We found a good table in the corner away from prying ears. I gently pulled the seat out for her and she daintily sat down. I then took my seat opposite her and opened the conversation.
‘I’m afraid it’s not quite as comfortable as the Clarendon.’
She smiled. ‘Dear William, I have taken refreshments in a thousand times worse places in Paris.’ I smiled but felt almost lost for words and awkward.
‘How was your journey?’
‘It was nice; I was far more relaxed being on my own without that awful woman Antonia.’
I was a little surprised by the sharpness of her reaction. ‘I thought you two got on?’
She gave me a long look, then scoffed, ‘You have no idea what it is like to be surrounded by people who despise you. For all her smiles, Antonia did not like me. It is the same at Chislehurst. My only friend is Louis – who is away in hospital most of the time. Eugenie mistrusts me, and the other staff follow her lead by making me feel unwanted.’
At that moment, the waitress came to our table .She was clearly in a rush and this made her face blush. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, sir.’ She stood poised with her pad and pencil. I tried to order coffee and scones, but the waitress was quick to inform me they did not serve coffee. We made do with tea instead, which I knew Marie hated.
The waitress scurried off and Marie continued, ‘Now, what is the news you wish to tell me?’
I shuffled in the seat, unsure where to begin but did so anyway.
‘On the day after the Waterloo celebrations, I met with Gordon again. Later the same day I met the lascar who worked on Lynch’s ship, Asif is his name, and he is a thoroughly decent chap. Now, I probed his memory of that fateful night in September when the Spirit came to Gravesend. He could just about remember the course taken by the rowing boat that left the ship on that night. So, we retraced its course, and it did appear to lead to a woodyard in Denton, run by a man called Tommy Tibbalds. The yard is located about a mile down the river. Now, one of Tibbalds’ little businesses is making beer barrels. I also found out he delivers the completed kegs to the brewery in West Street, Gravesend. So, it occurred to me, what if Pierre had been brought ashore at the woodyard, and hidden in a beer barrel? He could then be transported to a more secure location without anyone knowing.’
She looked long and hard at me.
‘But this is only a theory William, there is no proof, we are no further on.’ I could see her desperation but carried on regardless.
‘That is what I thought, so I decided to raid the shipping agent’s office at night in the hope of finding some paperwork linking a barrel delivery to Pierre’s disappearance.’ She seemed to have a shadow of a smile now, so I continued.
‘Anyway, myself and Asif broke into the brewery and managed to get inside John Bennett’s office. We opened his desk drawer and found not only the invoice for a barrel delivery in September – a few days after Pierre landed – but also some incriminating photographs.’ I hesitated for a moment.
‘Photographs, William, what sort of photographs?’
The tea and scones arrived, so I stopped for a moment, waiting for the waitress to do her duties. After she had gone I spoke quietly to Marie.
‘The truth is they were dirty pictures, pornography. Mostly naked men but also- I was stumbling over my words slightly; this was awkward, she could see my predicament and stepped in.
‘Do not be shy William, remember I was the Emperor’s mistress. Nothing will shock me.’
‘There were pictures of boys as well.’
She gasped. ‘Not my Pierre?’
‘No, not Pierre. Good Lord no. We don’t know where the boys came from, but we do know where they were photographed. Tucked away in the envelope was an invoice from a studio in Harmer Street, here in Gravesend. So, the pictures had clearly been taken there.’ She sat back slightly, taking all this in. I then carefully poured tea through a strainer into our china cups. She looked at the brown brew with disdain.
‘William, why does nobody appreciate coffee in your country? Tea always tastes like dishwater.’ She clearly had lost her appetite. ‘So, William, what do you suggest we do next?’
‘I really don’t know. We could go to the Gravesend constabulary and give them the information. They would certainly act against the studio, but it would be awkward admitting I had discovered this evidence through a burglary. Also, would it get us any closer to getting Pierre back?’
She thought for a moment. ‘You are right. Let us leave the police out of this. We will go down to this studio ourselves now.’ This course of action left me surprised and worried.
‘Surely it would be unwise to confront the photographer with this evidence, that would be for the constabulary to do.’
She smiled. ‘William, you are being too honest, too straightforward, you need to use your head more. We will go to the studio as a married couple who wish to have their portrait taken as a gift to my parents. That way we can see what kind of man this photographer is.’ I could see her reasoning so agreed to this course of action. With this decided, we both relaxed.
‘Please William, drink your tea, there is no hurry. We have time to talk. Tell me. Why are you not married at your age?’ I was taken aback by this question but tried to answer honestly.
‘I have just been too busy, and my line of work is so demanding and poorly paid, that taking on a wife would be difficult.’ She sat back a little more in her seat and seemed to be almost flirting now.
‘Perhaps it is because you have not found the right woman?’
I nodded. ‘That is probably the real reason.’
‘And your Lieutenant-Colonel Gordon, he is not married either?’ I affirmed that he was not.
‘Why do you think that is, William?’
‘It is not for me to say but he seems married to his work and the Church. That is the sort of man he is.’
She smiled gently. ‘Very well, I suppose he is an upright citizen who takes his work very seriously. We need people like that.’ I took a sip or two of the tea. It was not that good. She could see that discussing my friend’s sexuality was making me awkward.
‘Shall we progress to the studio?’ she said. I nodded and quickly paid the bill. We left the tearoom.
So, we were to be a married couple in the photographs. Was this my dream come true, or were we heading for more trouble?
Within five minutes’ walk we were at the Gravesend Portraiture Studio in Harmer Street, its shopfront ,and name over the window in ornate black script Bertrand Bussell Photographer , seemed to proclaim it as a fine ,upstanding local business. We stepped inside and came face to face with the owner who introduced himself as Bertrand Bussell. He was middle aged with a fine handlebar moustache and a cheery, reddened, face. Probably a drinker.
I asked if it were possible that we could have a family photograph taken. He agreed immediately and said he could do it straight away. At that, after agreeing to the price, we were shown down a corridor to two small dressing rooms. His and hers, behind sash curtains. Mr Bussell suggested we make sure we were happy with our appearance, while he set up his camera and lighting in the adjacent studio. I entered the dressing room and looked around. Just a mirror and a dressing gown in the small place. I quickly adjusted my coat and hair to something half decent, then waited outside for Marie. She seemed to take longer than I expected but I knew it was not my place to hurry a lady. Finally, she emerged but to my shock her fine silk dress had gone, and she was only covered up by a dressing gown – my mouth dropped open. At that moment Mr Bussell appeared and without looking, said, ‘Are we all set? He then caught sight of Marie and stopped in mid-sentence.
‘Now Mr Bussell,’ Marie said in her silkiest tones. ‘I am afraid we have got you here under false pretences. You see my husband was too embarrassed to ask you this, but the truth is, he is in the colonial service and tomorrow sails for India. I woul
d like some nice photographs of myself to remind him of all he is missing. I can see you are a man of the world who understands these things. No?’
Mr Bussell looked a little strained but had clearly had such requests before.
‘Very well madame, but you must realise this is a family business. This matter must be strictly confidential. You understand?’
She smiled. ‘Of course,’ then turned to me. ‘This will be something to remind you of me when you are alone on those long hot nights in India my dear.’
Mr Bussell looked at me. I realised I had no option but to go along with whatever game she was playing. ‘Of course, my love, if that is what you want?’
She smiled deeply. ‘It is. Now Mr Bussell, can we get on with this before I catch a chill? And also, would it be alright if my husband were in the studio while the pictures were taken?’
Bussell was now putty in her hands. ‘Of course, whatever my client wants. I am merely your servant in this matter.’
We then proceeded into his studio space with Marie in front. I stood behind Bussell and his heavy wooden camera. Bussell also had a chaise longue by the side of the studio, which was put into use as a prop for Marie. The session started; I did not know if I should close my eyes as Marie dropped her dressing gown. She gestured that I should keep my eyes open, so I did. I gazed at her unrobed. She had a magnificent body for a woman almost forty. What more can I say? I felt at times that I was in a dream as she put on more provocative poses as the session rolled on. Unclothed, she was even more alive than clothed.
Finally, the session came to an end. I noticed that even Mr Bussell was sweating but then blaming the heat from the studio lights; Marie was unfazed. At the end, she simply stepped to one side, put on her dressing gown, and walked back towards the dressing room. She looked back at me.
‘There you are William. Something to remind you of me, while you are away.’ I could think of no answer. Mr Bussell was clearly a little shocked but taking it all in his stride. This was after all his business, and those photographs were money in the bank to him.
I was ushered by Mr Bussell back to the front office where he reiterated his desire that this matter should remain confidential and worked out the bill for the pictures taken. They would take a few hours to develop so I paid the requisite deposit and arranged to come back at five o’clock with the full payment and collect the photographs. By the time this transaction was finished, Marie reappeared. She was back in her full silk dress and bodice. Smiling, she took my arm and with a thank you to Mr Bussell, walked me out into the street.
I could still feel the heat of the blush on my cheeks, as we stood together outside the studio. I was totally flummoxed by the turn of events. She seemed happier than I had ever seen her and there was real joy in her voice as she spoke.
‘That was nice. It is so long since I have seen a man admire my body – perhaps even desire me. It has been so lonely these last few years.’ She gently tapped my crotch. ‘I think you may feel the same, no?’
I could hardly contain myself.
‘Marie, I have strong feelings for you. I think you know that.’ She smiled ever more broadly. ‘Good, then let us go to your hotel now.’ At that she almost skipped off down the road. I could not believe my luck. I gratefully agreed to her suggestion and a few minutes later I had secreted her into my bedroom at the Eagle.
I will not go into any detail about my liaison with Marie, suffice to say that I now understood why a man who could have had any woman – Louis Napoleon – chose her. Even more glorious than our conjunction was the look in her eyes. The ever-present heartache and pain at the loss of her son had momentarily melted away and she seemed younger and happier than ever before.
Finally, around four o’clock it was time for her to leave. I helped her dress, which in itself seemed a privilege, and we left the Eagle as a couple. Smiling and laughing we walked back up the high street to the station, every time we had to cross a road Marie skipped around the horse’s dung, which littered the street, like it was a new game for a child. Obviously if anyone saw us, that might be unhelpful, but we both did not seem to care today. Finally, we reached the station and I saw her on to the London-bound platform. We smiled and chatted then the train arrived out of the tunnel and it was time to say goodbye. I gently took her hand, kissed her fingers, and helped her up the step into the carriage. She blew a kiss and then was gone. I watched the train disappear into the distance. I cannot tell a lie, I was elated. I had experienced a dream come true. Now it was up to me to get to work. If I failed to get her son back that would be it, and I wanted so much more.
I set off back towards Harmer Street to see Mr Bussell. On the way, I went back to the Eagle to collect a package from my bedroom.
Twenty-Three
Mr Bussell
I took the watch out of my top pocket, flipped open the lid, and noted the time; five o’clock precisely. Having replaced the timepiece, I entered the front door of Mr Bussell’s studio. He was there behind the counter and seemed pleased to see me.
‘Mr Reeves, so good of you to arrive on time. So many people turn up early and must wait. Your prints are ready and should be dry enough now. Can I suggest some suitable frames for the ones you prefer?’
I eyed him up. He was a nasty piece of work. There was no doubt of that. Behind this very ornate, respectable shop front, all hell must have occurred in his studio over the years.
‘Thank you Mr Bussell, I think I’ll just take the prints as they are.’
He smiled. ‘Of course; I’ll fetch them now.’ He disappeared into the backroom and emerged seconds later with them. He seemed a little more cautious now.
‘Perhaps we should go into the backroom to view these, sir,’ he said. I concurred and followed him through to a quiet room away from the public counter. He laid out the photographs of Marie on a table in front of us. In total there were six prints. Even in black and white the beauty and sensuality of that woman shone through. I hated that Bussell could see her in that state, but knew revenge is a dish best served cold.
‘Thank you Mr Bussell; I will take them all. You have done a fine job.’
He smiled again more broadly. ‘My pleasure Mr Reeves, and I must say you have an exceptionally beautiful wife. Now I will put the prints into a folder and then inside this envelope. You appreciate we must be discreet about these matters?’ I nodded in affirmation. Bussell had clearly been more than happy to take the pictures and now would receive a good payment for his trouble. With the pictures in a discreet package we went back to the front desk where he rang up the cost on his till. I paid but then shared my thoughts with him.
‘Mr Bussell, I must insist that no further copies of these pictures are made. They are for my benefit only, you understand?’
He was now a picture of contriteness. ‘Absolutely Mr Reeves, this studio prides itself on total confidentiality. These are the only prints which will ever be made of today’s session.’ I looked him square in the eye and brought out the package I had stolen from Bennett’s office. In it were the photographs of naked boys.
‘So, Mr Bussell, how did I acquire these prints, which I believe were taken here by your good self?’
Bussell looked aghast. He quickly ushered me back into the backroom and stood sweating slightly, his face turning paler by the second.
‘Mr Reeves I don’t know where you got such filth, but I can assure you that they are not from this studio.’
I knew he did not have a leg to stand on, so continued, ‘I bought these prints from Mr John Bennett, the shipping agent, he sold them to me in the King’s Arms and was happy to admit that they had been taken in this studio.’
The colour drained from Bussell’s face. ‘This is slander, I would never allow such a thing to happen in my studio.’ He looked almost about to faint.
I decided to let him off the hook, for now. ‘Very well, Mr Bussell. I am aware that if th
ese pictures got into the hands of the constabulary, your business and probably your freedom would be at an end. So, we will make a deal. You never, ever, release pictures of my wife. You must now destroy the plates, and I will keep this information quiet.’
He stuttered but was clearly pleased by my offer. ‘Of course, Mr Reeves. I will destroy the plates now.’ We went into his darkroom and he tipped some plates of glass negatives into an acid bath. ‘There you are Mr Reeves, everything from today’s session is destroyed apart from what you have.’
I looked him in the eye.
‘I hope so Mr Bussell, because if any photographs of my wife leak out from this studio I will personally put your face into that acid bath. We understand each other?’
‘Yes, absolutely sir.’
I smiled. ‘Then I bid you good day.’
I walked out of the darkroom through the shop and out into the street. Now it would be a waiting game.
Twenty-Four
On the Train
I went back to the Eagle and sat beside the window, so I was able to easily see everything going on down the street, including the brewery entrance. I did not have long to wait. Within minutes a red-faced Mr Bussell strode down the street, clearly in a rage. He entered the brewery works at a furious pace. I knew now that Bennett was getting a piece of his mind in no uncertain terms. Ten minutes later, Bussell emerged. Still red-faced and looking over his shoulder as he walked into the street. He then quickly disappeared, presumably going back to his studio.
I quickly put together a bag containing notepad and binoculars, whilst keeping my other eye on the street. Sure enough, within minutes Bennett appeared. He looked furtively around, then he quickly, or as fast as any man who uses a stick can, scurried off towards the high street. I was out of the Eagle in seconds. Just in time to see Bennett turning right on West Street onto the high street. He was walking uphill towards the town centre. I followed at a distance. He carried on past the shops and pubs, which edged the street. I had by now guessed his destination. As I expected, he reached the rail station and disappeared into the ticket office. I followed and could see him now, standing on the eastbound platform. I decided to follow my hunch, which was that he was going to see Lynch at his boat, moored on the Medway near Strood. I surreptitiously bought a ticket for Strood and kept to the shadows. When the eastbound train arrived, Bennett was on it straight away, ignoring any attempt to help ladies on first. I waited till the door had banged shut then quickly got into the carriage behind just as the train was leaving the station.
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