He looked discomforted by this. ‘Indeed.’
There was an awkward silence. Finally, Gordon spoke again.
‘So, it is up to you Reeves. You can come back to Gravesend and try and tie up the loose ends, or you can, with my blessing, create a new life wherever you wish.’
And that was the end of the meaningful conversation. Much of the rest of the time was filled with general talk about the awfulness of the weather and quality of the tea and scones served to us. Finally, Gordon and Asif departed for the station. We all stood outside the front door of the hotel; the rain had now abated. I shook their hands warmly. Gordon seemed to have thawed slightly and even gave Marie a little kiss on her outstretched hand.
Then their cab departed, and we were left alone. I knew she was in a delicate state but had to ask her.
‘What do you want now Marie? Do you want to return to France? Stay here in England? Please, I need to know.’
She thought for a while then smiled, for the first time in days. ‘I think you will not settle in France William; you must return to London and then Gravesend, and finish what you started.’
I looked at her. ‘And you. Will you come with me?’
She did not hesitate. ‘I will be by your side of course. Tomorrow let us get the train back to London. Our time here is done.’
Perhaps it was my imagination but for the first time that day the clouds seem to dissipate, and some thin sunshine fell on our faces. ‘That is marvellous Marie. Tomorrow will be the start of our new life. Let us go back to the room and prepare for it.’ We held hands and walked back into the hotel.
Marie seemed better that night. At times her old self, but those times were still infrequent and passing. There was a sense of loss, not just of Pierre, but of her whole world at Napoleon’s court. She looked and behaved like a person sent into exile, no longer a member of the tribe. That worried me no end. Could I compensate for that loss?
Nevertheless, tomorrow dawned and we made ready to leave Dover. Our plan was to take the train back to London, and from there go on to my lodgings in Whitechapel. That would de facto be our first home. I would have gladly asked her to marry me, there and then, but felt inhibited, afraid of doing anything that might scare her away.
So, in the morning we left the hotel and took the short cab journey up to Dover Priory station. We pulled up outside the ticket office. After paying the driver, I walked into the ticket office and bought two tickets for London. We then walked over the footbridge to the London-bound platform. There was still twenty minutes before our train. Marie seemed distant and quiet, so I left her in peace and stood by the platform gate, taking one more look at Dover before we left.
That is when I noticed, sitting awkwardly on the ground with his back propped up against a wall, a beggar. I immediately recognised the uniform he was in and his war medals. He was from the Royal Engineers and had clearly seen service in the Crimea. His military cap, a kepi, was lying on the ground with a few dismal coins in it, and by his side was a scruffy dog. He was dirty, with a scruffy beard, faraway eyes, and a bloodshot red nose. I indicated to Marie that I was just going to speak to him. She smiled at this, then added, ‘I must go to the ladies’ room. I won’t be long.’
At that she set off in a hurry. I hoped all was well with her, but never questioned her on such matters. The beggar turned to me. ‘A penny for a smoke gov’?’ I looked him up and down. He was scruffy and dirty, but sadly, he was a similar age to me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a tanner, which I put into his outstretched hand. ‘There you are. Get yourself a bite to eat as well.’
He tapped his forehead. ‘Thank you gov’, God bless you.’
‘Were you in Crimea?’
‘Royal Engineers I was in; at Sevastopol.’
I smiled. ‘I was there as well. Were you involved in the 18th June offensive to break the siege?’
My words were drowned by a locomotive, travelling in the opposite direction. I waited for the smoke and steam to abate and carried on. ‘June the 18th 1855, it was the anniversary of Waterloo. Were you there?’
He shook his head. ‘I was already gone, a few weeks earlier. Injured, shrapnel in the legs, got sent back to the military hospital in Turkey. It was a shithole that place, if you excuse me language, until that Florence Nightingale turned up. I would be dead without her.’
‘What happened to you after that?’ I said.
‘Sent back to England. Thought the worse was over. Trouble was the wound in my legs hurt so much I could only kill it with drink. That is what has been the death of me. Too much gin. Lost my girl. My home. Now I am just here, getting by as best I can.’
I felt a pang of regret – there were so many veterans like him. But what more could I do?
‘I expected to be treated with respect when I got home. That the girls would admire a soldier who had fought for his country. Be in awe of the uniform. But nobody really cared.’ He sighed and stroked his dog as he looked at me. ‘This is my only real friend. You don’t have friends when you have got nothing and nobody. I can see from your suit though that you did alright. Good luck to you, is what I say. Enjoy your life.’
That seemed a fitting end to our conversation. I looked back to the platform, still no sign of Marie. She was taking a long time.
I bade farewell to the old soldier and went back onto the platform. No sign of her. I walked over to the Ladies and tried the door. Though it had a vacant sign up, it was empty. A strange feeling hit the pit of my stomach. I rushed over the footbridge and quickly found the Ladies on the other platform – that was also empty. I was filled with panic. The only answer could be that she jumped on the Dover bound train that had passed through minutes earlier. I ran over to the uniformed platform guard.
‘Have you seen a woman, dark hair, dark outfit – getting on the harbour bound train?’
The platform attendant looked at me. ‘Yes, she got onto the last train. Only noticed her because not many people travel in that direction. She seemed in a hurry.’
I shouted at him. ‘When is the next train leaving from here, going to the harbour?’
He shook his head. ‘Not for an hour sir.’
I was gripped by panic. I rushed out of the station, into the road outside. Unbelievably there were no cabs waiting for fares.
I had no choice. I started running down the street, I felt I must get to Dover harbour and try to persuade her to stay.
I ran and ran; I cannot even remember the street names. I just knew I had to keep going downhill, towards the sea and the Admiralty Pier. I was soon exhausted but kept going as best I could. After what felt like hours, but was probably just ten minutes, I was on the seafront heading for the station. I ran along the promenade and reached the station, which was alongside the Lord Warden hotel.
I arrived breathless at the platform. The train from London was already empty and the engine was cooling down. The station was deserted, apart from the station master.
I looked beyond the tracks to Admiralty Pier and the steam packet moored alongside the breakwater. The boat was in full steam. I raced down the pier, on the path alongside the rail track, the flagstones were wet and greasy, but I ignored the danger and ran on.
And then I saw her.
Walking across the gangplank onto the boat.
I tried to yell but was too exhausted, too short of breath.
Within seconds of that, to my horror I could see the crew dragging the empty gangplank onto the boat. With a clunk they slammed shut the gate in the boat’s railings. It was too late. I shouted her name. ‘Marie.’
Some of the crew and passengers stared at me. Then I knew she had heard. For a moment, she turned, smiled in the way that only she could. Then waved goodbye and disappeared into the crowd. I would never see her again.
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The French Emperor's Woman Page 20