The Twisted Sword: A Novel of Cornwall 1815

by Winston Graham

  He got virtually to the steps of the Palace before he realized what they were waiting for. A great shout went up in the distance and travelled towards him in diminishing waves like a Cornish sea. The cause of the shouting was coming nearer, bringing the sound with him. There were lights all over the Palace now, windows thrown up and candles guttering.

  An open coach was approaching. Surrounding it was a glittering cavalcade of mounted men but not proceeding in the dignity of a formal cavalry procession; most of them had drawn swords and were waving them triumphantly in the air, and they were all shouting at the top of their voices. It was quite clear what they were shouting.

  The carriage creaked to a stop. The coachmen jumped down. People appeared in the doorway of the Palace, waving and bowing. A score of the mounted men jumped from their horses and rushed towards the carriage. A small stocky man stood up in the carriage and raised his arm in languid welcome. He was engulfed, and after a few seconds reappeared on the shoulders of his followers. Everyone round Ross was shouting as if demented.

  The stocky man was carried across the courtyard to the open door of the Palace. He was put down and assisted up the steps and, after waving a couple of times, disappeared inside. He seemed to Ross to be quietly, confidently smiling.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I

  The berlin left Bourget at eight on the morning of the 20th and took the road for Senlis. They hoped to be in St Quentin before dark.

  Jodie said: ‘I do not think Ross will ever forgive me for allowing his wife and children to become involved in French politics, but believe me when I ask you to come with me I have your good at heart.’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘Your good but also my safety – I have to admit that. But I had no idea in the world that I shall be asked to take M Menieres.’

  Demelza peered out at the slow-moving countryside. A sword of sun lit up the muffled clouds, promising at last a fine day. Bella was playing snap with Henry. M Menieres sat upright in his corner, his deed box on his knee. Mrs Kemp, who said she had not slept a wink, dozed in her corner and was unlikely to pick up the whispered conversation of the women opposite.

  ‘When it was realized at last that Bonaparte was likely to take Paris, there were two objects it seemed essential he should not capture – the King and the crown jewels. King Louis might well be used as a hostage, though there are some who think he might also be an embarrassment. But there are no two opinions about the value to Bonaparte of the crown jewels. Once before he pledged them to finance a campaign: he could do so again.’

  ‘Autre Fois le Rat de ville,’ Bella hummed, forgetting her depression about her father, ‘Invita le Rat des champs.’

  ‘This’, said Jodie, ‘is what you may call the meditated risk. If the King is betrayed and captured, the jewels will have fallen into Bonaparte’s hands as well. We still do not know and shall not know if the King is safe yet, but it seemed to Henri and others that it was wiser to slip the jewels out unobtrusively and so divide the hazard. Time will show if this is wise.’

  Silence then in the coach except for Bella and Henry in their corner. The countryside looked desolate and cold and deserted. The houses they passed were shuttered and silent, no one worked in the fields. Jodie said: ‘Everyone who is loyal has fled to save their loyalty. Those who favour the Emperor have rushed in to Paris to greet him. I wish these horses would go faster!’

  They reached Senlis in the middle of the morning and all got down and stretched their legs and took light refreshment while the horses were changed. At least the innkeeper was there – a sullen man with the inevitable pock marks – and one ostler who saw to the horses. Here the pretence was kept up of this being Lady Poldark’s coach and Mme Ettmayer her companion, M Reynard her clerk. The innkeeper waited on them himself and disclaimed knowledge of where the rest of his staff had gone. Pretending that the inquiries were coming from her mistress, Jodie asked after the health and whereabouts of three friends of hers who lived in substantial houses in Senlis, but they were all gone. The houses were shuttered and empty. The coach set out again on its next stage, to Estrées-St-Denis, where they had dinner and the horses were changed again.

  Soon after leaving this little town the carriage creaked to a stop and Benoir jumped down and tapped on the window.

  ‘A troop of cavalry is approaching, madame. Do not draw the blinds for that will attract attention. But I would suggest that the children are given prominence at the windows.’

  ‘Can you not see who they are?’

  ‘Not yet. But I have a suspicion they are the Emperor’s men.’ He was gone.

  The coach went on its way. Above all the customary noises of their own horses, the clink and rattle of the coach, the rumble of the wheels, there could presently be heard the peculiar multiple sounds of many horses approaching. It was a bobbling, gurgling, clopping sound, and the children needed no urging to press their faces to the windows. Sieur Menieres drew back, trying to persuade the shadows to swallow him. The berlin slowed to a stop and drew in at the side of the road. A company of horsemen went past – about twenty – overtaking them, going the same way as themselves. The fleeting sun glinted on helmets and breastplates and sabre hilts. The leader called something to Benoir and he replied, but they did not stop. Bella lowered the window and put her head out to watch them go.

  After a minute Sieur Menieres came out of the shadows and said something to Jodie. Jodie said to Demelza: ‘Polish lancers from Napoleon’s guard.’

  II

  They did not reach St Quentin as planned but spent the night at Roye. When they stopped for refreshments about five, a traveller coming from the other direction told them that all persons attempting to enter St Quentin had their passports scrutinized, and there were long delays because the police were not accepting as valid passports issued by the royalist government of Paris: a new permission had to be obtained.

  One advantage of Roye was that Jodie knew the maire and when he was finally located he proved overwhelmingly helpful. Bedrooms with an adjoining sitting-room were found at the leading inn and M Sujet said that if they would stay there he would obtain valid passports for them by the morning. The innkeeper too was an ardent royalist and soon saw through the pretence of Lady Poldark being the owner of the coach, though with great delicacy he asked nothing except to give them the best meal his hostel could provide.

  They had not been in the inn ten minutes before Isabella-Rose discovered a small dusty harpsichord in one of the downstairs rooms. She had not been able to touch a musical instrument for more than two months, and she besought her mother to ask permission that she should try it. Demelza was very tired with the journey, and tired too of facing the endless self-criticism as to whether she had done the right thing leaving Paris without Ross. She said impatiently: ‘In the morning, in the morning,’ but Bella the irrepressible went down and by means of sign language and a few halting words got the innkeeper’s agreement. Soon the sounds of the old harpsichord, played to Demelza’s surprise with becoming delicacy, floated up from below.

  Supper was served upstairs in their sitting-room – so many flavours that Demelza although she was not hungry found herself eating everything that was put before her, so that her stays grew tight. It was still only nine o’clock but everyone was ready for bed. And then there was a peculiar noise outside the inn and M Menieres moved quickly to the window. Jodie followed him.

  ‘It is the lancers,’ she said.

  A maid came in to clear the supper table and another to make up the fire. Among the clink of dishes and the rattle of coals new voices could be heard. As the maids left, the second one leaving the door ajar, heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. There was a polite tap on the door.

  ‘Oui?’ said Demelza.

  The innkeeper half entered with an apologetic bow. Behind him two men in scarlet uniforms with silver breastplates were made to look even more formidable by the tall brimless sheepskin hats they wore. One, the senior officer, was very blond with th
e palest blue eyes Demelza had ever seen and a pallid complexion; the second was brown haired and moustached and dark eyed and alert.

  The senior officer bowed to Demelza in a manner that suggested he appreciated her good looks and spoke to her in rapid but halting French.

  She turned to Jodie, who said respectfully: ‘The officer, ma’am, says he is under the command of Colonel Baron Termanovski. He requests that you tell him the purpose of your journey and where you are bound for.’

  Demelza said: ‘Tell him I am English, my name is Lady Poldark and that I am returning with my children and servants to England.’

  Another interchange. ‘The officer asks if you have a husband?’

  ‘Tell him my husband has – has remained in Paris but he thought I should return to England.’

  ‘He asks why?’

  ‘Tell him that with a new régime in France he thought it safer for us.’

  ‘The officer says you are in no danger. Bonaparte does not make war on women and children.’

  ‘Pray thank him. But does he not sometimes intern them?’

  ‘I’ll not pass that on,’ said Jodie. ‘Nous vous remercions, monsieur. Pour tout.’

  The Polish officer was still appreciating Demelza. He looked as if he would not have minded breaking Bonaparte’s undertaking. After a moment the dark man said something to the officer, who spoke again.

  ‘He asks to see our passports, madame.’

  ‘Do we tell him the truth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell the officer that they were – they have been issued – been made out of date by the changes in France and that the Mayor of Roye has taken them away to get them reissued.’

  ‘Very good,’ said Jodie before she passed on the message.

  The fair man was looking round the room. Mrs Kemp was perched stiffly in a corner with the sleepy Henry on her knee. Sieur Menieres was sitting in front of the fire reading an old copy of Moniteur. A corner of one of the pages was shaking slightly. Bella was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Qui est-ce?’ asked the Pole, pointing at Menieres.

  Demelza did not wait for the next translation. ‘He is M Reynard, my husband’s secretary, who is accompanying us to England.’

  After translating this Jodie took up the next question.

  ‘He asks why we have come as far east as Roye if we are going to England. May I suggest, madame, that I tell him we are taking this route to avoid all the other coaches making for Calais?’

  ‘Please do.’

  The Pole laughed, showing white, wolfish teeth, and said something in his own language to his companion who shrugged his shoulders and did not join in the joke. The officer strolled slowly round the room and peered at the dozing Henry. By pointing he asked if he were Demelza’s child. Demelza nodded and permitted herself a slight smile.

  ‘Mes compliments’ He went round and looked at Menieres, who was still pretending to read the paper, then pointed to the small black deed box.

  ‘What is that?’

  Sieur Menieres did not move.

  Demelza said: ‘Tell him it belongs to my husband – just some of his private papers and small personal belongings.’

  ‘It is locked. Pray unlock it.’

  Menieres turned over his newspaper.

  Demelza said: ‘Tell him I do not have a key. Only my husband has the key.’

  ‘Surely your secretary has a key.’

  ‘Tell him no. Only my husband has the key.’

  The fair Pole hesitated. He was clearly debating whether to break the padlock but he was not willing to risk damaging the point of his sword. He said something to the sergeant, who turned to the fireplace and picked up the poker. He tried it on the padlock but the end was too blunt to go in and give him leverage.

  Demelza said: ‘Pray ask the officer what right he has to break into my husband’s private property? Did he not say that women and children had nothing to fear?’

  The officer looked at her with his pale eyes and half smiled, licked his lips lasciviously. He shrugged and smiled again while the other man tried to get the end of the fire tongs into the padlock.

  Just then, through the open door, came the sound of music from downstairs. But it was not being played with the restraint and tentative touch noticeable before supper. So far as any weight could be brought to bear on the poor old instrument it was being applied. And then a girl began to sing – in the powerful musical-unmusical voice that only Isabella-Rose could produce.

  But what was she singing? Not the genteel cadences of the little song about the country rat and the town rat. It was the song first called Chant de l’Armée du Rhin but long since adopted as the national anthem of revolution and republicanism, the song that Etienne, the unrepentant Jacobin, had taught her.

  Aux armes, citoyens!

  Formez vos bataillons!

  Marchons! marchons,

  Qu’un sang impur

  Abreuve nos sillons.

  The two Poles had stopped to listen, and an appreciative grin crossed their faces when they heard men’s voices joining in. They talked together in their own language. It seemed there was a difference of opinion between them. Then the fair officer spoke curtly to his subordinate, ending the matter. He turned again and looked at the two women standing in a defensive attitude before him. The dark man put down the fire tongs, brushed his uniform, and left the room.

  The officer said something to Jodie but it was in Polish. Then he bowed to Demelza once again and followed the other man out, shutting the door behind him.

  III

  In the room when they had gone no one spoke. Then Sieur Menieres put down his paper and began to shiver as if with a shaking palsy. Jodie sharply rounded on him, hissing at him to pull himself together. Then she turned to Demelza.

  ‘You were magnifique – superb!’

  Demelza brushed the compliment aside. ‘Bella!’ she said. ‘She’s down there. Judas God, what a thing for her to do! The danger—’

  ‘Heaven bless her,’ said Jodie. ‘I think she may have saved us! Leave her, my dear. So long as she continues to play the clavecin—’

  ‘No! Those are soldiers! And Poles! How do I know?’ Dreadful possibilities were raging through Demelza’s mind. She tore herself away from Jodie’s hands, grabbed the poker and went to the door, flinging it open. Jodie ran after her, grasping her arm again.

  ‘Pray go slow. If we draw their attention again…’

  She could have saved her breath. Demelza was out on the landing. There she stopped and knelt, peering through the bars of the banister. From here you could just see into the room where the harpsichord was and Bella sitting at it. At least you could see a curl of black hair, a bow of ribbon, part of a slim adolescent back – all the rest was blocked off by the broad shoulders of soldiers.

  Jodie came and knelt beside Demelza, put a restraining hand on her hand again.

  The singing went on for about five minutes which to the watcher upstairs seemed an hour. Then the pale-eyed officer issued a sharp order and the men round the harpsichord broke up and a smiling Bella emerged from among the group, as yet unscathed.

  The men chatted among themselves and one or two said suggestive things that made the others laugh. But one by one they downed their mugs and put on their tall hats, hitched up their belts and moved away. Outside presently there was the clatter and clink of horses as they swung up into their saddles. At a word of command silence fell, and at another word the cavalcade of twenty horsemen moved slowly off, clopping and stumbling over the pebbled street in the direction of Amiens.

  Bella made a move back to the harpsichord and then, startled, saw her mother’s fiery face peering over the banisters. She bounced lightly up, three steps at a time. Demelza resisted a temptation to hit her.

  ‘Wasn’t that fun, Mama! Wasn’t that fun! And – and d’ye know – they all kissed me!’

  ‘I noticed it,’ said Demelza.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I

  After witness
ing the arrival at the Tuileries Ross walked back to the apartment Last night he had spent dozing and starting awake, aware of the armies behind him, anxious to get back to Paris. It had been rest more than sleep. Despite his strong frame and physically good constitution, he was heavy with fatigue and thwarted by a fierce perplexity.

  It seemed unlikely that Demelza could have left in Jodie’s carriage without Victoire having some knowledge of it. Yet if she had gone with someone else, why had she not left a later note in the apartment? They were not here, they were gone, that was the only concrete fact. By what gate, by what route, in whose carriage there was no way of knowing.

  And no one to ask. The doors of the British Embassy were bolted and barred as if expecting a siege. What purpose to trek back there and rouse everybody to be told over again: ‘We are sure they are safely away. Go you likewise.’

  Henri de la Blache had also disappeared. Hopeless to march into the Palace – even if one were allowed – looking for one of the most ardent of the Bourbon camp. Perhaps he was dead, making a last defiant gesture. Though there had been virtually no fighting. The revolution had taken place like a change of wind, like an act outside human control. Henri could well be under arrest; or perhaps he was just mingling unnoticed with the crowd. How pick out culprits when half Paris was in the streets?

  In a few days, when things were settling down, when the new régime had gathered up the reins of office, then might come the reckoning.

  Certainly nobody would be interested at present in the whereabouts of Sir Ross Poldark, a Cornish mine owner and mine captain elevated above his true importance and much against his inclinations.

  Apart from the soup at the Embassy, he had eaten nothing since breakfast, and he was hungry as well as tired.