The Countess put out a hand to take the paper from the gendarme but he snatched it away again. “This is my cousin, Edoard de Esternay of the 20th Regiment de Chasseurs-a-Cheval,” she said angrily. “He is personally acquainted with Marshal Mortier.”
The gendarmes looked at one another impassively and shrugged. The senior man repeated the words of the instructions. Bond looked toward the muskets in the back of the chariot, older than any of the people here, he suspected, and probably improperly loaded at that. But he would get nowhere chasing them off the property at pistol point.
“We will only accept your order if you will sign copies of the Countess’ lease agreements and take one to the Sub-prefect in Sézanne.”
She held out a copy of the paper she had written the previous evening.
They stepped back. “We have no authority to sign such a thing.”
“You have no authority for anything here,” the Countess countered. “I want you off my property, now. Take one of these lease agreements to the Sub-prefect and tell him to come here himself with a signed copy.” She pushed a copy into the senior man’s hands and shepherded them back to their conveyance. They climbed in and started off.
The senior man turned to them just before reaching the corner. “You had better be gone when the Sub-prefect gets here.”
Agnes and the children came to them from the house. Both Agnes and little Sophia were crying, “What will we do?” Hugh-Frederik strutted about, “Why did you not shoot them? I would have shot them.”
“What are we going to do?” the Countess said. “We must load whatever we have room for in the cart and hope for better fortune in Paris.”
Bond shook his head. “Not Paris. It is not certain that there will be an agreement before the city is attacked. It would not be safe for you there. Thousands could be killed.”
She looked at him but said nothing. Old Armand came hobbling out of the tower stable with the pony.
Bond looked at them. He had no choice. “I must leave here for Troyes today, but I can travel with you and the cart. When we get to Schwarzenberg’s headquarters, I will see what I can do to find you a billet in the town.”
“The cart will not get to Troyes in one day,” the Countess said. “If we reach Romilly and the bridge over the Seine we will have done well. I have a few francs to find us beds along the way . . . I would sign a note, My Lord, for a loan, but I do not know how to honour it before we recover my father’s and my husband’s property.”
“I would not presume to make you a pauper to me, My Lady. I will pay whatever is needed until we can find you a safe refuge with the Army of Bohemia. There will likely be French Royalists there, waiting to make plans with the monarchs for Napoleon’s successor.”
She took his hand and kissed it, her face lowered so he could not see her eyes. “We will always be in your debt. I will never forget your kindness.”
Now he knew what the concession was.
Chapter Forty
Over and Above Duty
The Antiochus lay at anchor off Oostende while the troops for the town were disembarked. There were twice as many ships and regiments here than there had been at Neuport, and this time the Duke of Wellington had gone ashore from the admiral’s flagship to ensure the position and its defences would be adequate to hold the town and harbour against the French troops known to be somewhere near, perhaps on the road from Lille.
The French ironclad had not been seen since they had begun landing troops all along the coast. A message from Captain Hawke off Boulogne had told them that his flotilla of spitefuls had captured a pyroscaphe attempting to set a course for the Schelde in the pre-dawn mists the previous day. Captain Worthington and his officers suspected the commander of the ironclad had sent a message overland to call for steamships to return in a supporting role. He did not want to be assailed by a swarm of spitefuls again.
Roberta spent much of the day around the boilers and coal bunkers as Antiochus took on coal. By late afternoon she looked and felt like a coal miner. Behaving as a coal miner should, she secured herself in the officer’s ablutions—with a marine sentry at the door in case someone might not know who was inside—and had a hot bath. She praised the moment a year ago when she had added a hot water system to her ships, using the overflow water from the condensers.
Feeling much less like a troglodyte, she went up to the navigating bridge to look at the town of Oostende beyond the harbour. The Newcastle collier that had brought the coal now in Antiochus’ bunkers was raising its anchor to return for another load in England―how easily was the sailing navy’s advantage equalled when steamships had a safe port to replenish from.
“Good evening, My Lady,” Midshipman Sparrow said as she glanced at the log. “Ye best get to Wardroom, the lieutenants have gone below to eat.”
“Thank you for telling me, Sparrow, I believe I have a huge appetite after today’s work. I see in the log that Captain Worthington went below as soon as we anchored. Has he been up to look about?”
“Once, I believe, My Lady. He said we was to look for any signal from Admiral Hotham’s headquarters ashore. Do ye suppose you may have supper with Captain?”
“Why would you think that?”
Sparrow looked very guilty. “That’s what I hears, My Lady. I didn’t mean anything by it. Honest.”
She shook her head and smiled. “No, of course you didn’t. I am sorry to interrogate you.” She looked at the town to pick out the Admiral’s headquarters―they were now under the command of the fleet that had brought the Duke’s army to the continent.
“There have been a signal from the Admiral’s Headquarters not more than a few minutes ago,” Sparrow said. “It was taken to Captain right away.”
“I expect he will tell us what it says if necessary,” she said as she left the bridge to go below. She stood a moment to settle her concern about Sparrow’s mistake―and the secrets of her marriage becoming common knowledge―before reaching the Officer’s wardroom. They had all acted like gentlemen, but having a woman aboard must be difficult for them. The very fact of their raucous laughter ending as she appeared said so.
“Please carry on, Gentlemen. Your laughter is a tonic to my ears. Can you share it with me?”
“Nay, My Lady,” Lieutenant Ward said. “We were joshing Lieutenant Bright and we know you disapprove of baiting lobsters.”
She shook her head. “Better you bear in mind that some have very large pincers. One day you may be in Lieutenant Bright’s debt.”
“I think nothing of it, My Lady,” Bright said. “Please do not trouble yourself on my account.”
“We have received mail today, My Lady,” the First Lieutenant said. “I believe there is one for you.” He waited for the mess servant to hand it to him and gave it to her. It was from the army in the field―in her husband’s hand.
“I will read it later,” she said. “Has there been any news of matters in Paris?”
“The city is not taken, if that is what you mean, My Lady,” Bright said.
They all regarded her as if they knew what was in her letter and so she asked for the stew-pot to be passed to her and carried on in as unconcerned manner as she might convey. The rest did their own duties to the stew-pot and the mess conversation lagged.
They had barely started eating when Commander Collins pushed his seat back and rose to his feet. “The Captain, Lady, Gentlemen.”
They rose to see Captain Worthington in the doorway. “Sit down again, chaps . . . My Lady,” he said. “I merely want to tell you that we have a voyage to make this evening. I received a request from His Grace the Duke to be shown over the Antiochus as soon as he has dined ashore. I went one better and offered to take him back to Dunkerque this evening.”
A buzz of comment went around the table.
“What is your opinion, My Lady . . . Lieutenant Hardy? I would judge we can send him ashore at midnight and be back at our station here before dawn.”
“From the Engine-room situation I would agree
, Captain,” Roberta said. “We have full coal bunkers battened down.”
Hardy looked up. “I see no reason why we cannot, Captain.”
“Good. As soon as ye have eaten and the men likewise, we will have time for a little spit and polish. Not that I see anything amiss now.”
The Duke of Wellington came aboard soon after eight and was presented to the officers. When he reached Roberta at the end of the line, wearing her usual duty boilersuit and a rather jaunty cap that had been adapted from the official Naval Officers’ regulation, he offered his hand but looked quite critical.
“And you must be Lady Bond, My Dear. I had, of course, been told to expect to see you aboard but did not expect you to be wearing workmen’s clothes.”
“If we are to have a smooth passage to Dunkerque this evening, Your Grace, I have taken the first watch myself, and will let my second engineer take the return watch.”
“Good heavens, I was not given to believe I was disrupting the duties of the ship.”
“Then perhaps we should apologise for surprising you,” she said. “I thought your visit would be a fine opportunity to show you how adaptable a steamship can be. The evening’s journey will be nothing out of the ordinary.”
She looked toward Captain Worthington, who seemed quite tongue-tied with His Grace beside him. Of course everyone had heard that the Field Marshal could be very condescending and distant if presented with something novel.
His Grace’s nose went up. “Good Lord, My Lady, are you expecting me to buy one?”
“No, Your Grace, but I would wish to demonstrate that the poor impression you must have from the French steamships should not guide your opinions of all steamships.”
He looked at her sharply. “So what did the Corsican do wrong, My Dear?”
“He attempted to put an army to work with weapons that were not fully understood. His officers were not yet familiar with their duties―especially ones that might be a surprise―and the mechanical parts had been only brought to a condition where slight problems might grow into serious ones. You see in Antiochus the fruit of a whole generation of British engineers’ experience. France cannot match this.”
“I see,” he said. “Yes, some very good points. You must show me over all these mechanical contrivances this evening, My Lady. It seems I need to exercise my Greek before we part company―Is that acceptable, Captain?”
“Very acceptable, Your Grace,” replied Captain Worthington. “Lady Bond is the very person to advise you in such matters.”
On the evening of their second day on the road, Lord Bond’s little convoy arrived in the vicinity of Troyes. Ever since crossing the Seine, they had met the cavalry and battalions of the Army of Bohemia taking up positions on the road Napoleon’s army had used three days before.
He noted that where Napoleon had merely traversed the route, Field Marshal Schwarzenberg’s troops looked to take possession of it. He had no doubt that on other roads out of Troyes he might find Austrian corps in strength, pushing the French corps of Marshal Mortier back as they forced him to relinquish his hold on the westerly roads to Paris.
The Countess commented as they passed by a regiment of Grenadiers in a field, “Napoleon has marched away and left this land to the Austrians. What does he gain by it?”
“He hopes to discomfit Blücher before Austrian troops can reach him, My Lady.”
“And then what will he do?”
“Probably come back again,” Bond said. “Troyes is well placed, with roads leading to the rest of France.”
“It seems nothing but a game.”
“A game of cards for high stakes, yes, My Lady. He has to gamble that he can hold better cards than the allies. And so he uses the French army’s better ability to march, against the allies’ bigger battalions to dominate in battle, in the hope that his enemies will make more mistakes than his marshals. If he can out-fox his enemies, he might get the better conditions in an Armistice.”
The Countess shook her head and turned to look across the fields. “And how long must my family wait for peace?”
“I wish I knew,” Bond said.
When they arrived in the town, they found the Provost-marshal of the army had some officials set up in the courtyard of the Cathédrale Saint-Pierre-et-Saint-Paul to advise civilians. Bond used his officer’s uniform to go to the head of the line.
“The Countess Marie-Sophie de Esternay needs accommodation for herself, her children, and two servants. Is there a representative of the French Royalists available who may help?”
“The Lady is a Royalist?” the officer asked.
“Vraiment. She was displaced of her abode when Napoleon’s army marched north.”
“And you are, Sir?”
“Lord Bond, a staff officer representing His Majesty’s Government in London.”
“I will send a message to His Grace the Duc d’Angoulême at once, My Lord, if you all will wait over there,” he said, pointing to a collection of carts on the side of the courtyard opposite to the cathedral.
The following day, Bond rode to Troyes from the village of Bar-sur-Seine on the road to Dijon, where the Duke’s man had found the Countess a lodging near the Hôtel-dieu, the hospital filled with wounded from the earlier battles in the area.
He could not put off reporting to Schwarzenberg’s headquarters another day but he had no sooner entered the ante-room to Marshal Wittgenstein’s chambers than he was accosted by none other than Count Nikolai Rostov.
“There you are at last, Bond. Your government sent me all the way from the Marne to look for you when you disappeared.”
“I had not disappeared, Nikolai, old chap. I had to take refuge in the Forête de la Traconne when Napoleon took my road.”
“Ah yes, and what refuge it was. I heard all about it from the Royalists. You start off riding alone to Troyes and arrive with a wife and two children . . . a very delectable countess, I am given to understand. My God, but you do move fast.”
“Oh, do not spread scandal, Nikolai. I had to hide at the Countess’ hunting lodge until the road south was clear, nothing more.”
“And you bring her with you,” Nikolai said with a laugh. “I believe every word you say.”
Bond clenched his fists and shook his head. “What sensible conversation do you have? Are you assigned to this headquarters now?”
“We both are. Your people in London have arranged it. We have some new Cossacks to chase.”
Chapter Forty-one
Forward and Reverse
Symington Holmes stood on the dyke near his refuge on the north end of Walcheren Island and stared at the ships offshore. Two gun brigs were closest and a spiteful not a cable’s length from them, but the sight that almost had him cheering was that of what looked like a large spiteful―HMS Antiochus.
He turned to the Dutch loyalist beside him. “That is the new battleship, Piet. Can you launch the beurtschip and take me out to it?”
“You are sure the French troops in Flushing have left?”
“van Aa told me in the last dispatches. They were ordered to Neuzen two days ago. Walcheren is ours.”
“I will send word for the boys. Will you be leaving on the battleship?”
“I have received no orders to do so. We still need this stretch of water to pass our information to the ships, but we must also watch the Westerschelde more closely because the Navy will be sending ships there to watch for the ironclad. I will expect to learn what the Admiralty wants us to do.”
Within half an hour he was on the water and nearing the Antiochus. He looked at it admiringly―he had contributed a goodly share of the planning that had gone into the vessel. He felt like a new father with twins―except he could not really visualise the role.
A voice called out to him from the ship. “Good day to you, Mr. Holmes.” It was Worthington. Inevitable he should be aboard.
The deck crew threw him a line, and he climbed up through the entry port. Inside, Worthington met him in a Captain’s uniform. “Good Lo
rd, do not deceive my eyes―did the Admiralty do the right thing at last?”
“They balked a lot, but I am satisfied with the result. This will be quite a reunion. Her Ladyship is aboard as Engine-room Number one. She is in her bunk, off duty, right now, but I will send a middy to call her.”
“Yes, I must see her before I leave you. I have some good news about her husband.”
Worthington looked at him. “Then there has been bad news? She did not tell me.”
A movement on the companionway caused them to stop and look up. “I do not recall any bad news in the last letter, Mr. Holmes,” came Lady Bond’s voice. “Perhaps you might tell me now.” She arrived at the bottom, and they shook hands.
“I expect the war office chose not to tell you what had concerned them,” Holmes said. “He was travelling between the Prussian army and the Austrian when he disappeared for several days. When Count Rostov caught up with him at Troyes, he said he had nearly been caught in Napoleon’s sudden march north and had to take refuge in a forest until the road cleared again. He and the Count are now attached to Wittgenstein’s Cossacks with the Austrian army.”
“I see,” she said thoughtfully. “I expect the Marquess has written to tell him that the Bishop’s court is investigating irregularities in our marriage service.”
Holmes’ eyes widened. “I knew nothing of that.”
“Your suspicion was right,” she said. “When I visited Chaplain Jenkins’ father, I learned that he had been hiding his true age by using the parish record of a deceased relative.”
“So you applied to the Bishop . . . ?”
“No,” she said. “I gave the father’s letter to the Marquess because he has the greater chance of using the information to obtain the result we both want.”
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