Madalena

by Sheila Walsh

  Armand, still scarlet with embarrassment, stammered incoherent apologies. He carefully averted his gaze from the sofa where Vyv was cavorting with the girl’s companion.

  ‘Stap me, m’boy!’ Vyv’s slurred, amused tones were muffled in the doxy’s tumbled flounces. ‘Ye’re a damned dull dog for a Froggie! You should learn to take your pleasures with more insouciance ‒ more joie de vivre!’

  There was the unmistakable sound of a playful slap on bare flesh followed by shrieks from the girl and much suggestive whisperings.

  Babette, incensed at being denied the opportunity to disport herself in similar fashion, poured a further stream of invective upon them all and slammed from the room, setting every piece of cheap china upon the shabby dresser rattling.

  Armand turned blindly back to the window, swallowing down his intense revulsion and wishing with all his heart that he had never become so involved.

  The severe looking man had gone and Daniel was walking back up the quay towards the inn. A second man came from the shadows to accost him. He talked rapidly for some minutes, violent gestures emphasizing the urgency of his message. Daniel listened with lowered head and then spoke several sharp words, after which the man scurried away.

  Dan stood for a moment, wrapped in thought, and then he turned back and went aboard the schooner.

  When he finally stepped into the parlour of the inn, he found Armand sullenly silent and Sir Vyvian blandly setting his clothes to rights. Of the girls there was no sign, beyond a lingering trace of stale perfume.

  ‘Well, you’re a right merry pair, to be sure!’ he mused, with a touch of humour. ‘How would you fancy a spot of action to liven you up?’

  The young nobleman yawned and declared himself game, but Armand only frowned.

  ‘Action? What is this action you speak of?’

  Daniel Merchent walked to the table and poured himself a glass of wine, throwing the young man a long, considering look. ‘I don’t pretend to know what’s been going on here, but if you’ll come out of your sulks, boy, I’ll give you my news.’

  Armand flushed and bit his lip. Dan settled himself on the edge of the table, one booted foot swinging gently back and forth. He sipped his drink, his eyes intent over the rim of the glass.

  ‘You behold in me, my friends, the recipient of a most interesting item of news. There is, as I am reliably informed, a cache of the finest brandy ‒ at least three dozen casks ‒ stored but a few miles up this coast. It is ours for the taking and Captain Wilkins assures me we have ample room for it.’

  Sir Vyvian sat forward, brightening visibly. ‘Dan, dear boy ‒ you behold me all attention! Tell me, do the owners of this brandy give it up willingly ‒ or do we use a little persuasion?’

  Dan grinned. ‘I doubt it will be offered gratuitously, but I believe there is no more than a token guard.’

  Armand looked from one to the other. ‘I do not understand what are your intentions. Are we to do some kind of deal for this brandy?’

  Vyv slapped his thigh and threw back his head. ‘I don’t believe it Dan. D’ye know, the lad’s a positive innocent!’ He rested an amused, kindly eye upon Armand. ‘Aye, m’boy ‒ you might call it a deal ‒ in a manner of speaking!’

  ‘Oh.’

  Dan continued smoothly, ‘There is a reasonably negotiable track along the coast, so I have arranged for horses to be provided. Captain Wilkins will complete his business here and then proceed to that particular stretch of coast, where he will lie to until he receives our signal. He will then dispatch a couple of boats ashore to take us and the brandy on board.’

  When, after many hours of riding, they were in sight of their objective, the last of the daylight was fading and Armand drew his collar more tightly about his neck against the chill little wind that whipped in off the sea, but his shivering was not entirely due to the cold.

  They had a longer wait than they had expected before an answering light flashed from the sea. They turned the horses down towards the beach and presently, above the slap of waves on shingle, the creaking of oars could be heard and in the pale clarity of the twilight Armand was able to distinguish several figures running up the beach.

  The party met where the distorted windbreak of trees bent over the same deserted building which Devereux had previously visited.

  The horses were tethered to a stunted bush beside the track and they made their way in silence to the rear of the building. Armand’s unease grew with every step. He caught at Daniel’s arm with sudden urgency.

  ‘Why do we proceed with such stealth? I insist that you tell me ‒ are we to steal this brandy?’

  Daniel silenced him impatiently. ‘Well, of course we are to steal it! How else are we to lay our hands on it?’

  ‘But to steal!’ Unbidden, his father’s face came before him, but Dan swung round on him in sudden anger and his voice, though hardly above a breath, lashed him.

  ‘A brigands’ hoard, lad! Fair game for anyone who cares to go after it. Now, stop being squeamish, and for God’s sake keep quiet and keep your head down.’

  They reached the stables where the casks were stacked. The lone occupant of the stable whinnied nervously in his stall ‒ and suddenly the silence erupted into violent pandemonium.

  Four men came at them out of the shadows and amidst the confusion of musket and pistol shots, Dan yelled at the cowering ship’s crew to get the barrels shifted. One of the brigands was already dead, spilling out his brains at Dan’s feet, but the other three were closing in with vicious looking knives and for Armand, the next few minutes were blurred with horror.

  He was out of his depth and he knew it. Fear ran through him, freezing his skull; his sleeve was slashed and a warm spurt of blood trickled down his arm. He fought on in despair knowing that the end must be inevitable; bad teeth leered above him in a wicked grin ‒ and then the grin became transfixed and a look of disbelief widened the eyes. The man slid to the floor and Vyv was pulling a knife from his back.

  ‘Merci, mon ami!’ gasped Armand. He staggered and wiped the sweat from his face with a shaking hand.

  Sir Vyvian grinned at him. ‘Think nothing of it, dear boy. But I believe we should do something about that arm ‒ you’re bleeding like a plaguey stuck pig!’

  Sir Vyvian produced from his pocket a large spotted silk handkerchief with which he bound up the gash, tying the final knots with the same panache which he accorded his cravats.

  Now that there was time to look about him, Armand saw that the remaining two men had been overcome and lay bleeding and groaning upon the ground.

  He turned away abruptly to lean against the side of the building, fighting sudden nausea. Two seamen scurried past him carrying the last of the brandy casks. Gradually he became aware of raised voices. Dan and Sir Vyvian were engaged in a heated argument.

  Dan’s voice rose harshly. ‘There is no alternative, damn you! We can’t afford to leave witnesses ‒ and you know it!’

  He was standing over the two brigands, reloading his pistols.

  ‘Non!’ The hoarse, involuntary cry was wrung from Armand and both men raised their heads in surprise, as though they had forgotten his existence. ‘No!’ He pleaded again through chattering teeth. ‘They are at your mercy. You cannot take their lives in cold blood!’

  ‘Get him down to the boat, Vyv.’ Daniel’s voice was curt, his glance contemptuous.

  Sir Vyvian shrugged and took Armand’s good arm, urging the protesting boy towards the beach. ‘Leave it be, dear old fellow,’ he murmured placatingly. ‘I daresay Dan is in the right of it ‒ he usually is.’

  ‘But … God in Heaven! One does not kill helpless men!’ Armand reiterated in dazed disbelief. Two shots rang out and he shuddered.

  Later he lay inert in the cabin as the schooner turned for home, averting his gaze as Daniel came clattering down the companionway.

  ‘I want words with you, boy!’ he snapped.

  ‘Of what use are words? They cannot justify …’

  ‘You mis
take me. I don’t have to justify anything to you ‒ least of all the deaths of those accursed brigands!’

  ‘They were men!’ Armand cried hotly. ‘Men ‒ injured and helpless ‒ and you killed them!’

  ‘They were savages, boy. Shall I spell out for you what would have happened if matters had gone against us? In a merciful mood they might have slit our throats – but they are not noted for their mercy! There is a name for them in these parts ‒ Chauffeurs.’ Armand turned his head away abruptly, his face ashen beneath the red hair.

  Daniel’s voice continued remorselessly, ‘It is a kind of sport with them to roast people alive, so don’t waste your pity on that scum!’

  ‘And are we so much better?’ Armand raised himself painfully on his sound arm. ‘For it seems to me, my friend, that we are not the simple smugglers you encouraged me to believe.’

  Daniel came to lean over the bunk; gone was the devil-may-care young Englishman with the laughing eyes. Now there was menace in every taut line of his body.

  ‘Now, that is what I wanted to speak about,’ he said very softly. ‘Perhaps you have aired your views elsewhere, my friend. Have you?’

  The last two words were rapped out so suddenly that the boy flinched.

  ‘Non! Who would I …?’

  ‘How should I know? Your sister, perhaps?’

  ‘Madalena! But that is absurd. No ‒ I do not discuss what I do with anyone!’ cried Armand.

  Daniel’s eyes were flint-hard. ‘That had better be the truth, lad, because if I find out who betrayed me …’

  ‘I do not understand. What is this talk of betrayal?’

  The older man’s fist clenched rigidly on the bunk. ‘Do you know why Wilkins was late keeping the rendezvous? No? Then I will tell you why. Because soon after we left, three frigates of the British Navy sailed in and bombarded the harbour ‒ sank several of my best craft and reduced the quayside to a rubble! Wilkins only got away by a miracle in the growing darkness.’

  Armand’s face was a study of bewilderment. ‘Your craft? But I do not understand!’

  ‘It is not necessary for you to understand; suffice it to say that my operations are planned and executed with the utmost care. So how came the British Navy to hear of them? I do not believe in coincidence.’

  There was no answer.

  ‘Well, I shall find out ‒ make no mistake!’ Daniel Merchent’s words were low and vehement. ‘Last night’s work has cost me dear ‒ and I must now find a new place to trade.’

  Armand’s bewilderment was slowly turning to horror. ‘But, you are English!’

  ‘Correction, my dear Armand ‒ I was born in England and my mother was English, but my father was French. He fled to England with my mother at the outbreak of the Terror. And how did England receive my father? I will tell you. My mother’s family tolerated him only for her sake ‒ and when he was so unwise as to antagonize someone of importance in the Government, they raised not a finger to prevent his being extradited to France on the flimsiest of evidence, where he was promptly guillotined. A charming tale, is it not?’ His tone was scathing.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Armand muttered inadequately.

  ‘Don’t be!’ snapped Daniel. ‘I stopped feeling sorry for myself a long time ago when my mama died of grief and I learned why. I tell you all this only that you may understand why I feel no degree of loyalty towards either country. This war means only one thing to me ‒ profit! Huge, untapped sources of profit! You have no idea to what lengths some people will go in order to secure what they want …’

  He stopped suddenly, as though aware that his tongue was running away with him. The burning light died out of his eyes and he laughed shortly. ‘And back in England they think what a nice, pleasant young man ‒ and smile kindly on me!’

  Armand flushed. They were almost the identical words his aunt had used. ‘Does … does Vyv know … of all this?’

  ‘Good God, no!’ Dan stared. ‘He hasn’t the brains to see ought but what is under his nose. He sees it all as great sport, to be kept secret at all costs. No, Vyv is the best cover I could have, for who would ever suspect him ‒ or his dearest friend ‒ of intrigue! And you will not disabuse him, boy.’

  He jabbed the air with a menacing finger. ‘In fact, Armand de Brussec, I am going to spell it out for you so that there may be no misunderstandings ‒ from this moment you will breathe no word of what you have seen or heard these past days.’

  ‘Mon Dieu! Is it likely that I would boast?’ Armand’s voice shook with scorn. ‘I am not so proud of myself.’

  ‘Nonetheless, I repeat, you will speak to no one ‒ least of all your sister. I’ll not have my pitch queered there, too.’

  Armand sat up abruptly ‒ and winced. ‘You will please to leave Madalena alone.’

  ‘But I do not please, my dear boy. I have every intention of pursuing my interest with your sister; why else do you suppose I have been at such pains to cultivate your friendship? For the sake of your beaux yeux?’ The young boy flushed and turned pale. ‘I admit I was a damn fool to involve you in this venture, but I had no idea you were so riddled with scruples, and it’s no use repining.

  ‘But I do urge you to consider most carefully, for I make you a promise that if the least suspicion attaches itself to me, it will likewise attach to you. Not only would the ensuing scandal devolve ruinously upon your uncle and aunt who have been so good to you ‒ it would almost certainly result in immediate expulsion from England for both you and your sister!’

  Chapter Nine

  Madalena was surprised to hear a sound from within her brother’s room. After a moment’s hesitation she tapped lightly on the door and went in.

  Armand was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the window. Apart from a single, nervous jerk of the head as she entered, he made no attempt to greet her.

  ‘Armand, mon cher! No one said that you were returned!’

  Undeterred by his silence Madalena bounced on to the bed beside him, not noticing how he flinched with the sudden movement.

  ‘We have only just arrived ourselves, you know,’ she chattered on, ‘and oh, how it makes one stiff to be sitting in a chaise for so long. Our poor aunt ‒ she is quite prostrate and is gone to lie down ‒ and Phoebe must be pining for her John, for she has spoken hardly a word on the way home. I must tell you ‒ we had the most dreadful quarrel and for days I was not popular ‒ but all is now well.’

  She sprang suddenly to her feet. ‘Oh, but the time we have had! It will take me an age to tell it all to you. You will never guess who we met …’

  In her excitement she put out a hand to grasp her brother and was totally unprepared for the violence of his reaction.

  ‘Non! Ne me touche pas!’

  ‘Armand! What is wrong? Are you ill?’ Madalena looked more closely and noticed for the first time his extreme pallor, the tight-drawn line of his mouth. ‘Ah, mon pauvre! You are ill!’

  ‘I am all right,’ he muttered through shut teeth. ‘Just go and leave me alone.’

  ‘Indeed I will not! A fine sister that would make of me!’

  His eyes closed in a kind of weary despair and she sank at once to her knees beside him, her own stiffness forgotten. ‘Oh come now!’ she coaxed him. ‘It is only your own Maddie. Tell me, I implore you! You know how stubborn I can be and I do not mean to leave until I know what it is that troubles you so.’

  Armand made a curious choking sound, halfway between a laugh and a groan. ‘Dieu ‒ why do I bother!’ He turned a little so that his right side became visible to her, exposing the torn sleeve and the makeshift bandage.

  Madalena exclaimed in horror and demanded to know how he had come by such an injury.

  ‘No fuss, Maddie ‒ I beg you! It is a scratch only.’

  ‘As to that, we must without a doubt remove your coat at once so that I may see this scratch.’ Alternately coaxing and bullying, she eased him out of the coat, her eyes flying constantly to his face lest she should be hurting him.

  Her fi
ngers struggled with the complex knot Sir Vyvian had wrought, while her tongue scolded, ‘I said, did I not, how all this gallivanting with Daniel would come to no good. Oh, I shall have much to say to him when next I see him, to let you travel in such a state!’

  The handkerchief came away at last. She drew a sharp breath.

  ‘Dieu me sauve! We must take this arm at once to Dr Laidlaw!’

  A sudden bout of coughing seized Armand, culminating in a groan.

  ‘No!’ His voice was faint and Madalena saw that he was now very white about the mouth. She hurriedly piled the pillows into a heap and made him lie back. She slipped from the room and returned almost at once with a generous measure of the Brigadier’s finest brandy.

  He gulped it down and Madalena watched anxiously until a little colour came back into his face.

  She sighed. ‘That is better. Now, my brother ‒ do you feel able to make the effort, or shall I send for Dr Laidlaw to come to you here, for one way or another I am determined that you shall see him. It needs only a chill to descend on your lungs …!’

  ‘Stupide! I’ll not have Tante Vernon or anyone else asking awkward questions.’

  She stared back mulishly.

  ‘Oh very well, if I must, then I will go to Laidlaw ‒ but I do not see the necessity. It needs only a fresh bandage.’

  Armand’s manner remained petulant, but he allowed his sister to tie a clean handkerchief round the wound and help him into a loose fitting coat.

  She smuggled him down the stairs and out to the stables without incident. There she instructed a broadly grinning, blatantly curious Jamie to harness Betsy to the gig.

  Armand said little as they set off at a somewhat erratic trot. To own the truth, he was bone-weary and his arm throbbed abominably with every jolt of the wheels in the ruts of the driveway.

  It had been an exhausting ride home ‒ he doubted he would have accomplished it at all had not Vyv insisted on accompanying him for the greater part of the way. Vyv had been uncharacteristically quiet and Armand wondered how much he had been shaken by Daniel’s behaviour. He was not of great intelligence, but neither was he stupid.