Brothers in Arms (Jack Steel 3)

by Iain Gale

  Steel was again unsettled, unsure of himself. ‘I make no pretence as to learning, sir, merely what I might have picked up along the way in my life as a travelling soldier.’

  ‘And where, pray, has that taken you?’

  Now Steel knew that he was in imminent peril of becoming unstuck. Of course he could recount his own campaigns of the last twenty years. Every one was etched indelibly on his psyche. But they had been fought with the armies of King William and Queen Anne. Now he must carry forward the pretence and answer as a soldier in the army of King Louis. He racked his brain for his alter ego’s history. But whether it was the wine or the pressure of the moment, he could come up with none. As his fellow guest began to frown, a single word came into his head: ‘Neerwinden. Yes, Neerwinden. We won that day. Won well.’

  The man nodded, waiting … Steel decided he would have to play the fool, which did not come naturally to him. He must feign ignorance and hope for the best.

  A second later someone gently took hold of his right arm. It was Simpson. Such was Steel’s relief that he almost called him by name.

  ‘Why, Captain Johnson. There you are.’ Simpson turned to the masked guest. ‘Ah, yes … I do hope that the captain has not been boring you with his tales of life on campaign. He can become so tedious.’

  ‘Quite the contrary, monsieur …’

  ‘St Colombe.’

  ‘Quite the contrary, Monsieur de St Colombe. I fancy that he was only just about to start.’

  ‘Then I shall whisk him away before he does. You would never forgive me, sir.’ He made a low bow. ‘Come, Captain. There are so many people you must meet this evening.’

  Simpson ushered him slowly towards the french windows which gave onto a terrace above the house’s formal garden, opened them and pushed him through with a sigh.

  ‘Good God, Steel, please. I shall swoon if you behave thus. You must be careful here. You are here for one reason only, to give your disguise a degree of gravity and truth. No one would ever suspect that any enemy officer in his right mind would come to a soirée such as this. Do you have any idea just who is in that room?’

  ‘As far as I can see, the biggest bunch of fops and fools in France. I’ve never known such hot air. And for what? What interest could such people possibly have in the life of a Jacobite officer?’

  ‘That’s not for you to reason. There’s a point to your being here tonight. I intend to have you spoken about in Paris in the coming days so that you are adopted into society. Who knows, you might even obtain an audience with the King.’

  Steel froze. ‘I never agreed to that. Meet Louis? No. Then I really would be discovered.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you’re right. But at least allow me my subterfuge. And who knows, back in there I might find one of Louis’s courtiers who speaks for peace. But whatever happens I do not want you to cause a scene. That is not the idea at all. This place is filled with spies and enemies. Know that. Now let us return to the party before we are missed.’

  Steel nodded. He knew that Simpson was right. He had gone too far in his argument with the courtier. He turned to Simpson. ‘Who the devil was that tedious man I was arguing with? You bowed and called him “sir”.’

  Simpson laughed and shook his head. ‘You really don’t know? That, my dear Jack, was James Francis Edward Stuart. The Pretender to the throne himself. That was the man who would be our King.’

  ‘Good God. He told me he was at Oudenarde.’

  ‘And that he was, I believe. On Burgundy’s staff. Although in name he had command of the Irish Brigade. Well, they are his own personal troops.’ He noticed Steel’s ashen face. ‘You must have managed to lie well enough. He seemed convinced. Good. That went as I had planned.’

  Steel stared at him. ‘As you planned? You knew he would be here? You planned our meeting?’

  ‘I guessed as much. The Pretender cannot resist a rout such as this, particularly one where he is sure of being fussed over.’

  ‘But I might have been discovered. We might both have been taken.’

  ‘True. But we had to risk it. And now your credentials are assured.’ He pressed an arm around Steel’s shoulder. ‘Come. Let’s go back in and join the party. No point in wasting good food and wine. And this time, do have a care, dear boy.’

  Steel began to wonder what else this extraordinary man might be capable of, and for the first time started to think that his mission might not prove quite as straightforward as Hawkins had made out.

  Back in the salon the majority of the Duchess’s guests had now arrived. The room was filled with beautiful women and men in clothes similar to his own, plus a few French officers resplendent in full dress. Steel again felt vulnerable. He looked warily for the Pretender and spotted him in a far corner of the room, still masked and attended by a party of sycophants. He turned rather too abruptly in attempting to distance himself from the would-be king, and crashed into another guest, knocking her into a footman who broke her fall. Helped to her feet by another lady, the woman turned to Steel, without bothering to replace her mask.

  He bowed and blurted an apology. ‘I’m most dreadfully sorry, ma’am. I didn’t see you.’

  He looked at her and found a familiar face: the face of a huntress, the callous, sensual beauty from the forest. The Marquise de Puy Fort Eguille picked up her diamond-encrusted mask and pretended to hold it up in disguise. Again Steel was struck by her beauty, principally by the flashing green eyes, which were now mirrored in the flawless perfection of the huge emerald she wore around her neck on a gold chain. It was those eyes which now again made contact with his own. As they did so he noticed that the bow of her puckered red lips seemed to part in an unspoken word.

  At length, after they had stared at each other for a few moments, she addressed him: ‘We meet again, Captain …’

  ‘Johnson, ma’am.’

  ‘You appear to be in something of a hurry. Still about the King’s business? Are you late for an appointment? Or perhaps you hasten to some other, more interesting diversion? I do not believe we have met on formal terms.’

  She extended her hand and Steel bent to kiss it before straightening up.

  ‘Captain Johnson, my lady. Of the Irish Dragoons. Currently on leave in Paris before returning to the front. We fight in Flanders for the King, against the tyrant Marlbrook.’ He had added the last for effect, but instantly regretted it as appearing over eager.

  She sighed and put on a wistful look intended to gain Steel’s sympathy. ‘Ah, me. My husband too fought in Flanders. He was brigaded with the Irish. Perhaps you knew him? The Marquis de Puy Fort Eguille.’

  Steel shook his head. ‘I am sorry, madame. I do not know him.’ So, he thought, that would explain her previous interest in my regiment.

  She continued. ‘Nor shall you then, Captain, for he died there with his regiment. Only two years back, although it seems an eternity. And now I must wear a widow’s weeds. A dreadful tragedy, wouldn’t you say, for a woman just entering her prime?’ She flashed another smile at Steel and parted her lips an infinitesimal distance. It was enough, and she played on the effect. ‘People do say that black becomes me. What think you, Captain Johnson?’

  She picked up her full skirts and slowly raised the hem until Steel was afforded a good view of a pretty ankle and calf. ‘You say nothing, sir. Do they suit me? Do I make a good widow? Speak, Captain Johnson, or I shall not be pleased.’

  ‘They are indeed most becoming, my lady, and I am very sorry to hear about your husband. I vouch that he died bravely and well fighting the damned British.’

  ‘Thank you, but I’m afraid that he did not. Brave, yes. Of course. But in fact he died horribly.’

  She was cut short by Steel’s former partner in conversation, the Pretender, still masked. ‘Ah, Madame la Marquise. I see that you have met our brave soldier-savant.’

  ‘Monsieur?’

  ‘Why, this young man is not merely a soldier but a thinker. Un philosophe, to be sure. And handsome too. He would do well
at your château.’

  The man who would rule all Britain bowed to the marquise and turned away. Steel realized that she must have known perfectly well who he was and wondered why she had not curtsied or at least made some sign of deference. Was she so arrogant, or merely on familiar terms with James Stuart?

  She clapped her hands with delight. ‘What a wonderful idea! Yes. You must most certainly come to visit me in the country. Can you spare the time from your heroic ventures? I’m sure that you would find it a most pleasurable experience.’

  ‘If you promise that I shall not again find myself face to face with a wild boar, ma’am.’

  ‘I cannot promise anything, Captain. When you visit me you must be prepared for any eventuality. Anything might happen. I shall send my servant to find you. Give him your address. Until we meet again, Captain. I shall await your arrival with anticipation.’

  As she turned and left him, Simpson hurried up to Steel. ‘That woman. The Marquise de Puy Fort Eguille. What did she ask you?’

  ‘Nothing really. My name, where I had served. Not much more. She asked me to stay with her. Why?’

  ‘Stay away from her. At all costs. I could tell you things about her that would make you quake.’

  ‘A woman, Simpson. Surely not. She’s damned pretty, don’t you think? Not your type, of course, but –’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, man. I’m serious. She’s trouble. Pure evil. Just leave it at that and don’t be tempted to flirt with her.’

  Steel smiled and nodded, but Simpson was not sure what the young officer meant by that and whether he would keep his word.

  Steel spoke. ‘Oh, there is one more thing I’ve been meaning to ask you.’

  Simpson looked grave. ‘Ask me whatever you will, although I cannot promise that I shall be able to answer you.’

  ‘Whereabouts in this city does one go about finding a pair of boots?’

  Simpson laughed. ‘Good God, man. You continue to surprise me. If it’s boots you want, you’ve come to just the man.’

  SEVEN

  He awoke late, as the soft Parisian sunlight was flooding into his room through a small but sufficient gap in the shutters, and he instantly regretted the events of the previous evening. Turning slowly on the linen sheets and half-expecting the worst, he was relieved to see that the other side of the bed remained unoccupied and that there was no sign that anyone, male or female, had lain there during the night. Simpson of course knew that Steel did not share his sexual preferences, but you could never, thought Steel, be too sure. He trawled his memory, working backwards to the moment when sleep had taken him. Or, rather, unconsciousness. For, of the amount that he had drunk after the party there could be no doubt. Normally, Steel had the hardest of heads and reckoned that he could out-drink the best of trenchermen. But somehow last night, Simpson, damn him, for all his wiry frame and femininity, had matched him measure for measure in Tokay, claret and brandy.

  Steel sat up. His head throbbed and his mouth tasted foul. The recent wounds in his leg and arm had also begun to ache and he suspected that he had not done the leg much good by hobbling around all evening in those blasted dandy’s shoes. The thought reminded him that his first appointment was with the shoemaker. Simpson was right. His boots were a mess, barely adequate in the field, let alone the city. And he was damned sure that he would not borrow the man’s shoes again.

  He struggled from the bed, dressed quickly and poured cold water from the ewer into the ceramic bowl. Having doused his face, he found his razor and drew it roughly across his stubble, cursing as he nicked himself. Finished, he wound his cravat about his neck and drew on the heavy red coat of Clare’s dragoons, and lastly buckled on the sword. The house was silent, and at first Steel thought he must have mistaken the hour. However, the gilded longcase clock in the hall chimed the quarter hour and he saw that it was past eleven. Clearly, Simpson extended his dandified persona to the very bounds of realism, sleeping well into the day. Eschewing breakfast and glad not to encounter either of the household’s principal servants, Steel opened the front door and, mustering all his confidence, stepped out into the courtyard wondering where he might find the guide promised by Simpson. He did not wonder long, for directly outside the door was a small boy. He looked up at Steel and smiled, then motioned him to follow. Together they crossed the cobbles and walked out onto the street.

  The day was fresh and sunny and a breeze was blowing along the Seine, which lay only a few yards before them. To their right stood the recently built bridge that he had crossed the previous evening en route to the rout. Looking to his left Steel saw the huge mass of the great cathedral of Notre Dame, its crenellated twin towers silhouetted against a brilliant blue sky. Within a few minutes the worst of his hangover had been dispelled, absorbed by all the smells, sounds and sights of a still unfamiliar city. Following the boy, Steel turned right, as he had been told to by Simpson. That much at least he thought he was able to remember. They walked quickly across the Pont Marie, in the direction of the Marais, but once across the river turned abruptly to the left and began to walk along the quay above the riverbank.

  Passing hurriedly along the water’s edge Steel paid little attention to the people bustling about him and selling their wares from stalls. All manner of goods seemed to be on offer, from live poultry to hunting dogs, clothing, food and drink. Steel’s guide stopped for no one. One thing, though, was evident. Paris seemed changed from the city of the previous evening. He no longer felt such a complete stranger, and for that he thanked Simpson. His baptism of fire had worked, even if he was still at a loss to know his exact position. He tried to get his bearings and, pausing a little way on from the huge cathedral, realized that they had made good ground, for there to his right was the palace of the Louvre, abandoned by King Louis in favour of his court at Versailles. How much easier his task might have been, he thought, had the King elected to remain in his capital city. But Steel was not hard pressed to understand why he had fled. The stench rising from the river, beautiful as it was, was almost unbearably putrid, even for one so accustomed to the stink of death as he had become these past few years. A right turn took them up and into the rue St Honoré, and the boy indicated a shoemaker’s shop. Having placed his order in halting French with Simpson’s bootman, and being careful to use the alias of Johnson, Steel rejoined the boy and they continued along the street. It was crammed with shops, mostly selling dress materials and such haberdashery. How Henrietta would love this, he thought. Would it be too audacious to return with a parcel for her? He imagined her eyes lighting up as she unwrapped the silks and satins. How she loved him and he her. He would return once he had accomplished his task.

  Following the boy, he re-crossed the river by way of the Pont Neuf. A double carriageway ran down the centre of the bridge, and pedestrians strolled at the parapets. Midway across the river stood a huge equestrian statue of Henry IV surrounded by high iron railings, and grouped about it, facing the street, were covered booths in which merchants sold their produce. Steel motioned to the boy to stop for a moment and walked across to the wall, where he leant on the coping stones, looking west. From here it was easy to gauge the layout of the city. The river, with its endless traffic of laden barges, bisected it. To the right stood the Louvre and on the left a series of smart stone houses. Turning, he saw again the huge edifice of Notre Dame and around it the streets of the medieval city. The run of the ramparts and city walls had been transformed into wide boulevards, and nowhere in the city could Steel see an obvious area of defence. Once again he could not help but feel that had Marlborough only been granted his wish to attack then Paris would have been taken without a fight.

  Then they walked on again, and as they did a carriage swept past, splashing Steel with muddy water and almost bowling into him. A footman shouted something unintelligible at him from the running board. Stupidly and instinctively, he swore in return, in English, instantly regretted it and hoped that his curse had not been heard. The boy looked at him quizzically, and the er
ror brought him back to the danger and the matter in hand. Pushing past one of the hawkers, who tried to sell him a live songbird in a cage, Steel smiled, shook his head and carried on walking until they had reached the far bank.

  There the boy paused and pointed. Steel followed his arm, and at last he saw it: a vast golden dome, its pinnacle touching the azure sky, gleaming in the distance. Steel wondered why he had not noticed it before, for it towered over all Paris. It seemed to him at first an unreal sight, as if it had been placed there by some deity. A palace for the gods. And so it was, in a sense. The Hôpital des Invalides was a building like none he had ever seen before, greater even than Wren’s magnificent rebuilt church of St Paul’s in the City of London with its own magnificent domed roof. This, thought Steel, was something quite different. It surely outshone all such achievements of man to date.

  For fully several minutes Steel was unable to take his eye off the great gold dome. As he was looking at it, the full magnitude of what he had been commissioned to do became abundantly clear. This was his objective, as forbidding and impregnable as any he had stormed these past ten years. He was making his way directly towards the very nerve centre of France’s military might. For this was not only the hospital for her wounded but the de facto seat of power of her generals and marshals. While Versailles might house the King and the ultimate High Command, it was here that strategic decisions were taken. Here you would find the highest-ranking officers. Steel stood gazing at the dome, undisturbed by and largely unaware of the hawkers and vendors, the passing gentry and the begging children at his feet. Eventually, however, when the boy tugged at his scabbard, he spun round in reaction, scattering passers-by in alarm, and knew that it was time to get on his way.

  Their pace quickened now, for Steel was impatient to get to his purpose. He had no time for observations of the city, but travelled swiftly to the southwest, towards the beckoning golden dome. Impatiently he pushed through the labourers at work on a new quarter of the city and kept going towards his goal. At length, entering the newly finished rue de Varenne, he saw it close before him – not merely the dome but surrounding it a great palace of pale white stone surrounded by formal gardens. He stopped and took in the sheer scale of the place. It was as if a giant had taken up a grand country house, one of Mr Hawksmoor’s creations, and transplanted it to the outskirts of this extraordinary city. They had left the crowds and hubbub behind now, and Steel reached into his pocket and gave the guide a golden coin. The boy nodded, then turned and ran off back towards the city, leaving Steel alone. There he remained for a moment, rapt in contemplation, before making his way to the outer gates.