rifle.

“
Qui va là
?" he demanded sharply. "
Ohé,
les jeunes citoyens!
You have still not seen the one of whom the sergeant asked? It will be easier to recognise him now, for he is wounded.”

“Who is this person?” asked Gerard. “Why are you hunting for him?”

“It is an
espion anglais
. Come to count the troops at Boulogne,
sans doute
. Much good may it do those cursed English to know with how many men we shall invade!” He spat in the dust.

“An English spy!” gasped Gabrielle. "He has been shot?”

“Yes,
mon petit
. Have no fear, we shall soon capture him. And you,
le grand
, how is it that you are not in the army?”

“I was sent home during the peace,” Gerard improvised desperately. “Now I go to rejoin my unit, but first I must take my brother to our uncle’s house in Dunkerque.”

“A fragile youth,” said the soldier, looking Gabrielle up and down condescendingly. “But you will fight for
la patrie
when you are older, if we have left any enemies for you!” He sniggered and winked at Gerard. “
En avant, alors, et vive la France!”

“Vive la France!” they echoed with what enthusiasm they could muster, and rode on.

They were within a couple of miles of the town before they saw more soldiers. Gabrielle straightened wearily in the saddle as Gerard pointed out a group of cavalry approaching the road across a field to their left. Impulsively she turned down a lane to the right, where an avenue of poplars offered a certain amount of cover.

“If they tell me again how they are going to catch the English spy, I shall scream,” she said. “If only we could find him and help him hide.”

“I think it is time for you to hide,” suggested Gerard. “It will be far less noticeable for just one of us to enquire for Willem Snieders, and I’ll wager you won’t even be able to walk straight when you dismount. There’s a barn over there, let’s investigate.”

Gabrielle was too tired to protest. She followed her brother to the ramshackle barn. When she slid off her horse to lead it through the half-open door, she discovered how right he was: she staggered in and collapsed on a bundle of sweet-smelling hay.

“Wait here,” Gerard said, “and I will return shortly, whether I find the man or not. If you hear the soldiers coming, burrow into the hay or climb into the loft or something, but I’m sure they must have searched this place already.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry, Gab. We’re nearly there.”

She watched him lead his mount out of the barn and listened to the receding sound of hooves. He was growing up at last, she thought, taking charge like that instead of waiting for her to make the first move. Doubtless there would be a few good arguments before he accepted that she would not necessarily follow his lead, that she was as independent as he was learning to be.

Papa would be pleased. If they ever saw Papa again. Where had he been all these months, and what was the mysterious business that so often took him from home?

A moan interrupted her musings.

“
Qui est là?"
she demanded sharply. A horrid feeling in the pit of her stomach told her she already knew. “Where are you?”

A hoarse whisper, in English: “Betsy, is that you? Betsy, I’m hurt ever so bad. Come closer, I cain’t see you.”

Trembling, Gabrielle stood up and peered around in the dim light. Another moan led her behind a heap of old sacks. Huddled in a corner lay a small man in a brown redingote, ominously stained, and leggings.

She knelt beside him. “I’m not Betsy,” she said in English. “Is there anything I can do for you? Where are you hurt?”

The man opened his eyes, but they had an unfocussed look and she thought he could not see her.

“Who is it? Who’s there? I heered an English voice.” Gabrielle took his cold hand. “I’m English. How can I help?”

“I’m done for, miss. Bain’t nowt you can do for me. But if’n you love yer country, go to the King’s Head, at Dover. Ask mine host for the man in the green coat.” The man paused for breath, shifted a little and moaned again. “Water, Betsy, I’m devilish thirsty. Give us a drink, love.”

Gabrielle hurried to the horse and took a water bottle from the saddlebag. She held it to the man’s lips and he sipped a little. He coughed, and a froth of pink bubbles ran down his chin.

“Ta, love.” He made a vain effort to sit up. “Where was I?”

“Dover. The King’s Head. The man in the green coat?” prompted Gabrielle.

“Tell him . . . tell him Le Hibou says, de la Touche is Fouché’s man. Can you remember that? I cain’t see you.

“‘Le Hibou says de la Touche is Fouché’s man.’ I have it. Is that all?”

“Ask him to look after Betsy for me. He’ll do that. He’s a good man, a real gentleman. Always done right by me. Tell Betsy I love her an’ I’m right sorry I been such a bad husban’. Duty first, that’s me, but it’s hard on a woman.” His voice was fading. Another fit of coughing shook him, and the dark stains on his coat spread a little wider.

Gabrielle wet her handkerchief and gently wiped his face. His eyes were closed and he lay still. She sat beside him, holding his hand, until she heard her brothers return.

“Gerard?” she called softly.

He came to her. “What the deuce?” he demanded.

“Hush! It’s the English spy. He’s dead, the poor brave man.”

“Poor fellow. We’d best go at once, then. I’d hoped to hide out here till nightfall, but they’ll be on his trail.”

“I think he must be Le Hibou, the man Papa mentioned--”

 “I daresay,” Gerard interrupted, “but come on, Gab, there’s a good girl. It is already dusk, so at least they won’t spot us from a distance. I’ll tell you what, my horse is tired and yours is rested, so you had best come up behind me on yours, and we’ll leave mine here. One will be less conspicuous than two, and we’ve not far to go.”

“You found Willem?” Gabrielle asked as he hauled her up behind him. She put her arms round his waist and held on tight as he kicked the horse into a trot.

“Yes, easily. It’s a smallish town and everyone knows him.”

“But not his unpatriotic activities, I hope.”

“If they do, they sympathise. There are a lot of Flemings here, and they don’t care for the French. They directed me to his house and he was there. He’s going fishing tonight, and he says there will be no difficulty about landing us in England. All we have to do is get aboard his boat, and we’ll have help for that.”

“You know where to find it?”

“Of course!” Gerard’s voice was full of scorn. “You need not think you are the only practical one in the family!”

“I beg your pardon,” said Gabrielle meekly, and then in alarm, “What is that noise?”

Gerard reined their mount to a halt and swung round to look back. Through the gathering dusk they could see a group of horsemen riding up to the barn, several hundred yards back. Without a word he turned and urged the horse to a canter.

“Should we not cut across country?” asked Gabrielle, raising her voice to be heard above the drumming of hooves.

“No, we’d only get lost or lame the horse, then we’d really be in the suds.” He continued down the farm track towards the road.

Peering back, she saw several soldiers run out of the barn, shouting and pointing in their direction.

“I think we are, anyway. Here they come!”

Gerard kicked the horse into a gallop. Unused to having such a pace demanded of it, it snorted indignantly, then settled into a steady gait. It was carrying two, but neither was heavy, and it had rested for several hours while the troopers had been out quartering the countryside. Gradually it pulled away.

They turned onto the road and saw the lights of Dunkerque, seeming near enough to touch. Closer and closer they came, and then shots rang out behind them.

“They cut across!” shouted Gerard. “We were getting away from them. This paltry beast cannot run any faster but we’re nearly there.”

Gabrielle was wondering just what good it would do them to reach the town, with the cavalry on their tail, when she felt a burning pain in her side and a throbbing ache that spread throughout her body. Dizzy, she slumped against her brother’s back and concentrated on holding on with every last scrap of strength.

In a dream, she heard hooves ring on cobbles, felt the horse swing left and strong arms pluck her from the saddle. She could make no sense of the hushed gabble of voices, quickly cut off. There was a sensation of being carried down steps, then Gerard’s anguished voice came to her clearly.

“It must be bound before we take her any further!”

“He’s right.
La petite
will bleed to death. But first, a drop of
eau de vie
against infection.”

The smouldering in her side suddenly burst into flame, and she lost consciousness.

When she came to, the first thing Gabrielle was aware of was a foul stench of ancient fish. It made it hard to breathe, and breathing was painful anyway, so she vaguely considered stopping. At least until she could get out from under the suffocating pile of whatever it was she was under. She moved feebly.

She hurt even more.

One deep breath to shout for help, she decided. She opened her mouth, gagged on the fetid air, and closed it again, fast.

She had remembered why she hurt.

If she was hidden under a heap of fishnets, it must be for a good reason. She lay still and listened.

A light gleamed through the chinks in the net. “
0hé!
You on board!” someone cried.

Hollow footsteps sounded. Gabrielle realised that the surface beneath her was rocking gently. “
Qu’est-ce que vous voulez
?” came a different voice, surly, slightly accented.

“This is your boat? We are looking for an
espion anglais
. Or rather, two of them now. Have you seen any strangers?”

“No.”

“We’d better come aboard and search, or the lieutenant will have our livers. Faugh, don’t you fishermen ever clean your nets? What a stink! Who are these in the cabin?”

“My partner, Jan, and my sister’s boy. A useless fellow, but what can one do when all the stout young men are in the army? It takes two to haul a net, clean or dirty. And the tide is on the turn, so I’ll thank you to move along.”

“Leclerc, look in those barrels! If that’s where you keep the fish, I hope they are cleaner than your nets! Nothing?
Eh bien, en avant!
Good fishing, citoyen.”

“To fill your bellies, you parasites!” muttered the second voice, just loud enough for Gabrielle to hear.

The flickering torchlight passed over her hiding place again, bright enough to illuminate the red, white and blue cockades in the soldiers’ brass helmets, not bright enough to reveal the trail of dark, sticky spots on the deck, leading straight to the pile of nets.

The motion of the deck became more pronounced, and Gabrielle heard the creaking of ropes, the lapping of water against the hull. How long would it be before they judged it safe to let her out, she wondered? She would never eat fish again for the rest of her life!

At last footsteps approached, and the clear, solid light of a ship’s lantern. The nets above her shifted.

“Gerard?”

“Gabrielle! Are you all right? How long have you been conscious?” Gerard’s voice sounded very young and scared.

“Long enough to be heartily sick of this nauseating odour! I never knew fishing nets stank so!”

“In general they do not, mademoiselle. Naturally, they are washed daily as we cast them into
la mer
. I have hidden a piece of rotten fish underneath, to dissuade the
salauds
from searching too closely.”

“This is Willem Snieders, Gabrielle. Oh, there you are.”

The last of the concealing nets was hauled off. “You look terrible!”

Painfully, Gabrielle sat up. “
Enchanté, monsieur
, and thank you very much for rescuing us.”

The stocky fisherman, clad in blue homespun, bowed over her hand.

“You are welcome, mademoiselle. We of Flanders have little love of the French. How do you find yourself?”

“Stiff and sore, but most of the smell seems to have departed with your rotten fish,
Dieu merci!
However, a bath would not come amiss. How long will the crossing take?”

“The wind has changed, mademoiselle, and we are in for a rough sail. If we miss the tide at Dover, it may be a full day before you can go ashore.”

At that moment, the boat left the shelter of the harbour for the open sea. Gabrielle shivered as a stiff breeze from the west filled the sails.

“Will you come into the cabin, mademoiselle?” asked Willem anxiously. “It is a little warmer there.”

“Thank you, I will. Perhaps you can provide some water to wash with? Even cold seawater would be better than nothing. And I should like to change my clothes. Our saddlebags are within?”