by Baen Books
“Oh, I am not French!” Etienne corrected him. “I am Dgèrnésiais, from the island of Guernsey. We all love Queen Victoria there very much.”
The steward looked confused but Etienne forged ahead.
“Did you perhaps overhear her name? She seems quite charming.”
“Yes, uh, Gabrielle Courbiere. She deals in art.”
Etienne thanked the steward and walked back down the corridor in the direction he had just come. Gabrielle Courbiere! The name seemed to sing in his head. Gabrielle, he thought, and then shook his head. A woman this courageous and resourceful, this dedicated to their cause, would not be so frivolous as to go by her first name. Non. She would be simply Courbiere. She had the strength and majesty of . . . of a mountain, he thought. Yes, a mountain!
Mont Courbiere, he said to himself, and Villon repeated it, liking the sound of the name.
Now he must rescue her from her terrible danger, even if doing so cost him his life. First he would need to create a diversion.
*****
Gabrielle found one thing in this affair puzzling. If Baron Renfrew had murdered the agent Armbruster and taken the stolen plans—which seemed increasingly likely—why had he agreed to a search of the cabins? One possibility was that he was considered above suspicion and so his cabin would not be searched. Another was that he had hidden the plans, and perhaps already disposed of the leather document tube. But why would he do these things? Why not simply turn Armbuster over to the authorities and recover the plans in that manner? Germany was an ally of Britain and would surely have cooperated.
Then she remembered that in her own stateroom was a leather document tube containing charcoal sketches of the French countryside, and rendered in the style of Millet. She hoped she was above suspicion as well. Otherwise explaining the presence of those items could prove extremely difficult.
“Oh my,” she said.
“I beg your pardon?” the baron said.
“I was just recalling that I forgot to lock my stateroom when I left it earlier. I hope nothing has been disturbed.”
“I would normally say you have nothing to worry about, but that seems patently untrue this evening.” He said this with wry humor, Gabrielle noticed. Despite the physical evidence, it was difficult for her to reconcile the man she observed standing beside her with a verdict of murder. On one hand he seemed genuinely puzzled by these events but on the other hand somehow amused by them, or perhaps entertained would be a better word. What sort of man is entertained by the events surrounding the murder of an acquaintance?
Another party of officers joined their group in the small passenger lounge they had appropriated as a headquarters. The chief purser raised his hands for attention and then explained the situation to the others. They would break into teams of two crewmen each, one a purser’s assistant with a pass key and one a ship’s officer for additional authority, and methodically search the passenger staterooms for the missing leather document tube. As the passengers would be asleep, they must wake them and conduct the search as politely as possible, and without alarming them, but with dispatch.
“What does this tube look like?” one officer asked.
“I believe I can help with that,” Baron Renfrew said. “I sent for my man Winslow and—right, here he is now.”
Gabrielle turned and saw a well-dressed man enter the lounge and he carried the very document case Gabrielle had seen with Armbruster. She nearly gasped with surprise but managed to restrain herself and maintain a look of outward calm.
“Madame Courbiere, going by your previous description it seemed this case of mine was similar to that carried by Mister Armbruster. Would you say that was so?” The Baron asked this with his eyes locked on hers and his expression intent.
Gabrielle stepped forward and looked at the case carefully.
“I would say it is identical.”
A murmur ran through the assembled officers.
“Of course, the case we are looking for contains rare art, doesn’t it?” the baron said. “This one contains only my fly rod.” He removed the lid and showed the officers its contents. Several nodded in appreciation of the obvious quality of the rod it contained. “Also, I doubt Mister Armbruster’s missing container will have my name on it,” he added and pointed to the engraved brass plate attached near the carrying strap. “A Christmas gift last year from my wife Alexandra,” he added.
He was very clever, this Baron Renfrew, Gabrielle thought. He had deflected any suspicion from having the plans by bringing Armbruster’s container here to display. Or perhaps it was the case’s double. Was he planning a switch of his own? But how would he know what the container looked like? No, unlikely. This must be the case itself. But why would Armbruster’s case have Renfrew’s name on it? Could the baron have affixed it to the case after stealing it? Perhaps.
“Are there any other questions?” the chief purser asked.
“I have two additional points to make,” Gabrielle added. The chief purser glanced to Refrew and, apparently having received the right nonverbal reply, nodded to her.
“First, the thief may have transferred the art to a different container, so look for any document tube.
“Second, and most importantly, you must under no circumstances open and examine the container. It contains very delicate artwork which is potentially priceless, both in its own right and for its historical significance. I have the equipment in my cabin to examine it and determine its authenticity, but none of you has been trained to handle such fragile items without damaging them. Such damage would be unconscionable.”
The chief purser, perhaps mindful of Baron Renfrew’s earlier advice concerning the delicate relations between France and Germany, reinforced her instructions not to open the containers, and then he sent the parties on their way, leading one himself. Gabrielle and Renfrew were left alone in the lounge.
Renfrew drew a cigar from the inner pocket of his jacket and fingered it idly.
“You intend to smoke here?” Gabrielle asked.
Renfrew looked down at the cigar and then back to her with a smile. “No, I am not suicidal. We are surrounded by hydrogen gas cells and they are notorious for giving off a thin but constant stream of flammable gas. That is why all firearms and incendiaries are collected upon boarding, all the interior lights are Edison bulbs, and there are no carpets. Wouldn’t want to have someone shuffling along in their stockings and cause a static electricity spark. It’s a bother, of course. I rather enjoy a smoke now and then.”
Gabrielle realized with a sinking feeling that her own revolver would do her no good—unless she intended to incinerate herself and everyone else aboard, which she did not. Something still tickled at her brain. When had Renfrew’s name plate attached itself to Armbruster’s container?
“Your wife Alexandra, you are close to her?” Gabrielle asked. Renfrew frowned.
“An arranged marriage, and a complicated relationship. She is very dear to me, but in a distant sort of way. You have no doubt heard I spend considerable time with other ladies.”
“No, I know nothing of your personal life. How would I?”
He smiled at that, as if she had made a joke. Then he looked at her in dawning realization. “You are serious. You really don’t know who I am, do you?”
“I thought you were Baron Renfrew. Was that a lie?”
“It is one of my titles. I am Albert Edward, Baron Renfrew, Earl of Dublin, Duke of Cornwall and Rothesay, Prince of Wales, and heir apparent to the British throne.”
Gabrielle felt momentarily lightheaded as she realized the extent to which she had misinterpreted the situation in which she found herself.
“But . . . the name Renfrew—“
“Whenever I travel unofficially, I travel under that name, although everyone—everyone it seems but you—knows who I am. It is simply my way of making it clear I wish no fuss or ceremony.”
“Then, your relatives in Germany . . .?”
“Yes, you’ve probably heard of my nephew Willie
. He’s the crown prince. As his poor father, my brother-in-law, is dying from throat cancer, I’ll wager Willie is Kaiser before the next year is out. That should prove interesting.”
Before Gabrielle could reply they both heard shouting in the hallway and the sounds of a tussle. The door burst open and two ship’s crewmen entered, holding between them a short, dark-haired man who struggled and shouted in English with a heavy French accent.
“I am the subject Britanique! You will release me at once! The prime minister will hear of this!”
“Now what’s all this?” Renfrew asked.
The chief purser entered behind the struggling trio and squeezed past them.
“This man was running in the corridor and pounding on doors, alarming the passengers with a story of a fire on board. It nearly started a panic but my men apprehended him. He claims to be English.”
“Dgèrnésiais!” the man practically screamed. “From the island of Guernsey!”
“Ah, oui, the Bailiwick of Guernsey,” Gabrielle said. “It is one of the Channel Islands between France and Britain. But you know, this man is not truly a British subject. The British passport is extended to them as a matter of courtesy, but he is a subject of the Baron Renfrew’s family directly, from before, when they still ruled Hanover, n’est ce pas?”
Most of the men, aside from Renfrew, looked confused by her explanation. The prisoner, his longish hair disheveled and nearly covering his eyes, stared at her like a wounded animal, as if somehow she had betrayed him. But how could she have? She had never seen him before in her life.
“Herr Hauptzahlmeister,” another crewman said from the open doorway, “we found this when we searched the man’s cabin.” He entered holding a leather document tube identical to the one in Gabrielle’s stateroom.
“Might this be the correct tube, Madame Courbiere?” the chief purser said, taking it from the crewman and handing it to her.
She stood holding the tube and looking at it as she thought. She looked up at the man being held by two crewmen in front of her, the man who spoke with a French accent and traveled under a British passport, and in an instant she understood everything. Well, nearly everything.
“I think you should take that tube to your stateroom and examine it, Madame Courbiere,” Renfrew said. When she looked at him she thought his eyes particularly serious and fraught with meaningful intent, although she could not determine the exact message he intended to convey. “If this is the artwork it will be quite valuable. Perhaps a man can accompany her.”
“Of course, Herr Baron,” the chief purser replied and gestured to the crewman who had brought the tube.
“Wait outside her door while she makes the examination,” Renfrew added.
That was convenient, she thought.
*****
In ten minutes she returned to the lounge, having quickly verified that the stolen plans were in the leather tube and having exchanged it for the tube containing the charcoal sketches. Only Renfrew and the chief purser remained of the previous crowd. She assumed the young Frenchman had been placed under arrest and removed to a holding cell.
“So, are these the drawings?” Renfrew asked with a small smile.
“Oui, but unfortunately they are forgeries: quite good, but unmistakable to an expert, and without value. Would you care to examine them?” When he shook his head she handed the tube to the chief purser. “Evidence, I believe,” she said.
“Danke schön, Madame Courbiere,” the chief purser said and then, after a glance at Renfrew, he departed and closed the door behind him.
“They have taken the man from Guernsey away?” she asked Renfrew when they were alone.
“No,” the baron answered. “The fellow shouted, ‘You will never torture her name from me!’ broke free, and ran. No one was much concerned, as there’s nowhere to run on a zeppelin a thousand feet in the air, but the fellow got out onto an observation deck and dove over the rail. Shouted a slogan of some sort as he went, but no one could make it out over the noise of the engines. You wouldn’t have any idea whose name he meant, would you?”
“He is dead? Really?” Gabrielle asked.
“I should think so. He would have to be the luckiest man on Earth to survive that fall and from what little I saw of him, he did not strike me as very lucky at all. So, you found the battleship plans and have them safely tucked away?”
Gabrielle again felt lightheaded, but retained her composure. Her first inclination was denial, but that would be pointless. The evidence would be easy to discover. Instead she took a moment to think.
“Had you wanted to arrest me,” she said, “I believe you would have done so while the chief purser was here. So you intend to allow me to keep the plans and return them to my superiors, oui? But your loyalty to Britain cannot be questioned. So I must ask, what renders the plans worthless?”
Renfrew smiled. “What do you think?”
“It may be that they are forgeries,” she answered, “intended to be stolen, but that would be discovered once they were examined by our engineers, so what would be the point? Perhaps they could be bait, to catch and eliminate whatever agents are involved. But for me that is too complicated to be believed. Or they could be authentic but simply of no use to us. This seems most likely. But then why is there such a fuss, closing the Pas de Calais crossings, and so close to Christmas?”
“Perhaps,” he answered, “because the men in charge of protecting them do not realize they will be of no use to you. Their job, after all, is simply to protect, and the less they know about the secrets themselves the better. As to the plans, this new class of aether warship relies for its superior performance on the use of an analytical engine of new design and enhanced function—the Improved Babbage, Model Three Hundred and Sixty. The place where the analytical engine will be installed is clearly marked on the plans, but without the device itself they will do you no good.”
“Ah. Three things remain unexplained,” Gabrielle said. “First, why do you not tell your security people to call off the fruitless and unnecessary search for the plans?”
“Because the head of security is a political opponent, and this failure of his will embarrass and weaken him. Your second question?”
“How did you know I was the spy?”
“Knowing Waldo Armbruster as I did, I knew he would never have come up with rare art or the idea of trying to forge it, so I concluded the entire story must be a fraud aimed at finding that case. But if it was the wrong case, as I knew it had to be, there must be a right one somewhere, and what might that hold of interest to France? The missing plans seemed the obvious candidate. It is gratifying to have my speculation confirmed. Your third question.”
“Knowing I am the French spy, why do you allow me to return with these worthless plans? If you intend to force me to be a double agent, I do not think you will succeed.”
“Nothing so dire as that, my dear. The truth is I wish your safe return to serve as a message to your superiors. There are times when the interests of Britain and those of France are actually congruent. Unfortunately, our governments can seldom work in accord in those cases while remaining publicly belligerent, and this prolonged state of public belligerence is too useful for too many politicians in both governments to be set aside. Do you understand?”
“You wish to open the door to discreet and unofficial cooperation with my department when our interests coincide?”
“Precisely.”
She thought about that for a moment. That explained almost everything, but left one critical question unanswered: was she standing in the presence of a murderer? If so, she knew she was still in profound danger.
“I cannot speak for my superiors,” she said, “but I will convey this desire to them. But I must repay my personal debt to you myself. For that I must ask one more question.” Renfrew smiled in warm anticipation. “Have you hired two body guards to travel with you?”
A look of surprise replaced his smile. “Bodyguards? No, nothing like that. I generally
travel alone except for my valet Winslow.”
“Well then, I must tell you there are two men on board who harbor ill intentions toward you, and seem prepared to act upon them, although I do not know how they intend to do so.”
Gabrielle then explained the entire overheard conversation in the salon: the one man telling the other to attend to their “business,” and their attention on Armbruster as part of that business because he had been involved with the Prince of Wales in some sort of trouble.
“Ah, that would be baccarat,” Renfrew answered, “chemin de fer, to be precise. Armbruster introduced me into several games in London. He lost heavily, I’m afraid, and there was a row over his debts.”
“And this involved you? How?”
“Well, it was passed around that I was present, and baccarat is illegal in Britain.”
“Illegal? Really? A game is illegal? Why?”
“It can be very high stakes and anything which provides an opportunity for the wealthy to transfer their fortunes to their inferiors is generally frowned on. But as to these two chaps—“
“Chaps!” she interrupted him. “What does this word mean?”
“A chap is a fellow, that’s all,” he answered.
“Oh. And a bounder?”
“A bad sort of chap. Now as to these two men, was one thin and one heavy?”
Gabrielle nodded absently, her mind on her earlier mistakes. She did not reprimand herself. Her mistakes had been honest ones based on ignorance which had now been corrected. Still, she understood how remarkably fortunate she had been to escape disaster. In the future she would have to prepare more meticulously. But first she must finish the last bit of this affair. She noticed Renfrew was still talking.
“Pardonez moi?” she said.
“I was just saying I think I’ve seen those men before. I should have been more alert. From what you say they wish to uncover some indiscretion with which to embarrass the royal family. Now that you’ve alerted me, I can take steps, and I am grateful for that.”
“But they are English. Are they hired agents of an enemy power?”