MV02 Death Wears a Crown Read online

  “So far,” Vernet told her.

  “They exposed themselves, these supposed spies, for no reason. Which means that they are fools. Which I do not believe.” This last she said darkly. “If it’s the fleet they seek, then it makes more sense that they are here, for Antwerp is a goodly distance from the fleet. But Boulogne-sur-Mer is southwest of here, and why would spies wishing to work against the fleet not attempt to land closer to it, if they are willing to risk landing in France at all? It is true that Boulogne-sur-Mer is directly on the road from here, but it’s also a day by coach. Why would they not attempt to get as near to the fleet as possible? It would be more sensible to land here at Calais than at Dunkerque.”

  “I agree with you,” said Vernet, listening attentively.

  “Therefore, I come again to the fear that the spies are bound for Paris.” She rose to her feet and began to pace. “You see, if they are going to Paris, then they might well want to land here, away from the Marine guards at Boulogne-sur-Mer, and not so near the border with Holland that they might encounter patrols there. They could travel to Paris quickly, but avoid the main road from here, and therefore not be subject to much inquiry. They might even—if they are very sly—come by way of Lille and Saint-Quentin. Those roads are not watched as the Calais-Amiens-Paris Road is, or the coast road, for that matter.”

  “It would take them longer,” Vernet pointed out.

  “Yes, perhaps. But they would have to hide a great deal on the main road, and I reckon that on the lesser roads they would not have to be so much on guard. Either way, they’ll not reach Paris quickly, but by coming on minor roads, they will arrive without anyone the wiser. Then they will be free to do whatever they came to do while we guard ships and diplomats.” She stopped, looking out the window. “I listened today, and I think I heard more than four languages spoken in the inn yard. There was a fuss made over an English merchant, and soldiers came to search his luggage, and were not polite about it. The man was very put out, for he was only carrying goods to his factor in Paris, but they singled him out because they noticed him. His accent and his clothes made him conspicuous. That was what finally convinced me that they are striving to be invisible.”

  “And do you think they will succeed? Is it possible they will reach Paris, and Napoleon?” asked Vernet, feeling the first real grip of apprehension. “Surely no Englishman could get close enough—”

  “That is assuming that the English ship carried only English; that is another question that I cannot dismiss,” she reminded him. “There is some guess that there could be Frenchmen among them, Aristos seeking to return. If there are as many Frenchmen as English, then they will not be easily apprehended.” She gave him a quirky smile. “And if that is what they have done, I will have to tell you that they are more subtle than I thought they were.”

  “But what you say is so complicated,” protested Vernet.

  “Only to our eyes, and only because we have to guess so much. For those men we are seeking, it is not complicated at all. We must not forget that.” She cocked her head to the side. “What do you think?”

  “I think,” he said wearily, “that I had better go to Antwerp. I have only just convinced the Ministry of Police that we may have spies in Antwerp. I don’t think it would be prudent to change quite yet. Bernadotte would not like me to act counter to his orders.”

  “No,” she said. “He expects you to go to Antwerp.” She looked Vernet directly in the eyes. “Therefore I should go to Paris.”

  “Victoire!” he objected. “I want you to come with me.” He half-rose as he spoke.

  She moved away from him. “I have given this my careful consideration. I believe it is necessary that I make the attempt to discover if the Englishmen have gone to Paris, and what their goals are.” Her stance was very firm; Vernet recognized the stubborn set of her shoulders.

  “And who do you think you will be able to convince in Paris?” he asked, not entirely without ire.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know if I am correct in my thinking. But there are those who have some respect for my methods, and they might hear me out.” She did not raise her voice but it was apparent that she had made up her mind.

  “So you say,” he countered.

  “Berthier will give me his full attention, and so will Fouche, if I can get his attention at all. Both of them know in what danger Napoleon stands at all times.” She came and stood directly in front of him. “And this way, whether you are on the right track or I am, one of us will be, and the promotion you seek will not be lost.”

  “Always practical,” he said in aggravation.

  “I am tired of darning your uniforms and living like paupers so that you can maintain your career, Lucien. If you are worthy of advancement—and you most truly are worthy—then it is time you were paid according to your worth which requires another promotion.” She put her hands on her hips and all but dared him to argue with her.

  “I don’t want to be away from you, Victoire,” he said softly.

  “Nor I from you,” she responded at once. “But we must think of what we seek and turn our efforts toward it.”

  “I understand,” he said. “I do not want to agree, but—” He gestured his capitulation. “You will go to Paris, then, tomorrow?”

  “While you go to Antwerp,” she said. “There is a diligence leaving for Boulogne-sur-Mer at ten, and I’ll purchase a seat on it, and go from there to Paris. The travel is not very grand, but it costs little, and that must be a virtue.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “I will call on Bernadotte as soon as he is back in Paris, so that he’ll know you are pursuing his orders.”

  “And you will tell him what you’re doing?” asked Vernet.

  “Possibly,” she said after a short pause; she had felt a twinge of fear that troubled her. “Possibly not. It will depend on what I am able to discover.”

  “I will prepare dispatches for you to carry, then,” said Vernet. “Since you’re determined to do this, I’ll make the most of it.”

  “Good,” she approved, leaning down to kiss him gently.

  “There is nothing good about it,” he grumbled as he put his arms around her. “I am doing what I can to make the best of a bad situation.”

  “It will be better when you have demonstrated your devotion to Napoleon and received your reward.” She let him pull her down on his lap. “You will be able to afford all those little luxuries—”

  “To say nothing of necessities,” he interjected.

  “—we have both missed, and you will not have to accept bribes in order to pay for your family.” She leaned back as he kissed her and reveled in the new-born passion he showed.

  “If I have to leave you,” he said a short while later, already a bit breathless, “I want to make the best use of the time we have.”

  “Very wise,” she murmured provocatively, and reached to unfasten her lacings. His hands were already there.

  * * *

  Colonel Sir Magnus Sackett-Hartley sat on the back of the cart as it trundled through Ressons-sur-Matz, his hat pulled down low over his forehead, his clothes smelling of cattle, for there were three young calves tethered in the cart, on their way to market.

  “A fine way to return home,” complained La Clouette from the front of the cart where he sat next to d’Estissac. “First we scurry through the night like rats, kill a harmless innkeeper like brigands, and now we plod along like peasants.” Of the twenty men who had come ashore six nights before, this group was composed of eight of them. The other twelve had taken the more direct but more dangerous route along the coast to Boulogne-sur-Mer and south to Abbeville and Beauvais.

  “You had best hope everyone believes we are peasants,” remarked Cholet, who was walking beside the cart on the side opposite to Pasclos. “If they do not believe us, we will not accomplish our mission.”

  “I think we were wrong to divide into
two groups,” said La Clouette, finding something else to complain about.

  “We voted for it,” said Lieutenant Edward Constable, one of two Englishmen in this group of the spies. “You were for it, as I recall.” He spoke French adequately, sounding faintly Belgian, but did his best not to speak at all.

  “That was when we landed,” said La Clouette.

  “You were for it yesterday, or so you claimed,” Sackett-Hartley pointed out. His French—thanks to his aunt—was excellent and he spoke it without hesitation or effort.

  “I had not thought it through,” La Clouette whined. “I was afraid we would be noticed if there were too many of us, but I hadn’t realized how exposed we would be, or how difficult our task could become. What if the others are caught?”

  “We must trust them to keep silent, or make certain of their silence ourselves,” said Cholet.

  Brezolles looked around the square. “I will want to p-pray in church,” he remarked to no one in particular.

  “But how will we know we are safe?” La Clouette went on, paying no attention to Brezolles.

  “We will know if the others join us in Paris,” said Sackett-Hartley. “Until then, we will have to pray for them, and hope that God and luck are on our side.” He indicated the village well. “We’d better fill the bladders here. Otherwise we might become thirsty on the road.”

  “What about buying a bottle or two of wine?” suggested d’Estissac. “I haven’t had wine since the night after we landed.”

  “The villagers will expect us to drink something other than water,” Cholet remarked. “They’ll pay less attention if we purchase a few bottles.”

  “All right,” said Sackett-Hartley, “Buy wine and bread and cheese, like any other farmer bound for market. And tell them that we are delivering these animals to the best inn at Creil; they might well believe it.” He jumped off the end of the cart and trudged along beside it as they neared the well.

  “I hate looking this way,” muttered La Clouette. “I do not like to be mistaken for one of these louts.”

  “You had best hope that you are,” said Cholet softly. “Or we will not arrive in Paris to do our work.” He felt in his pocket for coins. “Bread, cheese, and wine,” he said loudly enough to be heard by some of the villagers lingering on the street. “We will have meat later.”

  “When these beasts are delivered,” added Sackett-Hartley, affecting a strong Artois accent. “They will feed us well.”

  “So you think,” said Pasclos.

  “We made a bargain,” Sackett-Hartley declared.

  “So we did,” affirmed d’Estissac. “And he will uphold it.” He looked around the square. “A pleasant enough place.”

  “Truly,” said Cholet, and started toward a stall-fronted stop where cheeses were laid out. “Will two be enough for us, or should I purchase three?”

  “Three,” called Pasclos, and nodded to one of the townspeople. “I’m hungry.”

  “So am I,” called Sackett-Hartley.

  “Then four cheeses,” said Cholet. “Possibly five.”

  “I’ll see to getting wine,” Pasclos volunteered, and noticed out of the corner of his eye that four old men sitting around a table near the well were listening intently.

  “Make it hearty,” Sackett-Hartley ordered.

  “Naturally,” said Pasclos.

  “I think of our ... c-companions,” said Brezolles. “I wish I knew th-they were making good prog-gress.”

  “They will do as they must,” said Sackett-Hartley, more curtly than he liked.

  “But still—” said Brezolles, and broke off as if embarrassed.

  “We’ll find out about their success when we see them again,” Sackett-Hartley assured the young man, and frowned as he thought of the other twelve members of their mission who were—or ought to be—on the coast road, bound for Paris.

  “Let’s get our chores done,” said La Clouette, for once not adding a complaint to his suggestion.

  They set about refilling the water-bladders. Constable made sure the old Percheron pulling the cart was given water and a large handful of grain. There was nothing unusual about them, or so they all hoped. “Do you think the others will—” began d’Estissac, only to have Sackett-Hartley cut him off.

  “We have the contract, and the innkeeper will honor it, no matter what other farmers bring him.” His eyes shot warnings at the Frenchman. “Besides, our calves are the best. He would not have given us the order for them if he thought otherwise.”

  “That’s so,” said d’Estissac, chastened.

  “And do not forget it,” said Sackett-Hartley.

  Cholet and Pasclos brought their purchases—Les Aix had gone for the bread, still as tongue-tied as he had ever been—but did not hurry to resume their travels.

  Brezolles, who at twenty-five was increasingly haunted by memories of his escape from Paris at the height of the Terror, turned to Sackett-Hartley. “I w-would like a little t-time to pray while we’re here. The ch-church is just there.”

  Sackett-Hartley did his best not to sigh, for Brezolles had been stopping in churches since they landed in France. “Don’t be long about it, if you feel you must,” he said, trying to be pragmatic and kind at once.

  “I won’t.” He managed a twitch of a smile. “I k-keep thinking of your unc-cle.”

  “So do I,” Sackett-Hartley assured him. “He set a splendid example. I regard him as my mentor.”

  “He did so much for my family.” He looked around, suddenly uneasy as he realized that they might be overheard.

  “As you did for him, I’m certain,” said Sackett-Hartley smoothly.

  Brezolles walked away, hurrying toward the church.

  Sackett-Hartley watched him and frowned. Brezolles was getting jumpy, reacting with anger and suspicion when anyone questioned him. He hoped that there would not be any incidents here, for villagers remembered incidents with strangers. He turned away as he heard d’Estissac call out to him. “What is it?”

  “Do you have the name of the man we are to contact upon our arrival?” It was an innocent enough question, but nonetheless Sackett-Hartley stiffened.

  “Most certainly,” he said, trying to appear relaxed. “You worry too much, cousin.”

  “Well, there is much at stake here.” He nodded toward the cart. “Especially for the calves.”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Sackett-Hartley, trying to behave as his uncle might have in just such a situation. “In these times there is always something to worry about.” Then in a lower voice he added, “But our friend has said he will watch for any problems and assist us in eliminating them.” They all had been told that a high government official would do his best to assure they were not interfered with. He spoke more loudly, “But our concern now has to be selling the calves in the most profitable manner.”

  “And we’d best worry about them,” said d’Estissac. La Clouette was devouring a large hunk of bread, chewing with determination.

  Sackett-Hartley glanced at Lieutenant Constable, noticing that he was fretful. “Do not worry, we can afford more cheese.”

  “Good,” said Lieutenant Constable.

  Sackett-Hartley took the food Cholet offered him, and then helped himself to a deep pull on the bottle of wine that was passing among them. “The thing is,” he said when he was through and had handed the bottle to Constable, “we have to keep moving. For the landlord as well as the calves. Time is important.”

  Les Aix watched the square narrowly, “It is troublesome, having to depend so much on a man we don’t know.” He glanced at Sackett-Hartley. “Or is it?”

  Sackett-Hartley had occasional doubts himself, but he was not about to reveal them to this company. “We have nothing to fear.”

  “Either he will buy the calves, or we will sell them to someone else,” said Cholet, making a covert warning of this to
the rest.

  “Very true,” said d’Estissac, his words muffled by cheese.

  “Should have been a priest, Brezolles should,” grumbled La Clouette, but no one listened to him. “He’s got no business coming on a mission like this.”

  Sackett-Hartley frowned as he watched for Brezolles, and wondered again if La Clouette was right: had it been wise to bring him on this mission? He had been asking himself what his uncle would do in his position, and so far he had not been able to figure it out.

  * * *

  Vernet handed the four sealed dispatches to his wife, and shook his head regretfully. “I wish we didn’t have to separate, Victoire. And I wish it weren’t necessary for you to take the risk of carrying these.”

  “But it is necessary,” she reminded him as she struggled with the buttons on her capped traveling cloak. It was very early and the dawn light did not reach the rooms on this side of the inn.

  “I hope that it is. I hope that it’ll prove valuable.” His expression darkened. “I don’t like it when we are apart. I almost look forward to the days when it will be my rotation to man the desk in Paris. We’ve spent too much time apart.”

  “There we are in agreement,” she said emphatically. Her eyes brightened. “But it is the work you have chosen to do, and you are now one of the five most important men in the Gendarmes, so we must accustom ourselves to it.” She smiled without too much effort.

  Vernet shook his head. “Much as I treasure your excellent sense, there are times, dear wife, I wish you had a little less of it.”

  “To be candid, so do I,” she admitted, and leaned forward to kiss him. “Still, it is my nature to be as I am, and I thank God that you do not require I become a simpering echo, as so many husbands do.”