The Twisted Sword (27 page)

He ate at the Royal Standard, alone this time. Jason was still working on board the Adolphus, and Clowance was visiting her Aunt Verity. Relations had been strained between him and his wife since his decision. Almost for the first time she had refused his caresses, as if trying to register her protest, make it clear, unconfused by physical contact. It would pass; he was sure it would pass when his adventure turned out to be the success he knew it was going to be. He knew she was not taking any stiff moral attitude, rather that she thought the risks too high and altogether unnecessary. He had wondered whether to bother to make the tiresome journey to Plymouth - where, he had heard, the press gang was out again - merely to obtain a Letter of Marque. But without it he was a pirate, with it he was legally entitled to board and capture; he must go. Eating at the next table from him was Captain Robert Buller, the tough, sturdy, middle-aged packet captain of the Queen Charlotte, refitted now and ready to sail on the New York run on Friday. Not an approachable man but a tough, fair-minded seasoned sailor who had made enough money to build himself a substantial house on the newly burgeoning sea front of the town. He knew Stephen and nodded when they passed; Stephen's recent approach to him on behalf of Jason had not apparently been resented.

'Hope this fair weather keeps up over the weekend,'

Stephen volunteered. 'You're sailing Friday, Cap'n?'

'Aye,' said Buller, picking his teeth.

'Full complement, I suppose?'

'Aye.'

The nephew I decided to keep with me for the time being. He's young yet. Bit more sea experience before he aspires to the Packet Service.'

'Maybe,' said Buller and took a swig of ale.

'There's a man I know,' said Stephen; 'used to be in the Packet Service, first officer, I believe, or second officer, cannot remember. Opted out. Much regrets it now. Very capable man. Still pretty young. I believe he would like to return to the service, if he had the chance.'

'Name?' said Buller, still busy with a tooth.

'Blarney.'

Someone was shouting at the other end of the room, something about Death to the Frenchies.

'Blarney? Andrew Blarney's son?'

'Just so.'

'Went missing, didn't he? Countess of Leicester. Couple of years ago, wasn't it?'

Stephen was surprised at the memory. 'He was in dire straits at the time. Trouble with the moneylenders. You know. If he'd stayed he would have gone to gaol. That's all changed now. A changed man. He'd give his ears to be back in the Packet Service again.'

'What's he been doing since?'

'Sailed with me on a couple of voyages. First-class man. Has just brought me other brig home from Oslo with a cargo of timber and saddlery. He's always regretted leaving the Packet Service, I can tell ye.'

Captain Buller pushed his plate away. 'Gaming and drinking, no doubt, that was his trouble. They say his father was too fond of the bottle once. That was before my time.'

'Never touches it now.'

'Who? The father or the son?'

'Both,' said Stephen, lying in a good cause. 'But young Andrew never did drink at sea. Couldn't fault him at sea.'

'Don't know what Captain Faulkner said. Never spoke to him about it'

'Countess of Leicester's in Jamaica, if all's well.' 'I know that,' said Buller irritably. Stephen hesitated. But he was never one to be easily put off. 'I hear they're pressing men in Plymouth. I'm off there meself tomorrow so I shall have to watch out! I'm going to get me a Letter of Marque. I've already written about it.'

'Oh, aye, I heard tell of this. No trouble finding your crew, eh? Make sure they're not all tinners!'

Stephen laughed and ordered another glass of ale for Buller. They sat listening to conversation around them.

'Now the war's on again,' said Stephen, 'good crews will be hard to get. Experienced young officers specially. I've invited young Blarney to come with me on Adolphus but he hasn't answered finally yet. I don't think he will come.'

'Why not?'

'He has a fancy for the navy.'

Buller grunted, but it was hard to be sure whether it was a grunt of approval.

'Privateering's a fly-by-night job,' he said presently. 'You toss a card: a quick gain or a quick loss.'

'There's more skill than that in it, Captain Buller. Seamanship and guts.'

'Oh I'll give you guts. Guts and blood. Still, if you've the fancy for it, I wish you luck.'

'Thanks ... Shall I tell Blarney to come and see you?'

The famous eyebrows came together. 'What for?'

'I thought if he had the chance he'd better prefer to return to the Packet Service than go in the navy. They'd jump at him, of course.'

Buller finished his beer. 'Well, I shall not jump at him. But I tell you frankly, Carrington, I could find room for a reliable young officer. If he really means what he says and is prepared to sail Friday eve, I'll see him if he presents himself at my house at eleven tomorrow.'

V

Andrew had called in to see Clowance again when Stephen burst in upon them. Andrew had stayed late at Cardew yesterday playing cards and at length had been persuaded to spend the night. He had passed the early part of the evening with Thomasine, who was warm and sympathetic about his plight. On departure this morning Harriet had charged him with a message for Clowance, which was to say that Sir George was leaving for London tomorrow and would she care to come and visit her one day soon?

'Where the hell have you been?' Stephen demanded. It could have been more tactfully phrased, but his goodwill had turned to frustration as it looked as if his efforts to help Andrew were going down the drain. Andrew had a thick head and was only just coming to. He flushed and said: 'What's that to you?'

'I've been seeking for you everywhere - as if I'd not enough to do minding me own business! I even sent over to Flushing to see if you were there.'

'Shouldn't you do just that,' said Andrew. 'Mind your own business?'

Clowance put a hand on his arm. 'Stephen, you wanted Andrew? Was it something special?'

'I thought it was something special,' said Stephen roughly. 'I saw Captain Buller last eve and persuaded him that Andrew would like to return to the Packet Service. He said he needs an officer for his first trip to New York, leaving Friday. He said if Andrew went to see him at eleven this morning he'd mebbe engage him.'

Clowance looked at the clock. 'But it is past eleven now! Where did he want to see him? At his house? Andrew ..."

Her burly cousin rubbed his chin, which had not been shaven this morning. 'Avast, I don't remember ever saying I wanted to go back to the Service. Let me settle my own life in my own way, Stephen!'

Clowance said: 'But, Andrew, it might be a solution! It it would give you more standing with the Trevethans ... if that's what you want. You'd go back as an officer, lose nothing for having been away two years. And your father and mother would be delighted!'

Andrew shrugged. You don't live your life to please your father and mother.' He looked at Stephen without favour. 'Where did you meet Buller? I expect he was in his cups.'

Stephen turned away. 'Well, it's up to you, boy. Take it or leave it. Mebbe it's leave it anyhow, as he said eleven and ye couldn't be there until a quarter before twelve. So forget it, if ye've the mind to.'

'Your pony's outside,' Clowance said to Andrew. 'It would take you no more than fifteen minutes. You could explain to him you had been away for the night and only just returned. What is there to lose?'

'If he said no, nothing. If he said yes, I have to ask myself, do I want it?'

'Well, I've no more time to waste,' said Stephen in disgust. 'If ye want me, Clowance, I'm aboard the Adolphus.'

'Stephen, it was a kind thought,' said Clowance. 'Thank you. When Andrew is in a better mood perhaps he will thank you too.'

Stephen patted her cheek and went out. They could hear his hard boots clattering up the street. After a moment Andrew suddenly laughed. 'God damn, I'll go and see. I've only met Buller twice and twice he's growled at me like a mangey old dog, but he's a good seaman, I'll say that. Faulkner always spoke well of him. And he don't change his crew much ... New York ... Hm ... not a bad run, so I'm told. Wonder if all the American privateers have heard about the peace yet.'

'Go on if you're going.' Clowance took his arm. 'Do not let the chance go by default.'

Andrew stared down at his jacket. 'Spilt some wine down it last evening. Hope it don't show. Anyway, they're my best togs. I wonder if Buller was serious? You know how Stephen can think something has happened when he wants it to happen? I suspicion that when I get up there I shall be turned away at the door.'

Clowance had been fearing the same thing. 'Well, you won't ever know if you don't try. And don't underrate Stephen. Sometimes he can work wonders ... Anyway I am very obliged to him for doing this.'

They went to the door together. Andrew said: 'You know, it was fortunate you asked me to keep quiet on what Stephen was about. Late last night, when all the girls had gone to bed, a fat little man - oldish man - sat down next to me, began to talk - Blencowe, he said his name was - thought he was a servant at first. Says he has a son in the navy, asked me a lot of questions about what sort of a life it was. Then, after a while Stephen Carrington's name came up, and he said he knew him and admired him and what sort of man was he to work for? And so on. And so on. Might have been trying to pump me. You know.'

'And you said nothing?' Clowance asked.

'Can't remember exactly what I did say - one gets a bit fuddled late at night. But I can promise you I told him nothing about Stephen's plans for the Adolphus.'

VI

Corporal Julien Lemerre, being preoccupied with thoughts of the girl he had met in the village last night, was slow to notice his colleague's late return. Corporal Charles Bernard always took the breakfast up at eight and normally was back by twenty minutes past. At fifteen minutes before nine Lemerre swore and stirred himself to walk up the two flights of stairs and along the corridor to the room where Captain Sir Ross Poldark would normally be eating his breakfast - indeed by now should have finished it. The door of the room was open, which anyway was against regulations. Lemerre went in and saw the breakfast was untouched. Corporal Bernard was sitting in a chair bound and gagged. There was not much need for conversation. Lemerre took a knife from his pocket and hacked at Bernard's bonds until he was free. Then he ran out of the room, down the stairs, and pulled the alarm bell.

June 4th was a public holiday in Paris. It was a day of celebration and re-dedication to the imperial power of Bonaparte. Thirty-six fountains provided free wine in the Champs-Elysees, huge trestle tables offered food to all, open air displays had been arranged, with military bands, fire-eaters, tight-rope walkers, conjurers and magicians. With sunset came a great concert in front of the Palace of the Tuileries, and afterwards a firework display, showing the ship on which Napoleon had landed on the French coast on the 1st March. The Emperor himself watched it all benevolently from a balcony. A week later he left Paris to join his army at Avesnes. His army consisted of 125,000 men, with 350 guns. It was organized into seven army corps; a homogeneous mass of eager and angry and courageous Frenchmen, fanatically devoted to their Emperor and aware that they must conquer or die. The Prussian army under Marshal Blucher amounted to 115,000 men and 290 guns; it consisted of four army corps and occupied Charleroi and the country east with outposts as far as Namur. The mixed army under the Duke of Wellington consisted of 105,000 men and 200 guns. About one third were British, of which 12,000 were his veterans of the Peninsular War, the rest untried and under-trained. Scattered among the various divisions of the army were about 20,000 Dutch-Belgian troops, so scattered that the British elements could help to stiffen them. The rest were made up of 5,500 first class troops of the King's German Legion, a quantity of Brunswickers and Hanoverians, five Nassau battalions and a Netherland Indian brigade. This army guarded Brussels and the country to the west, particularly the road from
Mons.
The Prussian and British armies, by the nature of the distances their defences were stretched to cover, were too far apart to be in touch with each other and contact was only maintained by means of messengers carrying scribbled notes across the intervening thirty-four miles. On the 7th June, before he left Paris, Napoleon issued instructions that dropped a blanket of iron secrecy over the movements of his army. All frontiers along the Sambre, the Moselle, the Rhine were sealed. No stagecoaches were allowed to travel. Every wagon was intercepted, every traveller held and searched. Only his own agents moved, spreading false reports wherever suitable, even as far as Brussels.

It was into this countryside that Ross Poldark, having broken out and stolen a horse, had to make his way in the hope of reaching the British positions.

II

He'd been lucky at the beginning. He had reckoned on a maximum of fifteen minutes; in fact it was nearly forty before the alarm bell sounded. First there was the knife, the pouch with the small change, the keys, which Corporal Bernard had unwillingly loaned him, then a flight of stairs and cupboard where spare uniforms were kept; a tunic and a hat were all he had time for; another flight and a door where the other corporal was supping coffee with his feet up; past that and into the courtyard. General and Mme Wirion, he knew, always went to mass on Sunday mornings at eight: it was worth the risk. The third key he tried let him into the General's house which was on the corner of the courtyard. A woman stared at him, hand to mouth, as he came into the living quarters. A cloak, a better pair of boots, two silver candlesticks, a pistol without cartridges, a map, no money to be seen anywhere, some bread and cheese and a bottle of wine; he let himself out of the front door and into the street. Two old women pushing a handcart, a lad kicking a stone; the stables were round the corner. He chose a pony which was nearest to hand, saddled him, grabbed a nosebag to hold his possessions, was leading the pony into the street as someone shouted from the back of the stables. Then it was all straightforward - for the time being. He took his direction from the sun until he came to the River Meuse, then began to follow it downstream towards the north. It was good weather, warm, with an occasional thundershower. The road kept to the left bank of the river, sometimes leaving it for a few miles as the river described a deep narrow winding arc, then rejoining it. There were a few peasants in the fields, an occasional ragged traveller on the road or a child driving a few sheep; he kept a sharp watch behind but there was no obvious sign of pursuit. He felt conspicuous on his pony, his legs too long; but no one seemed to take any notice at all. Only once on that first day did he hurriedly dismount and lead his pony into a copse while a troop of cavalry clattered past. He spent the first night under some willows, his pony contentedly chewing grass and dozing by the light of a sinking moon. Early on the second morning he came to a village and spent some of his few coins buying bread and cheese and butter and another bottle of wine. The shopkeeper, looking at his hat and tunic, asked if he was going to join his regiment, and Ross said yes, hoping that no one would remark his broken accent. Nobody did. The shopkeeper wished him luck and told him to make haste. 'The Little Father must not be kept waiting. He is ready to strike.'

It puzzled Ross that there was still no sign of pursuit. Perhaps there was no one to send. France was in turmoil. The armed forces worshipped Napoleon and would follow him to death or victory; but a large proportion of the people longed for peace and a quiet existence. Who knew what General Wirion's private thoughts were? And what in any case did it matter that one middle-aged Englishman should be at liberty when the destiny of Europe was shortly to be decided? On the morning of the second day he came upon a town of a fair size (General Wirion's map had been discarded, as it did not cover so far north), but emboldened by the total lack of interest people were taking in a lonely, ragged, ill-dressed soldier, he rode straight in and by luck found the kind of little shop that he was seeking. There he sold the silver candlesticks and the pistol, and the boots, which were too small for him. The one valuable item of his personal belongings he had been able to retain throughout his captivity was the gold watch that had belonged to his father. When planning his escape he had decided to sell this to provide him with the money to sustain him on his flight, but when it came to the point he chose not to. The items he had filched from General Wirion would see him through the next two or three days. He would like to keep the watch for Jeremy. He learned from the shopkeeper that he was in Sedan; that if he followed the river he would come to CharlevilleMezieres - not too far distant - maybe twenty-five kilometres. And after that? The shopkeeper shrugged. Far, far to the west was Arras. North and nearer, but still distant, was Charleroi. That, no doubt, was where he should be heading. Troops marching, gun carriages rattling, they had all been through here yesterday and the day before, and the day before that. A great army. No doubt he was one of the stragglers. Where did he come from: he was not French? Poland, said Ross. He led his little pony away and wandered through the narrow streets, stopped for a coffee and an omelette at a whitewashed inn which had some tables outside. It was the first hot food since Saturday night, and last night it had been raining. Charleville-Mezieres was in fact two villages planted on either side of the Meuse with a narrow stone bridge connecting them. He spent that night in an orchard and again bought food on the Wednesday morning in a hamlet whose name he never knew. It was in the late evening that he first saw the soldier. He had seen others before and kept his distance successfully. This man was a figure at the end of a long treelined track, riding in the same direction as himself but half a mile back. Ross would not have picked him out so quickly had he not turned in his saddle to see the inclination of the sun. There was a copse by the roadside and he jumped down and led his pony into the thickest part of it to allow the solitary gentleman full right of way.

As he approached he could be seen to be a tall man, sitting very erect, dark cloaked in spite of the heat. He wore tight-fitting white pantaloons and black tasselled Hessian boots. A well-dressed, well-mounted officer. And glinting plainly under the cloak, where it was open to give the rider some air, was a scarlet, tight-buttoned tunic. Ross stared unbelieving. This must be some strange foreign regiment, certainly not French; one could have sworn ... Yet he made no move and would have allowed the man to go by. And the man, who was staring straight ahead, would have certainly gone by but for Ross's pony. Seeing the horse, the little animal let out a snuffling neigh and shook his head until the harness rattled. The man brought his horse up short; there was a pistol strapped to his saddle and this was whipped out of its holster.

' Qui vald.'

The foliage of the copse would not have deflected a bullet. There was nothing to do but come forward ... Ross led his pony out. The two men eyed each other. The officer said: 'Qui etes-vous? Que voulezvous.' In his halting French Ross began the story he had told the innkeeper. He was a Pole, he said in an apologetic tone, who had been delayed by a fever and was now hastening to follow his regiment and hoped to rejoin it tonight. Ross was aware that his uniform would hardly pass muster to a critical eye, and at the same time he was measuring whether a quick leap would enable him to knock the pistol down and unseat the horseman. The officer seemed willing to accept the story, and with the words, 'Alks-vous en, done,' was ready to let the matter rest.

It might have been better to do just that; ships could pass in the night... Yet Ross wanted to hear the man speak again.

With a humility that sat strangely on him he asked if the officer could tell him the direction the French army had taken; and he listened very carefully to the man's reply. Ross's French was halting, this man's fully fluent, but with a distinct accent. Ross said: 'Do you speak English?'

The officer fingered his pistol and glanced around. The only sign of life were two goats grazing nearby, and a cottage at the turn of the road.

'What is it to you? What do you wish?'

Having made the move, there was no further point in concealment.

'In fact I am British. It is true that I am trying to make my way north, but I am hoping to avoid the French and to join the Allied army. The tunic under your cloak - it is very much like a British army uniform. May I ask what it really is?'

'What is your name, please?'

'Poldark. I am an Englishman who was attached to the British Embassy in Paris. But when Bonaparte returned I was arrested as a spy, and since then have been interned in Verdun.'

'And were released?'

'No, no. I escaped last Sunday.'

The man was in his middle thirties, with a bony face, sharp dark eyes, a mouth which given the chance could have been humorous.

'Whom did you work under at the British Embassy?'

'Chiefly Lord Fitzroy Somerset.'

'What position did he hold?'

'He was Minister Plenipotentiary after the Duke of Wellington left for Vienna.'

'What was your mission?'

'I was asked by the Earl of Liverpool to come to France to report on the sentiments of the French army.'

The man smiled wryly. 'I think we know those now, don't we. Who else was at the Embassy?'

'Charles Bagot. Ian McKenzie.'

A moment's silence. The larks were singing in a cloudless sky.

'Your pony gave you away.'

'Yes.'

'He looks tired. Have you come far today?'

'From Charleville Mezieres.'

The officer put his pistol back in its holster.

'I am going north. Ride with me a little way.'

Ill

On Friday the 9th June the Queen Charlotte, Captain Robert Buller, sailed on her first voyage to New York since the end of hostilities. With her went Andrew Blarney, rehabilitated against his will - or so he made a play of it to his friends, though certainly not to Captain Buller, who was going to be no easy task-master - but privately responding to the challenge and privately satisfied to get his old berth back and privately pleased to tell Tamsin about it and to take a fond leave of her. Because of it Clowance warmed to Stephen again, and their own separation two days later was affectionate and uncritical, she hiding her anxieties. The Adolphus sailed on the Sunday evening, bristling with men and arms. Stephen had been content with his four long six-pounders. The armourers in the port had tried to sell him some nine-pounder carronades, but Stephen had fired such weapons while in the Unique and knew their range to be too short - also they jumped violently and sometimes even capsized when they were hot. Four solid six-pounders would bring most of his potential prey to heel.

Stephen had found Captain Buller's warning all too appropriate. More than half his crew were good hardy seamen, anxious to avoid the press and keen to forage in search of a quick profit; but the rest were a mixture in which out-of-work miners predominated. He made do, comforting himself with the knowledge that most miners had some knowledge of the sea, smuggling or fishing in their spare time, and knowing that if it came to a fight there would be none tougher. Not all could load a musket; they all knew what to do with a cutlass. The weather was still stormy, the winds fitful, but it was good sailing weather. With his son standing eagerly beside him Stephen set a south-westerly course, making in the general direction of Cherbourg.

IV

'What did you say your name was?'

'Poldark.'

'I think I have heard it somewhere before. My name is Colquhoun Grant.'

'I have heard that before, unless there are two officers of that name.'

'There are, damn the feller.'

'But are you not the one who was at Bussaco?'

'I was. Were you there?'

Ross told him. Grant laughed. A snorting chuckle.

'That is where I heard the name. His lordship looked upon you as an unfriendly observer.'

'But you .. . were you not Wellington's chief information officer?'

'Reconnaissance officer. Yes.'

'We never met,' Ross said. 'But your name was well known in the army. Isn't that the uniform of the 11th Foot?'

'It is. And no doubt you wonder why I come to be wearing it deep inside the enemy positions.'

'It had crossed my mind.'

'Because I am a reconnaissance officer I prefer to wear my uniform. I always have. There are obviously greater dangers of recognition and capture but if caught one is not hanged or shot as a spy. As you undoubtedly would be, Poldark, if you were captured in your present garb.'

'Thank you,' said Ross. 'But so far it has allowed me to travel unmolested.'

Grant looked up at the fading daylight.

'We need to avoid Rocroi. This morning there was a heavy concentration of French dragoons there. I do not suppose they have yet crossed the frontier.'

'We are near the frontier, then?'

'Oh yes. But I fear it will not guarantee you safety.'

'Safety I seek. But it would not be the first consideration if this were a crisis in which I could be of use.'

Grant looked at him. 'It is certainly a crisis. Bonaparte has joined his army today just south of Beaumont, which is some thirty kilometres northwest of where we are now. When he will move and which way are matters yet to be discovered.'

You have agents?'

'I have agents. Not always the most reliable. It was different in Spain.' When Ross did not speak he added:

'Many Belgians have been disillusioned by the peace. They were promised independence and instead have been given over to Holland under a Dutch prince ... I shall be meeting a reliable man tonight, late tonight when the moon has set. Damn the moon.'

They rode on for another twenty minutes and then Colquhoun Grant led the way off the track and into a coppice full of brier and young ferns.

'This is as far as we may go as yet. There are French troops all around here. I have not eaten since morning so shall take something now. You are welcome to share it if you wish, Poldark.'

'Thank you. I'll join you. But I have some bread and cheese and a half-litre of wine.'

They dismounted and unsaddled their horses, tethering them in a clearing where there was good grass. Grant took off his cloak and sat down in his full regimentals as if he were in an officers' mess, except that he squatted in the undergrowth.

'You are an army man?'

'Oh, long since. The American War of Independence. It seems centuries ago.'

'But you have kept up your interest - in military affairs quite clearly? Are you a major?'

'Captain. My cousin is a major - was a captain at Bussaco but he has since retired from the army.'

'Do I take it you are a Member of Parliament?'

"That is so.'

'Well, Captain Poldark, I can offer you two choices. Later tonight I can put you across the frontier in the direction of Chimay. From there if you make northwest for Mons you may just steer clear of the French army, which by then should be advancing out of your way. From Mons make for Ghent where the Bourbon Court is; those members, that is, who haven't already scuttled away. After that there will be no difficulty in your reaching Bruges and Ostend. But I warn you, the early part of this trek will be dangerous. And I would strongly advise you, as soon as you are over the frontier, to contrive some change of clothing to avoid misunderstanding on either side.'

The cheese was strong but Ross was hungry. He bit into the bread to soften the taste.

'And the other choice, Colonel Grant?'

'It would be to come with me. I shall rejoin Wellington in two or three days, depending how the situation develops. Once Napoleon has declared himself, the need for behind the lines reconnaissance will become less important. But I would strongly advise you against this course. Not only will it be a bloody battle but if you were captured before you reached our positions you would quite possibly be hanged by the neck.'

'It's a risk I prefer to take ... But I do not think my pony can keep up with your horse.'

'Nor would it. Nor would it.' Grant took a map from his pocket and screwed up his eyes to read it by the light of the half moon. 'It is possible I could use you, by God. If that were the case we would have to find you a different mount, eh? I will see what news Andre brings tonight. We have some friends.'

V