Secrets of the Fearless

by Elizabeth Laird

  ‘Yes.’

  He couldn’t tell her that Mr Erskine had refused to take her.

  He began to walk back towards the front of the chateau. To his relief, she walked quietly alongside him, and he saw that already she was beginning to stride like a boy.

  ‘I have nothing with me,’ she said, sounding worried. ‘No money, no clothes, only this stupid ball gown. How can I go on board dressed like this? Everyone would know my secret. I’d never be able to become a boy again.’

  ‘Don’t think of that now. The important thing is to get safely away from here.’

  They had reached the corner of the road. Ahead were the twin spires of the old cathedral and the open square in front of the chateau. In spite of the lateness of the hour, dozens of people were standing about, staring up at the brilliantly lit windows and listening to the dance music. Soldiers stood on guard, their drawn swords gleaming in the torchlight, waiting for the wife of their emperor to leave.

  ‘Wait here,’ John said softly, pushing Kit back into a shadowy doorway.

  He walked up to the grand entrance, through which he had passed so easily hours earlier in the wake of Mme de Montsegard. A soldier barred his way.

  John struggled to find words, wanting to explain that he was a servant of one of the guests, but his French deserted him. He shrugged and stepped back. He could watch for Mr Erskine just as well from here.

  Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He spun round.

  ‘I thought I’d lost you again, young John Barr,’ Mr Erskine said. ‘You have a great talent for disappearing. I’ve been dragging my anchor out here for the last quarter of an hour.’

  Relief washed over John.

  ‘Oh, sir, I was afraid we’d . . . I’d missed you.’

  ‘And I was afraid we’d be caught here in the doldrums, missing tonight’s tide. Come on, now. We must be off.’

  ‘Please, Mr Erskine . . .’

  ‘What is it now?’

  John swallowed.

  ‘It’s Kit. She’s here. With me. Her grandmother and uncle have arrived. She’s had to run away. She has to come with us, sir. She’s . . .’

  Mr Erskine’s scarred face puckered irritably.

  ‘I though I’d made it clear to you. No young ladies. Get going now. There’s no time to lose.’

  John folded his arms.

  ‘I can’t come with you, then, sir. I’m sorry. I can’t leave Kit in the trouble she’s in. She’s . . . he’s my shipmate, sir.’

  Mr Erskine’s tone hardened.

  ‘John Barr, you are now under naval discipline. You are to come with me this instant, or I’ll have you posted a deserter.’

  ‘Then post me, sir. I’ll not leave without her.’

  ‘You young fool . . .’

  Kit, flying on slippered feet across the flagstones, suddenly appeared between them.

  ‘Mr Erskine! Oh, I’ll never deny that there are miracles again! You have come in time, sir, just in time to save me. My uncle will stop at nothing. He means to murder me. I saw it in his eyes.’

  ‘Mlle . . . Catherine . . . Kit!’ For the first and only time since John had known him, Mr Erskine seemed lost for words. Kit had taken hold of his arm, and in the light of the thousand candles streaming from the chateau’s windows, John saw the beaming joy in her dark eyes, and he watched as Mr Erskine’s expression began to soften and a rueful smile touched his lips.

  ‘Oh, what the devil. In for a penny, in for a pound. You are a baggage, miss. I hope you remember how to row. There’s a long pull ahead of us back to the ship.’

  ‘To row? Of course I remember, sir! I’ll row the whole way. I’ll make the boat fly – you’ll see!’

  Mr Erskine had already set off, covering the flagstones with his long stride. The others had to trot to keep up with him.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Erskine, sir,’ Kit said breathlessly, ‘the quay, it is over there. We are going further into town.’

  ‘I know that. We must pass by my cousin’s house to pick up my bundle. He’ll give me a change of clothes for you. I’m a fool to take a young woman back to the Fearless with me. I’d be a madman to do so with one dressed in what is – if I may say so – an exceedingly elegant ball gown. Now keep up, the pair of you, and no more chattering.’

  John felt Kit’s hand take hold of his. He looked down at her, and she smiled back at him, her eyes sparkling with triumph and gratitude.

  The dark narrow streets of Bordeaux seemed to close around them. Mr Erskine, pausing once or twice to check his way, walked fast ahead. Here and there, through the darkness, a stray gleam of light shone on a mask-like stone face, grinning down from above a doorway, between closely shuttered windows. The only sound was the ring of their feet on the cobbles. Once, a cat yowled as it streaked out from beneath them, making John and Kit jump. They saw and heard no human beings.

  Mr Erskine stopped at last at a heavy doorway and knocked quietly. A shutter upstairs creaked open.

  ‘Qui est là?’ someone called out softly.

  ‘It’s me, your cousin,’ Mr Erskine answered.

  A moment later the door opened, and Mr Erskine’s cousin appeared in nightgown and nightcap, a candle in his hand.

  ‘You’re a late owl tonight,’ he said yawning. ‘Enjoy the ball? Why, who’s this with you?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Daniel. There’s no time for the full tale.’ Mr Erskine had bundled John and Kit inside. ‘Listen, man, we must away tonight. We must leave at once. My mission’s done.’

  ‘With these two?’ His cousin, now fully awake, stared in surprise.

  ‘Yes. Can you do me one last favour, my dear cousin? This young lady needs more suitable attire – a boy’s clothes. You have something that will do?’

  His cousin burst out laughing.

  ‘Boy’s clothes? Why, what a shame it would be to hide such charming . . .’

  ‘Daniel, please! There’s no time to lose. Will you do as I ask?’

  ‘What devils you naval fellows are!’ Mr Erskine’s cousin said, shaking his head in amusement. ‘All these fits and starts and secret goings-on. But I shall play my part, poor dull wine merchant that I am. A costume shall be found. At once. And horses. You’ll need horses to take you to my warehouse, where my little boat’s concealed. I shall saddle up a pair myself.’

  A surprisingly short time produced a transformation in Kit. She had stepped into the nearest room a beautiful young woman in an exquisite ball gown. She emerged a boy, roughly clad in breeches, a loose shirt and a leather waistcoat. Her feet were bare. She had pulled out the pins that held the curls on the top of her head and was matter-of-factly plaiting her long hair into a sailor’s pigtail.

  John watched the change with bemusement. In front of his eyes, Catherine was disappearing, and Kit was coming back. He was relieved. He could forget the complicated feelings that Catherine had aroused in him and simply enjoy being with Kit again. And yet, as Kit turned and pulled a funny face at him, he felt an unexpected sense of loss. Catherine had disturbed and perplexed him, but she had thrilled and charmed him too.

  Catherine’s still there, he thought, watching the girlish grace of her movements as she rolled up her ball gown and tied it into a bundle. I suppose she’ll never quite be simply Kit for me again.

  They were ready to leave. Mr Erskine’s cousin, still in his pink flannel nightcap, had brought a pair of horses, ready saddled, from the stable at the rear of his house to the side door. As she stepped out into the yard, Kit turned to shake hands with him.

  ‘I am so grateful to you, sir,’ she said, ‘but will you do one last thing for me?’

  She was a girl still, pleading and flirtatious. He could not help responding.

  ‘What is that, my dear?’

  ‘Could you somehow send a message to Betsy, Betsy Fletcher, at Jalignac? She’s the servant there. Just to let her know that I am well and safe, that I’m with John and that we’ve returned to the Fearless. Tell her that I’ll come back when I can. She mustn’t worry about me.
I won’t come home till my birthday’s past. She’ll understand. The message is for Betsy, and no one else, please, sir.’

  Mr Erskine was already in the saddle.

  ‘Daniel, I’m devilish grateful to you. The boat’s under the willows at Pauillac? I remember the place. We’ll leave the horses in the stable there. Mount, John, and take the reins. Catherine, you’ll have to ride behind him. Come quickly! It’ll be light in a few hours. There’s no time to lose.’

  Chapter Thirty-three

  It was a hard, fast ride to Pauillac, some miles downstream from Bordeaux and halfway to the sea. Mr Erskine rode ahead, pushing his horse fast, looking over his shoulder from to time to time to make sure that the second horse, with its double burden, was keeping up. The moon had risen, fortunately, turning the long, straight, dusty road into a silver ribbon ahead of them.

  It was two hours before they were finally able to slide down from their saddles. They were standing on the banks of the Gironde, at the entrance to the courtyard of a small warehouse that fronted the river.

  ‘Down there, below the willows,’ Mr Erskine said quietly. ‘My cousin’s boat is hidden under the branches. Bring her round to the steps below the warehouse. I’ll see to the horses.’

  A moment later, they were on board the little rowing boat. The air was cool now, and a chill breeze ruffled the surface of the water. Kit shivered. John took off his footman’s coat and draped it round her shoulders.

  ‘It’s too tight for me, anyway,’ he muttered, embarrassed by his own gallantry. ‘I can’t row in this thing.’

  Mr Erskine had already cast off from the bank. John, who had taken the oars, rowed with short seaman’s strokes into the fast-flowing current as the falling tide sucked the great river down towards the sea.

  They were silent as the bank receded. John, rowing hard, felt his wound twinge in his side with the unaccustomed exercise.

  ‘A quarter of an hour each,’ Mr Erskine said softly. ‘We’ll take it in turns. We must get past the point at the river mouth and be well out to sea before dawn. There are gun batteries at the point, and the sentries there are always alert. They’ll try to blow us out of the water if they see us.’

  ‘The moonlight, sir,’ panted John. ‘Won’t they see us anyway?’

  Mr Erskine pointed to a bank of clouds that was billowing up from the horizon. As John looked, he saw a flicker of lightning spark between them, and a moment later, above the gurgle and splash of water, came a faint roll of thunder.

  ‘Storm’s blowing up,’ Mr Erskine said. ‘It may save us if it gets to us in time.’

  ‘Or it’ll sink us,’ Kit said cheerfully.

  ‘That’s right, my girl,’ Mr Erskine said severely. ‘Keep our spirits up, do.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir. Sorry, sir.’

  They rowed in silence for the next hour, changing round each fifteen minutes. Though the river was running fast, the bank seemed to slide by with cruel slowness.

  John had fallen into a lethargy, lulled by the steady rhythm of Mr Erskine at the oars, when a shot rang out, making him leap with fright. From the massive hulk of what he had assumed to be a derelict warship, a guttural voice commanded them to heave to, in the name of the emperor.

  Without a second’s pause, Kit shouted back, thickening her voice to assume the local dialect. The man hesitated, then issued an unmistakable command, but Kit’s quick answer brought a shout of laughter from him.

  ‘Allez-y, mademoiselle,’ he called. ‘And trust me. I won’t report you to your father!’

  ‘Whatever did you say to him?’ John murmured, when they were out of earshot.

  ‘You’d blush if I told you,’ she said, ‘so I won’t.’

  ‘Well done, young woman,’ Mr Erskine said approvingly, resting for a moment on the oars. ‘Damned if I’m not delighted to have brought you with us after all.’

  They conversed in low voices after that. The river was broadening all the time, and they were out now in the centre of the channel, rowing swiftly downstream, safely out of earshot of either bank. At Mr Erskine’s prompting, John and Kit went over in as much detail as they could remember the conversation they’d overheard in the fisherman’s hut, when Mr Higgins had handed over the code book.

  ‘The comte de St Voir?’ Mr Erskine said thoughtfully. ‘You’re sure it was him?’

  ‘Quite sure, sir. I recognized his voice and then I saw him talking to Mr Creech and Mr Halkett. I couldn’t have been mistaken.’

  ‘That is very useful information. Very useful indeed. M. de St Voir is a gentleman to watch. The word will be passed to our contacts in Paris. But I can scarcely credit what you tell me of Mr Higgins. The Fearless’s own bosun’s mate! Actually taking money to murder one of his ship’s boys! I knew the fellow was a rascal, but a hired assassin! This beats everything.’

  ‘He’ll have the chance now, won’t he, with John back on board?’ Kit said anxiously.

  ‘You can leave our Mr Higgins to me,’ Mr Erskine said grimly. ‘He’ll be rendered as a harmless as a newborn babe. What puzzles me, Catherine, is how to deal with you.’

  ‘If I could just return to Mr Tawse, as his servant . . .’ Kit began.

  ‘It’s out of the question. You passed as a boy before, I grant you, and you were adept at effacing yourself. Even so, it was a miracle that you were not discovered. The captain won’t be prepared to countenance such a deception again.’

  ‘It’s only till January, sir. Five months away. As soon as I’ve turned fourteen, I’ll be out of my uncle’s power. By the terms of my father’s will, my estates – everything – will come to me then. The empress herself assured me that she would interest herself in the matter.’

  ‘That’s as may be.’ Mr Erskine’s voice was dry. ‘The Fearless, however, is not a haven of rescue for persecuted young French ladies. It is, may I remind you, a warship engaged on a serious mission of national importance on whom many lives depend.’

  ‘Sir, that is . . . that’s unjust!’ John burst out, trying to restrain his anger. ‘Kit’s not . . . well, she is a young lady, but much more than that! She rescued us both, back at the fishermen’s hut, when those men were about to capture us. If they’d caught us, they’d have realized that their plotting was discovered and that the code book was now known to us. It would have been useless to our government. And just now, you saw yourself, we’d never have got past the sentry if Kit hadn’t been so quick.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Mr Erskine sounded a little irritated. ‘His Majesty owes a debt to Mlle de Jalignac, I agree. It’s what to do for the best now that puzzles me.’

  ‘Well, sir,’ Kit said tentatively, ‘I have been thinking about it myself. I thought – I wondered – I have learned quite a bit from Betsy, my old nurse, about caring for the wounded. When I was in the sickbay, I saw how very . . . well, how careless and rough the orderlies are, working under Mr Catskill. The sickbay is out of the way of the rest of the ship. I would hardly be noticed there. I could make myself useful, and Mr Catskill knows my secret anyway.’

  John was taking the oars from Mr Erskine as she spoke.

  ‘A possible solution to a tricky problem,’ Mr Erskine said, easing his stiff shoulders. ‘Though all such decisions lie with the captain. Ah! Here it comes!’

  They had been rowing for several hours now, and the clouds, gathering pace as they rolled across the sky, were low overhead, though they had not yet engulfed the moon, which was sinking towards the horizon. The first drops of rain, round and heavy as peas, were already spitting down. A moment later, they were pelting out of the sky, flattening the choppy water on each side of the boat and soaking instantly through its occupants’ clothes. Then the clouds at last obscured the moon, and they were in darkness.

  Mr Erskine had been anxiously looking about, taking advantage of the last of the moonlight.

  ‘Not very much further to the point,’ he said, raising his voice above the hissing rain. ‘We’re almost there. This rain’s a godsend if we can keep a straight course. An
other half-mile or so, and we should be able to see the light from the lighthouse. The Fearless is lying two degrees north of it. It’s a hard pull till we reach her, but the tide’s still in our favour, and . . .’

  A gust of wind tore the words from his mouth, and the cravat from his neck. A wave, seemingly rising from nowhere, smacked against the side of the little boat, dousing the three of them with a shock of cold salt spray. The smooth waters of the Gironde had met the turbulence of the storm-driven sea.

  It was impossible to speak after that. The sudden summer tempest ripped across the mouth of the river with furious intensity. The little boat, which had seemed a sturdy craft on the calm fresh water, now felt horribly frail, bobbing like a cork in this wild, wet, dark world.

  ‘Keep her steady! Keep rowing!’ Mr Erskine roared at John.

  John, gritting his teeth, worked at the oars till his muscles felt as if they would crack. Sometimes, when the boat rode high on a wave, the oars sawed through nothing but air. A moment later, the little craft would be at the bottom of a deep trough and he was afraid that the next surge would swamp them.

  ‘The light, sir! I can see the lighthouse!’ Kit called out.

  ‘Good girl. Hard to larboard, John. And keep her on a straight course.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir!’

  He struggled on, shaking the rain from his hair like a dog when it leaps from a pond to the land.

  ‘We’re shipping water!’ he heard Kit call out. ‘I think we’ve sprung a leak!’

  ‘The devil we have,’ muttered Mr Erskine. He ducked down and started to feel along the bottom of the boat. ‘It’s no good. I can’t make out where the water’s coming in. It’s too dark to see my own hands. There are bailers under the bow seat. Fetch ’em out. John, give me the oars. You two, bail like the Furies.’

  The water had already risen up to John’s feet and was lapping round his buckled shoes.

  It’ll be by drowning, then, he thought, quite calmly. Not from a wound, or in battle. I’m to die by drowning.

  He felt oddly detached from the idea. It wouldn’t be so bad. It wouldn’t hurt, anyway.