The French Emperor's Woman

by David Bissenden

  I nodded.

  ‘This boy, Pierre you say his name is, came on board at night in Rouen. He was locked in the hold until we had reached Gravesend. Then just before we docked, he was put on a rowing boat and taken ashore. That was before we got to the Customs check. That is all I know. I never spoke to him. Never had anything to do with it. Now, can I go, please sir?’

  At last!

  ‘Yes, you can go now.’ He looked back at me, clearly scared witless.

  ‘Please, do not tell anyone what I have said. Captain Lynch would flail me alive if he knew.’

  I felt slightly sorry for him.

  ‘Of course, we never had this meeting, you told me nothing. Now, you had best get back to the boat with your fruit.’

  At that he scampered off, out of the alley down the high street. I knew what I had done was unethical but sometimes desperate times needed desperate action. I walked back to the Eagle with a spring in my step, feeling that some progress was now being made.

  Thirteen

  Another Visitor

  As I arrived at the Eagle, I was greeted by Jack Carter. He was leaning on a polished wooden walking stick and puffing away vigorously on his pipe. He smelt of damp clothes and tobacco.

  ‘Mr Reeves, can I have a word please?’

  I smiled, surprised by this turn of events. ‘Of course. Would you like somewhere more private?’

  He nodded in agreement.’

  ‘ Let us go up to my room then.’

  I led him through the reception area up the stairs and into my modest bedroom on the first floor. I could see climbing stairs was not really his forte but clearly he had some information to impart. We sat down.

  ‘So, Jack, to what do I owe this pleasant surprise?’

  He took out his pipe and gently tapped its contents into an ashtray on the small, round table in the room.

  ‘Well, the truth is William, if I might call you by your first name? It appears that I might have been leading you up the garden path, so to speak, about the sighting of the rowing boat leaving the Spirit of Rochester.’ He looked a little awkward at this point.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well after you had visited my house I went back over my records for the 17th September 1870 and I realised that I had entered the sighting of the rowing boat under completely the wrong date. I was a month out you see, so by a process of deduction that means I was noting down a rowing boat coming ashore on the 17th October. Now that would point to the boat being the schooner Burgundy and not the Spirit…’ He stopped talking to let the words sink in. I feigned shock and replied.

  ‘Well, that is a great shame, I have been following enquires based on the fact that it was the Spirit that the rowing boat came from. This rather ruins my whole case.’

  He nodded.

  ‘I’m obviously deeply sorry to have led you astray like this; normally I’m totally accurate on matters of recording detail. I really don’t know how this could have occurred.’

  I decided to play along with his fairy tale and feigned grievous disappointment.

  ‘This puts me back to square one, I am really shocked that this could happen. Is there no chance you might be mistaken?’

  He sighed.

  ‘No, I’m terribly sorry for leading you in the wrong direction. Now if you’ll forgive me I’ll be on my way.’

  I put out my hand and shook his.

  ‘Well, thank you for being so honest with me. I will have to consider what further enquiries can be made in the light of this news.’ We shook hands; he turned and left my room. I closed the door then moved to the window.

  Some twenty seconds later he emerged onto the street below me. I stood at an angle to the window to remain unseen. He then slowly walked off down West Street – I kept looking until he passed the King’s Arms. I then noticed a chink of light from one of the first-floor windows of the inn. A face, perhaps John Lynch himself, was peering through the lace curtains – looking down. Without breaking stride Carter turned to look up at the figure, nodded, then carried on down the street. The lace curtain fell back into place, and the face at the first-floor window was gone. It was as I thought: Carter was doing Lynch a favour and trying to throw me off the scent.

  I sat down in the room to compose my thoughts. So, Lynch knew I was on his track and was making sure I got no further. Clearly he was a dangerous man, he had probably threatened to burn down Carter’s house if he did not tell me a pack of lies. Perhaps I was next, a knife in the back down some quiet alley. Just another murder in this rough sailors’ town? I had to keep going now I knew for sure the boy had come to Gravesend, and might be still here, in the town, or nearby, imprisoned.

  Fourteen

  The Town and Country

  My head was reeling, so I decided to go for a long walk. It was a nice enough day though it seemed to be growing more humid. I left the Eagle and strode along the high street up to the station. There, I turned left and walked in an easterly direction. This brought me to the north end of Wellington Street, which I then walked up. It was odd how so many streets were now being named after battles of the Napoleonic Wars, and British military heroes. Even worse was the recent naming of streets after battles in the Crimea war – typical examples being Alma and Sevastopol. If only the road builders had actually experienced the horror of war they might have chosen other names! It also served as a reminder to me that tomorrow, the 18th June, was Waterloo Day, and sixteen years to the day when I was wounded at the siege of Sevastopol in the Crimea.

  At the top of Wellington Street, I reached Windmill Hill and from there I could look over the open countryside towards the river. This was free draining chalkland, dry and sun-baked in summer and mud free in the winter. The exact opposite to the marshlands and mudflats that separated it from the river. I noted a well-used path through the grassland and walked along it in a north-easterly direction towards the Thames, which meandered towards the estuary, a mile or two beyond Gravesend.

  As I walked, the thoughts and meetings over the last few days filled my head. What Jack Carter said about getting the dates of the sighting wrong was clearly a deliberate lie, and an attempt to throw me off the scent. The truth was that Pierre had been on the Spirit and had been brought ashore, probably somewhere to the east of the town. At least my conversation with Asif had confirmed this, but if still alive, where was the boy now?

  I sat down on a sturdy timber bench and looked at the panorama before me. My feelings were that Pierre was likely to be held captive somewhere near to the riverside port area of the town. I had come to this conclusion quickly. The facts were that Gravesend was now mostly a settled town with a stable population – any newcomers or unusual comings and goings would be noted and perhaps reported to the constabulary. Outside the town were the Thames marshes, which stretched down to the estuary. The people who lived here were even more embedded in their landscape. They were a long-standing and resolute community of mostly graziers, who had lived on the marshes forever. In fact, ‘outsiders’ often struggled to adapt to life on the marshes and suffered terribly from the ague or marsh fever, which was deadly in many cases.

  No, if the boy were being held around here it would be in the West Street area of the riverside, where sailors from far away countries were a normal occurrence, and there was a constant movement of people coming to and leaving the port.

  I gazed at the horizon and noted the beauty of the boats on the river, almost invisible at this distance, but still giving the scene a serene charm on this warm exquisite night.

  As I sat on the bench, a young couple passed deep in conversation, and holding each other close. This was clearly a place for courting couples. How I would have loved to take Marie here, and be that close to her! I quickly put the idea out of my mind, but not without difficulty! Though I could hardly admit it to myself, I was very attracted to the French Emperor’s woman.

  I moved on.
At the bottom of the open down land, I crossed over the Rochester road and walked on past some new housing. I was now in a place called Denton. I then followed a lane which took me over the railway lines and beyond them, a noticeably quiet canal. Another 200 yards and I had reached the Thames foreshore. Here was the little community of Denton. It had a pub, the Ship and Lobster, overlooking the river, and a shipbreakers’ yard. The sign above the yard stated ‘Tibbalds shipbreakers and timber suppliers’. I wondered if it would be possible to get inside the site, but the yard had a sturdy gate and perimeter wall, so I explored no further. However, I noted the smell of tar in the breeze, presumably coming off the rotting boats being dismembered for scrap. There was not much else to see, so I headed west along the foreshore towards Gravesend. On my way I passed the canal basin and the fort and arrived back at my hotel before sunset.

  As it was too early for bed I stayed in the bar for a while, refreshing myself with a pint of porter – I was too thirsty for my usual whiskey. I saw that the barman Sam was not too busy so decide to engage him in conversation. We talked about not very much for a while but then I remembered it was Waterloo Day tomorrow, so questioned him on what happened in the town on that day. His face was in equal measures excited and angry.

  ‘Waterloo Day! It should be banned if you ask me. The town goes a bit mad. Sometimes the sailors roll barrels of flaming tar down the high street. Have you ever heard of anything so stupid? I’m only glad I don’t have a pub on that street.’

  ‘That sounds interesting. What boats would the sailors be coming from?’

  ‘Usual suspects. Lynch will be there, with his men from the Spirit. Likes to show them who is boss. To be honest a gentleman like yourself might want to avoid the whole thing.’

  I nodded in affirmation, delighted in receiving this information. This could be another chance to see Lynch close up, an opportunity that Marie might wish to share with me.

  I bade Sam goodnight and went to bed.

  That night I slept badly. Too much was rattling through my brain and the night was hot and sticky. I consoled myself with the thought that Waterloo Day could be the breakthrough we needed.

  Fifteen

  Back to Marie-Anne

  I returned to the Clarendon at 3 p.m. exactly and entered the restaurant. There was Marie with her maid, sipping from china cups as if they did not have a care in the world. I was ushered to my seat while Antonia poured coffee and arranged biscuits on a plate. Marie was back to her old self-contained self. The pain of yesterday’s news seemed to have gone, and she was as elegant and well-spoken as always.

  ‘So, have we any further information, William?’

  ‘Yes, I intercepted a crewman from the Spirit, a lascar called Asif.’

  She looked perplexed. ‘Lascar?’

  ‘That is what we call east Africans, who work on the boats. Anyway, I found him in Gravesend at the market and questioned him. He did not want to say too much but eventually he admitted that a boy had been taken on board at Rouen, and had left the ship by rowing boat, just outside Gravesend. So, our assumption has proved correct.’ She proffered a weak smile.

  ‘That is good, we know now that we have not been wasting time. What more did he say?’

  I cleared my throat.

  ‘Very little, but I think that is all he knew. The other thing that has occurred is the old seaman – Jack Carter – changing his story about the rowing boat coming ashore, but I am fairly sure that he has been got at by Lynch. That man is dangerous. He might come after me next.’

  She took some while to take this in, sipped some more coffee, then said, ‘Then William, we must be careful. I will pass this information onto our people at Chislehurst – I am hopeful Louis will provide me with the ransom amount.’

  I noted that her maid Antonia looked uneasy at this but kept her mouth shut.

  Marie continued, ‘William, when the time comes to exchange gold for Pierre, will you be there to help? I cannot do it, and I’m afraid Louis might not wish it to be seen that the French court is involved.’

  ‘Of course, I will. Anything to help get your son back.’

  She reached over and gently touched my hand. ‘Thank you so much.’

  I noted that this act of tenderness did not go unnoticed by Antonia, who by now was frowning.

  ‘Excuse me madam but surely all decisions on paying the ransom and who is involved must be agreed with the Emperor.’

  There was a stony silence; Marie was clearly angered at this intrusion.

  ‘I think Antonia that you had best realise your position in the household. In fact, I am finding your presence here unhelpful. I would be grateful if you could pack your bags and return to Chislehurst. Immediately.’

  Antonia looked shocked for a moment then regained her composure; clearly she would not be that heartbroken about leaving Marie and was probably more comfortable back in the security of the French court at Camden Place.

  ‘Very well, Madam. I will pack immediately.’ At this she curtseyed and left the table.

  Marie looked at me, then after a few seconds whispered, ‘I’m glad she is going. I find her presence unnerving. Will you telegram ahead and arrange for her to be picked up from the station?’

  I nodded. ‘Of course.’ Then added, ‘Will you be alright without her?’

  ‘Of course, she is as good as useless. But Louis thought I should not travel on my own. Now is there anything else?’

  I thought for a brief second then decided to take my chance.

  ‘Marie, do you know it is Waterloo Day today and that there will be celebrations in the town tonight?’

  She pulled a face.

  ‘William, is this some sort of joke? Why should I, the lady-in-waiting to Empress Eugenie , wife of Napoleon Bonaparte’s nephew, celebrate Waterloo Day?’

  I stuttered a little.

  ‘Sorry, I was not trying to be funny. It is just that I have had a tip-off that sailors from the ships will be rolling tar barrels down the street, just after sunset tonight. So, it could be quite dangerous if you didn’t realise what was going on and got in the way.’

  She smiled more deeply.

  ‘William, I am only teasing you. But why would we wish to see this?’

  ‘It may be that some of the sailors pushing the barrels might include seaman from the Spirit of Rochester? Maybe even John Lynch himself.’

  Her eyes lit up.

  ‘Yes, indeed it might be a chance to see that awful man in the flesh; that is settled then, you will meet me here at nine and escort me down to the high street. If anyone sees us we will pretend we are a courting couple on a night out – that will cause less suspicion than a woman on her own. Are we agreed?’

  I was more than pleased by this turn of events.

  ‘Certainly, Marie. Nine o’clock it is.’

  At that I gently kissed her outstretched hand. ‘I’ll go and get the telegram off – shall I take Antonia to the station?’

  Marie smiled ‘That would be most helpful.’ I bade au revoir and having sent off the telegram, returned twenty minutes later. Antonia was by now standing on the hotel steps. I quickly procured a hansom cab and took her to Gravesend station. We sat together in the cab in silence. Finally, she broke it.

  ‘Mr Reeves, you realise that Marie is just one of many mistresses of Louis? He will not pay the ransom for a bastard son; of that you can be sure.’

  Having said her piece, I let the silence return. She was a nasty piece of work and I was only too glad to see her depart onto the London-bound train.

  I quickly forgot about Antonia and got my thoughts back to the only woman in my life. Walking back from the station to the Eagle, I could not help but admit that I had a distinct new spring in my step at the thought of being on Marie’s arm tonight.

  Sixteen

  Bonfires for Waterloo

  I arrived at the Cla
rendon at nine o’clock. It was a hot and humid evening. Marie greeted me in reception. She looked stunning, but pleasingly not overdressed. She spoke first.

  ‘So, William you are ready for a night on the town – celebrating your Waterloo Day?’

  I smiled.

  ‘All a bit unfortunate I know but perhaps we can get a closer look at Lynch and his henchmen.’

  I took her arm and we left the front door of the hotel and stepped out into the street. To anyone’s eyes we looked like a typical courting couple, out for an evening promenade. We crossed the road in front of the hotel and stood for a while, looking out over the river. It was a good position to see over the town’s riverfront. Looking to the west we could see the town pier, the Three Daws inn and beyond it the King’s Arms and Eagle. At anchor, and close to the town pier, was the Spirit of Rochester, still in port. Beyond the riverfront and boats and colouring the river with its reddening light, a sunset was emerging along the Thames towards London. Not the greatest of sunsets as the humid conditions made it less than perfect, but a sunset none the less. I ventured to pass my opinion on this panorama.

  ‘It’s a good view from here. Though I am surprised that Lynch’s boat is still here, moorings on this bit of the riverfront are at a premium usually.’

  ‘Yes, it is strange. Do you think it is because of Pierre? Is Lynch staying here until he gets the ransom?’

  I shook my head; I genuinely had not got a clue.

  ‘Who knows?’ At this I mopped my brow slightly with my hand as the warm humidity was getting to me.

  ‘Now, now William you need a proper handkerchief for that.’ Marie then produced a lace cloth from her sleeve and gently mopped my brow with it. Although she probably had not meant this to be a loving gesture, her feminine charm made everything she did gracious and often, unwittingly, sensuous.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She looked at the sky and at the darkening clouds obscuring the sunset. The light was peculiar now; it had a kind of alizarin red hue to it which felt more menacing than colourful. She spoke with a note of caution in her voice.