The Wolf's Promise (9 page)

By imperceptible degrees, her opinion of him was rising. It might well be reasonable to entrust Harry's safety to him. She still refused to entertain the notion that she had any other reason for being interested in Benoît Faulkener.

‘L
ook.' Benoît interrupted her thoughts. ‘It's the mouth of the Arun,' he explained, as Angelica glanced at him questioningly.

He had led her a few more yards along the beach while she'd been reflecting on his personality.

‘Over there—' he pointed diagonally inland, across the river ‘—is Littlehampton. Arundel is three or four miles north—as the crow flies, not as the river bends. And there—' he gestured across to a construction on the east river bank ‘—is the battery which is supposed to defend us from Napoleon's invading hordes.'

‘Won't it?' Angelica asked, catching the note of dismissal in his voice.

‘It might,' said Benoît sceptically. ‘It used to be armed with ten eighteen-pound guns, but they replaced them with several thirty-six pounders a few years ago. It's not in the best state of repair, but it does command both the entrance to the river and the eastern shoreline. Anyone stupid enough
to sail within range is liable to get a good hammering—always supposing that it is sufficiently well manned and that the gunners are awake.'

‘But if there was any danger of such an attack it would be adequately manned, wouldn't it?' Angelica persisted.

The invasion scares of earlier years had pretty much passed her by. It was only standing here, on the exposed foreshore, that she suddenly realised how vulnerable England might be to a seaborne offensive.

‘Possibly,' Benoît conceded, throwing a quick glance in her direction. ‘But it's almost irrelevant. The best way of gaining control of the river would be to land a party of marines on
this
bank. They'd be protected from the guns by the dunes. They could work their way inland and eventually attack the battery from behind. Once it was taken, the French would have free passage up the Arun.'

‘My God!' Angelica exclaimed in horror. ‘You make it sound so easy!'

‘Make no mistake, my lady,' said Benoît calmly, ‘it would be easy. I would engage to do it with a handful of men.'

‘Then why isn't something done?' Angelica demanded forcefully.

‘Because they'd have to fortify this bank,' said Benoît reasonably. ‘Which would take money and a determined effort by the Board of Ordnance. It's not that they don't know the dangers—they just don't have the resources to tackle them.'

Angelica looked around almost wildly, as if she half-
expected to see hordes of armed Frenchmen emerging from the dunes.

‘They won't come tonight,' said Benoît confidently, seeing the alarm in her expression.

‘How can you be so sure?' she exclaimed nervously.

In London, safe within the security of the Earl's town house, the dangers of the war had seemed very remote. She had been afraid for Harry serving in one of the King's ships, but she had never experienced any personal sense of threat. Even Sir John Moore's devastating, three-hundred-mile retreat, which had ended in the Battle of Corunna less than two months ago, had had little impact upon her enclosed world.

Benoît grinned at her obvious alarm.

‘Instinct,' he said unhelpfully. ‘Don't worry, my lady,' he added more gently. ‘I think there's very little danger of Napoleon landing an army on English soil.'

Angelica frowned, reassured by his words, but irritated that he hadn't bothered to explain further. It was annoying that he should assume a brief comment from him would be enough to calm her anxieties. She coiled a few strands of Dorcas's mane idly around her finger.

‘It's hard to make up my own mind when I have so little information to work with,' she said slowly. ‘Why not?'

‘Because even Frenchman can't walk on water.'

‘What?' She looked at him suspiciously, afraid he was laughing at her, but there was no indication in his expression that he was mocking her.

‘It's not easy to transport and disembark an army,' he enlarged upon his answer. ‘It took a week or more for Wellesley to disembark of our troops in Mondego Bay last year—and they didn't have to contend with an attacking local militia while they were recovering from seasickness and reassembling their guns.'

‘
Would
the local people fight?' Angelica said doubtfully. ‘Wouldn't they run away? Sir William says the county is riddled with lazy, disaffected…'

‘Possibly,' said Benoît dryly. ‘But the same men who take up cudgels to protect their livelihood from Sir William, might show equally little respect to anyone trying to invade their homes—don't you think?'

They had begun to ride slowly back along the beach, retracing their path, although the sea had further retreated and they no longer disturbed the wading birds at the water's edge.

‘Think of the logistics of organising a full-scale invasion,' Benoît continued as Angelica frowned, trying to get to grips with what he was saying. ‘Even supposing Napoleon has enough seaworthy vessels suitable for transporting a reasonably sized army—and I doubt very much if he does—he doesn't have enough skilled seamen to sail them. The French navy has never recovered from its losses at Trafalgar.

‘It may be relatively easy for individual boats to slip back and forth across the Channel, but can you imagine the chaos of two or three hundred transports all sailing on the same tide—scattering, colliding and foundering in the unfamiliar waters along our coast? No, Napoleon may dream of march
ing on London, but I'm sure he's putting more faith in the destructive power of the Decrees he issued at Berlin and Milan.'

He paused then, shooting a quick glance at Angelica out of the corner of his eye before allowing his attention to rest on the shoreline ahead, as if there was nothing more to say.

Angelica waited for him to explain what the Decrees were, realised he wasn't going to do so without prompting, and drew in a deep, rather exasperated breath. It was not so much that she wasn't interested in what he was saying, but she was slightly humiliated to discover how little she knew, and at how much of a disadvantage her ignorance placed her.

‘Ah, yes,' she said brightly. ‘I remember hearing something about Napoleon's Decrees, although I can't quite remember…'

‘At Berlin he outlawed all trade between England and French-controlled lands, whether in English or neutral ships,' said Benoît, only a slight twitch of his lips indicating that he was aware of her feelings. ‘That was in November of 1807, and it effectively cut us off from the European carrying trade. Then at Milan, about fourteen months ago, he issued a new set of Decrees which outlawed any neutral vessel which submitted to a British search or touched at a British port.'

‘But surely, if our navy is so superior…!' Angelica protested, shocked. ‘How can he hope to enforce—?'

‘Ultimately, I don't believe he can,' Benoît replied grimly. ‘But the Decrees have certainly had serious consequences for British shipping and manufactories. The cotton weavers
of Manchester rioted last year because the disruption of their industry had reduced them to starvation.'

Angelica stared blindly ahead, heedless of the increasing chill in the wind. Manchester was as remote from her experience as the Caribbean, but it was dawning on her that the war involved far more than the well-publicised battles fought on land or sea.

‘We have retaliated, of course,' said Benoît, relenting from the black picture he had been painting as he saw her disturbed response to it. ‘After the Berlin Decrees, England blockaded all European ports from which she was excluded, and only allowed neutral ships to use them if they also touched at a British port and paid a reshipment duty on their cargo.

‘And don't forget that the French are suffering from the effects of Napoleon's blockade as well. All those goods they've come to rely on—sugar, coffee, cotton, spices, dyes, tobacco—are now in short supply. Unless they resort to accepting smuggled goods,' he added blandly.

Angelica looked at him sharply.

‘Is that how you justify smuggling?' she demanded, momentarily wondering if that was what all this information had been leading up to.

‘I'm not a smuggler,' said Benoît flatly, his face expressionless.

Angelica bit her lip. There had been no hostility in his tone, but she felt as if a door had clanged shut in her face. It was quite clear that, however much general information he was prepared to volunteer, he wasn't going to be pro
voked into revealing more personal details by such a clumsy sally.

‘You certainly seem to know a great deal about the subject,' she said, forcing herself to smile unconcernedly.

‘Any man who reads the newspapers and keeps himself reasonably well informed would know as much,' he replied, and she saw the gleam of his white teeth as he grinned.

She was reminded, once again, of his elusive resemblance to a great black wolf. He revealed only what he wanted to reveal, and his response was always unpredictable.

‘We will win, won't we?' she asked suddenly. It was the first time it had ever occurred to her to wonder.

‘Oh, yes,' he said confidently.

‘How can you be so sure?' she demanded.

‘Because however many markets Napoleon closes to us in the Old World, we will always be able to open up more in the New World,' he replied, with absolute certainty. ‘It has already begun with the islands we've taken from our enemies in the West Indies. We will survive for as long as we maintain control of the sea—and we will win as soon as we can put an army on continental soil that's capable of consistently defeating the French.'

‘And when will that be?' Angelica asked curiously.

Benoît shrugged. ‘I'm not a soldier,' he replied. ‘I cannot give an informed opinion on that. All I can say is that, although we took a beating last year in Spain and Portugal, we also won a couple of victories that prove once and for
all that Napoleon's army is not invincible. Further than that, we shall just have to wait and see.'

Angelica sighed. It wasn't an entirely satisfactory answer, but there didn't seem to be much she could say to it. She glanced around, noting, with mild surprise, that Benoît had turned inland before they'd reached the same track they had originally followed to the beach.

‘It's quicker,' he said, answering her unspoken question. ‘The day is losing its bloom and you must be getting cold, my lady. I wouldn't want to be accused of giving you a chill. Besides, we mustn't overtax your strength—you've got a long journey ahead of you tomorrow!'

Angelica swallowed a hasty retort, aware that she was being deliberately provoked and determined not to rise to it.

‘What do you mean, Thomas has taught Billy to count?' she asked, remembering something he'd said earlier, although carefully blocking from her mind the context in which he'd said it. ‘Surely the most accomplished horse would have difficulty…?'

Benoît laughed. ‘When we get back, I will arrange a demonstration,' he promised her. ‘I'm sure you'll be impressed, my lady.'

It took a long time for Martha to restore Angelica's hair to some kind of order, and she grumbled at her mistress throughout the ordeal.

‘How could you be so heedless…so lacking in common
decency…to go stravaging around the countryside without a hat on your head and your hair looking like a bird's nest?' she exclaimed, as she tried to untangle the knots. ‘You're not a gypsy, my lady! What would the Earl say if he knew about this?'

‘I don't know,' said Angelica, a hint of rebellion in her voice, ‘but since he's never going to find out it doesn't matter, does it?'

‘And how could it have happened?' Martha persisted, ignoring Angelica's words, although she had no intention of ever betraying her mistress's lack of conduct to anyone, least of all the Earl. ‘Your hat blowing away I can understand—this wicked wind—but your hair! I always take care to fix it firmly. I know how you bounce about when you're excited. You've never managed to achieve the elegant carriage suitable for a lady in your position. Who did it up again?'

‘Mr Faulkener,' said Angelica, boldly meeting her maid's eyes and desperately trying not to let a blush betray her.

‘Did he, indeed?' said Martha dryly, her eyes resting thoughtfully on Angelica's glowing cheeks. ‘I suppose letting your hair down was part of your ploy to discover more about him, was it? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, my lady!'

Angelica coloured uncomfortably; very little escaped Martha's sharp gaze and Angelica wondered just how much her maid had guessed about her ride with Benoît.

‘So how have
your
investigations been going?' she asked brightly, trying to change the subject. ‘Is this house a haven
for smugglers, or is there an innocent explanation for what happened last night?'

Martha sniffed disapprovingly.

‘To think that a respectable woman like me should have to stoop to such devious behavior,' she said sourly. ‘I'll have you know that I'm not accustomed to playing the part of a spy, my lady. It's not what I'm used to.'

‘Oh, Martha!' Angelica exclaimed, caught between laughter and exasperation. ‘You're used to doing whatever it takes to keep Harry and me out of trouble. You know you are!'

Martha smiled austerely as she finally succeeded in dragging a comb through Angelica's tangled hair.

‘There can't be much regular smuggling organised from this house,' she said, as disapprovingly as if she'd just announced it was a den of iniquity, ‘not by the master, at all accounts. He doesn't spend enough time here.'

‘What do you mean?' Angelica said quickly. ‘I know he's recently returned from the West Indies, but—'

‘This is the first time he's spent more than a few weeks at home since his father died, two years ago,' Martha continued, as if she hadn't heard Angelica's interruption. ‘According to what I hear, he's worked his way up from ship's boy to junior partner in a shipowning business. Very proud of him below stairs, they are.'