”Camped up there.” (She pointed, still in tears.)
“And did any of them know where he was going?”
“No.”
“Nor when he would return.”
“A soldier never knows that.”
“I suppose not. So we must hope that your sergeant will come back to you.”
“But he will—I know he will!”
“Of course, Henriette. You wouldn’t have Pierre now, I expect, whatever happened?”
“Pierre? Never!”
“He must be disappointed though?”
“I am sorry if he is unhappy, but I wouldn’t have him.”
“Do you think he might be angry and turn against you?”
“I haven’t thought of that. I suppose he might.”
“Could he be dangerous?”
“I don’t think so. Being lame could have made him bitter though.”
“How did it happen?”
“There was an accident, I have been told, when he was a little boy.”
Mr Xenophon was now back in the room and Delancey brought his interrogation to an end.
“Thank you, Henriette. You have been most helpful. We all wish you every happiness.”
He could see that Mr Xenophon was very pleased with himself and asked him, accordingly, what he had learnt. The reply, in English, was brief:
“I found the letter. It is posted from Bethune and he says in it that he is learning German from a comrade. I think that is all we want to know. He is on his way to Germany.”
”That seems all but certain. But what if other regiments come here to replace those that are gone?”
“I should like to be reassured about that. At the same time, I think it improbable. Napoleon would never use mere garrison troops for an invasion attempt. He would want his best regiments. And here we have proof that at least one of these has been sent away.”
“Before embarking I must have a look at the camp site north of here, east of Zuphen. Perhaps you would like to come too? You might be able to tell whether a camp site has been permanently abandoned or is to be occupied again.”
“Very well, then. I am willing, anyway, to try. I cannot at the moment decide what we should look for, the water supply, the drainage, or what else would signify in the eyes of a military man. It occurs to me—”
At this point Higgs quietly opened the front door and warned Delancey that some two or three men were approaching the cottage from the east, along the road. Delancey told Mr Xenophon and added that he would admit the leader to the cottage, leaving Mr Xenophon and his men to deal with the others, whatever their number. Mr Xenophon went outside at once and Delancey called Higgs into the cottage.
To Jacquemard he said, “Please answer the door when someone knocks. If it is someone you know, admit him. If it is Pierre Lebrun admit him and say ‘Good evening, my friend’ as you do so. Don’t admit anyone else. Tell the women to go up to the loft.
“Higgs, stand behind the door. If more than one man should try to enter, knock the second man on the head with this.”
He took the poker from the hearth, and handed it to the petty officer. Last of all, he drew his sword and took up a position on the other side of the front door, motioning Northmore to stand behind him.
The intruders seemed to make an infinitely cautious approach, pausing to listen and then moving nearer with silent tread. It was too dark for Mr Xenophon to identify them but he was able to assure himself that they numbered three. He waited with patience, holding his loaded walking stick. He heard, presently, a whispering near the front door of the cottage which ended when one man went forward, now with an audible tread, and the other two moved left and right so as to remain unseen when the door opened. After pausing again to listen, the leader of the group knocked on the door. Inside, Delancey motioned to Jacquemard who answered the door, calling out “Who is there?” There was no chain on the door but the same purpose was served by a log of wood which he had pushed into position. “Who is there?” he repeated, opening the door by about three inches. The visitor gave his name quietly and Jacquemard replied “Good evening, my friend.” Kicking the log aside and opening the door more widely, he admitted Pierre Lebrun, who limped into the lamplight as he returned the greeting. Jacquemard closed the door after him and slid the bolt. Lebrun could now be seen as a stocky man of nondescript appearance in ordinary countryman’s clothes. No suitable match for Henriette, thought Delancey….
“Are you alone?” asked Lebrun. Jacquemard nodded and Lebrun continued, “I have brought two friends with me, men on whom we can rely. May I call them in?” At that instant Lebrun glanced sideways and saw Delancey, realising at once that he had been trapped. Before he could move Delancey ran him through with the sword, the point entering his left side near the heart. With no more than a single stifled cry he collapsed on the floor in a pool of blood. He had been wearing a woollen bonnet and Delancey now used this to wipe his sword before sheathing it. Then he opened the door more widely and waited. In a minute Mr Xenophon joined him and said quietly, “We have taken care of the other two.”
“Are they dead?” asked Delancey. Mr Xenophon nodded.
“We could not take prisoners. I see that you are of the same opinion.”
“I was thinking of Jacquemard’s safety.”
“So was I, and I hope to God that these are the only men who knew of his association with me. I incline to believe that they were. Lebrun expected a reward for betraying Jacquemard but he would not want to share it with more than he had to.”
“It remains to dispose of the bodies. I expect that Jacquemard will help us.”
Far from being immediately helpful, Jacquemard was crouched, white-faced, over the fire, trembling violently after being sick on the hearth.
“B-b-but why? Why kill Lebrun, your own agent? I never saw bloodshed before. Why?” He made the sound of vomiting but nothing came. “You are murderers!”
“He was betraying us, Jacquemard,” replied Delancey. “He had come with two men to arrest you. It was to protect you that we killed them all. What else could we do? But we need to dispose of the bodies so that the disappearance of these men will have nothing to do with you. They left their homes in darkness, walking out into the night. No one will know where they went. No one must ever know. We must bury them where the newly turned earth will not show, and we must do it quickly. Let’s lift Lebrun outside, to begin with. Then call the women down.”
“But they had best know nothing about it.”
“They know already. Do you think they are deaf? Some intruders have been killed. They need not know their names but we need their help to clean up the mess. Not a spot of blood must remain. Quick, Jacquemard, you must be ready by daylight to deny all knowledge of the affair. You have not seen Lebrun for days and cannot imagine why he should have gone out after dark. He will return, no doubt, you will be confident: and your daughter will be sad indeed if he doesn’t.”
To Mr Xenophon Delancey spoke as quickly and firmly
“I shall go on to look at the artillery camp site. I suggest, however, that you remain here and attend the funeral. Then keep the rendezvous at the creek below Zuphen. We must be at sea before daybreak.”
Chapter Eighteen
THE SOLUTION
DELANCEY set off for the camp site, accompanied only by Northmore. He set a rapid pace, knowing that time was short. As they stumbled and slipped on loose stones he tried to explain the object of his mission. “We know,” he said finally, “that the camps near Ambleteuse have been deserted. We do not know whether the regiments which have gone will return or will be replaced by other troops. If the sites have been deserted for good we may conclude that Napoleon has cancelled the whole invasion plan. I think myself that all danger is past but a report to that effect must be supported by some real evidence, of which we have little at the present moment.”
“What sort of evidence can we find, sir?”
“I don’t know. We shall have to use our eyes and brains.”
“I’ll do my best, sir, but why should any regiment be sent away and then ordered back?”
“Why, to find grass for their horses. But Napoleon might also want to deceive us about his intentions, pretending to break up his invasion army but meaning to come back after our defending forces have been dispersed.”
“But why should they disperse, sir?”
“Again, to find grass for their horses. So long as Napoleon’s threat remains, our defending army must be grouped round Dover and other possible landing places. That means that the army cannot go elsewhere and raid French territory. So Napoleon has his motive for leaving us in doubt. We shall perform a valuable service if we can report that this threatened invasion is now a mere feint.”
“I understand, sir.” The conversation died away as they went uphill. Then, as the ground levelled off for a space, Northmore ventured on the subject which filled his mind.
“What did you think of Henriette, sir?”
“I thought her very lovely. She is the sort of girl one remembers for the rest of one’s life. We shall never see her again, however; that much is certain.”
“But the war may end and we could travel once more.”
“We should find her married to someone else. She will be married within the twelvemonth. You won’t marry until you command a ship of your own, and then you’ll marry the Admiral’s daughter.”
“It sounds a dull prospect, sir.”
“Maybe I didn’t set you the best example.”
They were going uphill again and spared their breath for a while, each with his own thoughts. Delancey reminded himself that every man must at one time have dreamt about loving a perfectly innocent young girl, someone who would be affectionate, without artifice or pretence, a flower just ripe for the picking.
He had had that dream himself a lifetime ago in New York. Such a love affair or marriage might, he supposed, prove idyllic. Or would it? Who can tell what a pretty and giggling schoolgirl will turn out to be later on when aged thirty or forty? We might guess that she will be like her mother but who is to know? An attractive girl, too diffident to reveal her true character, can later be petulant, quarrelsome, extravagant, and vain. Henriette might end as a virago…. No, she wouldn’t. Odd how the whiteness of her hands contrasted with the sunburnt complexion of her face. He himself had married late in life, as his professional career had served to dictate, and no sensible man would at that age have married a schoolgirl. He had been lucky enough to find a woman of the world, beautiful, passionate, and experienced. He wished that he were with her now and in her arms. Instead of that he was pacing the land of France, an enemy or spy, due to be killed on sight or shot after capture. He had best forget about his girl’s white shoulders and think rather of his own peril. He looked anxiously at the eastern sky. Was it his imagination or was there already just a hint of the coming daybreak?
Dark as it was, Delancey followed Jacquemard’s directions without much difficulty, coming at length to the track which had led from the road to the camp site. A post marked the spot but the sign, whatever it had been, was gone. The ground here was deeply trampled and rutted by the horses and gun carriages. It had been strewn with furze and bracken earlier in the year but now the ground was dry and hardened. A camp site likely to be occupied again would be guarded against trespass, surely, by two or three invalids provided with a tent? Or was that the wild guess of a seaman who, in reality, knew nothing about it? He should have had an army officer with him but the Admiral did not want that. His intelligence of the enemy must come from a naval source. Somewhere ahead of Delancey there was a noise in the darkness which he could not at first identify. He presently realised that sheep were grazing there. Did this provide proof that the camp site had been abandoned? It did nothing of the sort. When a new regiment appeared the sheep could be driven off. Then he came to a gate, flanked on either side by a stone-faced bank and hedge. The gate was new and far narrower than the gap in the earth bank. The space had been filled in with a railing. All the carpentry was solid and well put together, made to last. But the gate was just too narrow for a gun carriage or army wagon. He could see from the ruts that the military traffic had used a wider space. He could also see that the gap in the bank had been widened, no doubt while the camp existed. Now the soldiers had gone and the peasant owner of the field had returned. He had made money out of the soldiers, one might assume, selling them eggs and milk with an occasional rabbit or chicken. Now the artillery had gone and the sheep were back. Had the troops been expected to return, the gap would have been stuffed with uprooted thorn bushes. But the peasant had made a proper gate and fence. His land was once more his own. To be exact, this was the peasant’s assumption, based on what information he could get. The peasant could be wrong and soldiers, Napoleon included, have been known to change their minds. But here was as good evidence as he was likely to find and it was strengthened by his discovery of a similar gate on the other side of the field. Beyond that again his way lay downhill through another and rather dirty field which had been too well grazed by horses—it was horse-sick, to use the expression he had heard—and here he came across a barn under construction; another solid and permanent-looking structure, the whole site smelling of sawdust and pitch. Here was something to clinch the opinion he had already formed.
“The peasant was well compensated for the use of his land. He has spent the money on a new barn and new gates.”
Delancey was thinking to himself and was hardly aware of saying that last sentence aloud but Northmore replied at once:
“But didn’t the peasant need the money to live on?”
”He didn’t get it until the troops left.”
“Then how did he live, sir?”
“He went to work for somebody else whose labourers had been conscripted into the army.”
“It seems likely enough, sir.”
“It is still fiction. But I am still ready to report that the camp site has been abandoned, and given back to the owners.”
“Is that proof, sir, that it will never be occupied again?”
“No, it is no proof of that. But what proof could we expect to find? We can provide what seems to be proof of present intention. We can never offer our assurance that present decisions will not be reversed. Our task has been performed, Mr Northmore. I can report that the great invasion is not to take place this year, nor probably next year either. To make this report, however, we need to stay alive. We are now heading for the coast and we need to re-embark there in darkness. Time is short and there is just a hint of morning in the sky. On either side of the creek where we landed there is a French battery within half a mile. There will be sentinels posted and patrols going to and fro along the cliffs. We shall have to slip between them, and Mr Xenophon, following a different route to our left, will have to do the same.”
“But won’t the French patrols have seen the gunboat, sir?”
“She will have been pulled up under those overhanging rocks. We shall be in more danger when we put to sea.”
The path lay downwards and they found themselves sheltered from the wind by the rising ground on either side. Somewhere ahead of them, as they knew, the path they were on would intersect with the cliff path which would cross the stream on their right by a footbridge. This was where they were most likely to meet with a patrol. The danger was real enough but Delancey took comfort from the fact that he wore a French uniform and could speak French with fluency, although with a provincial accent. Even Northmore knew enough to say “Oui, mon Capitaine” with reasonable confidence. It struck Delancey that Mr Xenophon, whose mission was an afterthought, was not disguised in the same way.
Descending the path towards the creek where they had landed was not as simple as the ascent had been. It was all too easy to trip over a loose stone and start a miniature landslide. Time was short, moreover, and a cock could be heard crowing at a distant farm. It would soon be morning, their gunboat exposed to the French artillery. How to combine speed with caution
? Then, pausing for a minute’s rest, they heard the sound they had been dreading: the tramp of a patrol approaching from their left. They must quit the path and find somewhere to hide.
Delancey had hardly reached this decision before there was a musket shot, followed after a pause by two or three more. The patrol had seen or heard some movement but none they had themselves made, for the shots had not been fired in their direction. It was clearly Mr Xenophon and his men who had run into trouble. They were armed only with pistols and loaded sticks and would be at a disadvantage when confronted (and outnumbered) by muskets and bayonets. While Mr Xenophon’s two men might well be thought expendable, Mr Xenophon could not be replaced. It would be a disaster if he were killed, a worse disaster if he were taken. To judge from the sound of firing, which had died away for the moment, Mr Xenophon was still on the landward side of the cliff path. He had probably been about to cross it when the patrol appeared. The likelihood was that the firing would attract another patrol from the other direction. Turning away from his own line of retreat, Delancey reached the cliff path and, telling Northmore to follow, marched towards the area where the patrol must be. He made no further efforts to avoid noise. Why should he aim at stealth? He was a French captain of artillery seeking to discover what the noise was about. He feared at first that he would miss the patrol but he presently saw that one of the Frenchmen carried a lantern. At least one of the men had remained on the path while the others had gone uphill to deal with the intruders. As Delancey approached the lantern a young corporal assumed the “on guard” position and shouted a challenge.
“Friend,” replied Delancey, pressing on. “All right, Corporal, all right, all right! Where have they gone?”
“They are somewhere up there, Captain,” replied the corporal, pointing.
“That is where you are wrong, corporal. They crossed the path further back and headed down towards the sea. I just saw them as they disappeared. Three men in civilian clothes—smugglers, perhaps. Can you call the patrol back?”
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