by Iain Gale
Keane looked him in the eyes. ‘My father, Harrison, was no traitor like yours. And I’m sure he did what he had to do: his duty.’
Harrison looked back at him. ‘Maybe. We all live with the legacy of our fathers. Those of us who know who they were.’
‘You know who he was, don’t you? My father. Tell me. Who was he? You have to tell me.’
Harrison smiled at him. ‘I don’t have to tell you anything at all. That would be too easy. But I will tell you something. You won’t like what you learn. But you’ll have to live with it, Keane. You’d be better off dead.’ He grimaced with pain.
He looked into Keane’s eyes and then suddenly his own became curiously glassy, almost grey. It was a look that Keane recognized and he held Harrison harder. The American relaxed and gave out a quiet hiss as the life ebbed out of him.
Keane held tight, imploring the corpse. ‘No. No, wait. My father, tell me his name. His name, Harrison.’
But Harrison was gone.
Keane let him fall to the floor and, getting up, shook his head in despair. Then he looked around and found the girl. She was standing in the corner where she had run for shelter. Keane walked towards her. ‘Sophie, it is you. I knew it. It’s me, James.’
‘Yes, I know, they told me.’ She paused. ‘Who were these men?’
She was as pretty as he had remembered her. Her lip was cut and her dress torn.
‘I can’t explain it all now and I’m so very sorry that you were involved. We need to get away from here. More of them will be coming. We need to take you with us.’
Archer spoke. ‘Where can we go, sir? Where is safe now? How do we get out of the city?’
‘All of the barriers and gates will be warned to look out for us,’ Keane added.
Jadot nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right. But I have an idea.’
14
They left the old house by the same route they had entered, through the secret passage and out via the trapdoor. Keane and Archer reconnoitred the front and rear of the house and were satisfied that none of Fouché’s men had yet arrived and within a matter of minutes they were all clear of the Place des Vosges and walking fast through the darkness to the rue des Tournelles.
For once Keane was thankful for Fouché’s appalling track record with the street lighting. They raced north-east, along the rue du Chemin Vert, with Jadot leading the way, stopping from time to time to allow Sophie to catch up, with Keane helping her.
They paused to catch their breath and Jadot told them of a way to escape from the city without leaving a trace.
‘Smugglers, of wine mostly, have a network of tunnels beneath the city wall which come up outside. My men are continually searching for them and blocking them up. But there is one near here which I know we haven’t yet secured. That’s where we’re going. That’s your way out.’
Keane nodded. ‘And then on to Orléans. Back to Madame Duplessis. From there we’ll aim for Bayonne, if we can. I hope to God that Major Grant made it through.’ He had no idea where they were now. Jadot, however, appeared to have a good knowledge of these nameless streets. At length he could make out a large walled area over to their right. He asked Jadot, ‘What’s that? Is that where we’re going?’
‘You could say that. It’s where we’re all headed, in the end. It’s the new cemetery. Père Lachaise. It’s on our route.’
They stopped near the cemetery, in the rue des Partants, about three hundred yards away from the city wall.
Jadot turned to Keane. ‘This is where I leave you, Captain Keane.’
Keane looked at him. ‘You know my name.’
‘I heard Harrison say it. But I had guessed it long before. As far as I’m aware, Fouché does not know. Nor will he from me. You must go through this door and down into the tunnel. It will take you out beyond the city wall. From there you’re on your own. But it should not be hard to get where you want to go. I’m sure that you’ve managed harder things, captain. I can help with one thing. Make your way to the Bassin de la Villette, north by the canal. I will have three horses ready for you. Good luck. It’s been a pleasure to have known you.’
‘James, I’m frightened. Stay close to me, please.’
Keane took Sophie’s hand in his and together, with Archer following, they made their way along the tunnel. It was damp and airless and the only light came from the intermittent air vents which had been drilled by the smugglers up through the tunnel roof. Their feet slithered along the floor of the passage, ankle deep in liquid.
Suddenly Keane came up against a solid wall which he realized was a door and was aware of a void off to his left and another to his right. For a moment he hesitated. ‘Archer, did Jadot say anything about turning off?’
‘No, sir. We keep going straight, I believe.’
But that didn’t seem to be an option. Although he was unable to see Sophie, he felt her presence beside him and it was curiously comforting. As if, after a long absence, he had found something wholly familiar. There was so much to say after so many years, but Keane was as aware as she was that this was hardly the time or the place.
Keane wondered if Jadot had tricked them. Was the door locked? He tried it and found that it was. Would Fouché’s men, or Doucet’s, suddenly appear behind them or were they waiting in silence behind the door, biding their time? But no one appeared and after a few minutes Keane tried again. But there was still no response.
Archer approached him. ‘Jadot didn’t say anything about this, sir. But it strikes me that we’re dealing with tunnels made by smugglers. These men are no fools, sir. They have to think one pace ahead of the game, if you see what I mean. It’s my betting that there’s some sort of mechanism that operates the door so that you can’t get in and you can’t get out. All we have to do is discover what it is.’
‘Nicely put, Archer. Any ideas?’
Archer thought for a moment and then, feeling his way along the top of the wooden door, he stopped as his fingers alighted on a piece of protruding metal. He pushed down hard, and with a creak the door swung open.
‘Archer, you’re a bloody marvel.’
‘Thank you, sir. A little knowledge picked up in my former career. Common way to secure a robber-proof coffin.’
They emerged, blinking, from the tunnel and saw before them the Bassin de la Villette, Bonaparte’s great waterworks which brought fresh water to the people of Paris. It was a long rectangular reservoir, flanked on either side by rows of poplar trees and at one end by a large neo-classical structure with the appearance of a temple.
As they approached the building, Keane saw two men in civilian clothes standing beside it. Tethered to the iron railings that formed the perimeter stood three horses, all saddled and equipped with blanket rolls and portmanteaux. Jadot, it seemed, had been as good as his word.
*
The first day’s riding, with breaks for rest, brought them along the Loire past Blois and Tours before turning south to Poitiers. Sophie was a good horsewoman and quite capable of keeping pace with Keane and Archer.
They halted above the city in the evening sunlight, gazing down across the river at the spires of the churches and the cathedral. The inns in the centre of the city were tempting, but Keane knew better than to chance it. His intelligence had been for some time that the place was fast growing as a garrison town and he had no wish to encounter inquisitive French officers who would certainly wonder why two officers of the Irish Legion might be this far from their unit and travelling in the wrong direction.
Instead the three travellers took the road that led to the east around the city and further south, and only when they had Poitiers behind them did Keane call a halt.
They made camp away from the road, halfway up a hillside at a spot that Keane could see at once had a commanding view of the surrounding country.
Jadot had looked after them well, and inside the valises they found a sk
inned rabbit, a chicken, some sausage, bread, hard biscuit and cheese as well as three bottles of red wine and a canteen of brandy.
They exchanged few words as Archer cooked the rabbit over a low fire, suspending it on two cleft sticks. It was simple food, but to the three of them it tasted as if it might have come from the smartest of restaurants in the Palais-Royal. Keane watched Sophie as she ate, noting how naturally she took to life on campaign. She tore at the meat and wiped her fingers on the silk brocade of her yellow dress, then, seeing his stare, smiled at him. Keane smiled back and looked away. He was surprised about the way he felt for her. It was not the desperate ardour that he had felt for Henriette, but something closer to the love that he had once had for Kitty Blackwood, in what now seemed an age ago. And it was a feeling which he hoped would continue.
As they ate, Archer broke the silence. ‘How long do you reckon, sir? Till we get to Bayonne.’
‘Two more days, I’d say, judging by our journey north.’ He turned to Sophie. ‘Think you can manage that, cousin?’
She laughed. ‘Why should I not be able to manage something that you can, James? Don’t you recall the games we used to play? I always won. Don’t you remember?’
Archer smiled. ‘Really, sir?’
Keane shook his head. ‘You’re exaggerating. In any case, I was younger than you. Things have changed.’
‘I think you’ll find that you are still younger than me and that I can still beat you at most things.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
Keane laughed. ‘You certainly haven’t lost your spirit. Remember that time you locked me in the cellars of the old house?’
‘Of course. You were terrified.’
Archer laughed.
‘Nonsense. It just gave me time to explore them. Which as it turns out was rather lucky, wasn’t it?’
She smiled and Keane thought that he saw a melancholy look in her eye. He had been intending to ask her how she had managed to escape the Revolution and what had become of her mother. But he decided that now was not the right time.
Archer took the first watch and Keane relieved him halfway through the night. But aside from a lone wildcat that Keane saw off with a well-aimed stone, nothing disturbed them.
The next day brought more hard riding and Keane was again impressed by Sophie’s ability in the saddle. The roads were fairly clear of travellers, apart from the usual civilians, and no one took notice of them. The only event was Keane’s sighting of a regiment of infantry south of Angoulême, en route, he presumed, for Poitiers. The three of them took evasive action, riding off the main road and into a wood where they waited until the soldiers had passed.
By evening Bordeaux stood ahead of them. Keane reined in his horse and patted her neck. ‘One more day and we’ll be in Bayonne. We have friends there. We’ll be safe.’
He prayed that he was right. That Madame Duplessis had not been discovered and that other royalists aside from her might receive them favourably and offer their help. For after Paris he was certain of nothing now.
They made camp as before, away from the city, and finished the last of Jadot’s rations, cooking the chicken as they had the rabbit. This time Keane could not resist asking his cousin a few probing questions.
‘It must have been terrifying for you – the Revolution. I managed to get away just in time.’
‘Yes. It was terrible. Poor Papa. My mother almost went mad from grief.’
‘She escaped though?’
‘Yes, I presumed that you knew. She went back home. To England. To my grandparents’ house.’
‘Your grandparents? Our grandparents? I had thought that they were dead. That’s what I was told by my mother.’
Sophie stared at him. ‘You didn’t know anything of them?’
‘Not until recently. I never met them.’
She said nothing for a moment, then, ‘You are right. They are dead. I am so sorry. I had no idea. How terrible.’
‘What did you do? Where did you go after the Revolution?’
‘I went with Maman. We had a little cottage. On the big estate. It was a quiet time. No one ever came to see us. And then when she died—’
He cut her short. ‘Your mother’s dead?’
‘Yes. Five years ago. It was sudden. Unexpected. Influenza. That’s when I decided to come back here. I’d heard everything had changed, under the emperor.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
Keane’s mind was filled with regret and anger. His grandparents had been alive and in England all the time he had been growing up and he had never been allowed to see them. Sophie too. Had his mother had any say in the matter? He knew that it had been their doing. The words of Patrick Curtis about his mother came back to him. ‘They cut her off. Someone told me they were nobility.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘But you never mentioned that.’
‘Why should I?’
‘As I recall you just called them grandfather and grandmother. No one used a name. What were their names?’
‘Mountjoy. The Earls of Newport.’
‘Good God.’ Curtis had been right. His mother’s parents were from a noble line. And so were Sophie and himself. His grandparents had been too scandalized to ever meet their grandson. Had his father really been so scurrilous a person?
‘So you know nothing about my father?’
‘No. Nothing. I was told that he had been killed in battle. That was all. You were told that too, weren’t you?’
‘Yes. It seems as if someone was determined to cover any trace of whoever he might have been. Might still be.’
‘You think your father’s alive?’
‘I have some reason to think so. I can only hope.’
‘At least you have that hope. I know for certain that my father is dead. I saw them do it.’
‘You saw your own father’s death?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, on the guillotine. It was hideous, but he went to it with great bravery. I was hiding in the crowd. Maman and I had managed to escape from the house and hid in the coach-house until they had gone. The mob. There was no trial. They just took him. Put him in La Force for a week and then cut off his head.’
Keane said nothing. There was nothing to say. He put his hand around her shoulders and drew her to him and knew in that moment that he would never lose her again.
*
Archer kept his own counsel but then, as Sophie slept, in the minutes when they changed their watch, he whispered, ‘She’s quite something, sir. Your cousin. You seem very close.’
‘Yes, Archer, we are. At least, we were. And we will be so again.’
The final day of their journey took them away from Bordeaux through a grey dawn drizzle across the Leyre and into the sodden heathland and forest of Landes.
There were fewer than ever travellers on the road here, although twice they saw shepherds, walking on stilts through the wetlands as they herded their flocks. They passed through the deer forests of Lesperon and at Magescq took the even quieter road to the west. At Labenne they halted, within sight of the sea.
Sophie gasped. ‘It’s magnificent. So vast.’
‘Yes, and what’s more it means that we’re almost home. Back in Spain.’
‘You consider Spain to be your home?’
Keane nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose I do. More than anywhere else on earth. I’ve been there for the last four years. I suppose I have a claim to call it home.’
*
Riding into Bayonne, it did not take Keane long to retrace their steps to the inn where just two months before, almost to the day, they had boarded the Paris diligence. This time there was no sign of the army. Nevertheless they did not stop, but rode through the streets towards the Duplessis house on the south bank of the city.
Keane had retained the sketch map and with it t
hey now found their way back to the house. It did not appear to have changed at all. It stood quiet and with an air of tranquillity in its shady courtyard while the fountain babbled away and the scent of mimosa filled their nostrils. Keane dismounted as did the others and together they led their horses across to the far corner of the courtyard.
Keane drew his sword and went to try the door. It was impossible, he surmised, for Fouché’s men to have beaten them to Bayonne or even to have sent word of their escape so quickly. Something though was not right here. The door stood slightly ajar and he nodded to Archer, who pushed Sophie gently back behind the horses and drew a pistol from his belt. Keane did the same and slowly he pushed open the door.
The room looked just as it had done when they had left. Nothing seemed out of place and yet there was no sign of life. They climbed the stairs to the bedroom where two months earlier they had left their belongings. Nothing had changed and there in the armoire were the neat bundles of their uniforms. Silver’s of course had gone, but the other two were just as they had been.
They entered every room of the house and its small outbuilding, but of Madame Duplessis there was not a trace. It wasn’t right. She was not the sort of woman to be away from her home. Keane knew instinctively that something was wrong and he prayed it would not be his worst fears.
He signed to Sophie to come into the house and then, with the two packages safely tucked inside their valises, they left the little courtyard, Keane leading the way.
‘I don’t suppose for one minute that Major Grant will be awaiting our arrival, do you, Archer?’
‘No, sir, it would seem unlikely. Although if he were to be here, I would have supposed that he might have been in this house, sir.’
‘No, I think that would have been too obvious and too dangerous. He’s probably gone back to Spain.’ He paused. ‘But you know, Archer. If I were Grant – if I had risked two of my agents behind enemy lines – I would want to make damn sure that I personally got them back. Wouldn’t you? I have an idea.’
He reached into his pocket and drew out the scrap of paper on which was written Madame Duplessis’s address. Underneath it Curtis had added another address, and Keane read it and understood.