Not Forgotten

by Elizabeth Johns

  “I cannot change your mind, then? His Grace will deal with her in his own way.” Philip refrained from saying the proper way.

  She shook her head. “I know you are bound by your military code of honour, but do you think they care for such things? Would they do England the same courtesy? They do not represent France’s legitimate government and are not bound by codes and treaties!”

  Her voice rose as she worked herself into a passion. Philip stood up and crossed to her side.

  “You know that I agree something must be done, do you not? It is the how and why I cannot condone. You are not yet strong, and I do not wish to see you risk your life. We very nearly lost you not above a week ago.” Almost unconsciously, he stroked her arm.

  “I have not forgotten. Nor the debt I owe you. Please do not stand in my way.”

  “Very well.” He stood aside and made to leave.

  “Philip?” She called after him. He turned back to her and the look she bestowed upon him made him feel as though his heart were being pulled slowly from his chest. Instead of speaking, she shook her head and shooed him away.

  Leaving Amelia with a heavy burden on his mind, he almost did not see La Glacier in the hall until he was upon her.

  “Ah, Captain Elliot. Finished your afternoon tête-à-tête?

  He made La Glacier a stiff bow. “Indeed. Your niece has decided she is well enough to depart.”

  “Yet you do not agree?”

  He inclined his head.

  “I wonder, Captain Elliot, that her beau could not persuade her to take a wiser course. How is your suit progressing? I had anticipated hearing a certain announcement by now.”

  “I did not consider it appropriate to press my suit whilst she was injured, Madame.”

  “Non. Of course not. I wish you luck and happiness back in England. I think you will do very nicely together. Never take her for granted,” she added as she walked on.

  “I would not,” Philip whispered after her. He did not want to think any more about Amelia and their false relationship, so he decided to pay a visit to Tobin.

  The walk to the village was good for Philip. He needed time away from distractions in order to think clearly. He desperately needed to disassociate his emotions from the task at hand. Even if he could not actively participate in destroying the supplies in the cave, he could try to make certain Amelia and Tobin remained safe and were not caught. He found the Irishman in his rooms, looking morose and none too pleased to see Philip.

  “What can I do for you, sir?”

  Philip smiled, despite a slight irritation. Tobin could not quite bring himself to be a good officer and submit to authority it seemed.

  “Pining over your maid?”

  “Not particularly. She is not worth the effort.”

  Philip was not quite certain that was the case, but he hoped Tobin could forget the Frenchwoman. It had to feel like betrayal at its worst. At least he had helped to rescue Amelia and his tomfool self from the water house.

  “I did not know if Waverley had yet sent word to you, but the plan is to depart in the morning.”

  “Finally,” Tobin said with obvious relief. “This means Lady Amelia is recovered?”

  “She appears to be. I wish she would not try to do too much before she is fully well, but she can not be convinced otherwise.”

  “She probably wants it over and done with. I know I do,” he said, picking up a piece of wood he was carving.

  “Do you know the risk you are taking by defying Wellington’s orders?” Philip asked.

  “I am seeing Lady Amelia safe. I am not lighting the torch. I do not imagine you will be waiting far away yerself.”

  “It is imperative that no one sees us,” Philip urged.

  “I am aware of the consequences, Captain. It is not right for us to leave those supplies here, knowingly helping the enemy in our future slaughter. Wellington will not be sad to hear they were destroyed.”

  “No, nor will I, but if this incident starts a war, it will be our heads.”

  “I rather fancy my head,” Tobin retorted.

  “And I want to make certain not another scratch befalls Lady Amelia.”

  “That is why I am going. I have no qualms about standing before his Grace and explaining that I was trying to protect her.”

  Philip nodded reluctantly. “You are certain La Glacier never saw you during Lady Amelia’s rescue?”

  “Quite certain. It was raining and my hat was down low. I saw her ride away in the other direction with Lady Amelia on the litter. She arrived after I had bound Josefina.”

  “What has become of her?”

  “Last I heard, she was sitting in a cell. Pierre is trying to convince Madame of his loyalty and be allowed to take Lannes’s place while she is away.” Philip and Tobin shared a mutual look of amusement at the unlikelihood of such a thing. Madame was unlikely to forgive Pierre for his or his sister’s betrayal. “Why she has not had them dangling from a tree themselves, I would love to know.”

  “There is some deeper game here than we are privy to, I imagine. We may never have the answers.”

  “Mayhap she does not want their disloyalty widely known. I’d wager she has plans to execute justice on the ship.”

  “A likely course,” Philip agreed. “The rest of us will anchor at Dieppe until we receive your signal that all is clear.”

  Tobin nodded. “I will be ready. I only hope the guards are susceptible to brandy again.”

  “When the cat is away...” Philip began.

  “The mice will play. Aye, I am counting on it,” Tobin muttered.

  Philip stood. “Godspeed, Lieutenant. I pray I will see you again on this side.”

  Tobin saluted him smartly and Philip took his leave.

  It was an entire week before La Glacier’s ship departed for Elba. In this capacity, Amelia could not think of the woman as Aunt Lisette. Had she chosen to give up her cause, then perhaps Amelia could have forgiven her. But Amelia was stubborn too, and she believed what Napoleon was doing was wrong. It would be impossible to live with herself if she did not at least try to stop La Glacier from helping him to escape.

  A week of waiting had been a week of healing, though she would have preferred being on land to ship. Feeling much stronger now, she awaited the signal from Tobin with much impatience. Matters had changed between Philip and her since their removal from the fortress and she did not know why.

  Amelia needed to have done. If Philip did not want her, then she needed to remove herself from his vicinity. Every look and every smile made her remember those times together over the past weeks. She truly did think she was ruined for any other man.

  The signal came late on a cold January evening. Amelia could have burst with the relief she felt. They had been cooped up in their cabins because it was too cold to venture onto the deck in the depths of winter. They avoided going into the town for fear of discovery by one of La Glacier’s lackeys. They were not so far from Étretat, after all.

  Amelia put on a pair of the thick woollen trousers the servants wore, which her maid had altered for her, along with a coat, hat and a sturdy pair of boots. Besides having a functional costume, it was imperative she not be recognized.

  “Are you ready?” Philip asked as the yacht began to sail back to the south.

  “As ready as I can possibly be,” she said. Her voice was steadier than she felt. They had done nothing but rehearse the plan over and over for the past week.

  It was almost as if she were another person going to carry out this undertaking. In looks and in character, no one would ever guess this was the Lady Amelia Blake of London.

  Meg and Waverley exchanged tearful goodbyes while they waited on deck; Meg reminiscing of being left in the same manner once before, almost a year past.

  The yacht anchored far enough away from the fortress so they would not be seen in case guards were looking. Amelia, Philip and Waverley were lowered into a dinghy, where Tobin was waiting for them, and some of Waverley’s cre
w served as oarsmen to row them to shore.

  Amelia was shaking inside as they approached the familiar beach which held so many memories for her. Cowering in fear would do her little good, she told herself fiercely—it was too late to turn back now. Her outer cloak was covered in sea spray and she shivered in anticipation as the face of the cliffs hove into view.

  The sea was gentle that night—not foretelling of what was to come, certainly.

  Suddenly, Philip’s face was before her and he put his hands on both of her arms, which did little to settle her racing heart.

  “It is not too late. You can stay with me outside.”

  She shook her head; her voice was too unsteady to speak.

  The boat pulled to a stop and the oarsmen jumped out into the knee-deep water so as to pull the craft to dry ground.

  “Wait here,” Tobin directed.

  “He is going to scout about to discover how many guards there are and determine the best course. Hopefully, he can gather them in one place, away from the supplies and in safety. The lure of a keg of brandy is strong on a cold, quiet night on watch.”

  “Let us hope it is so.”

  They waited some time for Tobin to return. Amelia could not say how long, for her nerves were shattered and every second felt an eternity.

  “They are all locked in one room, as far away from the storeroom as I could get them, and drunk as wheelbarrows. I will lead the way; Waverley and Elliot will look out behind. Understood?”

  Amelia nodded. She would be the one to go into the cave and set the long wick at the back of the cavern where all the ammunition was. Once she was outside again, she was to set fire to the end and escape back to the beach as soon as possible. It seemed simple enough, yet the consequences were untenable. Failure was not an option any of them would contemplate.

  It seemed as though every step was an experience which took her out of herself, as though time stopped, awaiting each movement. Tobin led and Philip was directly behind her, giving her false courage for the moment. Soon it would be solely up to her. Waverley and Captain Elliot were to keep watch on the room where the guards were hopefully passing a jolly evening, and Tobin would take her to the final tunnel.

  When they reached the room where the guards were, Philip took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Amelia made the mistake of looking up into his eyes, barely visible by the little moonlight shining in, but enough to see he cared. It took a great effort not to throw herself into his arms. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek before turning and hurrying off with Tobin.

  As they walked away, it sounded as though the guards were enjoying the keg of brandy, and Amelia prayed they would be safe so close to the entrance of the beach. The plan was to unlock the door when they exited so the guards would have a means of escape. Amelia could not bear it if she thought they had killed someone unnecessarily.

  The further they went, the more the darkness seemed to close in on them. The tunnel floor was uneven; more than once she slipped and lost her footing. Each breath was an effort as the air felt thinner and colder.

  Tobin stopped and reached for her hand, as if he knew her inner turmoil. “There are some rough steps here,” he whispered, and guided her down them. “Not much further now,” he said.

  Too soon, they reached their destination.

  “I will wait for you here,” Tobin whispered. He handed her the long wick, which she would roll out from there and light inside the cave. She crept forward slowly in the dark, having memorized the passage so she would not falter, but her legs were still shaking. With indrawn breath, she ventured forward into the cavern’s depths. It was almost over. When the wick ran out, she would be there.

  So far, she had only walked about twenty paces. All was darkness and it closed in on her as she advanced further into the depths of hell. There should be a door within the next five strides, but was she even going in the right direction? She looked from left to right but saw nothing and spun around, disoriented. She walked five paces one way, her arms outstretched, but there was nothing there. Panic encroached on her senses; she wanted to scream! She could not see or breathe or think clearly. Crouching down on her haunches, she decided to risk lighting her lamp. Hiding the light beneath her cloak, she looked around.

  The cold iron door was exactly where Tobin had said it would be—directly in front of her. Slowly, she released an agonized breath of something which was not quite relief. As quietly as possible, she lifted the latch and opened the door, thankful the well-oiled hinges made little sound.

  For a moment, she lost her nerve in the darkness and sought the cold, wet wall for reassurance. It was of little comfort, and she quickly snatched her hand away from the slimy, squashy substance which her gloves did little to disguise. Amelia nearly forgot herself and screamed for Philip. Just in time, she pressed her lips together and swallowed the sound. Convincing herself to move forward, she found that the further into the depths she went, the worse the smell of decaying fish. She had to cover her nose in order to carry on.

  “Almost there. Almost there,” she encouraged herself. At last, the length of twine, which would serve as the fuse, ran out. She lifted her small lamp to ensure everything was in the right place. After all, if the supplies had been moved, then this enterprise was for naught.

  Tobin had not exaggerated. Amelia knew little about what it took to equip an army, but to her inexpert eye, it looked as though all of the men in Europe could be outfitted for some time. It was sickening that her aunt had overseen this!

  Seeing the munitions only firmed her resolve that she was doing the right thing. A strange feeling came over her, and she had an uneasy thought—it had all been too easy. Perhaps it seemed so due to Tobin’s excellent preparation, she mused, to bolster her faltering spirits. She had reached her goal. Now she merely had to exit the caves and return to the boat.

  As she reached the door, she held the lamp up to find her path before blowing it out. She let out a squeal.

  “Amelia?”

  Chapter 19

  Amelia tried not to panic, though the blood was pounding through her ears and it was hard to think. They had discussed what to do if she was confronted by someone, but she never thought it would be her aunt! Her hand had automatically gone to the dagger at her waist and she let it drop.

  “I expected someone to come back, but not you,” her aunt said, lowering her own blade.

  There was little else which could have felt like a knife to Amelia’s bruised heart. What an agony of conflicting emotions assailed her!

  “I love you, Aunt, but I cannot allow you to destroy what I believe in.”

  “What about my beliefs? Am I not allowed to fight for what I think is right?”

  “What about all the lives that will be lost? Your Emperor left a path of destruction and death across Europe.”

  “You do not remember the Revolution, niece, but I do. I do not expect you to understand, having come from the very aristocracy we are fighting to abolish,” she snapped.

  “You yourself come from the same blood as I! Have you ever been oppressed?” Amelia questioned.

  “At one point, yes,” she answered coldly, glaring at Amelia.

  “There is a better way. It need not be thus!”

  “Then you will have to take that dagger and plunge it through my heart. I will not let you destroy everything I have worked for!”

  Amelia raised her chin, affecting a bravery she did not feel. “Indeed? What, then, will you do with me if I do not? You know I cannot kill you.”

  Her aunt did not answer for a few moments. “I assume you are not alone. My guards must have been disabled very cleverly for you to have reached this far.”

  Amelia inclined her head, trying not to give away too much. How could they both escape this situation alive? Amelia feared, if she did not return quickly, the men would come after her and kill her aunt.

  “It appears we are at an impasse. You must choose, ma chérie,”

  “The men will be here soo
n,” Amelia prevaricated. “Why did you not leave on the boat as you were supposed to?”

  “Because I knew someone would return to try to destroy the armaments.”

  “This was not supposed to happen, Aunt. No one was to be hurt! Please—turn around and go back to the house.”

  Instead, her aunt stepped closer. “I cannot. If you insist on bringing this down, I will burn with it.”

  “Very well. You leave me no choice.” With a calmness she was far from feeling, Amelia took out her dagger and cut a length of rope, from the end of the wick. “Turn around,” she ordered.

  Her aunt gave her one, long look of betrayal before turning around and presenting her hands.

  Amelia took her knife. Why did she not fight? Tears streamed down Amelia’s face as she tied several knots, cruelly binding her aunt.

  Footsteps sounded in the tunnel, and Amelia knew everything was ruined. She had failed in her intent, and now others would be involved who could implicate England—unless it was a trap and the footfalls belonged to guards. She held her aunt close against her chest and put the dagger to Lisette’s throat.

  Tobin arrived, still disguised, but no doubt her aunt would not be fooled. His eyes went wide at the sight before him and he began cursing in Gaelic.

  “Bring her out,” he said, but Aunt Lisette refused to move.

  “I will not leave,” she answered defiantly. “You must kill me.”

  “I would like nothing more, leannan, but this is not my battle to fight, I have been told.” He bent and lifted Madame over his shoulder. “Ye’ve gone soft, Madame, if ye let her live. I almost think ye’ve grown a heart.”

  “Where are you taking her?” Amelia asked.

  “To safety. If I put her in a cell, she will be burned.”

  Amelia needed to retch. Nothing was happening in the way it was supposed to! She followed Tobin back out of the tunnel to where they were supposed to have met, and her aunt glared at her every step of the way. Tobin turned to her.

  “Finish what you started, lass. I will see her safely out, ye have my word. Can you find yer way from here?”