“May I join you, stranger?” The man drew up a chair and sat down, without waiting for me to answer him. “You’re new in these parts.” A statement not a question.
“I am. I’ve just come off the diligence.”
“Where from?”
“Paris.”
“Live there?”
“No. Do you?” I decided to challenge him and he understood my intention because he gave a rueful smile.
“I’m from Tours originally, but you speak with a Savoyard accent if I’m any judge of these things. Am I right?”
“Nearly. I’m from Vizille, although I live in Lyon now.” I named a town near enough to Grenoble to account for the way I spoke. Yet it was far enough away to confuse an inquiry if anyone asked after me.
“Never been to Vizille. What’s it like?”
“A pleasant place to live, if you aren’t looking for excitement. I lived there most of my life, until a few years ago. It’s difficult for me to describe it to a stranger. There’s nothing much to say.”
“What made you move to Lyon?”
“My business expanded and there’s more money to be made in a big city.”
“What business is that?”
“I’m a locksmith.”
“Indeed? From your bearing I took you to be a soldier.”
My skin prickled again and I picked my words carefully. “I was a soldier once, many years ago.”
“Not recently?”
“What use would I be? I got injured by the wheel of a gun.” I thrust my leg forward. “I have to use a stick, because I walk with a limp.”
“Unfortunate. Did you serve in the army of His Majesty?”
“In 1799, His Majesty did not have an army, or at least not one in France. I ran away from home a few years earlier and needed to earn my bread. The army was as good a way as any to do so. I knew nothing of politics. It did not matter to me as long as I could feed myself and make new friends.” Pierre’s face flashed into my mind as I said the words and my face must have changed because he asked,
“What are you thinking about?”
“My best friend who died.”
“The fortunes of war surely?”
“Certainly, but that does not take away either the memory or the pain, even after all this time.”
“You are lucky to have survived.”
“I am.”
“And now? Do politics matter to you?”
I smiled, forcing myself to pretend to be at ease. “Now I have a business to run, a wife and family to support and taxes to pay. Those keep me busy enough without meddling in public affairs.”
“Nevertheless, you must have opinions about both the King’s government and Bonaparte.”
“The King seemed to be doing a good enough job before Bonaparte escaped from Elba,” I said. ‘God forgive my lies,’ I thought. “Pity he did not have enough time to finish what he started last year, but he might be able to do so now. I doubt the Allies will ever let Bonaparte return to France. I wouldn’t if I was in their shoes.”
“I agree.”
Silence fell for a few moments and I thought I had acquitted myself rather well.
Then he asked, “What is your name, stranger?”
“Laurent, and yours?” I smiled inwardly. Laurent, who hated me, wouldn’t thank me for borrowing his name. As a supporter of the King, any search for his name should add to the confusion.
“Pascal.” He offered his hand to me and I took it. I’ve shaken hands with enough villains and traitors before. A royalist agent, for no one else would wear a white rosette, did not concern me.
“What brought you from Vizille to Paris? Business?”
“Not at all. Why do you want to know?”
“Curiosity and the fact that my masters pay me to keep account of travellers in these parts.”
“A dull job in an area like this.”
“I’m not looking for excitement either. You never did tell me, though, why you went to Paris.”
I had been thinking hard and knew I must give this man some information about myself or I would never be rid of him. I did not want wild rumours starting about me, as they often do with strangers. Better invent my own tale and stick as closely to the truth as possible. So I said,
“I went to bring my ward away from her boarding school. She’s old enough to leave and the roads are relatively safe in this direction now.”
“The landlord said you are travelling with a young girl.”
“So you’ve been making enquiries about me?”
“I told you; it’s my job.”
“Well I won’t trouble you long. We’re off tomorrow and I doubt I’ll be back this way for some time, if at all.” I drained my glass, put it down on the table and picked up my swordstick. I left it in my lodgings in Paris before I rode with the Emperor and Fournier retrieved it with my clothes. I was glad to have its familiar presence with me again; I might have to use it soon. Now I leaned on it more than I needed to for balance. No need to let him know that my disability was less than I had told him. “Now, unless you want to ask me any more questions, I will give you good night.”
The man rose. “A good journey to you for the morrow.”
“Thank you.”
I left him there and went up to my chamber, but I was uneasy. The man was a royalist agent, of that I was certain. I often acted in such a way myself before and recognised his technique. He reminded me of Petit, who lacked a subtle manner. I prefer a more round about approach myself, which I think encourages a suspect to reveal more. I went to bed but I did not rest easily. I kept turning Pascal’s questions and my answers over in my mind, wondering if somehow I had betrayed myself. There had been instances of Bourbon supporters terrorising some areas after the Emperor was sent to Elba. Anyone with sense would expect the same thing to happen again. Hopefully, their vengeance would not extend to Grenoble, although that was a forlorn hope. The city had welcomed the Emperor too enthusiastically. We would have to keep our own counsel and our heads down until their vigilance waned. I decided I must have a quiet word with Lucienne in the morning. I needed to tell her that I came from Vizille not Grenoble and we were going to Lyon. She must guard her tongue until we were safely home.
Chapter 16
Égreville is so small it is a hamlet rather than a village. There was nothing to see in the place. Lucienne and I walked a little way out into the countryside, despite a cold wind that stung our cheeks. We pretended to look at the woods and the fields, standing forlorn after the harvest. I told her about my new acquaintance.
“Are we in danger, Alain?”
“You are not but I might be, if either of us says too much to strangers. I’m an escaped soldier who fought for the Emperor and also one of his police agents. There are things I know that the Bourbons would be interested in. So it’s important not to mention your father or where we used to work. For this journey, you are my ward, travelling home with me to Lyon. I live there now but I’m originally from Vizille and moved to expand my business. Talk about what you see, the countryside or even the weather. Better still, say nothing at all.”
“Vizille?”
“It’s not far from Grenoble. Papa had business there and I used to go with him. I don’t want a hue and cry after me starting in Grenoble; I’m too well known in the city. I said my name was Laurent. If anyone questions you, say yours is Petit. You are still the daughter of my friend, so we cannot have the same surname.”
“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 t
he 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 tie 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.
<
br /> 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.
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