Gordon clearly now wanted to move on to more comfortable territory. He reached down and picked up a telegram lying on his desk. ‘Meanwhile I have a request for you; a lady-in-waiting at Napoleon’s court , Marie-Anne, is coming to Gravesend tomorrow and will be staying at the Clarendon Hotel. She would like to meet you for tea at three o’clock to discuss progress. Can you do that?’
‘Of course.’
‘Very well, see yourself out and keep me informed of any progress, and be cautious with Marie-Anne, I believe she is close to Napoleon, and was once his mistress. So be careful what you say and do. As you may know, the Emperor is in Victoria’s good books now, so any mistake by you could have consequences. Do we understand each other?’
‘Of course,’ I replied, and walked out of the room.
Five
The Meeting
At the appointed hour I arrived at the Clarendon, a fine brick-built building that overlooked the Thames. It was regarded as the best hotel in town and had benefited greatly from a visit by the Prince of Wales, a few years earlier.
I walked in though the main doorway and then headed for the dining room, which was well signposted. I could see at once that the hotel was of a good standard. The dining room boasted deep red velvet curtains, cheerful in summer and warm in winter. Hanging from the white plaster ceiling, decorated at the centre by rose fittings, were crystal chandeliers with integral gaslights. The tables were dark mahogany set off by pristine white table clothes. Each table had a decorative table lamp with a weighted porcelain figure. Even the silver sugar bowls were covered by Belgian lace.
At what looked to be the best table in the room – overlooking the green down to the river – was a very elegant lady. She had her maid in attendance, a slightly older, less attractive woman. I walked over to the table and bowed deeply.
‘Madame Marie, so pleased to meet you, I am William Reeves, at your service.’ She took my hand lightly, just the fingertips, and nodded.
‘Thank you Mr Reeves for coming at such short notice. This is my maid, Antonia.’ She gestured to the older women at her side, who had very stern features beneath obviously dyed jet-black hair. Antonia curtseyed deeply but all the talking was done by Marie.
‘Please take a seat so we can get down to business.’ I obeyed her wishes without question; she had authority as well as beauty.
‘Antonia. You can take your leave of us now.’ At that the maid curtseyed more deeply and departed, leaving me alone with Marie. I quickly took stock of the lady. Her immediate impact was pronounced; she had a real elegance about her. Probably in her middle thirties, she was a beauty with piercing brown eyes and dark hair tied into a bun, tucked within a bonnet. She perched rather than sat on her chair, and I detected a lovely smell of lemon and bergamot perfume exuding from her. She was wearing one of the modern colours – a deep shade of maroon, and her outfit was fringed with white lacework. She was unsmiling, but this took nothing away from her presence in the room. She spoke in perfect English with scarcely a trace of a French accent.
‘Let me first say how grateful I am for your assistance in this matter, you were recommended to me by Lieutenant-Colonel Gordon, who is a fine man. I must also say, this is a matter of great sensitivity. As you are aware Emperor Napoleon has only been living in your country for three months and that is due to the kindness of your government and Queen Victoria, so we must be discreet in all our activities. Do you understand?’
I replied without hesitation. ‘Yes, all matters discussed will be completely confidential.’
She continued. ‘You have been briefed about the kidnap?’
‘Yes.’ She seemed content at this and relaxed.
‘Would you like some tea William? Is it alright to call you William?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She reached for the teapot and after pouring out a cup, she dispensed some milk and sugar into it deftly. All her movements were measured and elegant. She cleared her throat.
‘Very well. I appreciate we have little to go on at the moment, just a report that Pierre may have been taken off the Spirit of Rochester before it reached Gravesend, but I am so desperate for answers to this, that I have come to the town to see if there are any further clues as to his whereabouts.’
I looked at her. She was clearly distressed but too refined and self-contained to show her emotions outwardly. I decided to ask the awkward question at once.
‘Of course, I understand the sensitivity of this, but firstly I must enquire: is the missing boy Pierre your son?’
‘Yes,’ she replied without hesitation. I knew at this point my feeble efforts so far would disappoint but continued anyway.
‘Thank you for being candid with me on that issue. I am sorry to say that though I have been in Gravesend for a few days, following Gordon’s intervention, I have made little progress. I will keep trying of course but up to now there have been no obvious leads.’
She was clearly disappointed. ‘What about the captain of the boat, this John Lynch. Have you spoken to him?’
‘I am afraid he is presently at sea but should be back in Gravesend in the next few days. My understanding is that he has denied everything – picking Pierre up in Rouen, stowing him away illegally – everything. He says he has no idea who Pierre is, and no boy was picked up at Rouen.’
She scowled at this. ‘The man is a liar! My people arranged this with him and paid him good money. He is liar and a thief.’
I felt her anger but knew I must keep my feelings in check, so I replied in a measured tone.
‘That may well be true but in English law we have to prove it. I will endeavour to find Pierre by any means possible and that may require interviewing Lynch at some stage.’
She was clearly not impressed.
‘In the French empire we know how to get the truth out of people. How do you think we conquered Algeria and Indo China? By being nice?’
I was flummoxed slightly but carried on.
‘I understand your impatience, but we cannot do that in this country.’
She sighed then smiled. It was the first time I had seen that expression. It was like watching the sun touch the winter snow, seeing her smile, and to me revealed a wholly different person hidden under this veil of anger and propriety.
‘It is a great shame we cannot extract the truth, but I know that here in England we are guests of your country, we have to be careful how we behave. We must be like the British, stiff upper lip and all that. So, what do you suggest we should do?’
This was the question I was worried about, as I knew no answer of mine would satisfy her.
‘I have a line of enquiry I’m following through contacts of Gordon but that may take time. The only other proposal I have is to somehow meet Lynch when he is next in port. If the Customs office will help with this, it should be possible.’
‘What about the Kent gendarme… I mean constabulary. Surely they can help.’
I had to consciously stop shrugging at this point.
‘I believe they have spoken to Lynch and got the usual story – that he knows nothing. Without firm evidence they will not arrest him, so I’m afraid they are of little use to us at this point.’
I searched my brain for some kernel of hope. ‘What I can do is arrange a meeting with the Excise office. I am sure Gordon will give me an entrée into that. Also, are there any pictures of Pierre available?’ She looked over her shoulder and clicked her fingers. The maid reappeared with a box. Passed it to her, curtsied, then left.
‘I have a photograph of the family, taken in 1869, so it is fairly recent. Here you are.’ She passed over a picture of a family group; there was only one boy in it, so I knew it must be Pierre. The family group was Pierre, Marie, and a man in uniform. I studied the picture.
‘Who is this gentleman?’
She was clearly vexed at me asking the question.
‘The man in the picture is the he
ad of the Emperor’s household, Monsieur Matthew Toulouse. We brought him into the frame so that it looks like a normal family photograph and nothing to perturb the photographer, or anyone else seeing the picture.’ I looked it over; while obviously formal and two years old, it was still of a good quality.
‘Can I borrow this and get a lithograph print made of Pierre? I may need to make a direct appeal to the public by displaying his picture where people can see it, perhaps pinning it onto trees and the like, with a plea as to anyone knowing his whereabouts. Is that alright?’ She thought for a moment.
‘Very well. But please, be careful with the picture. It is all I have left of my son.’
This was clearly a delicate situation.
‘I fully understand and promise to take good care of it. Now for the wording below the picture. What about “Pierre Le Beau, French national aged thirteen, travelled to Gravesend 17th September 1870, but not seen since. Anybody with information as to his whereabouts pleases contact William Reeves, care of Eagle Hotel, West Street, Gravesend. Information which leads to his discovery will be rewarded”.’ I paused to see her reaction. She nodded.
‘Yes, that is fine. I will leave that in your hands then.’ She sat back and for a moment seemed to relax before speaking. I sensed our meeting had run its course, and she confirmed this with her next words.
‘Shall we meet again, here tomorrow at the same time to discuss progress?’
‘Yes, good idea. Obviously if any other information comes to hand, I will contact you immediately.’
‘Merci,’ she responded.
At that I stood up, bowed deeply, and left the restaurant with her precious photograph tucked under my arm.
Six
Meetings with Men of Importance
After leaving the Clarendon, I immediately returned to the fort to see Gordon. He was as terse as ever, but I managed to get from him the address of a good local lithographer and a letter of introduction to the Chief Clerk of Customs and Excise.
Armed with this, I visited Gordon’s chosen printer. He was happy to do the work, so I left the photograph in his hands.
I then walked to the Excise office. This was a fairly new and impressive red brick building, close to the riverside and only yards from the fort. I passed over Gordon’s letter at the reception, and after a longer wait than was comfortable was shown in to see the Chief Clerk, a Mr Atkins. He was a well-dressed fellow and clearly by the size of his desk, was an important person within the Excise office. He was bald and wore spectacles, over which he looked at me as I entered the room.
He greeted me with a firm handshake and a well-rehearsed but curt salutation.
‘Good afternoon. Tom Atkins – Her Majesty’s Chief Customs Officer, Gravesend. Please, take a seat. Now, how can I help you Mr Reeves?’
I sat down and began my story.
‘Firstly, let me thank you Mr Atkins for taking time out to see me. My business is regarding a French citizen, a thirteen-year-old boy name of Pierre Le Beau. He boarded the British ship the Spirit of Rochester in Rouen on September 16th last year. Sailing to London via Gravesend. He was due in the port of London on the 18th September, but never arrived. However, rumour has it that a boy was seen on a rowing boat, leaving the Spirit off Gravesend the night before, so he may have been brought ashore without your knowledge.’
I sat forward and tried to give more weight to my final sentence. ‘Obviously, if that is so, it would be a situation of interest to you.’
Atkins reached for a polished brown wooden pipe that sat to the left side of his desk, and after a few taps, lit it, and brought it to his mouth.
‘Mr Reeves, I am aware of all of this, and I’m sure you mean well. However, the Spirit of Rochester’s captain denies all knowledge of this, and says he knows nothing about picking up this boy in Rouen or bringing him ashore in Gravesend. I am afraid this is all speculation and hearsay. So, I cannot be of any help I fear.’
At this my spirits dropped, this is what I had been told to expect, but somehow I still had hoped for something more.
‘Is there anything that could help my investigations in this matter?’ Atkins looked me up and down before speaking slowly and in measured tones.
‘The only thing that may be worth pursuing is to speak to the boat’s shipping agents. They are Bennett and Sons, who are based near Billingsgate Market in the City. If your story is true, then somebody must have paid the captain to take on board a stowaway, and the possible path for those monies might be via the agent.’
I was grateful for this, at least I could now report back to Marie with something. ‘Thank you. I’ll make haste to their offices in the city now.’ Atkins smiled thinly. ‘No need to go so far, Mr Reeves. They have their own agent here in Gravesend, John Bennett is his name. He has an office down on West Street, on the first floor of the brewery warehouse. You can’t miss him; he walks with a pronounced limp.’ I was delighted at this news and thanked Mr Atkins warmly.
‘Good luck,’ he said. ‘I think you’re going to need it in this case.’
I shook his hand, walked back through the building, and emerged out into the street, which was warmed by the late afternoon sunshine.
For some reason instinct told me not to immediately visit John Bennett at the brewery. So, I spent the rest of the day trying to piece together what I had discovered to date. Clearly there were still many missing pieces from the jigsaw. I needed more time but that might not be available.
Next day, I walked to the lithographers where I collected the foolscap size posters of Pierre. With the addition of drawing pins, bought from a corner shop, I was soon putting the poster on every available tree and timber building I could find. Luckily, it was a fine sunny day, so this was not that tiresome a task. This filled in most of the morning and before I knew it, the time was 3 p.m. and I was back at the Clarendon.
Seven
The Emperor’s Woman
I walked in and could see Marie-Anne at her usual table, although Antonia sat opposite her. There seemed little warmth or talk between them. However instead of beckoning me to sit down, she had other ideas.
‘Hello, William. I wonder if we could go for a walk. The weather is wonderful, and this hotel gets so stuffy. Antonia, you can stay here.’ She smiled. I was only too happy to agree.
We left the hotel by the front door, side by side. To any spectator we looked like an affluent middle-class couple on a private visit to the riverside resort. I could not help but feel privileged that such a beautiful lady was willing to walk alongside me, even if only in the pursuit of a professional matter.
We strolled over to the riverside and she looked out over the waters towards Tilbury Fort on the north bank. Despite the constant movement of boats, the river had a great charm that seemed to have affected Marie.
‘This is quite a nice place. It reminds me a little of Paris, or perhaps Rouen, with the River Seine flowing past.’ She smiled at me. ‘It is a pleasant spot and if we were not engaged on such awful business, I could enjoy this very much.’ Pleasantries over, her face hardened. ‘Now tell me what progress have you made?’
I briefly told her of the posters being displayed around town, and my meeting with the Excise office. However, I could tell from her body language that she was clearly disappointed at the lack of progress so far.
‘William, this is becoming very frustrating – we are not getting any closer to Pierre’s whereabouts, are we?’
I had to agree with her but bade her to be patient and hope the posters might yield some information. I also knew I had to broach the awkward subject of the shipping agent.
‘Madame, I know that some agreement was made between your people and a shipping agent to take Pierre from Rouen to London. Presumably, money changed hands also. Do you have the name of that agent?’
Her face turned even darker.
‘Indeed, it was a shipping agent wh
o worked out of Rouen. Pierre and I had arrived in the town on the back of a horse and cart. We stayed in a poor hotel while I considered what I should do next. After the first day, I noticed the British ship the Spirit of Rochester, docked on the jetty. I found out who its shipping agent was and paid him for Pierre to be taken on board and brought to London. This was unofficial you understand, no paperwork, no passports – he would just be shown where to hide on the ship then emerge at the port of London free from danger. The agent’s name was Michael Bernard. It seemed a reputable shipping firm, with offices in London. I then left Pierre and travelled by train overland to Brussels where I met the French Ambassador. He then made the arrangements for me to travel to Cassel in Germany, via Cologne, to re-join Louis Napoleon. I assumed that everything was fine with Pierre and that he was safe, so I travelled to Germany in good heart – happy to serve my Emperor.’
‘Why did you not want to join Empress Eugenie in England? That way you could have escorted Pierre and seen that he was safe?’
She grimaced. ‘I know I did the wrong thing now but – let me put it this way – myself and Eugenie do not always see eye to eye. She is jealous of my friendship with Louis – my loyalty was to him, not her.’ I nodded. There was a ring of truth about that.
‘So, I was taken to the chateau in Cassel, where he was held captive, and I soon settled into the routine. Louis was grateful to see me and impressed by my loyalty. All was well, or as well as anything can be when you have lost your liberty. Then I got a message from London that Pierre had not arrived. I was mortified by this, but what could I do? It was too late; we were stuck in Prussia under house arrest. It was only after we had been released from Cassel and travelled to England in March this year that I was able to start searching for my boy.’
She was clearly distressed but continued, ‘Obviously, when Pierre didn’t arrive in London my people contacted the shipping agents, asking what was going on. They denied all knowledge of the transaction, said they had never heard of Michael Bernard, and that he was a swindler who purported to be from their company. We gave them a description of the agent, but they said that it did not match with anyone who worked for them.’
The French Emperor's Woman Page 3