The Moonless Night (13 page)

“Of course he is. He can’t say so because of the Admiralty wanting it kept secret, but it’s all we ever talk of, Everett and I. The real reason we are going into town is to supervise the putting aboard of those supplies. A chance for trouble there, though. Ev says likely Rawlins will have such a tight security no harm can come. We don’t want to set Rawlins’ back up, and will just watch it from the shadows. We must be there, just in case.”

“I wish I could go with you!”

“No place for a lady, my dear.”

“What else have you been doing?”

“I told him about the chest of gold, and we have been looking around for it. You might scour the house tonight while we’re busy at the quay. Ev says it is an excellent thing for me to learn the flag signals of the navy. He suggests I spend what time my other work allows at the telescope at Bolt’s Point, reading the flags.”

“That sounds very boring,” Marie pointed out.

“Aye, half of our work is of that routine nature, but it must be done. It’s not all shooting and fighting as an outsider might think. Ev has spent hours standing out in the rain on a dark night, just waiting to see if a certain person goes into a certain building, or what have you. But then there is no knowing when the case will break, so there’s an excitement even in the waiting.”

She told him about her trick on Lord Sanford at the cockfighting barn, and he had a crumb of praise for her. “It would help Ev and me if you could keep that mawworm occupied. Ev is not at all happy he is with us, and Papa will want me to taggle after him, as he is a lord. Ev didn’t say so, but I don’t think he trusts Sanford above half.”

“Sanford feels the winch and chain are dangerous, David, and I must confess he has half convinced me.”

“That’s just what I mean! Wanting to cut our chain, and it the best safeguard the coast has to keep Boney out.”

“Yes, but it could keep all the yachts in the harbor if it were raised at the wrong time.”

“It won’t be! Who would raise it? There’s no one here but us and the family servants—faithful as dogs, everyone of them. And of course Sinclair and some of the other yacht owners might be here, but to be thinking
they
would be for Bonaparte is nonsense. Ev feels it is our dock would be used for landing, right enough, and I agree. Nothing but sheer rock cliff between Plymouth and here. Sinclair’s dock another mile away. We’ll be his target right enough, and that chain must be on guard at all costs.”

“Well, I don’t believe Sanford wants it cut for any mischievous reason. He is just not too bright.”

“He’s a fool, and a danger to our whole proceeding. Trying to get that Frenchie, Monet, battened on us.”

“Everett dislikes the idea?”

“He can’t stand her, and feels she’s suspicious, too.”

“Sanford didn’t actually speak to Papa about inviting her.”

“Much good it would do him. With that bad leg of his, he won’t be able to do much harm, anyway.”

“He is going to see Hazy tomorrow.”

“Is he, by Jove! I wish I could tag along and hear what they have to say.”

“He asked me to go with him.”

“Good!
Excellent—keep your ears cocked, and let me and Ev know what is said between them.”

“He mentioned I might visit with Mrs. Hazy. I don’t suppose I’ll be able to overhear him.”

“You must make a point of it. He seems a little sweet on you, Sis, and it would be a great help if you would jolly him along and see what you can worm out of him.”

“I don’t expect Father will let me go to see Hazy.”

“I’ll speak to him,” he told her, and could waste no more time on his sister when the master spy was awaiting him below. He was off, and Marie passed the next hour futilely searching the spare rooms for a chest of gold. At last fate had sent two gentlemen to them, and what did they do? One went scampering off with David, and the other to bed at eight-thirty at night. She was very little better off than when the family had been alone, and felt ill used, indeed.

Chapter 9

The morning dawned fair and clear, with a stiff but not dangerously strong breeze to give the party clear sailing. It was evident to Marie how Sanford had spent his evening when he came below with a handful of letters for posting. She offered to place them with her father’s outgoing mail.

As she went to his office, David nipped smartly out after her. “Let’s see who he’s writing to,” he said, thinking there might be some fuel for Benson here. He was eager to identify the enemy, and had found no one more likely than Sanford. He flipped through the envelopes—Portsmouth—that would be to have his yacht sent down. He mentioned that. Bathurst—his godfather, nothing in that. Paisley Park—his country seat, that would be estate business. “Look at this, Marie! Three letters to ladies.” Missives to such harmless dames and damsels as his great-aunt Theodora, Lady Gower, Lady Carmain and Miss Elizabeth Arnprior were each considered scrupulously for signs of intrigue. It was David’s opinion that one or the other of them was a code name for some treacherous French agent, but short of opening them up, he could not determine which ought to be confiscated, and when he mentioned it to Benson, he was told to let the letters go.

They went down to the dock, the descent difficult for Sanford, but he was helped by the other gentlemen. The
Fury
was in the water, her crew at their posts. She was a sleek, trim yacht with a crew of four, and spacious seating for guests. David instantly became a captain, using every nautical term at his command. With Sanford incapacitated and Benson apparently as inexpert a sailor as he had claimed, he had the show to himself. They drifted out past the harbor and tacked westward towards Plymouth. With a good breeze bellying the sails, they were not long in reaching the area that was densely cluttered with boats come to view Billy Ruffian.

They realized as they got close that the ship was more carefully guarded than they had thought. At the closer distance, it was observed that four naval barges stood guard, one on each side and another fore and aft. Guns were manned, and several glasses were trained on the hovering craft. A voice boomed out from a megaphone when David inadvertently invaded the forbidden one-hundred-yard limit, but they stayed as close as they were allowed. With the help of David’s hand telescope, they would be able to see even Boney’s bad teeth if he should decide to come on deck.

They remained for half an hour, bobbing up and down, while Benson, turning pale then green, suggested at five-minute intervals that they leave. “But he might come up on deck,” David reminded him.

“I would love to get a look at him,” Sanford added.

At last there was a stirring commotion on board
Bellerophon
. One could almost sense the tensing of the various men at their posts, see their heads turn as one to stare at something. It could only be the General. Marie held the glass, but with the naked eye Sanford saw a dark form, somewhat shorter than the two men who accompanied him, advance along the deck. He was visible only from the waist up. His gait was solemn, his head at a proud angle, and on it sat the familiar tri-corne hat, its sole ornament a red, white and blue cockade.

“It’s him!” Marie breathed ecstatically. Wordlessly, Sanford removed the glass from her fingers, his own trembling with excitement, she noticed.

He raised the glass and adjusted it. Held in sharp focus was a face, familiar from pictures, yet totally unfamiliar. It was human, and it was sad. Also it was pale; the man was not well. Thin, dark straggly hair was brushed forward, and the eyes were two dark holes. There were deep lines from nose to mouth, a square jaw and a sagging chin. Sanford lowered the glass to see his uniform. It was dark green, rather plainer than one would expect, adorned with thin red piping, gold epaulettes and buttons. There was a ribbon across his chest, the Legion of Honor, and three small medals of some sort.

As he looked, Napoleon turned aside, giving a view of his profile—double chins, nose slightly hooked. His hand went up—he seemed to be taking snuff. He sniffed in, but did not sneeze. At Tor Bay the crowd had doffed their hats; here there was total silence. It was a respectful silence, as though the throng knew they were in the presence of someone whose equal they were unlikely to see again.

Sanford felt a hand on his sleeve, and saw David’s hand reaching for the telescope. Regretfully, he gave it over. All around on the water there was a dead, staring silence. Unconsciously, Sanford removed his hat. A few onlookers did the same. Marie felt a warm tear start in her eye and pulled out her handkerchief, but on an impulse she waved it instead. The General noticed the flutter of white, lifted his hat and bowed in her direction. She felt as if she had been singled out for a special honor. David was smiling fatuously, and she preferred not to glance at Mr. Benson. “Let’s go. We’ve seen him,” she said, blinking away the telltale tear.

“He looks very pale,” Sanford remarked, and retrieved the telescope for a last look.

“He’d be better off dead than locked up like an animal, with everyone staring at him,” Marie said, angrily.

“I doubt if he thinks so,” Sanford replied.

As they spoke, the General turned his eyes from the crowd all around to look across the water to France. There was defeat in the line of his shoulders.

“Damme, he can’t be let go free,” David said, yet in his own heart he was saddened to see the eagle chained. Felt an inexplicable urge to change sides. “If it was death he wanted, he could have gone back to Paris. Louis would have been happy enough to oblige him.”

“Please take us away, David,” Marie urged. David shouted to the crew, and they left.

“I’ll show you the other possible landing spots I mentioned, Ev,” David said. He pointed out Wetherington’s, Sinclair’s and a few others, but for the most part the coast was cliff. Then it was back towards Bolt Hall.

“I don’t see any chance of Bonaparte getting off that ship,” Sanford remarked. “As guarded as a virgin queen, it would take a man of war and a pitched sea battle.”

“A sudden leap overboard is his only bet,” Benson agreed. “In his poor health, I don’t think that likely either. He’d never make it to shore. They’d lower boats and go after him. I begin to think it is all a tempest in a teapot, people discussing a rescue attempt. He is safe as a bird in a cage.”

Rapidly recovering from his momentary switch of allegiance, David found this line of talk highly unappetizing. “A masquerade at night might work,” he decided, wishing he could communicate this intelligence to the General. “One of the seamen rigged up in his uniform and wearing his hat—in the dark of night, who’d know the difference? While the masquerader struts around the deck, luring all the watchmen to one side, the real Boney slips quietly over the other. His best bet, easily.”

Sanford frowned, realizing that there was a possibility of success in such a scheme. “Don’t mention that to anyone!” he exclaimed. “Lord—what a dangerous idea! It wouldn’t be impossible at all. You’re a menace, David Boltwood.”

David flushed with pleasure at this high compliment, and looked to Benson for further praise. Benson was already edging to the side of the yacht, preparing for the onslaught of nausea that he felt inevitable. It was a blow for David to see his master spy was actually as unseaworthy as he claimed.

“It sounds entirely feasible,” Marie added, smiling that it had once again become possible for Bonaparte to escape, and therefore have to be caught. She too was recovering from her bout of pity.

“A masquerade is his best bet, certainly,” Sanford repeated. “It’s either him masquerading as a British seaman, or a whole shipful of rescuers masquerading as a crew come to transport him elsewhere, and that would take some arranging.”

Benson shivered and reached his head over the side. Marie turned away, to give the illusion she was unaware of his disgrace, while Sanford advised him not to try to hold back. Let it all out was the quickest relief.

There was no mention of going for any pleasure cruise with one of the party in such wretched straits, and they went immediately to Bolt Hall, where a nice warm posset was awaiting Lord Sanford. He had no luck in passing it along to the real invalid. Benson was given a paregoric draught.

After lunch, Sanford’s curricle was wheeled around to the front door, and Marie went with him, not too sullen, as she felt now she might be of a little use to Benson in this expedition to Mr. Hazy, if she could arrange to get within earshot of the conversation. Her father, strangely enough, had not said a word against her going. It was a matter that puzzled her greatly, but then David had said he would talk him into it. She felt a little twinge of regret that she would be missing out on more exciting adventures at home, till she discovered Mr. Benson had taken to his bed to recover, and David was to spend his afternoon at the telescope, reading the flags.

Mr. Hazy, a gentleman of considerable means, lived in a good style in a half-timbered home in the Elizabethan style, some few miles east of Plymouth. His politics were felt locally to be from the same era as his home, Marie told Sanford with a smile.

“Our ideas have deteriorated badly since then, all right,” he agreed.

Mr. Hazy was an elderly gentleman of a country cut, with his hair grabbed behind in a tail, and he was wearing an outmoded jacket, but his ideas were in fact liberal and advanced. After a little preamble regarding the general situation, Sanford asked if Mrs. Hazy were home, glancing to Marie as he did so. Hazy followed his look, not too happy to see Sir Henry’s daughter listening to his every word. “No, she is out visiting. She will be sorry she was away.” And so was he.

He had a low opinion of women’s minds, however. He considered them about one step up from a monkey’s, and was eager enough to speak to Sanford that he thought he might take a chance. “What do you hear in London regarding the liberal branch of the Whig Party’s plans for Bonaparte?”

“Only their wishes, I'm afraid, as it is the Tories who will decide. It is difficult to arrange congenial terms for him when he is a prisoner of war.”

“Prisoner of war! No such a thing,” Hazy replied promptly. “He is not a prisoner of war in the least. We won’t let them get away with that trick. Of course whatever is done must be done with the concurrence of all the Allies. It is not only England that was at war with him.”