Dead Man's Island

by David McDine

  What’s more, he’d had his suspicions before that she and the yeomanry poltroon had history. Now he felt sure he was right and it was all too much. With as much dignity as he could muster he hissed: ‘Then go to Chitterling. You deserve one another.’

  Like a spoilt child, Charlotte frowned in anger, swung her arm and smacked him hard across the face.

  Taken completely by surprise, he winced, stared at her, resisting the urge to strike back, then turned on his heel and walked quickly away.

  22

  Under Wraps

  Summoned in haste to Hardres Minnis rectory, Hoover and Fagg arrived in Tom Marsh’s pony and trap and were directed to the summerhouse where Anson awaited them.

  He explained the predicament Hurel had foisted on him as a result of what he told them had been “a ridiculous so-called duel” with Chitterling.

  ‘This means I have to find yet another place for Monsieur Hurel to hole up until we are ordered to make the crossing to France.’

  Fagg shook his head. ‘Ain’t no use sending ’im down to Seagate, sir. You couldn’t keep nuffink secret there – not fer five minutes.’

  Anson agreed. ‘No, I’d thought of that of course, but it wouldn’t do. He needs to be kept out of the public gaze and chaperoned by someone who can keep a firm grip on him, and I have the very place in mind.’

  Hoover put up his hand. ‘I reckon the ideal place would be Fairlight. The signal station’s off the beaten track, isn’t it? And it strikes me Commander Armstrong would be great at keeping him in order – and entertained.’

  ‘I had been thinking along the exact same lines. Commander Armstrong has the rank and clout to keep someone like Hurel in line – and he speaks very good French so they can while away the lonely hours gabbling together.’

  He smiled at the thought. ‘Besides, Armstrong lacks entertaining company and from what I’ve seen and heard of Hurel he certainly provides that!’

  ‘Does the doctor reckon he’s fit to travel?’ Hoover asked.

  ‘No, he’ll need an eye kept on him for a few days by someone in the medical line.’

  ‘Mister Shrubb?’

  ‘Exactly!’

  And so they hatched a plan. Hurel would be sent to stay at Wealden Bottom with the apothecary until he was fully fit, and then sent on to Fairlight.

  He would travel in Tom Marsh’s pony and trap, with Hoover accompanying him, armed and in uniform. That way he could deal with any over-inquisitive people – including the military – that they might encounter. Few would dare to argue with a sergeant of marines – and an American, what’s more …

  *

  Hurel was alone in his room having eluded the Anson sisters following the severe dressing down he had been given for flirting and getting himself into the messy duel.

  When Anson entered, the Frenchman looked up with a worried expression. ‘You ’ave asked Mademoiselle Charlotte to keep silent about my, er, encounter with the fat cavalryman?’

  Anson managed a hollow laugh. ‘I think it safe to say that my diplomacy was such that she will now do exactly the opposite of anything I asked her to do! And if I were to approach Chitterling himself he would laugh me out of court and spread the word about you even wider.’

  Crest-fallen, Hurel asked: ‘So does this mean we must leave ’ere?’

  ‘It does. You must leave tomorrow, wound or no wound. First I will send you to the home of Phineas Shrubb, an apothecary who has served in the navy as a surgeon’s mate. He now looks after the medical needs of my Sea Fencible detachment. He will tend your wound until it is healed. His home is in a remote place and he will hide you away when anyone calls. My master-at-arms, Sergeant Hoover, will accompany you.’

  ‘As bodyguard or jailer?’

  ‘Both. Meanwhile I will write a letter to my friend Commander Armstrong who is in charge of a signal station further down the coast. I am sure he will agree to hide you there and when you are fully fit you and Hoover will go there.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘But from now on you must speak to no-one other than those I have named, certainly not to any young ladies. If you do I will happily kill you myself. Is that understood?’

  Hurel noted the half smile on Anson’s lips and agreed: ‘Absolutely, mon ami!’

  ‘Shrubb is also a Baptist preacher, so he may well attempt to heal your soul as well as your wound, and there will be no opportunities for horse racing, cricketing, card-playing, dancing or cockfighting!’

  Not knowing of these Baptist taboos, the Frenchman was puzzled. He indulged in none of these pursuits, but in the circumstances he thought it best not to make some amusing remark.

  ‘When you are transferred to the signal station you will find Armstrong more agreeable company. He lived in Paris for a time when he was younger and he is able to serve up good French wine, courtesy of the smugglers.’

  ‘Thank you, mon ami. I will be on my best be’aviour.’

  ‘Yes, you will. I shall warn Armstrong that while you are with him he must keep all females at bay so that you are not tempted to tell them your life story.’

  Hurel assumed an only partially sincere crestfallen look.

  ‘And as it is a naval station you must resume your admittedly thin disguise as a common sailor, doing menial tasks and obeying Commander Armstrong’s every order. Is that also understood?’

  The Frenchman now clearly was crestfallen and showed it sulkily with his habitual Gallic shrug.

  But Anson had not quite finished. He fixed Hurel with his most withering stare. ‘Lastly, remember to remain security-conscious at all times. Ideally, forget that you are French and stop gabbling on all the time!’

  *

  Before despatching Hurel to Shrubb’s home to recuperate, Anson wrote a note for Hoover to deliver to Armstrong when they moved on to Fairlight:

  “Dear Armstrong

  Via my master-at-arms, I send to you for safe-keeping this French sea officer, Lieutenant Hurel. He is the royalist I mentioned during my visit who has been inflicted upon me by the chain of command because he is willing to undertake a mission over the other side when the time is right. His cover here is blown thanks to an unfortunate incident concerning a lady. Kindly keep him under wraps and pass him off as an extra lower-deck hand. Feel free to treat him as such. With your permission, Sergeant Hoover will stay with you to sheepdog him. Hurel speaks good English, almost without ceasing, and it would be wise not to expose him to female company of child-bearing age. Nevertheless, he should provide you with the amusing company your lonely post normally lacks. I will send for him when it is time for his mission. Grant me this great favour and I shall be even more in your debt.

  Yours ever

  Anson.”

  *

  Hurel was duly delivered to the home of Phineas Shrubb in Tom Marsh’s pony and trap with Sergeant Hoover in close attendance on Anson’s horse Ebony.

  What had originally been built as a smallholder’s cottage with its part-flint, part-brick walls topped by a Kent peg-tiled roof, the peculiarly-named Mount Zion stood, appropriately, on a hill overlooking the hamlet of Wealden Bottom.

  Tom Hoover had been there before and was happy at this – another opportunity to see Shrubb’s daughter Sarah.

  He helped Hurel down from the cart and up the slope to the cottage where the apothecary was waiting to receive them.

  ‘This, Mister Shrubb, is Lieutenant Hurel. He is French but on our side, if you follow my meaning.’

  ‘So you must be a royalist, brother?’

  ‘Oui, monsieur, bien sȗr!’

  ‘And therefore of the Roman persuasion, I deduce?’

  ‘Oh, no! I definitely prefer the ladies!’

  Despite being a Baptist lay preacher, Shrubb was a man of the world. His time in the navy mixing with the inhabitants of the lower deck had seen to that.

  ‘I believe you mistook my question, brother, and thought I was referring to certain alleged practices of the ancient Greeks, rather than the Romans. What I
meant is that I deduce you are a Roman Catholic.’

  Hurel looked puzzled, but for once remained silent.

  It was left to Hoover to explain their presence. ‘Lieutenant Anson sends his compliments and asks, no, he said requests that you take a look at this Frenchman’s wound, well, only kind of a scratch really, and keep him here for a few days until he’s fully mended – under wraps.’

  ‘Wraps?’

  ‘Yeah. Mister Anson says Lieutenant Hurel has a habit of drawing attention to himself and wants him to keep his head down on account of some forthcoming mission.’

  Shrubb understood immediately. It must be some sort of cross-Channel venture. ‘And you, Thomas?’

  ‘Mister Anson said I’m to stay to help keep him out of trouble and stop him telling his life story to any young women he comes across.’

  ‘Including Sarah?’

  ‘Especially Sarah!’ Come what may, Hoover clearly intended to protect her from the Frenchman’s amorous wiles.

  *

  Having rid himself of the annoying Frenchman for a while, Anson returned to Seagate with Fagg and at the fencible building was greeted by Jacob Shallow who handed him a letter.

  It was marked “Urgent for Lieutenant Anson, Seagate Detachment, Sea Fencibles” and he noted it was from Captain Matthew Wills at Chatham.

  Puzzled, he broke the seal and read:

  “To inform you that the French prisoner known as Citizen Bardet has escaped from the Medway hulks …”

  23

  On the Run

  Anson was surprised but not completely taken aback at news of the Frenchman’s escape.

  When he had met Bardet in the prison hulk the Frenchman had made no secret of his intention to escape. In fact he had boasted that he would make his get-away whenever it suited him and Anson could not conceal the hint of a smile at the man’s effrontery.

  He read on:

  “Bardet and two other prisoners were found to be absent when a count took place last night and the subsequent extensive search of the vessel revealed that a hole had been cut on the lower deck just above the low tide water-line. It is believed Bardet and his companions effected their escape via this hole and that the timbers were then replaced and sealed using some form of glue or wax. There was nothing to indicate when the hole was cut but it can safely be assumed that by concealing it as they did, some of the remaining prisoners had the intention of using it again. The positioning of the escape hole was ingenious to say the least. Had it been above the high tide water-line it would almost certainly have been spotted earlier by the guard force. However, as it was under water for a good deal of the time it was easily missed.”

  Anson could understand that. When he had visited the hulk following Hurel’s fake funeral he had noted the galleried walkway around the outside of the ship just above the high tide water-line. It allowed patrolling guards to inspect for escape holes, but not below the low tide mark.

  “Having removed the escape hatch at low tide, the prisoners must have waited underneath the walkway until the sentries were temporarily elsewhere and somehow got ashore, probably at night. There was no sign of a boat being used, so it is assumed that the escapers used some form of flotation gear or simply swam ashore.

  Despite an extensive search by the militia, Bardet and his companions, Cornacchia and Girault, are still on the run.

  To state the obvious, they can be assumed to be making their way to the Channel coast to seek a passage to France, perhaps with the assistance of smugglers. Some of that fraternity are known to assist escapers.

  There is nothing to indicate that Bardet has any knowledge of the existence of your current guest, but of course if seen there is every likelihood that he will recognise him. You are advised therefore to take the greatest possible care to keep your guest out of the public eye until your own crossing is accomplished.”

  At first Anson had been half amused on hearing of Bardet’s audacious escape and had not thought through how it could impact on him and his own mission.

  But now he suddenly felt sick and involuntarily exclaimed: ‘Good grief!’

  What if Bardet somehow already knew, or if he became aware that the whole Hurel death and funeral story was a complete charade?

  If Bardet managed to get to France first he could warn the authorities and the world and his wife would be on the look-out for Hurel.

  Anson well knew that the French were far from stupid, especially in the matter of intelligence. It would be amazing if Hurel was not interviewed about his “escape”. The French would be only too well aware that valuable intelligence could be gained from escapers – especially those who made it back via Kent, an armed camp now that it was once again in the firing line as the gateway for would-be invaders.

  How long before two and two were put together?

  Anson recalled Hurel’s encounter with the gamekeeper the day they arrived at Ludden Hall – and the reason they had had to up sticks and disappear to his father’s rectory.

  And then, far from keeping a low profile, the wretched man had just fought a duel and was no doubt fast becoming the subject of gossip among half the young ladies of Kent – including both Anson sisters and all three of the Brax girls.

  So much for staying under wraps. Hurel seemed to have no sense of decorum or security, and if Bardet and his fellow escapers learned that he was still alive and at large, the game could well be up before it began.

  Anson resolved to send a message to Hoover telling him to warn Hurel of Citoyen Bardet’s escape and of the vital importance of keeping his whereabouts secret.

  *

  After several boring and frustrating days hiding out in the woods there was news for Bardet when he led his fellow escapers back to the farmhouse at dusk.

  The farmer waved them to the kitchen table where their evening meal was laid out and while they were eating joined them, pouring himself a tankard of ale.

  ‘That French bloke staying near Faversham, remember? You wanted to know more about him.’

  He immediately had Bardet’s attention. ‘You ’ave discovered who ’e is?’

  ‘That’s right. He was staying with some old gent who’s a bit eccentric, like.

  ‘Fou? You say ’e is mad?’

  ‘Not mad exactly. Appears the old boy cuts up dead rats and whatnot to see what they had for their dinner. Lives in a big house near a village called Ludden.’

  ‘And you say the Frenchman was staying with ’im?’

  ‘Yeah. One of our contacts who delivers the newspapers thereabouts heard the servants mention a Monsieur Hurel, but seems he’s moved on and we can’t find out where.’

  Bardet was taken aback. ‘But that man is dead!’

  ‘How d’you know?’

  ‘He was in the same ’ulk, but ’e died and was buried on the mudflats – a place they call Dead Man’s Island …’

  ‘Must be some other bloke with the same name, then. This one was with an English officer by the name of Anson, who’s stayed with the old gent before.’

  ‘Anson!’ Bardet slapped his thigh.

  His brain was working overtime. Anson was the name of the English naval officer with a livid scar and powder burn spots on his face who came on board the hulk to tell him personally of Hurel’s funeral which he had claimed to have attended – and to return the dead man’s few pathetic possessions.

  He had wondered at the time why Hurel had been taken ashore to die in the first place. Why would the Rosbifs do that when they had never done such a thing before?

  Then it all fell into place. Hurel’s illness and funeral must have been faked – and the English officer’s visit to the hulk must have been staged to convince the other prisoners that he was dead. Maybe, probably, this Hurel was a royalist – a turncoat. Apart from giving fencing lessons for small change he had certainly kept very much to himself on board the hulk. Perhaps he had agreed to work for the English and this was their way of spiriting him away and trying to convince his fellow prisoners that he really wa
s dead so that he could undertake some mission against the republic.

  Bardet cursed himself for not suspecting anything like this before. If the two were together and making for the coast, the likelihood was that they planning to cross on some spying mission. That made every bit of sense – a Frenchman who could move around with almost total freedom and an English sea officer who would of course know what to look for.

  And the French coast with landing craft in every port was just twenty or thirty miles away.

  Bardet smiled to himself. You had to hand it to the Rosbifs. They were cunning, sure enough, but they had reckoned without his own escape and the extensive intelligence network employed by the smugglers helping prisoners on the run – for a price.

  And how foolish of them not to have given Hurel a false name …

  The smuggler watched Bardet’s reaction curiously. ‘You think this other Frenchman and the officer he was with are up to something?’

  Bardet nodded. ‘There is, as you English say, more to all this than meets with the eye. If you can locate this Frenchman I can arrange for a large reward, monsieur, and if you can bring ’im to me in chains, an even larger reward. I would like to ’elp ’im to return to France.’

  *

  Young Tom Marsh urged his pony down the lane and brought it to a halt with a tug on the reins and a cry of ‘Whoah, Nobby!’ at the bottom of the rough steps leading up to Mount Zion.

  Ebony, loosely tethered behind, immediately set about the cow parsley beside the gate.

  Naming his hillside house after a site in the holy land was what Phineas Shrubb confessed was “a biblical conceit” of his. It was little more than a humble cottage but it did double duty as an occasional Baptist meeting house for the cure of local souls and as an apothecary’s shop for the cure of their earthly ailments.