The French Emperor's Woman

by David Bissenden

  ‘Asif, what are you doing here? I saw your boat leave for the Medway only an hour ago.’

  He stopped sweeping and looked at me dejectedly.

  ‘Sorry Mr Reeves, I have been thrown off the boat. Captain Lynch displeased with me.’ He looked almost broken hearted. ‘I am just tidying up for something to do. If I behave myself, the captain says he might take me back when boat returns.’

  ‘So, where are you staying? Have you got any money to tide you over?’

  He remained robust despite his sadness. ‘I will be alright sir; I will get by.’

  I was not too sure of this. ‘Let me buy you breakfast at least.’

  He smiled and agreed; putting his broom to one side, we set off up the high street to the market, where there were numerous cheap eating places. We found a fairly unimposing tearoom. It was a cheap place, but I was cautious of taking a lascar to anywhere more salubrious, as we might not have got served. To make sure all would be well, I ordered and paid for the food and led Asif to a table and chairs away from prying eyes and ears. ‘Now Asif, I believe you to be a very decent man. Would you be able to help me in my enquiries about the missing French boy?’

  He gestured by holding his hands out with palms upwards.

  ‘I have told you everything I know Mr Reeves.’

  I stopped him. ‘Please call me William. Is there anything at all that you can remember of the events last September, when your boat came into Gravesend after sailing from France?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not really, we picked up the boy in Rouen. That was along with a cargo of flints. He was taken below and didn’t come out again until we were approaching Gravesend. Just before we got to the town, out on the Hope, he was brought up from below and put in a rowing boat with two of the crew. They rowed him towards the shore, I could not really see much as it was too dark. So, I could not be sure of the direction they took but I assumed they were heading for the shore somewhere to the east of the town.’

  I thought on this, then questioned him further. ‘Would it be possible for you to judge where the Spirit of Rochester was at that time, and the direction the rowing boat went in?’

  He replied instantly. ‘Yes, sir, Master William, I will do my best.’

  I smiled. ‘Good, and what were the tidal conditions on the night?’

  ‘It was a high tide with westerly wind that evening.’

  ‘Good, the next high tide here today is late afternoon. Would you be willing to take me in a rowing boat following the route it took on that night?’

  Asif perked up at this. Being on the sea, even in a rowing boat, was obviously his happiest domain.

  ‘Yes Mr William, we could try, though I cannot promise to get it right.’

  I knew this was a course of action worth undertaking. ‘I trust you Asif to do your best. Can you meet me beside the river in front of the fort at four o’clock this afternoon?’

  He smiled and agreed. We finished our food and parted company. I returned to the fort to arrange the boating trip with Gordon. Though not convinced by my idea, he agreed to obtain a rowing boat that afternoon and then surprised me by offering to come on board to experience the journey for himself.

  Eighteen

  The Boat Ride

  As agreed, at four o’clock, I was back at the small jetty in front of the fort – Asif was already there. The boat owner clearly did not believe Asif, or I, had any authority, so he waited until Gordon arrived to hand over the boat. I introduced Gordon to Asif, who seemed unfazed by my new friend.

  The boat was a small affair capable of being oared by a single person. Asif was clearly keen to do this, so we gave him the oars and took our seats shakily at the back of the boat. I was glad it was a warm summer afternoon and almost windless. I asked Asif to take us to the approximate position of the Spirit when the rowing boat was launched. He took us out into the Thames, perhaps 200 yards offshore and 400 yards downriver, just outside the town. As we gently eased our way out into the river I could see what a busy little port Gravesend was, the shipping passing by was continuous and I was concerned that the wash from the big ships travelling fast up the river might capsize us. They would scarcely see our rowing boat until it was too late. Luckily, the wind was little more than a breeze and from the usual prevailing direction – blowing from the south-west. The only other problem was the tide itself, which could be deceptively strong. Luckily, Asif seemed a very accomplished rower and was very much in charge of the direction and speed of the boat.

  On the way we made some small talk to lighten the atmosphere; I asked Asif why he had become a seaman. It appeared that he had left Zanzibar, where his family had been textile merchants, due to a business dispute. Lynch’s boat docked at Zanzibar en route from India, with a cargo of spices, and took on several lascars as crew. He had been sailing with him ever since, mostly doing the clipper tea runs from India and China, but ever since the opening of the Suez Canal killed that trade off, doing any work that was going. Hence the flint run from Rouen to the pool of London.

  Finally, he stopped rowing and we drifted to a halt, not in midstream but far enough away from the shore to feel vulnerable. ‘This is about where the Spirit was anchored that night, sir.’

  Gordon seemed pleased at the accuracy of Asif’s memory and pressed him further. ‘Thank you Asif, now can you take us in the direction the rowing boat took on the night last September.’ Asif looked around for some time to find any bearings; at length he set our rowing boat towards the shoreline on an east-south-easterly course. Reaching the shoreline was not that easy as the tide and current moved us around and veered us offline, but Asif rowed on regardless and within a few minutes we had reached a muddy beach.

  It looked as if we were about a mile east of Gravesend, close to a place known as Denton. There was not that much at Denton, in fact the only discernible jetty was one leading to what looked like a salvage timber yard. Gordon seemed to know it, and I remembered it from my walk.

  ‘This is Tibbalds’ place. He was once a well-respected shipbreaker, specialising in breaking up the old prison hulks – now it is a more general woodyard. In fact, I think we may have bought some timber and stone here for the renovation works at the fort.’

  We looked on. Could this be the place Pierre was brought to, and if so could he still be here? Gordon seemed to read my thoughts.

  ‘I don’t think it would be possible to hide a boy here for months. Just not practicable.’ I looked over the site. Even from out on the river you could smell the hot tar and aged timber. The yard looked a mess, just a graveyard for old boats, broken up into a thousand pieces. At one end of the yard was a slightly tidier stack of timber and beyond that were what looked like wooden beer barrels.

  I asked Gordon, ‘Do you know if they have a cooperage here?’

  ‘Yes, just one of their side-lines, I think they produce the barrels for the brewery in West Street. Is that important?’

  I was thinking aloud. ‘What if they kept the boy at the yard in secret, for a short while, then when it was time for him to be moved, hid him inside one of the barrels? They are certainly big enough. He could then be delivered anywhere. Perhaps to an inn cellar in the middle of nowhere?’

  Gordon frowned. ‘Well it’s a theory at least, but where is the proof?’ We looked at each other; neither of us clear as to what our next move was. Finally, Gordon came to a decision.

  ‘Let us go and talk to Tibbalds, see if he knows anything.’ At that we beached the boat and Asif jumped out to haul it up the mud and shingle beach. We also got out, trying all the while to keep our shoes and socks from getting soaked in the slimy mud. We asked Asif to stay with the boat while we took the 100 paces or so up to the breakers’ yard. The entrance was open now but in the makeshift timber hut by the way in, there was nobody to be seen. Luckily at the other end of the yard we could see two coopers at work, making new barrels, so we walked over to them. Go
rdon did the talking.

  ‘Good day gentlemen, is Tommy Tibbalds around?’

  One of the coopers was just hammering in a hot metal hoop over the staves. He turned to us. ‘Mr Tibbalds is not about today. Can I help you?’

  Gordon thrust out a hand and introduced me, and himself. Then I piped up, ‘We are interested in these beer barrels – what sort of quality are they?’

  The cooper looked back.

  ‘The finest sir, the best in Kent. We send them everywhere, all the breweries. Everyone knows they’re the best.’

  I smiled. ‘Tell me, do you supply the kegs to the brewery on West Street in Gravesend?’

  He did not hesitate. ‘Certainly do sir. They are one of our biggest customers.’ I was pleased that he was being so straight with us.

  ‘We are interested in a load of kegs that was sent to the West Street brewery last September. Do you keep a record of your sales and deliveries?’

  At this point the cooper’s smile faded; he obviously didn’t want to answer this.

  ‘I do not do the sales side, sir. You would have to speak to Mr Tibbalds about that.’ The other cooper had now stopped working and silently stared at us. The atmosphere was now growing frosty.

  Gordon interjected, ‘I can see that you are terribly busy, we will speak to Mr Tibbalds at some more convenient time. I bid you good day.’ At that we turned and walked back to the boat. Gordon spoke as we got out of earshot. ‘We will not find anything at the yard, you can bet on that. And I do not want to cross-examine Tommy Tibbalds today. I will get nothing out of him anyway. He is a big name around here, knows a lot of people. He also owns a chalk quarry down at Swanscombe – so he has got his fingers in a lot of pies. Best leave him alone till we have got more evidence. Let us get ourselves back to the fort.’

  We got back to the boat and eased ourselves in, within seconds the adroit Asif had the boat in the water and his hands on the oars. I turned to Gordon. ‘They know more than they are saying. I need to get a look at John Bennett’s books to see if there was a delivery in late September.’

  Gordon seemed unconvinced. ‘It is just a theory Reeves, nothing more. Let us get back.’

  At that, Asif began to row in long powerful strokes upriver towards Gravesend, now sticking close to the shore to avoid the larger boats and their wakes. Before long we were back to the New Tavern Fort and manoeuvring towards its small jetty. Just as we were about to disembark we caught sight of the mud larkers, messing about by the foreshore. I could see the boy I had spoken to a few days back, Fred, amongst them. Gordon shouted over to him.

  ‘Come over here Fred, I’ve got something I need to know.’ He seemed happy to oblige; obviously, Gordon was respected, maybe even loved, by Fred. Dragging his feet out of the mud he walked over to us. He was very dirty and smelly, but clearly happy in his work. Gordon continued, ‘Now, you probably noticed that there was a fire on board the Spirit of Rochester boat last night, about ten o’clock. Did you see anything?’ There was no response so Gordon asked the same question again to Fred, who was beginning to squirm.

  ‘I didn’t see nuffink sir, we had nothing to do with that fire.’

  Gordon sighed. ‘So where were you all at ten o’clock last night?’

  ‘We was all back in the hostel in bed sir, fast asleep.’ Gordon was now clearly getting agitated.

  ‘Don’t give me all that, you and the rest of the lads would never go to sleep while there are burning barrels to watch and crowds to pickpocket from. I know you were about. What did you see?’

  Fred looked over to his mud larker friends who had now joined us. Nothing was said but a sense of guilt, of untold stories, pervaded the atmosphere.

  ‘Very well let us go to my office in the fort – just you Fred, the others can go.’ At that Gordon grabbed his collar and frog marched him towards his office in the fort. I followed meekly on with Asif, both of us unsure of the protocol in these situations. We hastily made our way through the fort and I gestured for Asif to stay outside Gordon’s office, which he did.

  Inside the office, Fred was forcibly sat down opposite Gordon. I stood by, watching. ‘Now Fred, I am going to ask you one more time about your involvement in the fire, because I can sense you know more than you’re saying. If you come clean on this, I will make sure you have a good meal tonight, if not I’ll put you in the cells and you can starve.’

  Fred was clearly discomforted by this news and squirmed in his seat. ‘I didn’t see nuffink sir.’

  Gordon was not going to leave this. ‘I understand you’re frightened of repercussions, but you will not get into any trouble, we know the captain of the boat, John Lynch, as do you, and he is a horrible man, but without your help we cannot lay a finger on him. Now I’ll ask the question again.’

  Fred butted in. ‘It’s alright sir. I will tell the truth, it was me and the other boys, we hate Lynch’s guts. He is a dirty bastard. We were hanging around last night and saw his boat almost empty, with all the crew watching the barrel rolling. It was so warm we all went for a swim. We could see there was no one on the boat, so we climb on – just for a bit of a lark. Nobody saw us, so we just messed around a bit, then I pulled down this lamp hanging from the rigging. So, for a laugh I was swinging it about, but then it fell off its hook and smashed on the ground and set some old sailing cloth alight. Before we know it, everything was on fire, so we dived back into the water before anyone noticed us. Don’t know what happened to the ship’s guard, we never saw him, probably pissed, if you excuse my language. We didn’t mean no harm sir. It was just a lark. We never meant to drop the lamp and start a fire – honest.’ Fred paused for breath and looked around sheepishly, fearing chastisement.

  Gordon finally broke the silence. ‘Thank you Fred for being so honest. Now you must realise that in normal circumstances I would have to report this to the constabulary and the ship’s captain.’

  Fred looked horrified at this. ‘No, sir, please don’t tell Mr Lynch, he would kill us.’

  Gordon continued unabashed. ‘However, on this occasion I will do neither. But, never, and I repeat, never, do this again. Am I clear?’

  Fred could hardly get the words out quick enough.

  ‘Yes, sir, certainly sir, never again, sir.’

  ‘Alright, now go to the quartermaster and ask him to provide you, and the other boys, some tea and bread. That will be all.’ Fred departed quickly with numerous ‘Thank you sir, thank you’s’, as he left the room a much-relieved boy.

  I sat down in the chair opposite Gordon.

  ‘So, where do we go from here?’

  ‘No idea Reeves, but at least we know what occurred last night.’

  I looked back at him.

  ‘So, does this mean we can kill the rumour about French spies burning down the ship?’

  Gordon looked back at me like a parent to a naughty child. ‘Of course not. To state that would mean giving up Fred to the authorities and I gave him my word I would not.’

  I felt exasperated and outlined my concerns.

  ‘The problem is that Marie-Anne is now back in Chislehurst, we need her here in Gravesend.’

  He looked sternly at me, with a look of grim displeasure.

  ‘You mean, you need her here! It has not passed my attention that you were seen out with Marie at the festivities last night, and my sources tell me that you and her looked, shall we say, close. Yes?’

  I nodded. ‘You do realise that if the ex-Emperor knew about this, your life would be probably cut short. He might be getting old and ill, but I am sure he feels very protective towards Marie – so you would be wise to not get involved and keep your feelings to yourself. Do I make myself clear?’

  I knew he was right. ‘Yes, of course – I will follow your advice.’ Gordon seemed content at this and gestured that he wanted to get back to his work. I made one last request.

  ‘Just one more
thing, if I can ask you a favour. Asif has been thrown off his ship so is penniless and homeless. Can you give him a job and lodgings here at the fort?’

  Gordon’s kindness was undiminished, he replied without hesitation.

  ‘Of course – the man has helped us; I can find him some labouring work and he can sleep within the fort. Is that all?’

  I thanked him for his assistance and left.

  Nineteen

  Bennett

  I walked slowly back to the Eagle. I did not see Asif but assumed he was still somewhere in town. Just as I was passing the brewery, John Bennett appeared, he didn’t see me and was walking in the opposite direction . The issue of the beer barrels was still on my mind; it might be a long shot, but could Pierre have been hidden in one from Tommy Tibbalds at Denton? Perhaps if I could find out if there had been a delivery of barrels from Tibbalds at the end of last September that might make a case for Pierre having been smuggled from the boat into a beer barrel – then brought to the brewery. From there he could be taken somewhere secluded and secure, perhaps. It was all conjecture, but it was all I had to go on. Perhaps I needed to visit Mr Bennett’s office again, but at midnight and have a look through his ledgers? What secrets might they hold? I felt that I was making progress. If I could only find Pierre alive, then perhaps Marie would give me the time of day? That was my hope.

  Instead of going back to the Eagle I strode off down the riverside towards the fort, taking in the sea breezes on this fine day. Within minutes I saw what I had come for. There was Fred and his fellow mud larkers, still working the muddy banks. I gestured for him to come over to me.

  ‘Fred, I just wanted to say thanks for telling the truth back there with Gordon.’