Asif sat down beside me. ‘That John Bennett is an evil man sir, but we will get revenge on him.’
I mopped my brow. ‘I hope so Asif, I really do.’
We sat there for a while saying nothing, so I opened the conversation.
‘How is it going here at the fort? I can see they have found plenty of work for you.’
‘Very good sir, I am very happy here.’ He smiled.
‘Good, you realise that this is only a temporary arrangement. We will have to find you a new ship at some point.’
He looked saddened by this but as always was a realist. ‘Yes, I know that as well, but the people here in Gravesend have been good to me.’
I nodded. ‘Tell me something of yourself Asif. How did you become a sailor – how did it start?’
He answered me openly as always. ‘I was in my hometown looking for work, things were difficult in Zanzibar. My family had a good business importing and exporting textiles. I traded with many people and learnt to speak good English. But other people were jealous of us, we were doing too well. There was a business dispute and they burnt down our house. We had little money put by so could not start all over again. So, I looked for a new position. Times were hard, not enough work, not enough money to buy food. I heard that ships were calling at the harbour looking for crew. So, I went there. Mr Lynch’s ship was sailing back from Calicut with a cargo of spice and ivory. It stopped at Zanzibar and I was lucky enough to be taken on as a hand. The boat was bound for London, but I knew it would return later for another load of spices. So, one day I would return to my homeland.’
I could feel there was a story in this, so pressed on.
‘So, you got a position on the boat sailing to England. What was it like working for Lynch?’
Asif screwed up his face. ‘It was not that good. Hard work, tough discipline, many unhappy crewmen. I can give you an example of what it was like, and the kind of man that Captain Lynch is. We had a young English crew member, a junior officer. I think his name was Tom Carter. He was ill with malaria. No sooner had we left Zanzibar than he was sent to the sick quarters. The boat sailed down the east coast of Africa and I thought we would make many stops for fresh provisions, but that did not happen. I had heard that the other officers were urging Captain Lynch to stop at Cape Town, to get fresh food and water, and to take Mr Carter ashore to a hospital, but Lynch would not stop. Some people say he had guaranteed getting his load of spices back to London by a certain date. Others think he had a bet on with another captain that the Spirit could outrun him and reach England first. So, we sailed straight past Cape Town and did not stop again till we reached Freetown, in West Africa. By now Mr Carter was dying. He died while we were moored off that town. Mr Lynch seemed unconcerned. Buried the body at sea. Then reloaded the boat as soon as possible and raced up the African coast. He wouldn’t stop till we got to England.’ Asif sat back; his story told. I could not believe my ears. The junior officer, Tom Carter, could that be Jack Carter’s son? And if so, did Jack know the whole story, or did Lynch tell him that he fell sick while at Freetown? I looked at Asif; this man was my saviour.
‘Thanks for that Asif, it tells me a lot about Lynch’s character. When you got to England what happened? Was there any trouble over Tom Carter’s death?’
Asif shrugged. ‘We stopped for an hour or so at Gravesend for Customs. I think his death was reported but we were told never to talk about it, to leave all that to the captain.’
Now why didn’t that surprise me?
At that moment I noticed Asif’s gang getting back to work. ‘I think your tea break is up now, but thanks for that. That information could be more useful than you think.’ Asif went back to his duties and I sat and pondered. Had Lynch told the authorities the full story? No, he would have lied through his teeth to make sure there were no repercussions.
If I were able to tell Carter the unvarnished truth, could I get him on board? Would he open up about Lynch and maybe give some clues as to the location of Pierre? Perhaps, but it was not guaranteed. I was unsure of my next move.
At that moment, the decision was made for me; a subaltern came out of the fort offices and spoke to me.
‘Mr Reeves, Gordon would like to see you immediately.’
I rose to my feet, smiling. ‘Good.’ I was pleased to be seeing Gordon. That way I could update him on what had occurred and pick his brain as to my next move. I knocked on his office door.
‘Come in Reeves.’
The familiar sound of Gordon’s voice came back, but this time there was something less friendly in its tone. When I entered the office, I could see him at his desk, but opposite him was a tall, balding man with a sharp, greased moustache, who I had never seen before. Gordon spoke first.
‘Thanks for coming Reeves. I see you have been in the wars?’
‘Just a silly accident, no permanent damage.’
‘Let me introduce my guest. Mr Matthew Toulouse, the Chief of Staff to Emperor Louis Napoleon.’
The Frenchman rose to his feet and put an outstretched hand to me. We shook hands; his handshake was as oily as his thinning hair!
‘Pleased to meet you,’ I said.
‘The pleasure is all mine,’ he replied. Gordon bade us to sit down then immediately made clear the nature of the meeting.
‘Now obviously relations with our neighbours across the channel are always sensitive, so I would be grateful, Reeves, if you could keep quiet about this meeting.’
I nodded. ‘Of course.’
Gordon continued. ‘Very well, now Mr Toulouse has some information regarding the kidnap of Pierre Le Beau. He has been kind enough to allow me access to a letter, dropped off last night at the Emperor’s home in Chislehurst, stating the terms of Pierre’s release. He is happy for us to have this correspondence, and to do what we will with it. Is that correct Mr Toulouse?’ The Frenchman twiddled the ends of his moustache.
‘Indeed, it is. Let me firstly update you on what has occurred. A letter was left on the ground beside the gates leading to the Emperor’s house, at about three o’clock this morning. Inside the envelope was a ransom demand. The horse rider who delivered the letter could not be apprehended. At first light I showed the delivered papers to Louis Napoleon himself, who I might add is in poor health now. He considered the contents of the letter carefully and asked me to see you, as we know there has been some activity in relation to the investigation of the boy’s disappearance, here in Gravesend.’ He paused and choosing his words carefully, continued, ‘To put it simply, the Emperor is now very tired of this whole affair. He is most sensitive to his relationship with Great Britain and your gracious Queen Victoria. He also realises that we are guests in your country and therefore does not want to cause upset. So, he has decided that the issue of Pierre’s disappearance is to be pursued no longer. No ransom will be paid and the Empresses former lady-in-waiting, and mother of the boy, Marie-Anne, will not be travelling to Gravesend again.’ He paused and looked over to me, then continued, ‘As her presence appears to be a distraction.’
Toulouse looked long and hard at me. I knew at that moment that he knew, or guessed, what had occurred. I had to speak.
‘My understanding is that Marie was very anxious to find Pierre and would do anything to achieve that aim.’
Toulouse gave a thin smile. ‘Indeed, but her first duty is to the Emperor, so she will stay at the house in Chislehurst tending to his needs. As I say, you are free to do what you wish, but in reality we must sadly admit that Pierre is now a lost cause. That gives me great sadness but there is no further action we can take to find him. The Emperor will not be funding your role as an investigator Mr Reeves, neither will we pay any ransom to get the boy back.’
He seemed to have said his piece. I was struggling to find what to say. It appeared they were willing to forget Pierre and write him off altogether. I then found the courage to speak from my hear
t.
‘You cannot do that. I have spoken to Marie and know of her total dedication to finding her son. She will be heartbroken by this.’ Toulouse was clearly not one for backing off.
‘My understanding, from sources here in the town, is that perhaps you have got too close to Marie. No? Perhaps that, what shall we call it, your friendship, is clouding your judgement.’
I could feel the blood rushing to my face.
‘Marie is a fine woman and I find her love for her son, and determination to find him, a very noble thing.’ Toulouse looked at me, then at Gordon.
‘Come gentlemen, we are men of the world. Firstly, you must know that there is no proof whatsoever that the boy is the son of our Emperor. Admittedly Marie was a close friend of Louis for over fifteen years, but there is no proof of parentage. The child is a bastard.’
I could barely contain my annoyance and could feel my fingernails pressing into my palms trying to contain my anger.
‘What proof do you have of that sir?’ I said in as reasoned a tone as I could manage.
Toulouse gave that deep but contemptible smile, as if he were dealing with imbeciles.
‘Dear Mr Reeves, I don’t think you realise the sort of life we lived in Paris, at the Tuileries. Let me explain. We used to have masked balls where much wine was drunk. The masks allowed us to hide our identity and, shall we say, behave with greater freedom of expression. During the course of the night, women, like Marie, might have had several partners. In fact, I myself may have had conjunction with her.’ He was now in full stride. ‘It is difficult to remember when so much is drunk, and the women are weak willed,’ he smirked.
Gordon was by now red-faced and clearly discomforted by this talk. I was almost incandescent with rage.
Luckily, Gordon spoke first, in clipped tones. ‘I think we have heard enough Monsieur Toulouse.’
The Frenchman smiled but continued. ‘Of course, the other problem that came from the masked balls was venereal disease. Loose women spreading it to the court.’
I could hold myself back no longer.
‘With the greatest respect it is not just women who are the spreaders of such disease.’
Toulouse was now on the back foot. He said the single word. ‘Indeed.’ An awkward silence filled the room.
Finally, Gordon rose out of his chair. ‘I think we have got the picture Mr Toulouse. Now if you can take your leave, I will discuss the contents of the letter with Mr Reeves.’
The Frenchman got out of his seat, clicked his heels, and put out his hand. There were awkward handshakes all round. Gordon clearly sensed the atmosphere and felt obliged to add some small talk.
‘Will you be alright finding your way back to Gravesend station?’
Toulouse smiled. ‘Of course, and I must commend you on the quality of your railways. In fact, I will mention this at my next meeting with Her Majesty Queen Victoria.’
He clicked his heels again, and then left the office.
Gordon and I looked at each other in silence, waiting for the Frenchman to get well out of earshot. Clearly Toulouse’s role had been to both dispose of the ransom note, and to poison any possible relationship between Marie and myself. Gordon sat back down, and I followed his lead. He spoke first.
‘Nasty piece of work. Typical Frenchman. Slimy and underhand.’
I had now calmed down but felt determined to defend Marie’s reputation.
‘I couldn’t agree more, what he insinuated about Marie was both cruel and probably untrue.’
Gordon dipped his head but added some words of caution.
‘Indeed, a nasty man, but if you have been indiscreet with Napoleons’ lady, you can expect to be the subject of criticism.’
I knew he was right but had no real defence, I had allowed personal interests to get in the way of the investigation. I was also upset about Toulouse’s talk of orgies in Paris. With most men I could have had a candid ‘heart to heart’, but Gordon was such a cold fish. I had no idea if he had any interest in sex, or whether he had even had a woman; certainly, I knew him to be a confirmed bachelor with no obvious female interest in his life. So, I decided to hide my feelings and get back to the business in hand.
‘Could you be so kind as to read the contents of the ransom note?’ Gordon unfolded the paper in front of him and read slowly. ‘The letter is addressed to Louis Napoleon himself and it states the following:
We have the boy Pierre in our custody. We will release him back to you if you comply with the following:
Gold ingots, to the value of ten thousand guineas, to be brought to the following location, and under these auspices. The gold should be secreted on a cart and transported westbound along the old London road from Gravesend towards Dartford, on Sunday the 1st July, commencing the journey at 8 p.m., precisely. At some point on the journey you will be stopped, and the gold exchanged for the captive. If you agree to these terms please place an advert in the Kent Messenger, this Friday, stating that you have a house for sale in East Street, Gravesend for 300 guineas and giving your address for correspondence as: Fenchurch Street Chartered Surveyors, Leadenhall, City of London.
Gordon looked up from the papers and added a caveat. ‘I have already checked and found that no such firm of surveyors exist.’ He sat back in his chair. I was both pleased that matters appeared to be coming to a head, and terrified about what action to take.
‘Well Reeves, I think that puts the final nail in the coffin. Unless you have ten thousand guineas in your back pocket that is! It also appears that the French court will not pay this ransom or give financial support to your investigation. So, perhaps now is the time to end this whole affair.’
I knew that must not happen, I owed too much to Marie for that. ‘No, never, I will go on until Pierre is found, even if it costs me everything… Now let me think about this.’ I paused for a moment searching for anything that could salvage the situation, then came out with a suggestion. ‘Gold is what they want. They have no morality, no other motive. It is interesting that they want it in the form of ingots. Presumably, it is easier to hide and not as traceable as bank notes. Of course, I cannot afford that, but what if I could fool them? What if I could get some ingots made up from brass? They might look enough like gold bars to get close to the kidnappers, and steal the boy away before they realised the deception?’
Gordon sighed audibly.
‘Brass does not look like gold, even an idiot can tell the difference.’
I was not giving up so easily. ‘Did you see the time of the exchange proposed? I would not be leaving Gravesend until eight in the evening. With luck it would be past sunset before the transfer took place. In the dark the brass might look close enough to the real thing to fool the perpetrators. It is worth a shot. We’ve got nothing to lose.’
Gordon clearly was not convinced. ‘So, you would go to see these murderers with nothing more than some worthless brass bars on a cart. It’s madness.’
‘I’ll take Asif with me. He is a good man in a crisis. I am willing to try it. Would it be possible for your blacksmith to knock up some fake gold bars for me to use? I know it asking a lot, but the boy’s life is at stake here.’
Gordon retorted, ‘And your relationship with Napoleon’s lady as well, no doubt?’
I could not be stopped now and ignored his comment.
‘I’m just asking you this, as a favour. I know what a fine Christian man you are. I know how you hate to see children abused and mistreated. I know you will see it as your Christian duty to support me.’
He looked at me long and hard, then smiled slightly. ‘Very well, get some rest today and make sure your arm is on the mend. Come to the fort tomorrow and I will introduce you to our blacksmith and see if it is possible to create fake gold. Getting a cart to carry them on will be no problem, I can provide that. I will leave you to contact the local paper with the house advert. Beyond th
at I cannot be involved. If it all goes horribly wrong, and it may, it is your responsibility. We understand each other.’
I was relieved. ‘Of course. And thank you very much Gordon. This means a lot to me.’
We shook hands and the meeting was concluded.
Twenty-Seven
Into the Valley of Death
Later that day, I placed the advert in the Kent Messenger and by the following morning felt better. I walked down to the fort and was greeted by Gordon.
‘I hope you have slept well?’
I smiled. ‘Indeed, and I’m feeling much better.’
‘Good, let me take you round the fort before we meet the blacksmith.’
He led on and walked up the steep grass embankment to the fort walls from where we could see up and down the river. ‘Modern day forts, Reeves, are entirely different from the old medieval castles. Here it is not about the thickness of the perimeter walls, but the earth banked up against them. That will absorb any shells fired from the river. We have ten rifle muzzled loaded nine-inch guns on the brick emplacements protected by iron, that is why we have a metalworker on site. I cannot tell you the range of the guns, that’s an official secret, but I can tell you that working in co-ordination with Tilbury Fort, on the other side of the river, we can cover every inch of the navigable Thames with gunfire at this point. It would be almost impossible for a hostile navy to get through our barrage and reach London.’
He stood back clearly pleased with his works. I could not help but be in awe of what he had achieved. ‘Very impressive. You have done a fine job here, Gordon, by the look of it.’
He never took praise well. ‘It is what I do Reeves. Odd thing is all these works were commissioned to protect us from the French Navy. Now we are moving heaven and earth to save one of their citizens.’ He proffered a tentative smile then put his hands behind his back and led me down to the blacksmith’s shop, adjacent to the parade ground.
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