When he was eventually able to put his burden down in the safety of the camp, Welbeck was joined by another sergeant. Leo Curry looked down at Plummer with undisguised contempt.
‘I’d have left the bastard there to die,’ he said, cruelly.
‘We need every man we’ve got, Leo.’
‘What use is a lily-livered coward?’
‘I’ll make a soldier of him yet,’ said Welbeck, wiping the sweat from his brow. ‘I don’t think he’s seriously hurt. He was knocked unconscious.’
Curry looked down at the body. ‘Or is he just pretending?’ he asked, unsympathetically. He kicked Plummer and produced a groan. ‘Open your eyes, you rotten cheat. We know your little game.’
‘It’s no game, Leo. I saw him tossed into the air like a rag doll.’
‘I’m not surprised. He’s about as much bleeding use as a rag doll.’
‘Plummer was worth saving,’ argued Welbeck. ‘I wasn’t going to leave an able-bodied soldier where he was likely to be shot. You’ve rescued men in the past. I’ve seen you do it.’
‘They deserved to be rescued, Henry – unlike this filthy pimp.’
Plummer opened an eye. ‘Are you talking about me, Sergeant?’
‘You’re a menace to the British army,’ accused Curry.
‘What happened?’
‘You were nearby when a shot killed your comrades,’ said Welbeck.
‘And your sergeant was fool enough to save your life and carry you back here,’ added Curry. ‘I’d have left you as target practice for the enemy.’
Plummer was touched. ‘You saved me, Sergeant Welbeck?’
‘I’d have done the same for any of my men,’ said Welbeck, briskly.
‘Thank you, thank you very much.’
‘Show your gratitude by mending your ways. Become a proper soldier.’
‘And keep away from my men,’ warned Curry. ‘Since the siege began, you haven’t been able to sneak across to our part of the camp to stir up mischief. You’ve been too busy trying not to fight. Stay where you bleeding well belong. If I see you within fifty yards of any of my soldiers, I’ll kick you from here to Amsterdam.’
To reinforce his threat, he booted Plummer in the ribs before marching off. With a cry of pain, Plummer sat up and rubbed his side tenderly. He shook his head to bring himself fully awake.
‘How are you?’ asked Welbeck.
‘I feel half dead.’
‘You look it. Can you stand up?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Let me help you up.’
‘I’d rather stay here, Sergeant.’
‘Come on,’ said Welbeck, ‘we’ve got to see if there’s any real damage.’
Putting his hands under Plummer’s arms, he lifted him gingerly to his feet. Plummer moaned and rubbed an elbow. He was very unsteady but, when he was released, he didn’t fall over. There were bruises on his face and a sticky mark on his forehead where someone else’s brains had briefly lodged. Welbeck thought it best not to mention that to him. He ran his hands over Plummer’s limbs then got the private to lift his knees in turn.
‘Nothing seems to be broken,’ he decided.
‘I’ve got this pain in my elbow,’ said Plummer, ‘and I think that Sergeant Curry might have cracked my ribs.’
‘That was only a tap he gave you. If the sergeant had really kicked you hard, you’d be rolling in agony. Best to be on the safe side,’ Welbeck continued. ‘If you can find a surgeon who’s not patching up wounded soldiers, get him to look at that elbow of yours. It may need attention.’
Plummer brightened. ‘Does that mean I’ll be invalided out of action?’
‘No, you’re fit enough to walk and fire a musket.’
‘I want to be nursed by a buxom woman. In fact, any woman would do. I miss the touch of a female hand. I might even be nursed by your lady love.’
Welbeck tensed. ‘Who’re you talking about?’
‘Why – Rachel Rees, of course.’
‘She is not my lady love.’
Plummer smirked. ‘I see what I see.’
‘You won’t see a bloody thing if I hit you,’ said Welbeck, holding a fist under Plummer’s chin. ‘I didn’t rescue you so that you could taunt me. I’ve nothing to do with Rachel Rees, do you hear?’
‘Yes, Sergeant – I’ll tell her that when I see her.’
‘You won’t be able to do that because she’s no longer in camp.’
‘Oh – where is she?’
‘Mind you own business and look for a surgeon. I want you ready to carry a musket in the next attack. Go on,’ he said, shoving him. ‘Off you go.’
Plummer gave him a sly grin then walked slowly away. Welbeck was annoyed by the mention of Rachel Rees. He had no wish to be reminded of her existence. He knew that she wasn’t there because Daniel had told him that she’d agreed to help him. Unaware of what the two of them were actually doing, he hoped for the safe return of his friend and for the complete disappearance of Rachel Rees.
‘What was his name?’ asked Rachel.
‘Henri Dupuy,’ said Daniel, reading the inscription chiselled into the headstone. ‘He died almost a fortnight ago.’
‘It’s nice to know who our father was.’
‘There’s only one problem, Rachel.’
‘Is there?’
‘Yes – his wife is buried here as well. She passed away two years ago.’
She grinned. ‘Perhaps we should find another grave.’
They’d arrived in Mons and told their tale to the guards at the gate. The surname on their forged papers was Terreau and it got them inside the town. Just in case they’d aroused enough suspicion to be followed, Daniel led the way to the nearest churchyard and looked for a recent burial. When he saw a mound of fresh earth, he paused beside it to read the epitaph relating to Henri and Emma Dupuy. If anyone was watching them, they’d see two dutiful children paying their respects beside a parental grave. In fact, when he looked around, Daniel saw that nobody had been keeping them under observation. Their story had been plausible enough to win genuine sympathy at the gate. Having overcome one obstacle, however, they were confronted by another one.
‘Good day to you both,’ said a soft and friendly voice.
They looked up to see an old man shuffling towards them with an almost toothless smile. He was the parish priest at the church and was interested to spot a fellow curé there. Blinking at them from beneath bushy, white eyebrows, he spread his bony arms in welcome.
‘What brings you here to my church?’ he asked.
Rachel brought the handkerchief to her face to escape the embarrassment of having to speak. She’d picked up enough French over the years to be able to hold a conversation but had nothing like Daniel’s fluency. If she opened her mouth, she’d give the game away at once. Daniel spoke the language like a true-born Frenchman. Since they were caught beside a particular grave, he quickly converted them from children of the deceased to nephew and niece, extolling the virtues of their uncle and saying how distressed they were to hear of his demise. Because Henri Dupuy was a parishioner of his, the priest would know him and his family well. It was far safer to claim to be relatives who lived some distance away. Rachel was staggered at the ease with which Daniel talked about the need they felt to visit Mons. He seemed to be able to invent convincing details at will. The old man expressed his condolences and suggested that they might all enter the church to pray for the salvation of the dead man’s soul. As they walked up the path, Daniel saw the opportunity to probe for information.
‘Why are there so many soldiers about?’ he wondered.
‘You’re mistaken,’ said the priest. ‘There are far too few of them. We fear that we may be besieged, yet a proportion of our garrison has been withdrawn by Marshal Villars. We’re not able to defend ourselves properly and can only hope that the enemy spares us and marches elsewhere.’
‘We came past their encampment at Tournai.’
‘The town must be suffering dreadful
ly.’
‘Sieges always bring misery, alas.’
‘That’s horribly true!’ exclaimed the old man.
They went into the building and walked down the aisle before kneeling at the altar rail. It was the first time that Rachel had been inside a Roman Catholic church and she was struck by its ornate design and by the plenitude of candlesticks, gold plate and other valuables on display. There was a colour, richness and embellishment to the place that made the little church she’d once attended in Brecon look bare, dull and poverty-stricken. Kneeling beside her, Daniel offered up a silent prayer of thanks that he and Rachel had survived the perils of the journey then he listened to the words spoken by the priest in memory of Henri Dupuy. When the old man had finished, he invited them to join him for refreshment.
‘That’s a very kind offer,’ said Daniel, ‘and we thank you for it. But we are both tired after the long ride and need some rest.’
‘Of course,’ said the other with an understanding smile. ‘Besides, you’ll want to see your cousin while you’re here. I presume that you know where he lives. If not, I can conduct you there.’
‘No, no – that won’t be necessary.’
‘Then I’ll insist on calling on you later to speak to you at length.’
‘We look forward to that.’
As they took their leave, Rachel felt confident enough to bid the priest adieu. Once outside the church, however, she lapsed back into English. She was concerned.
‘I didn’t know that we had a cousin in Mons.’
‘Neither did I until he mentioned it.’
‘Why did you agree to see him later?’
‘It was the only way to purchase some time,’ said Daniel, looking around. ‘We need to leave the town as soon as possible.’
‘I thought that you wanted to take stock of its defences.’
‘We can do that as we head for another gate. We can’t leave by the one through which we entered or we’d be recognised. They’d wonder just how bereaved we really were if we quit Mons after so short a visit.’
Rachel raised quizzical shoulders. ‘Why is there such a rush to leave?’
‘Our ruse is going to be discovered.’
‘Only if I open my mouth out of turn and I’ll try not to do that.’
‘We’re members of the Dupuy family,’ he reminded her, ‘and we have a cousin living here. When the curé visits him later today, he’ll soon realise that we’re impostors. We don’t want to be here when that happens, Rachel.’
‘I agree,’ she said.
They mounted their horses and trotted in a northerly direction. Daniel took note of the preparations being made for a siege. Soldiers from the garrison were up on the ramparts or marching through the streets to take up their positions. There was an air of urgency, as if an attack were imminent. People shopping in the market had a nervous look about them, glancing over their shoulders as they haggled with stallholders. Mons was patently anxious. Daniel and Rachel crossed the town from one side to another, committing everything they saw to memory. When they reached the gate, they became the brother and sister named in their papers, claiming that they’d been in the town for days with their mother and were now beginning the long ride home to Ypres. Daniel’s plausibility and Rachel’s performance as a sorrowful daughter once again convinced the guards. They were permitted to leave.
Once outside the gates, they quickened their pace and tried to put distance between themselves and the town in case there was pursuit. Bobbing up and down in the saddle, Rachel Rees was curious.
‘Why did you choose to disguise yourself as a parish priest?’ she asked.
‘I thought it might earn me respect.’
‘Perhaps you should go into the church when you retire from the army.’
Daniel chuckled. ‘As a penance for my bad deeds, do you mean?’
‘No – I think that you’d make a good curé.’
‘There are two insurmountable obstacles, Rachel.’
‘What are they?’
‘First,’ he said, ‘I’m not and never could be a Roman Catholic. By birth and inclination, I’m a Protestant and proud to be so.’
‘What’s the second obstacle, Daniel?’
‘It’s rather too late for me to take a vow of celibacy.’
Rachel hooted with laughter. ‘Amalia will be relieved to hear that.’
‘She’ll also be relieved to hear that we got safely away from Mons.’
‘I never had any doubts that we would, you silver-tongued devil. When you talked to the old man about our uncle, I believed every single word of it.’
‘Let’s hope that he did.’
‘You had him eating out of your hand, Daniel. Well,’ she added, ‘we bid farewell to Henri Dupuy and greetings to Henry Welbeck. I can be myself with him. I’m fed up with grieving over a dead man I never even met. I want real life.’ She saw Daniel look behind him. ‘And you can forget about the old man. I watched his eyes. He didn’t suspect a thing.’
The priest had first been alerted by the fact that the woman had taken pains to say so little. Again, they had never entirely convinced him that they were a brother and sister. There was scant facial resemblance. Why, then, were they paying their respects to Henri Dupuy? The old man had known him well. He didn’t recall that his former parishioner had had relatives in Ypres. It would surely have been mentioned at some stage. Who were the strangers and what did they really want?
Later that day, he took his suspicions to the captain of the guard at the gate through which the visitors had entered. He gave a good description of them and the man remembered them feeling sorry for them.
‘I don’t think pity is in order,’ said the priest.
‘Why not, Father?’
‘It’s because they were here under false pretences.’
‘That’s a bold claim to make.’
‘I can substantiate it. The man was no curé and the woman was no sister. They had no connection at all with the person they said was their uncle.’
‘How can you be sure of that?’
‘I talked to Henri Dupuy’s son. He has no cousins in Ypres or elsewhere, for that matter. He was as baffled as I am.’ He leant forward. ‘My eyesight may be fading, Captain, but my instincts are as sharp as ever. That fellow was a clever actor but I sense that he was too worldly to be a man of the cloth. There’s one more thing to consider – why would a priest ask me about the soldiers in the town?’
The captain rubbed his chin with a thoughtful hand. ‘What were they doing in Mons?’ he asked.
‘I suggest that you catch them and find out.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Amalia Janssen had always wanted a brother or sister but it was not to be. As an only child, she enjoyed a monopoly of her parents’ attention, yet felt that she was missing something. Gregarious and affable, she’d had plenty of childhood friends. There were even those who occasionally spent the night under her roof. She led a full and happy life. What she lacked, however, was a sibling with whom she could grow up and in whom she could confide her most secret thoughts. Everything changed when Kees Dopff came to the house. Notwithstanding his handicaps, he turned out to be a model apprentice and was virtually adopted by Emanuel Janssen. Dopff became the brother that Amalia had never had. She was able to communicate with him in ways that no other person could manage. She sensed his moods, anticipated his needs and loved their conversations mixing words and mime.
When Dopff began to feel unwell, therefore, Amalia was the first to notice. She urged him to have an early night and he was glad to take her advice. Next morning, he was late for breakfast, an event so unusual as to arouse concern. He finally appeared with an apologetic smile but it was his pale cheeks that worried Amalia.
‘Are you sure you’re feeling well enough to get up, Kees?’
Nodding his head, he rubbed his stomach to show that he was hungry.
‘That’s a good sign, I suppose,’ she said. ‘Whenever I feel poorly, I can’t eat a thing. What
do you think, Father? Are you to blame for his fatigue? Have you been making Kees work too hard?’
‘I can’t stop him from doing that, Amalia,’ said Janssen. ‘I have to drag him away from his loom sometimes.’
‘I think he should have a morning off.’
Dopff shook his head and looked alarmed. He was keen to work. To prove that there was nothing wrong with his appetite, he had a hearty breakfast and clearly enjoyed his food. It made Amalia feel less anxious about him. Dopff was not merely a skilled weaver, he was a talented artist who was always creating designs that he hoped might one day appear on a tapestry. Amalia loved to watch him making his sketches and tried her own hand at the exercise. While she could conjure up pretty designs, she had nothing like Dopff’s natural artistic ability.
By the end of the meal, he seemed much better. There was even a touch of colour in his cheeks now. If he was feeling any discomfort, it was not showing in his face. Amalia decided that she was worrying unnecessarily. When Dopff went off to start work, she nevertheless asked her father to keep an eye on him.
‘I’m sure there’s something amiss, Father.’
‘I can’t remember him having a day’s illness,’ he said.
‘There’s always a first time.’
‘He’s probably the healthiest of all of us, Amalia. I’m too old, Aelbert has never been robust and Nick drinks too much. One of us will start to falter before Kees does. He has an iron constitution.’
‘Well, you don’t, Father,’ she told him. ‘Bear that in mind. There are limits to what you can do in a day. You must keep within them.’
He smiled fondly. ‘You’ve been saying that to me for ages.’
‘Then why don’t you do what I ask you?’
They chatted away until a servant came to clear the table. Janssen was ready to start work and talked about the project in hand. Amalia walked with him to the workshop. Geel and Pienaar were already there but it was Dopff who was actually busy at his loom. Amalia glanced across at him. He seemed happily absorbed in what he was doing, yet she was instantly disturbed. There was something about the way that his shoulders stooped. Dopff had put his legs much further apart than usual as if to brace himself. Then he began to sway. Amalia moved forward involuntarily.
5 A Very Murdering Battle Page 22