A Stormy Peace

by David McDine

  ‘Surely it was merely a chance encounter?’

  ‘No, he’s not the sort of man who has chance encounters. I believe he knew exactly where I’d be.’

  ‘Good heavens! Do you really think you’re being followed?’

  ‘Yes. Remember having to provide details when checking into the hotel and when Pettiworth acquired tickets for this reception?’

  ‘But that’s normal over here, surely.’

  ‘Maybe, but I’ve no doubt such details are immediately reported to the intelligence people. I believe this colonel, the one I know as ‘Pebble-eyes’, intends to keep me, us, under observation and when, not if, the peace ends I fear we will be detained. And then—’

  ‘Pebble-eyes?’

  ‘That’s what Hurel called him, on account of his thick spectacles. I’ve no idea what his real name is and he didn’t offer it when we met a few minutes ago.’

  ‘But there are thousands of English visitors in France just now, and there’s no way Bonaparte can detain us all.’

  ‘Nevertheless, Hurel has his ear close to the ground and he believes the minute the peace breaks down, all Englishmen between 18 and 60 will be rounded up. And that means me, Hurel, Bell and Pettiworth.’

  ‘So Cassandra, Bessie and I would be left to get home by ourselves?’

  Anson thought of Parkin’s ignorance of all matters practical other than finance, the collection of antiquarian objects and the dissection and stuffing of specimens, and shared his friend’s concern.

  But Parkin was clearly still in denial about the threat of detention. ‘I simply cannot believe the French would scoop you up, my boy. Not least that would be against all accepted rules of international behaviour. And they must surely realise that if they detain us our government will retaliate by rounding up all their nationals.’

  Anson shook his head. ‘I reckon almost all French nationals in England right now are royalists, or spies posing as royalists. What’s to attract Frenchmen to what they call “perfidious Albion” anyway? May I remind you of Shakespeare’s Henry V?’ Anson had studied it at school and it was his favourite play.

  ‘Please do.’

  ‘Well, when the French heard Henry’s weakened army had crossed the Somme and was offering battle, the bard has the Duke of Bretagne calling Britain “that nook-shotten isle of Albion” and the Constable of France crying out “where have they this mettle?” because he can’t understand how we could breed such fighting men in our miserable “foggy, raw and dull climate”.’

  Parkin was taken aback. ‘Extraordinary, Anson! How can one small head carry all you know? But what, as your bosun would say, is “nook-shotten” when it’s at home, or should I say ’ome?’

  ‘I think it means full of nooks and corners — a tin-pot little island. Anyway, Shakespeare was trying to show that the French despised our homeland but marvelled at our mettle.’

  ‘But no longer, eh, if the news-sheets are to be believed, with Napoleon himself calling us “a nation of shopkeepers”? Whatever, with all this literary stuff I’ve rather lost the thread.’

  ‘The thread, my dear sir, is that although we Brits may have flocked to Paris in large numbers, your revolutionary Frenchman has no desire whatsoever to visit London or anywhere else in “nook-ridden Albion”, so detaining foreign nationals the minute peace breaks down will be a one-sided affair. And what’s more, I strongly suspect that as an enemy sea officer already known to “Pebble-eyes” I will be among the first to be taken.’

  Parkin was suitably chastened. ‘So you could well end up—?’

  ‘Most likely in a Paris prison having my fingernails extracted by that intelligence colonel...’

  Cassandra had overheard and exclaimed anxiously: ‘We can’t let that happen. So do you propose we get out while the going’s good?’

  ‘I do. The peace is fragile and I believe we should make urgent preparations to leave France right away, before it’s too late, so after dinner let’s meet with the others and come up with a plan.’

  Anson looked round to see if they were being followed and spotted Pettiworth hurrying to catch them up, beaming happily.

  Parkin asked: ‘May we take it from your smile that you have secured some lucrative business deal, Obadiah?’

  ‘Better than that, my dear fellow. I spotted that dreadful rogue and his woman who made the crossing to Calais with us and attempted to dun that poor sweet Miss Ward.’

  Startled, Anson spluttered: ‘Did you speak to them?’

  ‘No, they didn’t notice me and Trumper was in earnest conversation with a strange-looking French cove wearing thick glasses.’

  ‘Pebble-eyes!’

  ‘That’s a good description of him. Anyway, Trumper appeared to be handing the French chap some sort of document surreptitiously.’

  ‘So he could be a traitor as well as a cad?’ Cassandra asked.

  ‘Could well be. Anyway, I think I’ve dropped him in it. I let slip to one of my Paris contacts who’s well in with the police that the major is one of England’s most successful intelligence agents.’

  ‘Good grief!’

  ‘I mentioned it to my contact in the strictest confidence of course, so by tomorrow the whole of Paris will know!’

  51

  Fontainebleau

  Floorboards squeaked as Pettiworth, Anson, Hurel and Bell made their way one by one to Parkin’s room.

  As he crept there, hoping not to bump into hotel staff or fellow guests, Anson could not help thinking this was all very like a French farce in which lovers attempt to avoid marital partners or chaperones to canoodle illicitly.

  But this was no romantic rendezvous. By flickering candlelight in Parkin’s room, the five met, talking in whispers in case someone was listening at the door.

  Anson described meeting the intelligence colonel, an occurrence he was now convinced was not accidental, and repeated the thinly-veiled threat that all Britons of military age visiting France would be detained the moment the peace broke, as it was showing every indication of doing.

  ‘Once that happens it would be risky trying to obtain a passage home when the military authorities will no doubt be shutting down cross-Channel travel.’

  Parkin was clearly rattled. ‘Dear me, dear me! Let me tell you, gentlemen, that without you I would never have made it to Paris and as to running the gauntlet back to Calais alone with Cassandra and Bessie, well...’

  ‘Hur—, er, Tunbridge, do you have any ideas?’ Anson asked.

  ‘I do, mon ami. There are still many royalists, Jacobins, discontented bourgeois and others in my country who despise the republicans for what they did and the present government for what they are doing.’

  ‘And you are in touch with these people, I’m sure?’

  ‘With some I am, and knowing that the peace is coming to an end I ’ave made enquiries for just this eventuality.’

  Pettiworth asked anxiously, ‘So do you have a plan for our escape, monsieur?’

  Hurel held up his hand in protest. ‘Please, Mister Littleworth—’

  ‘Pettiworth. It’s Pettiworth.’

  ‘No matter. Please do not “monsieur” me. Please remember that while we are ’ere in France my name is Mister Gerald Tunbridge! My papers show me to be an Englishman.’

  Anson intervened. ‘Gentlemen, please keep your voices down and let’s all take care to remember to use our friend’s alias at all times. His life is at stake.’

  ‘Thank you, mon ami. Yes, I ’ave a plan. It involves us disappearing from ’ere and ’iding up until my friends can organise a passage back to England.’

  ‘Disappear, but how? I may already be under surveillance here and wherever we go in Paris. So the authorities can pick us up whenever they choose.’

  ‘Exactly, so we must act as if we are totally unaware that you are being watched and go about our visits to places of interest as if we ’ave no intention of making a run for it.’

  ‘That’s easily said, but if the peace really is about to be broken we
can’t be wandering around taking in the sights of Paris for much longer. We need to go into hiding now. In any case we’ve already been just about everywhere of interest there is to see.’

  ‘Indeed, but you ’aven’t yet been to Fontainebleau, so that’s where you must go next. Or at least, that’s where you must say you’re going.’

  ‘So where will we go?’

  ‘Fontainebleau is en route to my family home, the Chateau de Pisseleu-aux-Bois, but we must make sure we are not followed.’

  *

  Next morning Anson slipped out of the hotel and headed nonchalantly towards the Seine, as if taking an early constitutional, followed by a dark curly-haired man with cauliflower ears and a rolling gait, who had been lurking outside.

  Nat Bell, waiting among the aspidistras in the foyer, left it for a few minutes and set off behind them.

  Before reaching the river Anson paused, as if uncertain of the way, and turned down a side lane. His pursuer followed suit. Ensuring no-one else was around, Anson stopped as if he were about to urinate against the wall.

  Unaware that he was himself being followed, his pursuer slid into a doorway to wait, but a footstep sounded behind him and a blow behind the ear laid him out cold.

  *

  Back at the hotel, Parkin and Pettiworth informed the management that they had arranged to visit Fontainebleau, burbling on about longing to see the famous chateau that had been a royal residence since the time of Louis VI, known as ‘Louis the Fat’. Settling the substantial account, they let it be known that they would be returning to Paris in a few days when they would again require rooms.

  To make the story more convincing, they left a few items of luggage for safekeeping. The truth was that these contained non-essential clothing. But if the authorities searched them there was nothing to suggest that they would not be returning.

  The party’s main baggage was brought down and they embarked in a four-horse carriage that had appeared without being booked through the hotel, as was normal.

  In his usual loud stage whisper, Hurel informed them: ‘This is the carriage of, shall we say, friends.’

  They set off slowly out of Paris, to all appearances just another party of tourists off sightseeing. When they reached the outskirts the carriage pulled up briefly for Anson and Bell to clamber on board.

  It was early evening before they reached an auberge near the Forest of Fontainebleau, and harboured up for the night.

  *

  As at Versailles, the extensive formal gardens and ornamental lakes surrounding the Palace of Fontainebleau had clearly suffered from neglect since the Revolution.

  Nevertheless, the party could not fail to be impressed by such a magnificent showcase of French architecture evolving from the twelfth century onwards. As usual, Parkin was full of information, recalling that the palace could be said to have been the cradle of the Age of Enlightenment and that among famous events here was the signing by Louis XVI of a trade agreement with the British at the end of the American Revolutionary War.

  But in Anson’s case all this went in one ear and out the other. His mind was on the onward journey to Hurel’s estate and what they would do if challenged en route.

  With a Frenchman driving the coach they could hardly claim to have taken a wrong turning, and they were in no position to make a fight of it.

  After what seemed an age, Hurel gathered the party together and called the coach forward.

  He put his hand to his mouth and told Anson conspiratorially: ‘We ’ad to rest the ’orses, mon ami. It is a long way to my chateau.’

  They re-embarked and the carriage crunched off down the long driveway.

  But when it reached the main road instead of turning north towards Paris it turned left and headed towards the Channel coast.

  *

  As yet unknown to Anson and his companions, the Peace of Amiens had come to an acrimonious end that very day and Bonaparte had already ordered General Junot, Governor of Paris:

  All Englishmen from the age of 18 to 60, or holding any commission from His Britannic Majesty, who are at present in France shall immediately be constituted prisoners of war. I am resolved that tonight not an Englishman shall be visible in the most obscure theatre or restaurant in Paris.

  52

  Le Chateau de Pisseleu-aux-Bois

  It took two days to reach Hurel’s former home. Their first overnight stop was at a large farmhouse belonging to a royalist sympathiser, and it was there that they learned of Bonaparte’s edict.

  Undaunted, as they were about to set off next day, Hurel and the driver appeared in military uniform.

  Hurel smiled at Anson’s reaction. ‘Attention to detail, mon ami. If we are stopped our story will be that we are escorting some English tourists to prison. We ’ave the necessary papers.’

  Anson laughed. ‘I’m sure you have!’

  With two uniformed military men in plain view, no-one gave the coach a second glance and they completed the day’s journey unmolested.

  That night’s stop was in another sympathiser’s home, well off the main road, and the following day was also without incident.

  It was early evening when at long last the coach turned into the side road leading to Hurel’s ancestral home.

  The coach negotiated the entrance gates and set off down the long carriageway towards the chateau. But relief at their safe arrival turned to alarm when Nat Bell, now riding as guard beside the coachman with his blunderbuss in his lap, turned to warn the passengers that he could see armed men gathered at the bridge over the moat that led to the twin towers either side of the main entrance.

  Hurel’s head appeared out of the carriage window and, shielding his eyes with his hand, he stared ahead.

  Satisfied, he flopped back into his seat and informed his worried fellow passengers: ‘Fear not, they are my friends!’

  Pettiworth spoke for them all. ‘Phew! Are you sure?’

  ‘I am perfectly sure, monsieur. They are royalists, summoned from Normandy to guard my chateau while we are ’ere and to aid our escape.’

  The coach rumbled over the wooden bridge and they disembarked, watched by half a dozen alert-looking armed men.

  Anson knew the importance of establishing a rapport with such allies and went over to introduce himself: ‘Anson, Lieutenant, Royal Navy’ — and shook hands with each one.

  Hurel was pointing out the sad state of repair of his ancestral home, but was cheered somewhat to see that the great oak doors were no longer hanging off their hinges and the broken shutters had been repaired.

  Inside, the revolutionary slogans painted in red on the walls when it had been used by republicans as a temporary barracks had been over-painted in whitewash and some attempt had been made to clear the main rooms of broken furniture and other detritus.

  He led his visitors into the library, close to tears to see that it was still in a mess with books that had been thrown from the shelves scattered everywhere. Parkin noted his anguish and offered: ‘Most distressing, Baron, but while we are here Cassandra and I will do what we can to put things to rights.’

  Pettiworth agreed. ‘Count me in, monsieur.’

  Unashamedly tearful now, Hurel showed them the family portraits, ruined by musket and pistol balls. ‘Even my great-great aunt, the mistress of a king of France, no less, was not spared.’

  ‘Damned shame,’ Pettiworth sympathised. ‘Must be hard to tell who’s who with all the damage.’

  ‘I would be able to tell, monsieur. I ’ave gazed at these pictures since I was a tiny child. They are precious to me and I am devastated at their loss. With my family murdered by the filthy republicans these portraits were all I ’ad left — and now they too are gone.’

  Pettiworth was deeply affected and when the rest moved on he hung back and beckoned to Josiah Parkin.

  ‘Dear me, Josiah, what a tragedy! We two are in this gentleman’s debt for arranging our escape, so I believe we must see what can be done to bring these portraits back to life.’
/>   ‘How so?’

  ‘Maybe we could get some clever artist-wallah to patch ’em and touch ’em up so you wouldn’t be able to tell they’d been damaged.’

  Parkin was ahead of him. ‘We could not encumber ourselves with the frames, of course, but with the Baron’s permission we could remove what remains of the canvasses and roll them up. They would then be easily portable.’

  ‘So we can take them home to England?’

  ‘Indeed, and find some clever restorer able to repair them.’

  ‘At our joint expense?’

  ‘I believe that would go some way towards repaying him for the trouble he is going to in order to get us out of France.’

  For a man obsessed with money, Pettiworth was exhibiting a generosity of spirit that he had kept well-hidden up until now, and Parkin shook his hand warmly. This was one useful thing that the pair of them could do.

  *

  The visitors were allocated beds in cleaned-up rooms and gathered for dinner — venison stew — and some fine wine that had evidently been brought with them by their guardians, Hurel’s cellar having been stripped by the republicans.

  At dinner the English party had been introduced to a silver-haired, aristocratic-looking Frenchman, who appeared to be the leader of their guardians, but when Anson asked his name he smiled: ‘It is better that you do not know, monsieur. Suffice it to say I am a friend.’

  When Cassandra and her maid retired, Hurel tapped a glass and announced: ‘We must address ourselves to our escape, gentlemen.’

  The silver-haired man nodded: ‘The ports nearest the Kent coast will be under close surveillance. They are of course the most likely escape routes for the English fleeing France.’

  Hurel agreed. ‘That is the obvious way out, but from ’ere in Pisseleu-aux-Bois it will be better for us to ’ead for Étaples where our friend ’ere ’as contacts. We ’ave been in touch with them and they are agreeable to borrowing a boat in which we can escape.’

  Anson was doubtful. ‘You mean steal. But surely, being a port, Étaples will be watched, too?’