Duval at Waterloo (Napoleon's Police Book 15)

by Michele McGrath

  “Why Petit?”

  “He’s a man I once worked with. So is Laurent. Can you remember these names?” Another inward smile. Petit hated me almost as much as Laurent did and he was an even bigger toady, ready to change sides at the least opportunity.

  “Of course I can!” She sounded indignant.

  “Good. These are unsettled times and it’s as well to keep our own council until things settled down.”

  She nodded. “I will do as you say. I won’t forget.”

  I was glad I’d warned her, because, when we came to climb into the diligence, I found the stranger from last night already seated inside. He greeted me like a long lost friend and looked at Lucienne with interest.

  “What a lovely travelling companion you have,” he said to me, “Would you introduce me?”

  I had no choice of course and the names I had chosen were common enough. There would be many people with those names in any search.

  “Lucienne, may I present Monsieur Pascal to you? My ward, Mademoiselle Petit.”

  “Have you enjoyed your stay in Paris, Mademoiselle?” Pascal asked.

  “Stay, Monsieur?”

  “Your guardian told me you were travelling from there to Lyon.”

  “Oh I see, but I was not staying there. I was born in Paris.”

  She caught my frown out of the corner of her eye and stopped.

  “Lucienne was indeed born in Paris and lived there until her father died. She has been at school ever since. Now she is old enough to leave, I am bringing her home,” I said.

  “How exciting for you, Mademoiselle,” Pascal said. “Did you enjoy yourself at school? Tell me all about it. It will make the hours pass more quickly.”

  Pascal had obviously caught my frown and Lucienne’s reaction, slight though it was. He set himself to draw her out, and I admired his skill. He talked easily and gracefully to this young girl and his technique could have been my own, if our situations had been reversed. I held myself ready to intervene, in case Lucienne’s tongue wagged too freely, but she did not need my help. She chattered on about her lessons, the other girls and the schoolmistresses, until even Pascal had enough and their conversation lagged.

  Silence fell for a while. The diligence seemed to be jolting more than ever. The roads were getting worse the further away we were from Paris. One particularly vicious jolt tumbled us about and Pascal’s coat swung open. I happened to be looking towards him at the time and I caught sight of a pistol butt. Now why should he be armed on a public coach? Not for the first time I was glad I had recovered my swordstick. I didn’t think I needed a weapon on this journey when I started, but I had a sick feeling that perhaps I had made a mistake. We would stop at Vermenton for the night and I hoped fervently that my suspicions were wrong and that Pascal would continue his journey without us.

  My hopes proved in vain. He descended when we did and, since there was only one inn in the place, we all sought accommodation there. They did not have enough rooms for everyone and I found myself in the unenviable position of having to share with Pascal. I cursed inwardly, but there was no alternative. Fortunately, I carried nothing incriminating on me. I burnt most of my papers back in Paris and left the rest with Fournier. I lost my pistol somewhere on the battlefield and my swordstick had a special trick which freed the blade. To a stranger, it looked innocent enough. Indeed, the only thing that marked me out, in any way, were the numerous scars on my body, the legacy of adventures in the army and the police. The shoulder wound I received in June had healed cleanly enough but it did not look like the others. Anyone who saw it could tell it was fairly fresh. My skin bore witness to the fact that I had not led a peaceful life. I would have to keep my body covered when Pascal was in the room.

  I dumped my valise into my room. Then I went to see Lucienne. Once the door closed, she asked me,

  “Why did you frown at me, Alain?”

  “I didn’t want you to give him any more information. You already told him you were born in Paris.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, but I was afraid you would talk about your father. You might have let something slip. If Pascal knew we worked for the Police, I would be suspect now and held for questioning.”

  “I wouldn’t have said anything important. You can trust me.”

  “I do but it’s very easy to make a mistake. He’s skilled at asking questions.”

  “What do you mean? Who do you think he is?”

  “I’m not sure. He’s a fervent royalist or he wouldn’t wear the white cockade so openly. He said last night that it is his job to keep an eye of strangers travelling through Égreville and the rest of this district. This makes me edgy for it’s a bad sign that he is travelling with us. He told me that he comes from Tours, but it is obvious he has spent time in Germany. He says some words in the German way. He’s good at asking questions…”

  “A spy?” Lucienne’s eyes grew round.

  “Perhaps. An official anyway and one who knows his business.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “What you have been doing. Be careful what you say and go to bed early.”

  “This is an awfully long journey,” she sighed. “How much further?”

  “A long day to Beaune and then an even longer one to Lyon. There we change diligences. Grenoble is another day after that.”

  “Three days! I don’t think I can bear it, the coach is so uncomfortable.”

  I laughed. “This from the girl who wanted to see the world outside Paris. You’re young and strong. Even old people rarely die in a diligence. You’ll survive. Now come down to dinner and mind your words. Chatter on about school so you bore Pascal and make him leave us alone.”

  “I’ll try.”

  In the end, she had no need to do so that night. Pascal sat next to some of the other passengers that had alighted from the coach and were staying at the same inn. We ate supper and we were spared his company for most of the evening. At one point he left the room and was away some time. He returned with a dissatisfied look on his face. He came over to us eventually and talked of unimportant things. Following my instructions, Lucienne went to bed early. Then he called for another bottle of wine and some tobacco. He shared both of these with me and we sat smoking and drinking together.

  My impression of him was confirmed, for he spoke of other things at first before leading the conversation back to politics. It was how I should have operated myself and I was ready for him, giving innocuous answers that could have meant anything. The only thing I let myself speak freely about was the details of a locksmith’s business. He appeared fascinated and I forgot myself and described the different types of locks and the mechanics of both making and breaking them.

  “Well, there is no doubt you are a locksmith,” he said when I finished, “whatever else you are. I’m not surprised there was insufficient business for you in a small place like Vizille.”

  “We sold our locks all over Isère,” I said, “but profits increased once we moved to Lyon. I am often travelling these days, more than I am at home, selling locks. Like yourself, I suppose.”

  He smiled at that and I tried to draw him out about his background and also why he was with us. I learned that his father owned a small estate near Tours before the Revolution, which had since been sold. As I suspected, he spent some time exiled in Germany and returned last year with the King. He did not tell me what he had done when the Emperor ruled again, but I fancied he stayed hidden and waited for better times. Now he had a job centred at Beaune, to which he was returning. I got no more and neither did he. We went up to our room together and prepared for bed. I noticed that a few of my things had been moved in my absence and put back almost, but not quite, the way they had been before. They had undoubtedly been examined and I thought Pascal had searched them when he left the taproom for a time. His dissatisfied face, when he returned, seemed to prove that he had found nothing. I made no comment, however, simply laid down my coat and stick, loosened my ti
e and lay down on the bed just as I was. He put on a nightshirt and glanced over at me. I pretended to cover my eyes with my arm so he should not see me watching him. Eventually he blew out the lantern and got into the other side of the bed. He scratched and moved restlessly for a while and then fell asleep.

  I lay still doing some hard thinking. That Pascal was suspicious of me was obvious. He had no evidence, nor had I let slip anything of importance, except to confirm my profession. There were lots of locksmiths in Lyon, although I doubted any of them were called Laurent. That would be too much to hope for.

  When I eventually fell asleep, it seemed only minutes before someone was shaking me awake. I had time only to swallow some coffee and eat some bread before we climb on the diligence and continued our journey. This was the longest day so far and the worst part of the road. The coach jumped so much I wondered if it would be shaken apart. Pascal was with us still, but disinclined to talk and the rest of us felt the same.

  We reached Beaune long after darkness fell and Lucienne was asleep with her head on my shoulder. We went immediately to bed. If I had not woken in the darkness, we would have walked blindfold into a trap. I looked out of the window and saw Pascal coming out of the inn door with another man. They stood outside, talking intently. Light fell on both their faces from a nearby lantern. I wanted to hear what they were talking about, so I tiptoed down the stairs. Unfortunately the door, which creaked badly, was shut and I could not go further without revealing my presence. Frustrated, I returned to my room and watched them until they said goodbye and went their separate ways. I had an uneasy feeling that their conversation could have been about me, even though I told myself I was imagining things. Why shouldn’t two men talk together? Yet the timing was strange and the feeling did not leave me. I was restless and only dozed from time to time.

  We were up again in darkness, for this day’s journey was even further than yesterday’s. It would take the whole day and most of the night. I discussed this with Lucienne, but neither of us wanted another stop and, if we could endure it, we would arrive in Lyon. Then we would only have one more day to travel, but it was not to be. There was no sign of Pascal when we boarded the coach. The man I had seen him speaking to last night was travelling with us instead. He deliberately picked a seat next to me, even though others were available. He started to talk to me almost at once, giving his name as Gariot and asking me for mine. I gave it sleepily and begged him to let me rest, as the night had been very short. He desisted until we reached the first halt.

  While the horses were being changed, I went to the privy and he came with me. I could not avoid him, so I answered his questions and asked a few of my own. Apparently he was a clerk in a lawyer’s office and came from the Lyon. This made me uneasy about my invented story. An inhabitant might well know the name of different firms of locksmiths. I was lucky that he did not seem to. He asked me which street my business was located in. I tried to pick a place as far removed from the centre as possible, hoping its remoteness might buy me time. All in all I felt very uncomfortable. My uneasiness increased dramatically when I saw Gariot talking to a man at the third stop before we reached Lyon. The man saluted Gariot when they finished talking then mounted a horse and rode off ahead of us in the same direction. This is exactly what I should have done, if I wanted to arrest someone. I would have assembled a group to assist me and sent off a messenger to summon them. My skin was prickling again. I might have been completely wrong, but I have only ever ignored such feelings once before. In that instance, I ended up in an ambush and a prison. I have always acted on my feelings ever since.

  What to do? If there were people assembled to meet us, it was important that Lucienne and I left the coach before it reached its destination. I had friends in Lyon who might help me avoid unwanted attentions, if I could reach them. We might have to leave our valises behind. There was nothing in mine that mattered but I did not know what was in Lucienne’s. I took her aside, told her what I had in mind and asked if she needed anything. She had one or two small items she valued, so I asked the guard to take her valise off the pile. She spent a few moments rummaging around inside and put a few things into the pocket of her dress, then she thanked the guard and gave him the bag.

  She was looking frightened but I reassured her. I said I would tell her the plan at the next halt, for we had to get back into the diligence now. Actually I needed time to decide what I was going to do. I had two choices, as I saw it. Lucienne and I could try to get out of the coach, when it slowed for a corner. This was dangerous due to the risk of injury or of one of us might be detained by Gariot or one of the other passengers. Another thought was to put Gariot out of action when we alighted at the next halt. This was far more likely of success and I started to think hard.

  When Gariot’s attention was distracted I asked Lucienne in a low voice to stay near the coach and not to be surprised at any of my actions. When we got down from the diligence at the next stop, I went to the privy as usual and then went in search of Gariot. I found him in the taproom and I asked him to come with me because there was something I wanted to show him.

  “You’re in the Police, aren’t you?” I asked. “At least Pascal said you were. You’ll want to see this.”

  I’d looked around the yard and found a crowded storeroom at the end of an outbuilding. I led the way into this room and then, when he followed me, I swivelled and hit him as hard as I could on the jaw. He fell with only a gasp and he had no chance to make any more noise because the point of my swordstick was pricking his throat.

  “I have no wish to harm you,” I said, “but I will if you cry out. Sit down and tie your feet with this.” I tossed him some rope I had found earlier. “Make a good job of it or else.”

  He did as he was told and I stayed far enough away from him in case he made any sudden move.

  “You’ll go to the guillotine for this,” he muttered.

  “Quiet. We’ll see. Now put your hands behind your back.”

  As I tied them, he tried to whip around. I had been expecting him to do something like that and punched him behind the ear which left him in a heap. I tied his hands, gagged him with his own stock and then bundled him behind some boxes where he would not be found for some time. I looked out of the door and checked that no one was about. Then I made my way to the coach. The driver was making some adjustment to the traces and I went over to him.

  “One of your passengers, Gariot, sent me to tell you that he’s ill and he can’t face travelling for the next few hours. He says to go without him.”

  “Where is he?”

  “In the privy.” The driver made a move in that direction. “I wouldn’t if I were you.” I stopped him. “I tried to help him and got cursed for my trouble. He’s not far from home. He can easily catch the next coach or ride the rest of the way.”

  The man grinned and said to the guard, “Get this man Gariot’s luggage down.”

  “He didn’t have any,” I said. “He got on at the last stop and he’s only going as far as Lyon.”

  “Fair enough. You get in then.”

  By now the time was passing and the driver was in a hurry to leave. The other passengers, including Lucienne, had already climbed into the coach while we were talking and I followed.

  “What has happened?” Lucienne asked me quietly.

  “Nothing much. A passenger is sick and is staying behind until he’s better.”

  Lucienne is no fool. “Gariot?” she asked and I nodded. She immediately put her hand over my knuckles, which I had not realised I had grazed in the scuffle. The diligence started with a jerk and we bowled out of the inn. The new team of horses was a lively one, so we made good time.

  No hue and cry came after us and I relaxed more as the kilometres passed. At the next halt, Lucienne and I got down and I asked the guard for our valises as we were staying on this side of the city. He did not question me, just did as I asked. Lucienne and I stood there watching the coach bowl away.

  “What now?” Lucienne
asked.

  “Now we walk. I’m sorry for it, but it’s easier for us to get lost walking than if I hire horses or any sort of a carriage. If we can get to the city unnoticed, I have friends who will help us the rest of the way.”

  After our long journey, it was good to exercise our cramped legs, although it was night-time, cold and dark. Eventually we had to stop. I spread my cloak over some bushes and the two of us huddled beneath it for warmth, using our valises for pillows. I had done this sort of thing many times before and suffered less than Lucienne, who shivered all night and hardly slept.

  Dawn came and the light increased. We looked at each other and we were sorry sights. I had a sudden thought of what my friends would think of us, but we had to find them first.

  It took us two days and we would not have made it then if I had not hired one of the plough horses from a farmer. He was suspicious, but he wanted my money and his wife was concerned about Lucienne. Lucienne had to assure her that the reason for our plight was an accident to our carriage. The horse bolted, apparently, the carriage overturned and the traces broke. The horse ran off and so we had to walk until we could find another way to get to the city. Afterwards we would recover the carriage and try to find the horse. No, it was certainly not an elopement! Lucienne impressed me. She made the woman believe her. I certainly could not have done it half so well. We left our valises with the farm couple as surety for the return of their horse. Truth to tell, I was glad to get rid of the things.

  I mounted the horse, which was docile enough, and Lucienne was lifted on behind me. She was nervous at first, although she had ridden while at school, because we had no saddles and the horse was certainly not a riding horse. It had a steady, plodding pace, however, and we moved faster than we would have done on foot.

  And this is how we arrived at my friend’s house. Henri and Anne were suitably horrified at our appearance.

  “I hardly recognised you under all that dirt,” Henri said. “You look like a tramp.”

  “I feel like one too,” I told him. “I thought your servant wasn’t going to let us in.”