'Very good, sir.'
The clerk gathered up his notes into a bundle, took them to the fireplace, and carefully deposited them on the fire, where they burned bright an instant, and in another instant became ash. Rennie watched, and for the first time in many days felt his heart begin to lift.
He was not sure whether or no the First Naval Lord knew all of the facts – that the king had not been captured off the Breton coast but far to the east at Varennes – but Rennie did not care to enlighten him if Hood did not know. All he cared about was that he could now, today, walk out under he the arch of the Admiralty with nothing beside his name but his rank, and the name of his ship. He did not yet know any of the detail, but he was quite certain that a way would be found to exonerate him – and James Hayter – in everything connected to recent events in France.
'Will it save Expedient, though?' Muttered to himself as he stepped out into Whitehall, a few minutes later. 'Will it save my ship?' He glanced along the broad thoroughfare, and thought of engaging a chair to take him to Bedford Street, and then decided to walk there. He sniffed the air. The day was warm, and the cloacal stink of the river wafted across Whitehall.
'Bilge reek at sea is a thing I abominate.' As he strode along toward the Strand. 'But by God London is putrid foul by compare. I would not wish to spend my life in such a filthy stench.' Stepping out to cross the street. 'Nay, I would not.'
NINETEEN
James woke with a little start, his breath catching in his throat. There was someone in the room. He listened, turning his head on the pillow, and heard a movement in the darkness, a brief rustling sound. He eased himself up against the pillow into a sitting position, and reached for his pistol case. And remembered that he had no pistol case. Remembered that he was lying ill in a London hotel, defenceless. Again the faintest movement, as if the air itself had whispered.
'Who is there?'
And now a whispered reply:
'James?'
A woman's voice.
'Who is it? Who are you?'
'Juliette.'
'Juliette!' Jolting back against the bedhead.
'Shh! We must be quiet.' In French.
A light struck, and the glow of a candle. Juliette's beautiful face in that glow.
'My God, it really is you ...'
She placed the candle on the cabinet, and came to him, into his arms. Her warmth, her scent, her lips on his. His heart swelled and thudded, his head whirled, and he felt he would fall senseless, yet at the same moment he had never felt more intensely alive. A long, fervent, kissing embrace. And at last:
'Oh, my darling, my darling ...'
'Shh ... shh ... I am here.'
'I thought I had lost you. I thought you were killed ...'
'At the beach?'
'Yes. My God, I looked for you everywhere. I thought you had been shot, and had fallen among the rocks. I could not find you, and when the royal party came down to the boats, I had to go with them, and leave you behind.'
'I hid myself, and escaped afterward.'
'Why did not you come with us! Why did not you—'
'Hush, my love.' Fingers to his lips. 'I could not follow you, because I was caught between the National Guard troops and the water. I saw you go, and I was desolate – but I could do nothing.'
And now James gripped her hands in his, and looked into her eyes. 'Did you know the party we rescued in the boats was not the king and queen?'
A sigh. 'Yes – I knew.'
'And yet you said nothing to me! You allowed me to think it was all entirely real! Why did not you tell me the truth, Juliette!' In real anguish.
'Hush ...'
'In God's name, why?' Quietly, intensely, still gripping her hands.
'My love, you will break my fingers.'
'I am sorry.' Releasing her hands. 'The last thing I would wish to do is harm you. But you must tell me why you deceived me. You must!'
'I was under the greatest constraint from M. Félix. I could tell you nothing. He could have had me shot if I had said a word of the truth to you, or to anyone. You had to believe absolutely in the rescue plan.'
'That was all a lie.' Bitterly.
'My love, what could I do ... ?'
'Yes, what could you do? Your only choice was to make me believe you – by seducing me.'
'At first it was only that – until I fell in love with you.'
'At first! So you make a practice of seducing gullible men, to make them believe!'
'How you wound me when you say such things. These are desperate days in France, and we must all do desperate things ... but I fell in love with you, my darling.'
'Can I believe that, now ... ?' Looking at her, wishing with all his being that he could believe her.
'Why would I have come to England to find you, if it were not true? My darling, my love – look at me. Why would I come, at such risk, if I did not love you?' She tried to look into his eyes, but he sat back against the pillow, and looked away toward the window, so clearly in torment that now it was she who took his hands in hers, and held them tight.
'My love, my dearest, I came because I could not bear to think I would never see you any more.'
And now he did look at her, and very soft:
'How did you find me, Juliette?'
'A message came to me, with this address. I was able to escape to England at the very last moment, when all of us who took part in the deception to help the king escape are under sentence of death, and sought all over France.'
'But who sent you this message? How could—'
She shook her head, and put her hand to his lips. 'Forgive me, I do not know ... I do not know.'
'What d'y'mean – you do not know? Do you wish to deceive me further! Captain Rennie and I have both been grossly deceived, and a great many men killed! I don't know that I am able to forgive anyone that!' Growing desperately and miserably agitated.
'You do not forgive me?' Looking into his face.
'I don't know what to believe, any more. I don't know who to trust.' Looking away from her. 'There is no honour left in anything.'
'My darling ... did not you wish to aid us in helping the king to escape? What difference does it make how it was done? We were all part of the deception. If the plan had succeeded, would you now feel so bitter? Would you say such wounding things to me?'
'Oh, d' you mean, if the king had escaped to Austria, or if the party we attempted to rescue had been brought to England? Which? Neither happened! We were deceived.'
'Yes. You were deceived. In a noble cause.'
'The cause may've been noble. To deceive honourable men was not.'
'Do you wish me to go away?'
'What ... ?' Looking at her.
'I admit it ... I was just as guilty of deceit as all the others, just as culpable. Will you send me away?'
'I – I do not wish it.'
'Why not? If I am guilty?' Softly, leaning closer.
'I – I could never send you away.'
'Why not? Tell me ...'
'Oh, good heaven, you know why. Because I love you, my darling, I love you ...'
And he kissed her, feverishly, breathlessly, helplessly, and they clung to each other and sank down on the bed. Soon there was no more talk, only the timeless, wordless language of sighs and cries and gasps that all lovers speak untutored in the flooding dark.
*
'Captain Rennie, you are alone at breakfast, I see.'
Brough Mappin stood perfectly groomed in front of Rennie's table in Mrs Peebles's dining room. Rennie looked at him and was in no way inclined to be welcoming. An insult lurked under his tongue, and then he left it there. Instead:
'I am. I prefer to eat breakfast solitary.'
'Why not in your room, then, off a tray?' A smile. His cheeks were smooth-shaven, his stock flawless, everything about his person perfectly arranged.
Rennie did not care for that smile. It was a little too complacent, a little too self-assured for this hour of the day.
'D'ye want something of me, Mappin?' Deliberately omitting 'mister'. 'I am surprised y'have the effrontery to face me, after—'
'Indeed, I wish to say a word to you, Captain Rennie.' Over him, easily. 'May I join you in a cup of coffee?' He pulled out a chair, and made to sit down.
'Y'may not. I never drink coffee.'
'Ah. Then – tea?' And he did sit down. Rennie scowled at him, and cut off the top of an egg.
'Or d'you take chocolate in the morning?' Mr Mappin was determined to be affable.
'Chocolate! I do not.'
'Is Lieutenant Hayter recovered, I wonder? He was ill, poor fellow, when last I was here, and that had made him ... captious.'
'He is better, I think.' Grudgingly.
'Good, good. I am glad to hear it.'
'I have not seen him today.'
'No? At any rate, it is you I wished to see, Rennie.'
'I think we can have nothing to discuss.' Rennie attacked his egg, wounding it deep with his spoon. Yoke spilled. 'I will say to you candidly that my opinion of you—'
Smoothly, over him: 'I will like you to come with me to meet a certain person, this morning.'
'Certain person?'
'Indeed. A private interview, that will greatly aid your understanding – of late events.'
'Late events, hey? A very pretty description. Well well, who is it?'
'It is a person you will in course know at once, when you see him.'
'D'y'mean that I'm already acquainted with the fellow?' Frowning.
'You will certainly know who he is.'
'Christ's blood, Mappin. It is the early part of the day, and I am trying to eat my breakfast. If you are going to speak to me, speak plain, or leave me in peace.'
Mr Mappin made himself smile again, and: 'I have a carriage. I think after all I will not drink tea. I will wait for you outside. Ten minutes?' And without waiting for a reply he stood up and stepped away quickly out of the room.
Rennie sucked down hot tea, and called for more toast. He would make Mappin wait fifteen minutes, at least. And when his toast came:
'Nay, twenty, the damned presuming bugger.' Muttered.
'Beg pardon, sir?' The servant girl.
'Nothing. I was clearing my wind.' And when the girl had gone: 'Even then I may not go with him, if I don't feel like it. After all he has put us through? Who the devil does he think he is, ordering me about ashore?'
But in the end his curiosity got the better of him, and he did go.
In the carriage – a plain black conveyance, no coat of arms, no embellishment – Rennie said to Mr Mappin:
'If you will not tell me who it is, in least tell me where it is, hey? Where do we go?'
'Be patient.'
'Be patient with you? By God, you ask too much, sir.' An exasperated sigh, but he did not press Mr Mappin further. Instead he settled back in his seat and was content to watch the passing scene. They crossed a square crowded with carriages, and carts, and then they were in streets of tall houses. The carriage turned down one of these streets, proceeded to the far end and stopped. Mr Mappin and Rennie descended.
'This house.' Mr Mappin indicated a house with columns, the lamp glasses freshly polished, the step pristine, the door glossily painted.
'Whose house is this ... ?' wondered Rennie aloud, but he got no answer.
Mr Mappin pulled the bell. The stamping of the horses' feet behind them, echoing in the quiet street. A brief wait, then the heavy door swung inward, and they went in. Liveried footmen, a grand mirror, a long portrait at the head of the stair. They were led across black-and-white-chequered stone, their footsteps clicking, and through a panelled door into a tall, book-quiet room.
'Mr Mappin.'
'Prime Minister. May I introduce Captain William Rennie, RN, of HMS Expedient.'
'Good God ...' Rennie, under his breath.
'Captain Rennie.' The Prime Minister came forward and shook Rennie's hand. The grip firm. The face of a young man but the eyes older. A brown coat, a high-tied stock, no wig. Wine fumes, very distinct.
'I am very glad we are able to meet, so that I may thank you.'
'Thank me, sir ... ?'
'Indeed, Captain Rennie. In private circumstances, away from the trappings and formalities of office.' He led the way toward chairs, and a side table. Turning:
'A glass of wine?'
Rennie very nearly refused, so early in the day, and then thought that to refuse would be impolite – impolitic – and he accepted. Inclining his head:
'Thank you, sir. You are kind.'
He was given a glass of port wine. Mr Mappin also accepted. Glasses were raised, and tipped. The wine was a little rich for Rennie's taste – he preferred the subtler flavour of Madeira – but he swallowed it willingly enough. His glass was at once refilled.
'Gentlemen, shall we sit down?'
They sat down. Light from the tall window at the end of the room fell glancing on a desk, a snuffbox, and the high glass of an Argand lamp. Mr Pitt turned his direct, friendly gaze on Rennie, and:
'You have done us proud, you know.'
'Eh?' Before he could stop himself, then: 'Erm ... thank you, sir.'
'Y'may not think so, now. When you have lost so many brave men, and your ship lies broken, you may not think so. But what you did was very remarkable.'
'You flatter me, sir, I think.' A polite half-smile.
'I know you were not told the whole truth, at the beginning. We could not tell you. Eh, Mappin?'
'We could not, sir.'
'The plan of diversion and decoy might well have failed, had you not believed in it, entire.'
'I – I think that it did fail, sir ...'
'Not through want of British effort, though. Not through any lack of British endeavour and determination. Your determination, sir, and courage, and skill. We did everything that was in our power to aid King Louis to escape – through you, Captain Rennie. England can never be blamed, King George can never be faulted nor blamed nor held to account for want of desire. We did everything that was humanly possible. You did, Captain Rennie. Your actions were heroic. Aye, that is the word. Heroic. I have read the whole of the report.' Nodding.
'I – I have submitted no report ...'
'Lieutenant Merriman Leigh was advised that a report should be forthcoming as soon as he was able to furnish it, from Portsmouth.' Mr Mappin, to Rennie. 'He did so, in your absence.'
'He did? Ah.'
'And now I will like to make the loyal toast.' Mr Pitt refilled his own glass, and raised it. He stood. 'Gentlemen, the king.' Rennie and Mappin stood in turn.
'The king.'
'The king.'
They drank, and the Prime Minister remained on his legs. 'A further toast, if I may.' He held up his glass to Rennie. 'To you, Captain Rennie.'
'Indeed – Captain Rennie.' Mappin held up his glass.
They drank, and in spite of himself – in spite of all his doubt and guilt and sense of failure – Rennie found himself moved. A moment, and he cleared his throat.
'You are very good.'
The Prime Minister nodded benignly. 'However ...'
'Ah, now.' Rennie, in his head. 'Here it comes, at last. Now I shall discover my fate. Yes, by God, that damned word. However ...'
'However, Captain Rennie, you will understand, I am in no doubt, that no word of this may ever be made public.'
Rennie thought it best to say nothing. He waited.
'We cannot be seen to have interfered, nor even to've attempted to interfere, with the intimate internal arrangements of another nation. The domestic disturbances in France are not our business. The fate of the king – much as we deplore his arrest, and confinement – does not lie in our hands. These things are altogether a matter for France. Should there be any repercussion as to your actions at sea – everything will be denied.'
'But – should there be such repercussion, sir – will those denials be believed? We was obliged to fire upon and destroy several ships. We was very plainl
y a British ship of war.'
'I have read the report.' Nodding again. 'And should those events ever be raised between our two nations, I shall say the French were fighting among themselves – opposing factions – and that any attempt to besmirch Britain's name would be took very ill. The Royal Navy was never there. You were never there, Captain Rennie.'
'And ... what of the prisoners, sir? Many wounded men were took into Brest, and are held there.'
'Discreet attempts – through commercial channels – will be made to free them. Certain moneys will be made available, at Brest. Bribes, to be candid. The families of your men that lost their lives will also be took care of. You have my word.'
'Thank you, sir.' A bow. 'You are kind.'
'As to you yourself, Captain Rennie, I shall say a word to Lord Hood, at the Admiralty. And to Lord Chatham, in course – but it is Hood that manages things, in truth, not my brother. I will like to reward you, and – what is the lieutenant's name?' Turning to Mr Mappin.
'Lieutenant Hayter, sir.'
'Ah, yes.' Turning back to Rennie. 'Aye, Captain Rennie, I will like to reward you and Lieutenant Hayter both. You should be moved up. You deserve it.'
Thank you, sir.'
Presently the meeting came to an end, and Rennie and Mr Mappin took their leave. As they reached the door of the room, Mr Pitt called after them:
'Captain Rennie?'
'Sir?' Turning.
'Your most grateful servant, sir.' And he bowed.
But when Captain Rennie had been returned to Mrs Peebles's hotel, and Mr Mappin had departed, lingering doubt remained. Rennie thought about all the Prime Minister had said, and found that in truth he had no greater 'understanding' of anything, in spite of Mr Mappin's earlier assertion. Rennie was puzzled and confused, he was – at sea.
'Whose plan was it, in fact? Was it Mappin's, or Mr Pitt's, or mostly a French one, formed and arranged by French loyalists – with British advice and assistance? Was our own king part of it? Was Mr Pitt obliged to advance the plan at the king's insistence – to aid his fellow monarch?'
He thought long and deep, sifting through all possibilities and likelihoods, and could find no satisfactory answer. At last:
'I shall never know the whole truth, nor even half of the truth.' A sigh, then he recalled the Prime Minister's promise – perhaps made to deflect such questions:
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