by Joan Lingard
I was relieved when I caught sight of one familiar face. Peg was sitting in a corner with a tankard in her hand. “Whit are ye daein’ here, laddie?”
She helped me to find Tam, who was in the other room. He left at once to come with me once I’d told him that we thought the Comte d’Artois might be in danger. There was no time for explanations. We joined Louisa and hurried across to the palace. The guard allowed us to pass and we went quickly along the corridor and up three flights of stairs to a small boxroom where we found our father lying on a straw pallet reading a book by the light of a candle. He leapt up, astonished to see us.
“Listen, Papa,” I said and then related as briefly as I could what we had found out. “So you see, we think Monsieur Goriot is plotting something.”
“From the sound of it, they might well be planning to kidnap the count!”
“That’s what we’re afraid of.”
“Bonaparte’s supporters would like rid of all the members of the French royal family. They’re worried they might try to reclaim the throne. We must act at once!”
Our father took charge. It was a long time since we had seen him so purposeful. Walking briskly, he led us back along the corridor, talking as he went. “Tam, go and alert the guard. Children, you go home and stay in the house!”
There was no way whatsoever that we would do that. Both Tam and our father had ceased to notice what we were doing. They were striding ahead and had soon disappeared into the nether regions of the palace to summon help. We slipped back out into the street, stopping to ask the guard if he knew what time it was. Seven minutes before ten, he was able to tell us. Seven minutes to!
We half walked, half ran, half slid back up Abbey Hill. The snow had thinned and the sky must have cleared at least partially, for a three-quarter moon had come out and was lighting the ground in front of us. We came to a stop before we got as far as Croft-an-Righ, arrested by what we saw ahead of us.
Three men, dressed in black, walking stealthily and hunched over, as if they wished to conceal themselves, were turning into the lane… Trois amis. Three friends.
Once they’d disappeared, we moved up. But before we reached the lane we heard a shot. Somebody had fired a musket!
Shouts and cries now filled the air. We rounded the corner into Croft-an-Righ and carried on to the Polastron house. We gasped. The three men in black, along with Monsieur Goriot, with black daggers at their belts, and muskets drawn, were conducting the Comte d’Artois out of the house! We had been too late fetching help.
The count was trying to protest but the men were urging him on, brandishing their weapons. Madame de Polastron stood in the lit doorway wrapped in a shawl, waving her arms frantically and protesting, also. Behind her, we saw the white, shadowy face of her son Louis.
On the ground, at the side of the door, lay a man sprawled face downwards, his legs and arms splayed out. He looked like a guard. He looked dead.
Turning, Monsieur Goriot spied us.
“Ah, so it’s you two again,” he said in his soft, slimy voice as he came towards us. He tossed his musket to one of the other men and took the dagger from his belt. “Go over there!” he barked, his voice no longer soft, and he pointed the dagger straight at my heart. I was so petrified that I felt frozen. Louisa screamed.
Then Monsieur Goriot cocked his head. He thought he could hear something. So did we.
In the next moment, a posse of palace guards was upon us.
“Get out of the way!” a voice shouted.
We ducked as a shot was fired and fled into the bushes where we huddled, clutching each other. A fierce battle ensued, at the end of which all four of the would-be kidnappers and two of the palace guards lay dead. I could feel Louisa retching and thought she might be sick. She took a couple of deep breaths and calmed herself. I did not feel so very calm myself.
“Louisa! William!” It was our father calling, his voice urgent.
We emerged from the bushes, scratched, wet and trembling. We fell into Papa’s arms and he held us close against him.
We were invited into the Polastron house and given hot chocolate. The count was sitting by the fire drinking a glass of brandy and recovering from his ordeal. Madame de Polastron was fussing over him, as was another lady who was present. Once Tam had explained that it had been us who had raised the alarm, the count was full of gratitude. He said that he wished that he could reward us in some way. We rather did too, for it would be helpful, but we knew he had no money.
I thought suddenly of Monsieur Vauquer, the man to whom Monsieur Goriot’s letter had been addressed. He must have been in the plot too. I told the count about him and the letter which we had not delivered and he straight away instructed the captain of the guard to take some men and make haste to Riddle’s Court to arrest the Frenchman.
Some of the Scottish nobles who lodged in the palace arrived, having heard of the fray, and they too thanked us. We basked in the heat of Madame de Polastron’s fire and also, I have to admit, the praise of these noble men. The count said that we must come and visit him at the palace and bring our mother, whom he would very much like to meet, especially since she was a fellow countrywoman. We knew that would please her. It also reminded us that she might be awake and worrying about us. She often sleeps badly and gets up in the night.
“I will walk you up the hill,” said our father. “I won’t let you go alone at this hour.”
“But you can’t, Papa!” I said, wishing that he could come home with us now and stay there. “You might be arrested.”
No doubt, with all this happening, the Town Guard would be out, and Papa was still listed as a debtor.
“I will walk them home,” offered one of the Scottish nobles.
“That would be most kind,” said our father.
We took our leave of the assembled company and set off for home. Our escort walked between Louisa and me, giving an arm to each of us. He told us that the count was a very special friend and said that he could not thank us enough for having saved his life. He felt sure that Monsieur Goriot and his men, once they had kidnapped him, would have killed him.
“You are both exceedingly brave.”
“Not really,” said Louisa. “I was terrified. I thought Monsieur Goriot was going to run William through with his dagger.”
“Fortunately he did not!” We passed from the Canongate into the High Street. “You have fallen on hard times of late, I think?” our escort continued.
We agreed that that was so.
“I shall see if I can do something for your father.”
“Oh, would you?” cried Louisa. “We want him to come home so very badly!”
“I will see what I can do.”
The nobleman insisted on coming down the close with us to our own door. We said goodnight and thanked him; and I hoped that he would not forget his promise.
Our mother was up. She had been tearing her hair to pieces for the last hour, she informed us. She had looked into our rooms and found our beds empty.
“You are very bad children to do this. You have put me through a thousand agonies. I have been distraught and I did not even have Bessie here!”
“We were saving the life of the Comte d’Artois,” said Louisa.
“You were doing what?”
“Sit down, Maman,” I said, “and we will tell you all about it.”
She almost fainted when she heard that we had been so close to danger, and Louisa had to fetch her smelling salts. But by the time we had finished our story she was saying how brave we were and how thrilled she was to know that the Comte d’Artois, brother to the heir of the French throne, had invited us to the palace.
We slept late this morning, after all the excitement of last night. Bessie was back by the time we got up and was making porridge. She had heard the news. The whole town had heard!
“What clever children I have, Bessie,” said our mother, putting a hand on each of our shoulders. “Now, if only their father could come home we might be a happy family agai
n!”
We thought there might be a chance that he soon would but we said nothing for we did not know if the nobleman would be able to pay our father’s debts even if he would wish to. Some of the Scottish nobles did not seem to be much better off than the count himself.
As soon as we had eaten we were off down the hill again. Peg was outside the palace gates.
“Ye’re the toast o’ the toun,” she told us.
The guard allowed us to enter the palace once we had explained who we were. We were being treated like royalty itself!
We found Tam first and he took us to our father, who was sitting in a room with our friend from yesterday. They both rose as we came in and the nobleman shook our hands. He told us first of all that Monsieur Vauquer had been arrested as he was attempting to flee. We were delighted with the news.
“There was a little cell of them, bent on wiping out what is left of the monarchy. They called themselves the Black Daggers. But I think you found that out for yourselves? What clever children you have, Ranald!”
That was the second time we’d been complimented so. Our father was smiling. I wondered if he would say we were not so much clever as nosy!
The nobleman went on to tell us that he was on the point of leaving for Leith where he would embark for Rotterdam. He had urgent business to attend to on the continent. He hinted that it might even have something to do with the Black Daggers. He thanked us warmly again for the part we had played in saving the count and said that he hoped our paths would cross sometime in the future. Then he left.
We felt a little flat after he had gone and I wondered if he would have had time to do anything for our father. But Papa was still smiling and I noticed that he had some papers in his hand.
“Has he given you some money?” we asked simultaneously.
Our father nodded. “I was extremely reluctant to take it—”
“Oh, Papa!” To think that he might have refused! Our father is a very proud man and we admire him for that but we think that sometimes, perhaps, one can be too proud. Sometimes one needs help. He is loath to admit that.
“I thought under the circumstances, though, that I should,” he continued, “so that I can be a proper father to you again. The money I have been given will pay my debts.”
I wondered why the nobleman had not paid off the debts of the Comte d’Artois but, of course, our father’s were small in comparison.
“I have already sent a messenger to do so,” our father continued.
We flung our arms around him.
“Not only that,” he went on, “our friend has given us an apartment.”
“In the palace?” asked Louisa.
“No, no, nothing so grand. It is a very small one, apparently, just a couple of rooms, quite nearby. I have the deeds here and he has sent instructions to his solicitor.”
“What is our friend called?” I asked.
“Lamont. Whether it is his surname or his Christian name, I have no idea. It could be either. But that is what we are to know him by.”
“What shall we do with the apartment?” asked Louisa. “We already have a house.”
I thought of Peg but I was not sure that our father would agree to her living there. Nor did I think she might want to. She had told us she’d spent so much of her life outside that she felt restless when she was stuck inside four walls for long.
“It’s a kind of hideaway,” said our father. “Lamont called it a safe haven. He has asked that we keep it a secret within the family for he may come at times to use it himself. He has retained a key.”
“He seems to be a man of mystery.” I imagined him having secret assignations in Rotterdam and other places on the continent, in the way that Monsieur Goriot had, but I hoped that his would be in aid of good causes. I could only think they would be. He had seemed a man of honour.
“I asked no questions of him,” said our father. “We are each entitled to keep secret what we wish in our lives. I think he is much involved with the French royal family.” He held up a key. “Shall we go and look at it?”
It felt wonderful to be able to cross over the sanctuary boundary with our father and know that he was a free man and not in danger of being tapped on the shoulder with the Wand of Peace. He led us past the Girth Cross, and at the foot of the Canongate we turned into White Horse Close where we had been only the previous evening looking for Tam. Papa led us up a stair, stopped at a door, inserted the key in the lock, and we went inside.
The apartment was small but cosy and furnished with a sofa – which could be used as a bed, I saw – a table, and two upright wooden chairs. A couple of bright Oriental rugs lay on the floor. Apart from that, there was only a cupboard and a kitchen which held but a small range and some utensils.
“I like it,” said Louisa.
And so did I.
“There is one condition attached,” said our father. “It is to be written into the deeds that the owner will not tell his children about this place until he judges that they are of an age to be entrusted with the secret.”
“We are of that age now,” I said.
“You are,” agreed our father. “And so the secret is now in your care. Shall we go home and see your mother?”
Chapter 21
Will and Lucy closed the book and looked at each other.
“Do you think…?” said Lucy.
“That Dad might be there?” said Will. “Let’s go and find out!”
They left a note for their mother, saying merely that they had gone out, then they seized their anoraks and ran from the house. They did not stop running until they reached the lower Canongate. There they paused to catch their breath and to wonder in what state they would find their father, if they did find him.
“He might not want to see us,” warned Will.
“He’s going to have to,” said Lucy fiercely.
“Let’s go then!”
They turned into White Horse Close. There was no tavern here now, only apartments. The inn had gone long ago. The close opened out into a wide courtyard and in daytime had more light than most. It was one of the prettiest in the Old Town, with its baskets and window boxes of flowers, not blooming at this time of year, of course, but in summer making a fine show. It was night-time now. Some of the windows were dark; others showed light at the edges of their curtains.
Somewhere here was the apartment given in 1796 to Ranald Cunningham by the mysterious nobleman known only as Lamont. There were several doors. Which one was it? They went round reading the names on the plates, but beside a few of the bells there were none at all. Some people obviously did not like to advertise themselves.
“We could try ringing them,” suggested Lucy.
“It’s a bit late to do that.”
“Not too late. It’s not quite ten yet. Most people would be up.”
“Trouble is, even if we did manage to ring Dad’s, he might not answer.”
“Let’s try a couple anyway.”
Lucy pressed one and got no response. She tried another and this time a woman’s voice came booming out of the grille to demand, “Yes? What do you want?”
“We’re looking for a Mr Ranald Cunningham.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Probably nobody has,” said Will, “not if he’s using the place as a secret hideaway.”
They wandered around looking at the windows, which revealed nothing.
“We can’t give up now,” said Lucy. “Even if we have to camp down here till he comes out.”
“I can’t see us being allowed to do that!”
A man and woman were entering the close.
“Let’s ask them.” Lucy went forward to meet them and Will followed.
The couple looked at them slightly askance.
“We’re looking for a Mr Ranald Cunningham,” said Lucy.
“Don’t know anyone of that name,” replied the woman. “Do you, Donald?”
He shook his head.
“Does he live here?” asked the woman.
“Well, yes, some of the time.”
“He’s six feet tall,” put in Will “and he’s got dark hair with just a little bit of grey at the sides.”
The woman frowned. “Sounds a bit like our mystery man, doesn’t it, Donald?”
“Mystery man?” echoed Lucy.
“Yes, he has the next flat to ours. He seems to come and go, always on his own. He’s been around more recently. Never has much to say for himself.”
“It might be him,” said Will.
“Could you let us in the outside door?” asked Lucy “Just so that we could find out.”
“You can ring the bell,” said the man. “It’s that one on the right.”
Lucy rang but no one answered.
“He was in earlier. I’m sure I heard him.”
“Perhaps if we were to knock on his inside door?” said Lucy.
“You can come in with us and try if you think it will do any good.”
The couple unlocked the door and went ahead of them up the stairs to the first floor. “That’s his flat there,” said the woman, indicating it.
The couple waited in the doorway of their own apartment, which made it difficult for them. Lucy and Will realised that they probably wanted to make sure that they were not up to anything. The trouble was that if you were a teenager people thought you must be!
There was no name on the door they were facing, and no bell. After a moment’s hesitation, Will raised his fist and knocked. It was very quiet. There didn’t appear to be any movement on the other side of the door.
