The Sign of the Black Dagger (10 page)

Reluctantly, Will put the journal back into the cavity in the wall and together they replaced the stone. Their mother was due in shortly. One day, perhaps when they got to the end of William and Louisa’s story, they would tell her about it.

“I can’t wait to find out what’s in Monsieur Goriot’s envelope,” said Lucy. “Do you think they’ll open it?”

“I would!” said Will.

For the moment, though, they were more concerned about the envelope containing the writ for their father. It had been lying on the kitchen table for six days now so they had only eight left in which to find him. Or for him to turn up. But as the days passed, that seemed less and less likely. After Will had caught sight of him down the High Street they had been half hoping that the front door might open unexpectedly and they’d hear his voice cry out, “Hi, folks! It’s me, Dad! I’m home.”

Their mother thought the longer he stayed away the more difficult it would be for him to come back. Dan had been doing a nightly trawl down through the Canongate and Cowgate but with no success. As he said, it was as if their dad had vanished into thin air.

Their mother came in and they ate and chatted and tried to pretend that everything was normal. Their father wasn’t mentioned. Afterwards, Will and Lucy settled down to their homework.

“Would you mind if I popped out to meet Jane for half an
hour?” asked their mother. “No going round to Julie’s now, Lucy!” she added on the way out. The last time Lucy had gone she’d got a row for being late.

They finished their homework.

“What do you feel like doing?” asked Will. “There’s nothing on the telly.”

Lucy shrugged.

They were feeling empty. It was as if their life had a great big hole in the centre of it and there wasn’t anything more they could do about it. They had racked their brains, searched everywhere they could think, strained their eyes scanning faces in the street and knew every close and alley backwards. After all that, they still had no lead whatsoever.

“Let’s get the journal out again,” said Lucy. “We might as well see how William and Louisa are getting on.”

They went to fetch it.

Louisa

After we left Lecky the caddie we went home. We walked behind Leerie as he made his way up the street with his long pole. The lights came on one by one ahead of us, lighting our steps. Glistening through the sleet they looked almost ghostly. William had put Monsieur Goriot’s envelope into his pocket and was keeping his hand over it, as if he was afraid that it might fall out or be snatched. I had no idea whether he intended to deliver it, or not. He had his head down and was watching the road unfold beneath his feet. I sensed he was turning the problem over in his head, as I was. We did not speak.

Halfway up the hill, we were surprised to meet Charlotte.

“My mother asked me to take a potion to my aunt. She is unwell.” Charlotte’s hood was rimmed with drops of moisture. I was sure my hair, which was uncovered, must be soaking wet. I would get a row from Bessie when we got in.

“Any news?” asked William. “Did you see Louis today?”

Charlotte nodded and we moved into the shelter of a doorway with her.

“Did he have anything to tell you?” I asked.

“Only that the Comte d’Artois is coming to play whist with his mother this evening.”

“He often does, doesn’t he?” I said. It did not seem a very
interesting piece of information.

“But tonight Monsieur Goriot is coming too. It seems he has managed to worm his way into Madame de Polastron’s affections.”

We did not think much about that just then. We talked to Charlotte for a few minutes until, finding that our feet were beginning to freeze, we parted and went our separate ways. The sleet was thickening by the time we reached our close-mouth and we could scarcely see a foot in front of us. We did not stop to discuss whether or not we should continue on up to Riddle’s Court to deliver the letter. We skidded down the steps into the house where Bessie awaited us, ready to fuss. She wanted to remove our coats but William moved away and put his back to her and I saw, out of the corner of my eye, that he removed the envelope from his coat pocket and slid it inside his shirt.

Our mother came out of the living room, throwing up her hands. “
Mon dieu!
What have you been doing out there, children,
mes enfants
? You wring with water. Look, you puddle on the floor! Come into the fire!”

William, instead, dashed up the stairs muttering that he had to collect something.

“I’ll be back in a minute, Maman,” I said, throwing off my cloak, and then I went after him before she could stop me.

He was standing in the middle of his room with the letter in his hand. It was sealed with black wax.

“Come and see!” he said. “It has been stamped with the sign of the black dagger.”

“It must be a secret society, mustn’t it?” I said, feeling a thrill run up my spine and make my neck twitch. I shivered.

Once the seal was broken it would be impossible to repair it and the letter could not then be delivered. And if Monsieur
Goriot were to find out that it had not been, he would be furious with Lecky, whom we would not wish to harm.

“Are we going to open it?” I asked.

“We have to! It’s our chance to see what Monsieur Goriot is up to.”

“If anything,” I cautioned. After all, it was possible that the Frenchman might belong to some sort of society that likes to keep itself secret but is not involved in anything criminal. We believe there are a number of drinking and gambling societies.

“I know.” William nodded. “It might just be an invitation to join them for whist at Madame de Polastron’s this evening.”

“Who is it addressed to?”

“Monsieur Vauquer.” So, another Frenchman.

Without another word, William broke the seal and I felt my heart race. He removed a slip of paper. At the top was the drawing of a black dagger.

The message was quite short, and in French, with no signature:
C’est ce soir. 10 h. Porte de derrière. Voiture attend. Et trois amis.

“Maybe it is just an invitation to play whist.” I felt let down. I had hoped for something more dramatic, more definite.

“I think it’s more than that,” said William slowly, frowning as he studied the piece of paper. “Why would he say
porte de derriere
? The back door?” He read the message aloud, in English. “It’s this evening. Ten o’clock. Back door. Carriage awaits. And three friends.” He looked up. “Where does the carriage wait? Which back door? And who are the three friends?”

“They wouldn’t start to play whist as late as ten o’clock, would they?”

“They might. But I wouldn’t think so.”

We would not – but we did not know the ways of the
aristocracy. Perhaps the count liked to play late into the night; though, according to Peg, the lights were usually out by midnight in Madame de Polastron’s house.

We were mulling all this over when we heard Bessie’s voice shouting to us from below. “Yer tea’s poured. It’s gettin’ cauld.”

William put the letter back into the envelope and placed it under his pillow.

We drank our tea but our minds were not on our mother’s conversation. She had had a letter from a relative in France bemoaning the state of her country. “She tells me I am the lucky one not to be there. The present government is cruel.
Tout est horrible!
They want the monarchy back. They want the Comte d’Artois’ brother Louis for king.”

“Not everyone does, I think,” said William. “Papa says the poor may well do better under a republic. It was because there was so much poverty and misery that there was a revolution. He says that’s why most revolutions start.”

“What does he know about it? He has never lived through one.”

“He reads,” I said.

“And he thinks,” added William.

“It is a pity he cannot
act
at times.” Our mother sighed. “Your Papa is a dear man and so very romantic but,
mes enfants
, you must agree that he is not terribly
useful
, not for ordinary things of the day?”

Bessie put her head round the door. “I’m awa now, Mam.”

“Where are you going, Bessie?” I asked.

“To see my sister. She’s nae weel.”

“Stay with her overnight, Bessie,” said our mother. “We can manage without you till morning.”

“Thank you, Mam.”

Bessie departed. We were to find her absence useful.

She had left us broth for supper. There was much barley and little meat in it. After we had eaten I washed up the plates even though Maman said I could leave them for Bessie in the morning. It took only a few minutes and it would please Bessie.

“What about a game of cards?” suggested our mother.

We drew the green baize-covered card table up close to the fire and Maman dealt. It always cheers her to play cards. William and I, once again, could not keep our minds on what we were doing so that she won every game. We were glad when it was time to fold up the table. I yawned and said I was tired and might go to bed.

“It is but eight thirty,” said Maman, looking at her watch. “You are early tonight.” Most evenings, she has to prompt us.

It was only when she had looked at her watch that I realised that the French ormolu clock which normally sat on the mantelpiece was missing.

She saw my eyes go to the space. “I sold it this morning,” she said. “I got very good price for it.”

She had been very fond of that clock. It had been given to her by her grandmother when she married our father. I wondered how many more things we were going to have to sell. I got up and went to Maman and gave her a kiss.

“I’m sure Papa will find an answer soon to our problems,” I said.

She sighed and said she would not be long out of her bed tonight either.

William kissed her also and we went upstairs. I followed him into his room and he took out Monsieur Goriot’s letter and we read it yet again.

“Something is obviously going to happen at ten o’clock this evening,” said William. “What, we don’t know, but something, whether good or bad.”

From what we knew of Monsieur Goriot, we did not think it could be good.

“He is summoning his friend Monsieur Vauquer,” William went on, summing up, “to come to a back door where a carriage and three friends will be waiting. It would help to know
which
back door.”

“We do know that Monsieur Goriot is going to Madame de Polastron’s this evening,” I reminded him.

“Yes, we do.” William considered. “I think we have to go out, Louisa, once Maman has gone to bed. First, though, she must think we are asleep. Wait in your room until I come for you.”

I did as he said and got into bed, fully clothed, except for my boots. A few minutes later, when Maman opened the door and put her head in to say goodnight, I murmured back in a sleepy voice. I lay still and listened while she went to William’s room and then her own. After a little while the house fell silent and I risked getting up.

William opened my door and signalled to me. We crept down the stairs in our stockinged feet. I missed the ticking of the French clock. The silence in the house seemed almost deathly. At the bottom of the stairs we put on our boots. William lifted his heavy coat from the peg and I my cloak. We were ready for the night.

It was a cold one and the ground was greasy underfoot. A thin curtain of sleet was still falling but I thought that perhaps that might help to shroud us from passing eyes. Also, it was keeping people indoors. There was no sign even of the Town Guard who must be lying low in their barracks. We passed a drunkard lurching along. He did not notice us.

The Tron clock showed that it was fifteen minutes past nine o’clock. In forty-five minutes Monsieur Vauquer was expected to come to the back door of a house but of course he did not
know this so he would not come. The three friends and the carriage, however, should be waiting.

When we reached the foot of the Canongate we stopped in the lee of a building and I asked William what we were going to do.

“Talk to Papa. He is good at thinking, after all.” And we did not know what to think. “But, first, let us go and see if there is a carriage waiting near the Polastron house. If there is we must be careful not to let them see us or the game will be up.”

The Abbey Strand was quiet, though there would still be people inside the taverns since it was not yet ten. Beyond the strand stood the dark outline of the palace, shrouded in a white mist. The sleet had thickened and was turning to snow. We rounded the corner into Abbey Hill and William put his arm through mine to help steady me. It was treacherous underfoot. My eyelashes were becoming caked with flakes, almost blinding me, so that I had to keep fluttering them. I felt as if I were walking through a thick, damp, swirling fog. It was difficult to know, too, if we were keeping firmly to the road. Once or twice we stumbled, only narrowly avoiding falling into a ditch.

When glimmers of light began to appear we decided that we must be near Croft-an-Righ. Those must be the windows of Madame de Polastron’s house.

There was no sign of a carriage on the road. We halted.

“It could be the back door of any house,” I said, or shouted rather, for the wind was howling. It was no night for man nor beast to be abroad, as Bessie would have said.

“Let’s go on a bit. You never know, the carriage might be further along. It would be too obvious if it were sitting at the entrance of Croft-an-Righ.”

Clinging together, we moved on again. After we had gone a few yards we gradually began to make out something large
and dark in the road ahead of us. A vehicle of some kind possibly. A
carriage
? If so, there might be people in it.
Les trois amis?

We edged forward, very slowly, and as we drew closer we were able to discern the outline of a black, closed carriage, with two black horses standing between the shafts.

“Wait there,” said William. “Don’t move.”

Stooping low, he crept up to the back of the carriage. I wondered how long he would stay there – for it seemed ages though it was probably only seconds. I was terrified that the carriage door would swing open at any moment and a man would jump out and find him.

William came back.

“It has the sign of the black dagger on the back,” he said.