‘You’ll remember, Sir George, the mission you sent me on to see Mr Rose, to bring him from Liskeard for the purposes of – of identifying if he could the – the—’
‘Of course I remember, man! My memory is not so defective as to forget something of such importance! What are you on about?’
Trembath’s bony Adam’s apple jerked as he swallowed nervously.
‘I never told you, Sir George, it seemed then to be of little import at the time, for Mr Rose was coming in person to see if he could identify any of the men concerned in the coach robbery. And after he died, the matter went quite out of my head. While we were in the coach proceeding from St Austell towards Grampound – this was before he was attacked by the gouty pain in the head – he was talking about the men with whom he shared the coach on that fateful day. And he said – he said he particularly remembered that the naval lieutenant – what was his name? – Lieutenant Morgan Lean – that was it – Lieutenant Lean. Mr Rose said he particularly remembered that Lieutenant Morgan Lean lacked an eye-tooth. You’ll forgive me if I am making too much of nothing at all, but this morning, talking to Mr Carrington, it was clear, was it not. I mean, it is clear, if you take my meaning, that he – that he—’
‘Lacks an eye-tooth,’ said George. ‘I had noticed it.’
‘Oh, so then there is no need for me to have brought it up!’ said Trembath, in relief. ‘I do beg your pardon.’
‘I had noticed it on Mr Carrington,’ said George quietly. ‘I did not know until this moment that Mr Rose had noticed it on Lieutenant Morgan Lean.’
‘Oh. I see. Well, then.’
‘Well, then,’ said George, ‘may I put a suggestion to you, Trembath. If you wish to retain the business that I put in your way from time to time, pray never again forget to keep me informed of such things. Do not allow them to go out of your head. It is not a suitable characteristic in a solicitor. Indeed if it were to occur again I should look elsewhere for my legal assistance.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Trembath, sweating. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Did Mr Rose, if you recollect, say whether it was the left or the right eye-tooth that was missing?’
Trembath thought. ‘I believe it was the left.’
‘And Mr Carrington’s missing tooth is on the left also.’
‘That is so,’ said Hector Trembath, rubbing his fingers nervously together. ‘That is so.’
Chapter Ten
It was Cuby’s birthday. She was twenty-three; ten months younger than her husband.
Jeremy planned a party for her. When she asked if they could afford it he said that they could always afford the necessities of life, and celebrating the birth of his beloved wife was the most necessary thing in the world.
He planned a supper for ten at one of their favourite restaurants, the D’Angleterre, and invited the best of the friends they had made while in Brussels. There was his first special friend, Frederick Barton, from Tiverton, a lieutenant like himself. There was John Peters, the farmer’s son, who had recently married a Belgian girl with a very difficult first name which had been simplified into Denke. And David Lake, who had known Valentine at Eton. Three other men and two girls made up the party, which began in lively fashion and never lost its zest.
Jeremy, by now knowing his wife’s taste in food, had been along to the restaurant to order it in advance. They had soft-boiled eggs on shrimps in little pastry tartlets; lamb cutlets garnished with cock’s combs and chicken livers; then pigeon pie with creamed spinach; and French open apple tart. A good Rhenish wine went down bottle after bottle. And then they called for nuts and sweet tarts and cheese. They were at the table from eight until midnight, talking, laughing, arguing, gossiping. At ten Jeremy rose and proposed the toast of the evening: to Cuby, who had won his heart four years ago and who, four months ago, had brought joy into his life by giving him hers.
Demelza might have been surprised at the warmth and emotion with which her son spoke, considering that it had always been his habit to disguise his feelings in an amiable easy-going flippancy.
But perhaps the Trevanions would have been equally surprised when Cuby, being pressed and pressed and pressed to reply, got up and pushed back her hair and quietly said: ‘In December Jeremy made me part of him. There is no other way in which I ever want to live.’
Of course there was a present. It was a star ruby brooch set with small diamonds. ‘Madness,’ Cuby said under her breath to him, knowing they were already in debt. ‘But sweet madness. I so love you, Jeremy.’
He put his fingers over hers, one finger over another, like playing a piano. It was a sexual caress.
‘Later you shall tell me.’
By eleven most of them were become hilarious and a little fuddled. They had discussed the vulgarity of the Prussians, the inefficiency of the Belgians, the perfidy of the French, the ruthlessness of the Russians, the unreliability of the Austrians, the treachery of the Irish, the boastfulness of the Americans, and over and above all the total awfulness of the English.
Each member of the party was drawing on some reminiscence to confirm these opinions, and each one seemed to be funnier than the last. The laughter was getting more continuous, when a young officer called Carleton was seen to come into the restaurant with a girl they did not know. He waved and they all waved back. David Lake, who knew him best, called to him to come over. Just then the restaurateur showed them to a table at the other end of the restaurant. Carleton saw the girl to her seat, excused himself to her and came across.
The group exchanged quipperies with him and he wished Cuby many happy returns.
Then he said: ‘Oh, had you heard? No, I don’t suppose you will have. Word has just come through that Bonaparte has landed in France.’
This news sobered two or three men at the table, the others were too fuddled to find it anything but amusing.
No, Carleton had no details. Just that it was somewhere in the south. They’d sent the news by this new semaphore telegraph. Got away from Elba somehow. He’d always promised he’d come back when the violets were in bloom. Well, well, pardon me now, I must rejoin my pretty Clotilde.
When he had gone talk quickly broke out again, but a little of the spontaneity had gone from it.
‘Imagine,’ said David Lake. ‘Old Boney back again. That’s going to be a trifle of a nuisance. Wonder what he hopes to do.’
‘Little he can do,’ said Barton. ‘It’s not twelve months since he was turned out. They say on his way to Elba he had to travel in a closed cab; people, his own people, were hissing and spitting after him. Even his own generals repudiated him.’
‘It might mean civil war in France,’ said John Peters.
‘Doubt it. He hasn’t got the following. Where’s Nosey these days? Isn’t he Ambassador in Paris?’
‘No, he’s in Vienna,’ said Jeremy. ‘At the Congress. With Talleyrand and Metternich and the rest. My father and mother are in Paris at present. I’ve applied for leave to join them for Easter.’
‘Might put that plan out of joint, my boy. There’s sure to be a bit of edginess with old Boney on the loose. Unless he’s caught soon and taken back to Elba with a halter round his neck.’
‘Halter should have been put round his neck and tightened!’ said one of the other men. ‘Last year when we had him. Or stuck under the old mincing machine, what? Put him out of mischief for good.’
After the supper they all went on to a dance hall and danced till three. When Jeremy and Cuby reached their room it was twelve minutes to four. The fire had nearly gone out in their bedroom, but Jeremy went downstairs and brought up more faggots to set it to a new blaze.
‘Don’t undo a single button,’ he said to Cuby. ‘I want to do it all.’
Which he did, by the flickering light of the fire. When they were naked she moved to the bed and lay on it while he stroked and kissed her. The only light then seemed to come from her dark fringed eyes.
He said: ‘This is not lust. It’s love.’
‘Jus
t love,’ she said, and put up her hands to his face.
Chapter Eleven
I
The news was slow in reaching Paris, and when it came at first it seemed to have no impact. The King was on his throne. The Bourbons controlled France. Outside their frontiers powerful armies possessed by powerful kingdoms ensured that the world should not be turned upside down again. The Palace first heard only that Bonaparte had left Elba; many people thought he would go to Africa or seek asylum in Egypt. Not until the 4th March did the semaphore telegraph confirm that he was in France and moving up from the coast making proclamations as he came.
The 5th was Lieutenant Havergal’s last day in Paris before he rejoined his regiment in Louvain. He invited Mrs Kemp and Isabella-Rose and Henry to visit the Jardin des Plantes. Demelza had persuaded Ross to say nothing to the young man, and, as this was his last day, she let them go.
The garden – a long way over on the other side of the Seine, Havergal having hired a carriage for the morning – was much more than a botanical garden, it was a sizeable zoo, which was much to Henry’s liking, and Bella’s also, for she had never seen a live elephant before – nor in fact many of the strange creatures on display. There were wolves, panthers, hyenas, porcupines, deer, gazelle, elks, and no less than six lions, one of which kept a dog as a pet. Wherever the great beast strolled the little mongrel terrier would follow faithfully after him, and sometimes a long tongue would come out and lick the terrier’s head, whereupon the dog would roll over and bark with delight.
With Henry off on determined treks of his own, Mrs Kemp was kept busy and gave Christopher plenty of time to talk with his little songbird.
‘You see that bear,’ he said, ‘the one with the white on his snout. He’s called M Bertrand.’
‘How do you know? And why?’
‘A few years ago, they say, M Bertrand was his keeper, and one day someone threw some francs into the cage. Bertrand decided to go and recover them, but the bear was waiting and caught the keeper and gave him such a bear hug that he died. So ever after the bear has borne his name.’
‘Ugh!’ said Bella. ‘What a spookish story. You are full of spookish stories. Do the French find that amusing? What a strange race they are!’
‘No stranger than us, surely, since we glory in bearbaiting.’
‘But are they not strange, Christopher, are they not? Look at them. Look at those two men over there, with their tight brown trousers and their thin legs and their swollen bellies. Do they not look like frogs? One expects them to go jump, jump!’
‘Some people do call them frogs,’ said Christopher. ‘They use the name Frog for a Frenchman. I thought it was because they ate them, but perhaps you are right and it is because they are like them!’
They strolled on. Bella hummed to herself.
‘What is that? Tell me the words.’
‘Entendez-vous, dans les compagnes
Mugir ces farouches soldats.
Ils viennent jusque dans nos bras
Egorger vos fils, vos campagnes.’
‘I never knew the words before.’
‘Etienne, our manservant, taught me them.’
‘That song is almost treasonable, little love.’
‘That is why I am singing under my breath.’
They both laughed.
‘Talking of frogs,’ said Christopher, ‘reminds me of my old headmaster at the Charterhouse. Frogmore. Naturally he was called Frog. Or Flog, for he flogged his pupils for the slightest misdoing. He was much hated, for he followed a man called Green who was a learned, gentle, understanding soul. But we got back at Old Frog on one occasion. Let us go look at these wonderful birds.’
‘No, tell me what happened, Christopher. I want to know.’
‘How much d’you want to know? This much?’ Havergal held up an inch gap between finger and thumb.
‘This much,’ said Bella, opening her arms.
He looked at her in admiration. ‘Yes, you would, wouldn’t you. It is in your character, my little one. My not so little one. I think you are adorable.’
‘Hush,’ said Bella. ‘Mrs Kemp is near.’
But she took his arm as they strolled towards the parrots.
‘Well,’ said Christopher. ‘I and a man called Flanders, we thought we should get our own back on the Frog. The headmaster on his way from his own chambers into the upper schoolroom has to come through his private door to which only he has the key. But this day when he came to the door he couldn’t get his key into the lock, and he found that a piece of a bullet had been forced into it. The horrid man then had to retreat and go down his private stairs and up another flight eventually to reach the upper schoolroom by a long detour – which he did, and by the time he reached it he was breathing like a dragon. With all the upper school watching, he marched across the room and went up the stairs to the pulpit, where he found that door screwed up and he was unable to enter.’
‘How very droll,’ said Bella, laughing.
‘However, not to be outdone, he takes two steps backward and puts a hand on the door and vaults over it and into his sanctum. He glares around the room and says: “The insolent puppies who prepared this surprise will suffer the severest beating it is in my power to administer.” Whereupon he sits down, and finds he cannot get up without tearing his silk breeches, which have become glued to the chair.’
‘Isabella-Rose!’ said Mrs Kemp reprovingly, ‘you must not laugh so loudly. It is not ladylike.’
Bella bubbled and crowed and choked. ‘Sorry, Mrs Kemp, but Lieutenant Havergal does tell the most comical stories!’
Later, when they had another moment alone as they were about to leave the gardens, Christopher said: ‘Tomorrow I shall be on my way to Louvain. It is a sad parting. But believe me I shall find you again, even if it means coming to Devon to seek you out.’
‘Cornwall!’ said Bella, not as indignantly as she would have done if anyone else had made such a mistake.
‘Cornwall, then, or the ends of the earth. That is the end of the earth, isn’t it? What do they mine down there? Is it diamonds?’
‘Copper and tin.’
‘I think it is diamonds also.’
II
On the 7th, which was a chill, foggy day in Paris, the French newspaper Moniteur published the news of Napoleon’s arrival in France, and the general public of Paris learned of it for the first time, though rumours had been circulating. Not much changed. Life went on as usual. The theatres were full, the cafés busy, the traffic in the streets as crowded as ever. There was some extra surreptitious activity at places like the Café Montansier, near the Palais Royal, but these disaffected minorities were disregarded. The ogre would soon be rounded up and put back on his little island.
That evening the Poldarks and the de la Blaches dined together at Hardi’s and then went to the French Opera in the rue de Richelieu, to see Castor and Pollux. Afterwards they went to the Ice Caffé on the Boulevard des Italiens, which as usual was crowded with well-dressed people, chattering and drinking and laughing.
Henri had been with the King part of the day and said that, in spite of a general lack of apprehension, he and his ministers were leaving nothing to chance. At a council that morning Marshal Soult, the Minister of War, though long one of Bonaparte’s most notable generals, proposed to put an army of thirty thousand men into the southern provinces to confront any advance by the usurper. The Comte d’Artois, brother of the King, would command them, and under him would be the three Marshals of France, Macdonald, Saint-Cyr and Ney. Ney had had a personal audience of His Majesty, in which he had promised to bring Bonaparte back as a prisoner in an iron cage. Word had also been sent to the Duc d’Angoulême, who was in Bordeaux, ordering him to proceed at once to Nîmes.
All the same the de la Blaches were not without their doubts. If once Bonaparte collected an army about him it would mean civil war. Most of the officers were loyal to Louis but one could not rely on the ordinary soldiery. So many forgot the bad times of Bonaparte’
s reign and remembered only the good. Henri was confident but anxious, Jodie just anxious.
‘And you, Ross?’ she said, half smiling, but with wide open, deserted eyes. ‘How will you report this to your Prime Minister?’
‘I am not too certain even of some of the officers. Gaston Rougiet would never, I’m sure, betray his King, but there are others I have spoken to I’d hardly be so sure of.’
Henri said: ‘Have you seen more of Fouché and Tallien?’
‘Twice at receptions,’ said Ross, ‘but we have avoided each other.’
‘Be careful, my friend,’ Jodie said. ‘They are enemies to beware of.’
‘But are they Bonapartists?’
‘They began as Jacobins. Now they bend with every wind. But Fouché would come to have a greater influence under Bonaparte than he has done under the King, and he knows now how I fought him and his kind during the long years of Napoleon’s greatness. He did not then, otherwise I should not be alive. But under the King he is powerless.’
‘Except to begin new revolutions in Lille to put the Bonaparte child on the throne.’
‘I have to tell you that the authorities have now been fully informed of this. The revolt is due to begin this week. I do not know whether Napoleon’s reappearance will have altered their plan or whether it was part of it.’
Demelza had been trying to follow this conversation, which had been partly in English and partly in French. ‘But if the King knows of this plot, why are they not arrested?’
‘Because, my dear, until they move we have no proof against them, and because Fouché is too powerful a man to arrest on suspicion.’
Ross said: ‘Rougiet has invited me to visit him at his corps headquarters at Auxerre next week. I was there, as you know, in February, and learned a lot from the officers I met there then.’
Jodie shrugged. ‘By next week we shall know it all.’
‘I hope this fog clears,’ said Henri. ‘Today the telegraph cannot work, and it is important to know what is happening in the south.’
The Twisted Sword: A Novel of Cornwall 1815 Page 12
