The Blind Beak
Page 14
‘I had imagined you had been impatient for my return’ — the words reached Nick from the massive figure in his chair to halt his agitated pacing — ‘on account of some item of information you had to impart to me, some significant hint secured from this Comtesse de What’s-her-name. But is your imitation of a caged beast of the jungle indicative, in fact, not of your eagerness to confront me with news but of your own harassed state of mind?’
Nick wheeled round, filled with the not unfamiliar sensation that the other possessed some uncanny facility for probing into his innermost thoughts. Oppressed as one whose soul would be for ever damned, he stood before the Blind Beak and began speaking with grim urgency.
19.
Madame Du Barry sat before her mirror, her magnificent hair knotted on the nape of her neck, and began preparing herself for the day. As always at times like this, she was reminded of the days when she had been the king’s mistress. Wistfully she recalled how, at the mirror of her bedroom in the royal palace itself at Versailles, surrounded by her women-servants, she would receive her dressmakers: Mesdames Sigly, Pagelle, and the celebrated Bertin, with their hoop petticoats, full-dress costumes, cloaks of velvet and gowns of cloth-of-gold. She had adored expressing her taste in dress, inspiring every ingenuity and imposing upon the mode every coquetry she could devise.
Now, she remembered with a sigh, as the morning went on the courtiers would gather round her beribboned dressing-table, profuse with their compliments and jokes, delighting in her pretty childish laughter, while Nekelle, her favourite hairdresser, bent all his artistic delicacy to the task of building her fair tresses into the most ingenious example of his art. Then would follow a whole procession of the royal jewellers, always with some novelty to offer her, most imaginatively and artistically conceived by the greatest craftsmen of the day. They knew her passionate fondness for jewellery and would show her pearls, brilliants and gems of all kinds with which she loved to adorn herself.
Her recollection of an account she had once paid the jeweller, Boehemer — a million livres — brought her mind back to the present. At any hour now she would be receiving news from the Comtesse de l’Isle. She was impatient not only for the secret intelligence she was counting upon her having obtained and which Franklin would now be even more eager to see, but for the Comtesse’s account of how the news of Burgoyne’s crushing defeat had struck London. All Paris was rife with rumours of what the king intended since the signal fire had flamed across the Atlantic. Daily her lover brought her fresh items depicting the king’s indecisiveness in this inspiring hour, when he should have struck bravely against England.
A tap on the bedroom door, and her femme-de-chambre answering it, returned to convey the message Monsieur le Due wished to see her. Madame Du Barry glanced at the clock, which indicated it was approaching the hour of eleven, somewhat early for Louis-Hercule to call. No doubt but that he had news of some urgency. Throwing the robe which her woman held for her round her shoulders, she went out into her boudoir where Brissac was waiting. ‘What is amiss?’ She saw at once the tenseness in his handsome blond features.
‘I fear my news will upset you,’ he told her. She glanced out of the windows at the greyness of the morning, her mind involuntarily returning to those other days when the skies over Paris had always been blue, the sun always shining. ‘I have just left Lenoir.’ At his mention of the name of the dreaded Cabinet Noir’s ruthless chief she gave a gasp of dismay. ‘I have always held it an error to underestimate one’s foes. When the enemy is the English, it is an even greater mistake not to regard them with the utmost seriousness. It would appear your choice of the Comtesse Chagrin de l’Isle was not altogether a happy one.’
‘She could not have been more suitable,’ she flashed at him. ‘As devoted to the cause of France as was her father before her and all the De l’Isles. A clever, cold-hearted young woman who has many friends across the Channel whom she has known a long time. How was it likely she would be suspected?’
‘Nevertheless,’ he replied, ‘there is a certain police official in London, a blind man whom they call the Blind Beak, whose suspicions she aroused.’
‘The Blind Beak,’ she breathed. ‘Morande spoke of him — ’
‘Morande est mort,’ he told her. ‘Found with his neck broken.’
‘And Chagrin de l’Isle?’ she regained her voice to ask, as she recoiled at the shock of his disaster-charged words.
‘On her way here.’
Omitting to catch the cryptic tone of his reply, she clasped her hands together with a little smile. ‘She will be able to tell us everything.’ He shook his head and her voice rose in alarm. ‘What do you mean? What have they done to her?’
‘Nothing, as yet.’
‘You were saying you have just left Lenoir,’ her tone sinking to a whisper, ‘after Louis himself had sent for you?’
He put an arm about her consolingly. ‘His Majesty knows everything.’ She held her head with that high arrogance he knew so well. ‘No more,’ she flung at him, ‘than that I am a true patriot. That all I have done has been out of my love for France. Just because he and his Austrian butterfly are ready to bow the knee to those cochons across the Channel — ’
‘No use reviling the king and queen,’ he told her gently, she subsiding somewhat before the calming influence of his phlegmatic personality she had come to understand and cherish. ‘Since he came to the throne Louis has made clear to us the nature of his foreign policy. Even though all France is surmising he is about to effect a change in that direction, to ally us with the Americans, officially we are neutral in the war between them and Britain.’
‘What could have happened in London?’ she interrupted him.
‘It would appear for some time the British secret service have suspected Morande was a spy planted by you in London. Their government required only proof to demand of Louis your activities be considerably curtailed. Your Comtesse,’ he went on, despite her indignant exclamation, ‘was trapped into supplying just that proof. There were, I believe, credentials from you, introducing her to Morande, and a sum of money you were paying him for his services.’
‘Credentials — money,’ she burst out. ‘There was nothing wrong in that. The Comtesse could have been meeting Morande upon some business matter.’
He shook his head. ‘But for the fact that your communication was tested for secret writing.’ She drew a short breath as if he had struck her in the face. He continued. ‘Your hidden message urging Morande to supply detailed information regarding the amount of arms being shipped to America was deciphered.’ He gave a sudden jerk of his head towards the window and moved to it. As she joined him she heard the rattle of wheels in the courtyard. Looking down, she saw the carriage drawing up and recognized the coachman’s uniforms, the coat-of-arms upon the doors. ‘The Comtesse de l’Isle,’ she exclaimed. ‘You told me she had been arrested.’
‘Do you see that figure there in the shadows?’ The courtyard lay dark beneath the sullen sky, and emerging from below the overhanging balcony she saw a form she knew at once to be one of Lenoir’s secret police. Even as she watched, another man approached, and then she caught a movement a little further along and two similarly sinister shapes advanced towards the carriage as it halted.
‘This manoeuvre,’ Brissac’s voice rasped in her ear, ‘serves two purposes. It establishes the connection between you and the Comtesse, while at the same time serving you warning to meddle no further in matters of politics.’ She ground her teeth with fury, as he went on in the same calm tones. ‘Lenoir’s opinion is that His Majesty has behaved with remarkable leniency towards you. In order satisfactorily to placate London’s protests at France’s un-neutral activities, he has had to find a scapegoat. How much more delighted the English would have been had Louis named you, instead of which...’
He let his words trail off while, sick with rage and apprehension, the Du Barry watched as the coachman jumped down to open the carriage door and assist th
e slim young figure to alight. She stood there for a moment, smiling. Then the watchers above saw her expression change first to surprise then to frozen fear. The dark forms had suddenly stepped forward, surrounding her, and Chagrin was being ordered back into the carriage. She made as if to move towards the house, whereupon one of the men caught her arm. The coachman nearest her lunged forward in her defence. There was an instant flash and a report which echoed and re-echoed round the courtyard, followed by a scream. As the smoke cleared the coachman was revealed sprawled on his face in the mud at Chagrin’s feet. A wisp of grey smoke curled slowly upwards like a gentle exhalation of breath from the pistol in the police officer’s hand.
With a convulsive sob the woman at his side turned her head and, as Brissac clasped her in his arms, she moaned: ‘What will happen to her?’
‘The Bastille,’ was the low reply. Comfortingly, her lover held the shuddering Du Barry close until the rattle of the carriage-wheels receded from the courtyard and finally died away.
20.
Nick made his way through the early December evening towards St. Martin’s Lane. Despite the fog which was strengthening from a misty hint to patches of ghostly vapour, the streets were, as usual, noisy with hawkers, vendors of hot pies — the latter especially doing a prosperous trade with passers-by seeking to reinforce themselves against the chill air — wandering ballad-singers, milkmen and milkmaids, the sellers of fresh spring-water, pedlars of quack medicines and charms, the cries of the butcher, the baker and the grocer from their stalls and shops, together with the town-crier shouting his news to the accompaniment of his inevitable bell-ringing, the scavenger pushing his evil-smelling cart and everywhere other bells of variable jangling hideousness.
Nick had but several minutes since quitted Bow Street Police Court where he had witnessed the Blind Beak’s return from Buckingham Palace, having received his coveted knighthood at the hands of his most gracious Majesty, King George III. It had been something of an occasion. Crowds had collected in Bow Street to acclaim the new knight, who, as his carriage drew to a halt, had stood on the step proudly acknowledging the cheers and applause.
Back at his lodgings, Nick flung himself into his chair before the fire to sink into such a profound reverie his pipe of tobacco grew cold and he did not notice it. Inevitably his thoughts revolved around the strange trick of Fate which had so inexorably thrown Chagrin and himself together, only with equal remorselessness to tear them apart, and he himself decreed to be the instrument that was to hack away the bonds that had bound them.
At first, when his sombre meditations were disturbed by the sound of tapping at his window from the street, he concluded it must be Ted Shadow. Doubtless the one-legged rascal, observing a gleam of light from behind the drawn curtains which suggested Nick was at home, had quickly bethought himself of some item of gossip to dispose of in return for the price of a bottle of wine. The tap-tap was repeated more insistently until at last and with a sigh he raised himself from his chair and went to open the street door. It was not Ted Shadow he found facing him in the foggy darkness but a woman. He perceived her waiting sedan-chair at the same time as he caught the fragrance of her perfume. For one breath-taking moment he imagined it might be Chagrin, and then she spoke.
‘I am Lady Somersham. We were introduced by the Comtesse de l’Isle one evening at the Pantheon. I hope you do recollect the occasion.’
‘I do recollect it very well, but since we were all masked on the occasion, I cannot honestly say I recognize you.’
‘La, you take me for an impostor?’
‘You are aware of my identity,’ he answered with a frankness she found engaging. ‘You must also know my reputation demands I should preserve caution at all times.’
A movement of her hand from within her muff and: ‘Perhaps this message I bring will convince you of my bona tides. It is from someone with whom we are both well acquainted. I think you will hardly need to guess at her name.’ He held the door wide for her and she preceded him into his sittingroom.
‘She gave it me before she left for Paris. You were to receive it in the event of certain circumstances arising.’ He eyed her sharply. There was no doubt as to the implication in her words, and he was seized with a sense of foreboding. He glanced down at the letter again and then at her. ‘Chagrin spoke to me of you at some length,’ she was saying. ‘She came to bid me au revoir on her way to spend her last night in London with you.’
The letter crumpled in his hand convulsively; he was remembering only too well those last hours with Chagrin before the dawn light warned her it was time to return to Beaumont’s, preparatory to taking her place in the coach for Dover. ‘What news have you of her now?’
‘When did you last have word from her?’
It flashed through his mind this woman might know more about his relations with Chagrin than he had supposed. It occurred to him Chagrin might even have confided in her, revealing the truth behind her visit to London. He dismissed the notion as being unfounded, for he could not believe she would have given herself away even to a close friend. Would she, in order to secure some end of which he was unaware, have betrayed him to Lady Somersham? Choosing his words, he replied: ‘You spoke just now of certain circumstances arising under which you were to deliver this to me.’ He tapped the letter. ‘Since I am ignorant of the nature of these circumstances I should be obliged to you if you would choose to enlighten me.’
She gave him a long puzzled stare. ‘You do not know what befell her on her arrival in Paris?’ Still he remained silent and she drew a tremulous sigh. ‘That she is now imprisoned in the Bastille?’
For a moment the room seemed to spin round so that he gripped at the table with one hand. The Bastille? What dreadful nonsense had this woman got hold of? The Blind Beak had assured him the Comtesse de l’Isle would suffer no more than a severe reprimand and the warning she must not leave France without permission, for which permission she would have to wait a long time. That, together with the knowledge that she who had imagined she was duping him had herself been duped, was to complete her punishment. Since her departure, he had, as he had expected, heard nothing from her. Only the Blind Beak had passed on the news to him to the effect that all had gone as had been arranged between those concerned in London and Paris regarding the Comtesse de l’Isle. And now what was this woman telling him?
‘It has come as much of a shock to you as to us. Neither my husband nor I can possibly imagine why she should have suffered this disaster, except that the times being what they are, with hatred and suspicion mounting between us and France.’ She shook her head helplessly.
‘Perhaps Chagrin gave way to some trifling indiscretion when she returned to Paris and brought down upon her head this cruel onslaught from the authorities. You may know her family have since Louis XV’s death been out of favour with the present regime.’ He nodded absently. She seemed to be fully convinced her information was correct. ‘What puzzled me was that she should have anticipated some disaster might overtake her.’
‘She must have given you an explanation,’ he said.
‘She spoke about it lightly. A precaution, she said, against the Channel packet being wrecked or her coach meeting with an accident.’
‘It must appear obvious to you,’ he said, ‘all this has struck me like a bolt from the blue.’ She nodded sympathetically, and he continued, his jutting brows drawn together: ‘You seem so sure the intelligence you have received concerning Chagrin is true.’
‘We have many mutual friends in France,’ she explained. ‘When at first I heard nothing from her I assumed she was staying with someone outside Paris. Then her continued silence caused me to have inquiries made and at last I received the truth.’
‘There is no possibility of a mistake?’
‘Rest assured I should not be telling you this unless my source were irrefutable. Her disappearance fits in with what I know of the methods of the Paris police. Their Cabinet Noir strike suddenly and secretly.
Believe me, we should be fortunate if we saw Chagrin for a long time, ever again even’ — her voice sank momentarily — ‘but that she has influential friends. They will move heaven and earth to secure her freedom.’
‘I shall go to Paris myself,’ he rapped out, but she shook her head.
‘Could your presence avail her more than those already there who are intimately acquainted with every subtle twist and turn of authority, in a strange city amongst strange people, who, for all we be separated by a mere strip of water, employ means very different from those we should use in similar circumstances?’ Even as he protested again he must try and rescue her, must exert his utmost in an attempt to atone for his betrayal of her, for he knew now without a doubt what the crumpled letter in his hand would tell him, he grasped the logic of Lady Somersham’s reasoning. ‘More than likely,’ the other conjectured, ‘the reason for her arrest is because it is known she has friends here. Your arrival could only stress this fact, thereby increasing her danger a hundredfold. It is because I foresaw what your impulse might be that I was prompted to bring her message personally. Now, I dare say, you would prefer to be alone.’
He stood with her at the street door. ‘La, Mr. Rathburn, try not to imagine the worst. You may rest assured everything is being attempted and will continue to be attempted to ensure her safe release. I do not doubt but that in a very short while I shall be able to bring you good news. If indeed she herself will not have communicated with you.’
Returning to the sitting room he impatiently tore open the envelope. He read slowly and re-read every word. How utterly, how cruelly he had wronged her. Here in these closely written pages, from which arose a hint of her elusive perfume and which he crushed to his mouth again and again in his agony of remorse and longing for her, she made it clear to him she was no cheat luring him to her side, but had loved him with every beat of her heart, cherished him with every particle of her being.