Another Small Kingdom (25 page)

Chapter Fifty-one

T
he pistol shot that killed Amélie came at about two in the morning. The noise of the shot woke Macleod who lay on his bed fully dressed. He recognised it at once for what it was and that it had come from the direction of Marie's room.

Given the events of the day, he had taken the precaution of placing a loaded pistol on his bedside table next to a lamp that was turned down as low as possible. He picked up the pistol and the lamp and hurried from his room through the door which he had made sure was left open.

Along the corridor he caught a glimpse of a shaded moving light which he took to be someone about to descend the stairs. Without stopping he raised his pistol and fired. The crash of the pistol shot echoed about the corridor walls but beyond it Macleod could hear boots hurrying down the staircase. Marie's room door was wide open. He threw the discharged pistol to the floor, turned up the lamp and went in. There was a woman's body slumped across the bed with a large dark stain spreading over the back of her dress. Macleod at once recognised the body as that of Amélie. She was sprawled across Marie who was motionless below her. Macleod gently turned Amélie's head. Her dead eyes stared sightlessly at him. He brought the lamp closer and looked at Marie, her eyes were closed. As he looked they flickered and opened.

‘Thank God. I thought you were dead.'

‘Am I wounded? I feel no pain but a weight seems to …'

She looked away from Macleod's face, saw the dead eyes of Amélie staring at her and screamed.

Macleod put the lamp on the bedside table, lifted Amélie's body off Marie and laid it carefully on the floor. Marie was whimpering with fear. Macleod knelt beside her.

‘Marie, it is all over. I am here.'

‘Amélie is dead?'

‘Yes. Can you remember what happened?'

‘I was asleep, there was a noise. I opened my eyes and there was a light. Someone shouted, then an explosion and something hit me. The next thing I remember is you looking at me and then …'

She put her hands to her face.

Macleod stood up and looked at the body on the floor.

‘I must leave you for a moment to reload my pistol. I do not think anyone will return but if they do I will be ready.'

Marie's voice was filled with shock and fear.

‘No, you cannot leave me here. I must come with you. I cannot stay here alone.'

‘Very well.'

Macleod turned his back as Marie got out of bed but instead of putting on her robe she immediately grabbed his arm. He picked up the lamp, and with Marie clinging to him they left the room and Amélie's body. In the corridor he picked up the pistol. Together they went to the stairs. Halfway down there was a landing where the stairs turned and on the landing a window. Macleod stopped and held up his lamp. One of the upper, right-hand panes was shattered, marking where his shot had gone.

Macleod made a silent prayer.

‘Thank God Amélie was more watchful than I and managed to stay awake.'

‘Why do you wait? What are you looking at? You must reload your pistol to protect me.'

They came to the bottom of the stairs, crossed the hall and went into the living room. Macleod went to a small table and lit the lamp that stood there. All he needed to recharge his pistol remained where he had laid it out before retiring on the previous evening.

‘Here, hold this lamp for me.'

Marie took the lamp. There was no need for a second one, but Macleod wanted Marie to be occupied with something, anything. He began to reload his pistol and Marie watched. After a moment she spoke, her voice calmer.

‘What has happened, Jean? Why is Amélie dead? Who was it who killed her?'

‘Amélie must have heard or seen something.'

‘Then why did she not call you, raise an alarm?'

‘I don't know. She must have rushed into your room, got herself between you and the pistol and took the ball that was meant for you. The shot woke me and the assassin knew he had no time for another shot, or time to use a knife, so he ran. I got a shot off at him but missed.' He turned and showed her the loaded, cocked pistol. ‘But now you are safe.'

‘No. I am safe nowhere. I am afraid. I think I will be killed.'

Marie cast her eyes down and suddenly realised she was wearing nothing but her nightdress. Macleod had already noticed.

‘Here, give me the lamp. Now take this pistol and wait. I will go to your room and get you your robe.'

Marie took the pistol and held it with two hands.

‘You will be quick.'

‘I will.'

Macleod left the room, hurried upstairs, found her robe then returned to the living room. He turned his back as Marie put it on.

‘Thank you, Jean, you may turn now.' They stood in silence for a moment, neither sure what to do. Then Macleod picked up the pistol which Marie had put on the table.

‘I will put a chair by the stairs and keep guard. You must go up and try as best you can to rest. This night has been an ordeal for you.'

‘No Jean, I am calm now, and there is Amélie.'

‘Yes, of course, there is Amélie.'

They both stood silent for a moment.

‘Do you think she knew she was giving her life to save mine?'

‘Perhaps, probably. She certainly stayed awake and watchful to see that you came to no harm, thank God.'

‘Poor Amélie. Did she love me so much in so short a time? I think you should put her on my bed. I will sit with her until morning and pray for her soul.'

‘I will watch at the foot of the stairs until daybreak. And this time I will not sleep.'

‘No, Jean, neither of us will sleep any more tonight. Only Amélie. Come.'

And together they mounted the stairs to put Amélie to rest.

Chapter Fifty-two

B
entley arrived at Darcy's rooms, threw off his cloak and hat, snuffed his dark lantern and sat down heavily. Darcy brought him a brandy which he took gratefully and swallowed.

‘By God I needed that.' He held out the glass. ‘Macleod must have had a pistol by him. He got a shot at me and damn near took my head off.'

Darcy almost dropped the glass he'd taken.

‘He saw you?'

‘Don't be alarmed. He saw someone. He cannot know it was me.'

Darcy went and poured another brandy.

‘If he had a pistol by him do you think he knew you were coming?'

Bentley took a drink.

‘I don't see how he could. Maybe he was being cautious. That visit from Melford and the de Metz woman would have rattled him. It certainly rattled me.'

‘But you got her?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Don't know!'

‘I hit someone, but I fear it may have been that old French scold of a housekeeper.'

‘My God, what did you do, rouse the house when you arrived?'

Bentley finished his drink.

‘I got in through the back, went upstairs and found her room all right, but the old woman must have heard me.'

‘The housekeeper, not Macleod?'

‘No. If he was close he must have been asleep, but she was obviously sitting up listening somewhere.'

‘But why? You say Macleod had a pistol by him. If so, why put an old crock of a woman on guard and go to sleep yourself? It makes no sense.'

‘No, no sense at all but there she was. Before I could get a shot off she rushed in, cannoned into me and I dropped the damned lantern. I got my shot away but which one I hit, if either, I couldn't say and I didn't think it was wise to stay and find out. I got my lantern and ran. Macleod was up at once and nearly put a ball in my skull when I was on the stairs. In the dark it was a damn fine shot even to come close.'

Both men sat in silence.

‘Well, Bentley, you're the brains in this. If you killed her, all well and good. But if you missed, if she's still alive, what do we do now?'

‘The British seem to want her, so first and foremost we must make sure they don't take her.' Bentley held out the empty glass. ‘Get me another, then set out writing materials. If she's still alive I must send at once for someone, someone who won't miss.'

Chapter Fifty-three

T
he night had passed. Marie had dressed and come downstairs soon after day-break and insisted on going into Amélie's kitchen to make coffee. They sat together at the table in the living room, Macleod's pistol by his cup.

‘The question is, will they try again and, if so, when? You were right, Marie, and I see now that I was wrong. You are not safe here in Boston, not safe even here in my house. You are still in great danger and it seems that I alone cannot protect you. Fool that I am, I realise at last that you will remain in great danger wherever you are until this whole business is finished one way or the other. These people can reach across the Atlantic as if it was just the other side of some street in London or Paris.'

‘But if that is so where can we go? There must be somewhere, somewhere I can be safe.'

‘First you must tell me all you know. If I am to help you I must know what this is all about.'

‘You are right, my danger has become your danger. I will tell you and then we will decide what it is best to do. There is a plot as you know and, as Madame de Metz said, it originates in Paris from the office of Monsieur Fouché, who is head of their police. It is aimed, of course, at the British, to weaken them in their war against France. It is aimed at the British but it is to be carried out here in America. Fouché plans to make America into a kingdom, but a kingdom controlled from Paris.'

Macleod couldn't believe what he was hearing.

‘That's madness. How could anyone turn our Republic into a kingdom? It couldn't be done.'

‘Oh, but it could. There are important people in America who have agreed to work with Fouché, people with money and people high in your Government. That his plan has gone so far should already show you how clever this Fouché is.'

‘You mean there are traitors, traitors even in our own Government?'

‘How else could it be done? St Clair was a part of the plan and wanted to tell people what a great man he was, but of course that was impossible. So he talked of it to my husband. He boasted how clever Fouché was and how stupid the Americans. De Valois laughed when St Clair laughed but did not comprehend, he was too stupid to understand. That I might hear did not bother them. I was a woman, a doll, nobody. I was invisible. But I understood, and I understood that what I heard was my chance of freedom, so I listened. It was as if I was in the schoolroom again, learning my lessons. I sat in a corner, sewing, listening and remembering. There is a natural antagonism in your country, the North and the South. The North has factories, the South has plantations. The North is for barbarians, the South is for gentlemen. The South must have slaves, the North opposes slavery. There are other things which I didn't understand, things to do with your politics.

‘The plan is simple but very clever. Fouché's agents are well placed to see that the North and the South can be brought to the point of civil war. When they are at each other's throats and know they cannot draw back, a group of men will step forward. They will talk of the horror of civil war, the certain disaster that awaits all unless a solution can be found, they will propose the one plan that could avert such a calamity. They will put forward a man who can be trusted by both sides. A man who has served his country, a man who has held high positions, positions of trust, untouched by loyalty to North or South, whose loyalty is to America alone. They will ask him to form a government, a temporary government to find a way forward and avoid civil war.'

‘Which man?'

‘I do not know.'

‘But how will one man achieve what Fouché wants?'

‘Because that man will say that a Republic has been tried and has failed, the only way forward is to establish a monarchy, to put on the throne a king, a ruler in name only but one who will be above all politics. A government which served such a king could lead the country back from the abyss. It will be a temporary kingdom only, he will say. When the time is right the king will be invited to step down and the Republic restored. Of course this king will choose a government of Fouché's agents and once in power they will keep power. They will establish an alliance with France and Fouché will have what he wanted, an ally across the Atlantic to threaten the British.'

Macleod thought for a moment then shook his head.

‘No. It couldn't happen. America would never let things get to the point of civil war. To think so is sheer madness.'

‘I think Monsieur Fouché would disagree with you. The Governor of New Orleans answers to Paris and allows Fouché's agents to provoke unrest. They stir up the slavery problem and do many other things. The plan is real, the plan is working and unless the British do something to stop it, the plan will succeed.'

‘The British! Why the British? If you know who these traitors are we must go to the American Government. Once they know what is happening and who is involved they will stop this treason. We must go to the Government. You must give them the names.'

‘I cannot.'

‘Yes you can. Forget the British, forget the money. For your own safety and mine, for the safety of America you must.'

‘I cannot.'

‘Damn it, Marie, I have risked my life for you. How can you now …'

‘But, Jean, you don't understand. I know of the plot, what it is, how it works, but I do not have the names of your traitors. I saw names on letters in the satchel but only briefly. How could I remember them? I have no names to give to the American Government, I have no names to give anyone, only what I know about the plot.'

The full meaning of Marie's words sank in.

‘My God. But don't you understand, without names your information is useless to us.'

‘No, Jean, I know the plot, I can tell them all …'

‘Tell who? How would you know who to tell? If, as you say, Fouché has agents high up in Government, who could you trust?'

Suddenly it dawned on Macleod that what he was pointing out to Marie applied just as well to himself. Who could he trust? He had given his papers to Jeremiah Jones, and Bentley said they had been used to identify a murdered man as himself. If true what did that mean? Bentley said he worked for the Government, but which Government, the true one or the treasonable Government-in-waiting? As Macleod thought about it he became aware that there was now no one, literally no one, he could trust with Marie's information, not even the General. He and Marie were completely isolated in a world of secrets, lies, intrigue and murder and, if he believed in Marie's plot, helpless while his beloved Republic was being eaten away from within.

‘Marie, if what you say is true, then we are on our own. There is no one we can trust but each other.'

‘But the British, they will help us surely? If we go to Madame de Metz and Lord Melford they will listen and reward us. They will make us safe.'

‘What do you really know of Madame de Metz?'

‘She was accepted in New Orleans. I never thought to question who she was. I suppose it was the same with others.'

‘What if Madame de Metz really works for Fouché? What if she was sent to spy on St Clair? Maybe Fouché was worried he might become careless. We know that he had become careless. What if she decided that St Clair had become a risk? What if she even found out that he had been careless in talk in front of you?'

‘Well?'

‘She would silence him and then try to silence you. We were followed from New Orleans and an attempt was made on your life at Charleston. We arrive here and she is waiting for us, and tonight there is another attempt on your life. Would you still say we can trust what Madame de Metz chooses to tell us about herself?'

‘But this man Bentley, you say you know him. Can he help us?'

‘No, I find I don't know Bentley at all.'

Marie sat silent for a moment, thinking.

‘Then it is as you say, Jean, we are alone.'

‘Alone unless we find the names and then we will know who we can go to. You are sure you have no names, not even one?'

‘No, none. Except,' she paused, ‘except perhaps one.'

‘Thank God, what is it?'

‘It will be no good to us.'

‘Tell me anyway, anything is better than nothing.'

‘I only heard it once.'

‘And it was?'

‘Cardinal Henry Stuart, Bishop of Frascati.'