The Moonless Night (31 page)

“My chef would have been very angry with me if he had been left out of all the excitement. The others are the regular crew of
Seadog
. They all spent a few days on the Hoo ingratiating themselves with the French element there, letting it be known their loyalties lay with Bonaparte. Nothing came of it at first, but when my chef accosted Madame personally with a plan of his own devising—highly impractical, but it served to make a contact—she hired him and he arranged to include the others. An excellent fellow, my chef. You enjoyed his hors d’oeuvre, I hope, Admiral? Losing my crew has necessitated the use of my valet and groom here on
Seadog
, but it is not their first time to haul a rope.”

He looked across to
Phoebe
to see his chef exceeding his usual enthusiasm. “Good God, he’s lashing Rawlins to the mast. You’d better speak to him, Keith, or he’ll nail up a plank and have him walking it. We want Rawlins alive, I take it?”

David was not totally inactive during this affair. He dove right into the sea in his evening clothes, and clambered dripping up on
Phoebe’s
deck by the aid of a rope thrown down, and was soon in command of the ship, feeling he could perhaps trust Admiral Lord Keith to get
Seadog
back without too much trouble.

Keith had some last instructions to call up to Maitland, having to do with raising sail and going a few miles farther from the coast for safety, then
Seadog
and
Phoebe
sailed jauntily back to Bolt Hall, while the men on the smaller yachts, Sinclair’s and Hopkins’, looked and wondered what they had just seen.

There were no cheering crowds awaiting them, as David had been anticipating. Nor was he allowed to lead his prisoner in shackles on to the middle of the ballroom floor to receive the ovation of the multitude. That dull old dog of a Keith, trying to keep all the triumph for himself, of course, wanted to nip right over to the naval station with Rawlins and put him in the clink. He suggested that David go into the ballroom and round up the twelve officers as quickly and quietly as possible to accompany him to Plymouth aboard
Phoebe
.

This was done. However, it could not be done too quietly in the middle of a waltz, so that he had to ask the musicians to stop playing as he had a very important announcement to make. The nature of the announcement, that all officers were required at once for a very important mission having to do with the safety of Bonaparte, did just raise a little fuss.

People would ask him what had happened, how he had fallen into the sea, and as it was all over and done with, he saw no harm in saying he had uncovered an infamous plan to free Napoleon Bonaparte, using an official navy vessel, the whole a wicked plan of Rear Admiral Rawlins. But there was not the least cause for alarm, he had all under control. Had personally gone after Rawlins and caught him, and Bonaparte was under guard, so they could just get on with the dance.

Somehow, a waltz seemed dull stuff after this little story was told. David had nearly as much glory as he had so often foreseen. The crowds were all over him, slapping his wet back and saying they always knew he was a long head, and by God he should be knighted like his father for this.

It was at this point that David began looking around for his father, not without a few qualms that he had done wrong to go off and take care of everything without him. And in
Seadog
, too, instead of
Fury
. Still, he did not think of Marie, and Benson and Madame. It was not till Sanford got through the mob to him to tell him Keith and the officers had taken Rawlins away that he gave a single thought to Cicero and Benson. “Where did they go?” Sanford asked him.

“They went home. Madame had a headache.”

“Home? I made sure they’d be smuggled aboard
Phoebe
. It was Ireland they were to head for. I had it of my chef. You’re sure... But of course they weren’t aboard. The officers went below. It must have been the plan for Madame and Benson to go separately and meet them there. They didn’t tumble to it their plan had run amok?”

“Don’t see how they could. Marie was with Benson. He tried to shab off on her, but she was after him fast enough.”

“Oh, hell—the chain. Benson must have gone to cut the chain.”

“Well you needn’t worry. The chain ain’t up. We got out and back in, too, with no hitch, so she stopped him. Probably shot him. No, she didn’t though,” David said frowning. “Benson was back talking to Madame after Marie followed him out.”

“The chain was cut,” Sanford said. “Otherwise I would have had to have a man on it.”

“When was it cut? It was all right when you checked it this afternoon.”

“No, I cut it before that. Benson went to raise it no doubt, but... And Marie followed him out, you say?”

“Out the door not three steps behind him, and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her since.”

“She wasn’t alone I hope!”

“Yes, all alone.”

“Oh, my God!” Sanford dashed from the room, to meet Biddy in the hall, carrying her portable hospital.

“Ah, Sanford, so glad to see you. Would you mind giving me that bottle of laudanum I lent you the other night. Sir Henry has a dreadful headache,” she said, not wishing to let him know there was madness in the family. Certainly, Henry had run stark, staring mad to be ranting about Mr. Benson being a spy and hitting him. He had stumbled in the dark while going to check out his winch and chain. She had as yet not run across Marie, and was becoming worried about her.

“I used it all, Biddy, whereas...”

“The whole bottle! You never gave that poor valet of yours eight ounces of laudanum. You’ll kill him!”

“I spilt it,” he changed his story. “Biddy, where’s Marie?”

“I haven’t a notion. Haven’t seen her for an hour. Which is very odd now you come to mention it. Henry said...” She stopped, not liking to confess Henry’s condition, yet becoming very worried.

“What? What did he say?”

Sanford was deeply disturbed, and she began to tumble to it that something was very much amiss. Possibly even Sir Henry had been not crazy after all, but telling the truth. “He said she was with him in the winch room when Benson attacked him. Them—both. Hit them on the head.”

“But where is Marie?” Sanford repeated, his voice rising.

“I don’t know. Henry staggered into the study—muttering something about Benson being a spy, and Marie going to watch him. Just see what he was about.”

“Oh, Lord!” Sanford bolted back to the ballroom, to make inquiries of the servants. He learned that Madame and Benson had left, but no one knew anything about Marie. She had not been seen to leave. Perhaps she had the headache, like Madame. Servants were sent scurrying upstairs to her room, all over the house, then finally it was clear she was gone. He wondered if she had been fool enough to go after Benson on horseback.

David was at his side when word came back from the stable that her mount was gone. “Oh well if she’s gone to spy on them, I know where she is. Come, I’ll take you, Ade,” David offered. He still wore his wet suit. Sanford’s shirt, too, was clinging to his back with perspiration. He had thought the worst of it was over, but began to understand that there might be much worse yet ahead, if she had fallen into the hands of Cicero.

Chapter 21

By the time Marie returned to consciousness, her father was already sitting up and rubbing his aching head. “The devil has raised our chain!” Sir Henry railed. That was his major concern. They could see nothing, not even each other, but there was a feeling in the place of the culprit being gone. Sir Henry struggled to his feet, stumbled to the winches, and felt with his fingers the load of chain on the wheels. He turned the wheel, and it spun too freely.

“Cut! The chain has been sabotaged!” was his next announcement. He began to wonder whether this were a good or bad thing. If it meant the flotilla had been allowed to get out, it was good. On the other hand he had only Marie’s word for it that the flotilla had been required. Likely Boney had been sneaked up the estuary, as Benson had cut the chain.

He must get to his lookout platform. Together he and Marie felt their way to the stairway, with the girl receiving an unjust tongue-lashing the whole way for her part in the affair. On the rampart they saw
Phoebe
making her way out to sea, with
Seadog
at her heels, and the other two yachts following hard.

“Now what can this mean? Humph. Sanford is on to them. He has had Rawlins give chase. Wouldn’t you know it would be Sinclair he asked to go along! Never a sign of
Fury
having left the dock, you will notice. Where is David during all this? Well, Bonaparte will not break away with Rawlins on hand.”

He wished to take command at home, to let his guests know he was right at the thick of things, but was in such confusion that he succumbed to a migraine instead, planning to center his own heroics around the attack in the dark, guarding the Bolt chain. David was sent for, but could not be found, so he let Biddy cosset him while he tried to figure out his story.

David had informed Marie that Benson and Madame were evildoers, but the name Rawlins had not arisen in their brief talk, and she was as confused as her father. But she still had the job of watching Benson, and she told her father she would just tidy her hair and go to try to discover if he had left the house, and where he had gone. He’d have to leave Bolt Hall, but he might be packing his belongings.

She discovered easily enough he had gone with Madame. They had made no secret of their departure. Neither Sanford nor David could she find, and she knew that if she told her father what she had in mind to do he would prevent her, so she decided to go alone to follow Benson. She intended no more than following, just roll the wheelbarrow to the window to see if they were at Madame’s cottage, waiting for Boney, then she would dash beck to Bolt Hall to tell Sanford where to find them.

She threw a dark pelisse over her white ball-gown and went at a fast pace down the road, concealing her mount again at the orchard across the road. Lights were burning in every room of the place—either a clever ruse to pretend they were within, or else indicating frenzied activity. She slipped around to the rear, rolled the barrow to the window and crawled up. She saw through the window that Madame and Benson were there, alone, with a trunk in the middle of the floor, tossing things into it with haste, obviously preparing an instant departure.

It was well she had come, but she felt she ought to do more than be able to say “They’ve left. They drove away,” when she saw Sanford again. He would expect her to tell him where they had gone. For all she knew, Bonaparte might even now have got free, and it was of the utmost importance to know his destination. She was enough of a Boltwood to know there would be glory in this for herself, but it was not the glory that led her on. She wished to impress Lord Sanford. He admired Madame, a clever spy, and he would admire herself more if she outwitted Madame.

She strained her ears against the glass, but not so much as a single sound came through. Suddenly Madame threw up her hands and ran from the room, excited about something. When she returned, she carried a wooden box, a jewelry box possibly. The sapphires, not stolen at all, but hidden for some reason? Benson took the box from her fingers, and he was laughing, lifting up gold coins.

The money—the chest of ten thousand pounds! Was this it? Such a small chest? Impossible. Madame snatched it back, chatting all the while. Oh if only she could hear them! She leaned closer still to the window, the wheelbarrow jiggling precariously beneath her. She made a snatch at the window ledge, bumping her head lightly against the glass as she moved.

It was not a loud noise, but it was enough. She was seen. Both heads turned towards her in alarm—the fingers pointed, then in a flash Benson was ordered out after her. She realized he was giving chase, and jumped down from her perch. Wearing a long, flounced gown, she caught her toe in its ruffle as she jumped, and went hurtling onto the ground. She was not hurt, but the delay in disentangling her feet took up the critical few seconds that allowed Benson to see the direction of her flight. He was dashing after her, into the night. She was young, long-limbed and hadn’t far to go to reach her mount, but still she felt Benson gaining on her. Faster and faster she ran, her heart pounding dry in her throat. She’d never get mounted and away before he got her. Have to untie the mare’s rope looped around a tree.

It was soon over. He grabbed first ahold of her flying pelisse; that pulled her to a stop, then had her by the arms, twisting them cruelly behind her back. “You got in my way for the last time, bitch!” he said. “Walk!” He pushed her forward, towards Madame’s cottage. His anger at losing out on the reward turned him to pure venom. “I suppose you’ve known all along what my game is. Been working hand in glove with that cold bastard, Sanford. I should have done you in proper when I had the chance. Well, you may have cost me a hundred thousand pounds this night, but you’ll pay dearly for it. And so will that crazy old coot of a father.”

The change in his manner was so remarkable that she didn’t know how to talk to this barbarian. But his words at least made sense. He meant to hurt her, possibly kill her. She was shoved across the road, around to the back of the cottage and into the saloon, where Madame stood with her pelisse and bonnet on, ready to leave.

“Everett, what is this? Why do you bring the girl here?” Madame asked in perplexity, but in a polite tone, still wearing the pose of a friend of Miss Boltwood. She had expected Benson to knock her out and leave her outside while they escaped.

“Shall I kill her or lock her up in the basement?” Benson asked, not bothering with any civility.

Madame glared at him, furious, but as he had bungled it, as usual, she soon directed her thoughts in a different direction. Her blue eyes narrowed, and an extremely crafty expression settled on her plump features. “We’ll take her with us,” she said.

“What, drag this noisy wench along to London!”

“
Tais-toi!
” Madame commanded sharply. Fool of a man! Why must he blurt out their destination. “We are not going to  London,
cheri
.”