The Gathering Storm

by Peter Smalley

  'Oh, as you please ...' Rising from the bed, and sitting on a chair. 'I will not swear to listen.'

  'Mappin has told me that Lady Sybil Cranham is dead – she that helped mount the spurious rescue of the king.'

  'She is dead, too?' Dully.

  'Betrayed by Félix, in course, before he came to seize Madame Maigre.'

  'Juliette.'

  'Aye.'

  'Whom I loved.' Half-sad, half-defiant.

  'Aye.' Quietly, a nod.

  'What happened to Lady Sybil?' Distractedly. 'How did she die?'

  'He exposed her to the authorities, if that is how they can be called, when they are only dogs.'

  'So – they hanged her?'

  'She was put to the guillotine.'

  'Put to the what?' Looking at him.

  'I had never heard of it, neither, when Mappin told me. It is a new and very horrible device, a kind of heavy axe hoisted on a tackle between two posts, and dropped from a height of twenty feet upon the neck, severing the head.'

  'Christ in heaven.' Softly, then: 'My poor dear Juliette did not live, but in least she was spared that.'

  'As were you, James. Had Félix succeeded in taking you into France, that would almost certainly have been your own fate.'

  'Aye, very like.' Again quietly, then, half to himself: 'I think that he was right, after all ...'

  'Right? Who was?'

  'Sir Robert Greer. D'y'remember, he said long since that the revolution would mean a new Dark Age across all of Europe? I did not quite believe him, then. But now I do.'

  'I am glad. I am glad. Because what I must tell you now will be very unwelcome to you.'

  'How so?' Frowning.

  'Mappin believes – nay, hear me out, please,' as James shook his head at the further mention of Mappin's name, 'Mappin believes – and I cannot in all conscience say that I do not – that Juliette came to England upon Félix's instruction, deliberately to seduce you anew, and obtain from you information vital to the French about the activities of the Fund, and British military preparedness, in the event of war.'

  'That is damned nonsense! Mappin believes! But he cannot know for certain!'

  'He has not told me everything, even now. I learned a little more from him only after we had rescued you. I can only assume—'

  'Assume! Assume! I cannot bear to hear another word.' Bitterly, and as Rennie drew breath to continue, James rose and crossed to the window. 'No! No! I will not listen!'

  'I know you don't trust Mappin, James, and was I in your place perhaps I should feel the same. But I must tell it all to you, James, it is my obligation.'

  'Sir, I am very grateful to you for everything you have done, but if you wish to remain my friend, pray do not say another word against Juliette!'

  Rennie, undeterred: 'He believes that she acted under duress, to protect Lady Sybil.'

  'But how could Juliette protect her, for God's sake, when she had been put to death!'

  'That was concealed from her, in course.' A moment. 'There is something else.'

  'What?' Running a hand through his hair.

  'They was cousins. An intimate connection, since childhood. So, you see ...'

  James looked at him, stared out of the window, looked at Rennie again.

  'Are you saying to me ... that she never loved me?'

  'No, I cannot say that absolute ...'

  'Then what are you saying, sir? You and Mappin between you?'

  'I think it very probable that she was torn between two affections, James. Her love for her dear cousin – and her love for you.'

  'You are saying absolutely that she betrayed me! That everything was deceit! All of it!'

  Rennie was silent, not trusting himself to find the right words. He looked away.

  'Are you not!'

  At last, quietly: 'My dear James, you are my greatest friend, and I will not lie to you. I think you have been caught up in a very dark circumstance, in which no one could find happiness. We was all caught up in it, and swept along unknowing, or half-unknowing, toward the gloomy hush that is now upon us, and lies all around.'

  James stood at the window, and for a long time said nothing. Then, presently:

  'All I know ... all I know is that I loved her, and have lost her.'

  Darkness fell on Dover, and Rennie returned to James's room, where he had left him fitfully asleep. James was again awake, standing in his shirt and breeches at the window, leaning forward with one hand on the frame. He turned as Rennie came in.

  'I have engaged our rooms overnight, James. Then we can depart in the morning, refreshed.'

  'Depart. Hm.' A little shake of the head. 'Where will you go, sir?'

  'Go? I shall go home to Norfolk, to my wife. Thanking God that I can.'

  'Ah. In course, I cannot go home. Not now, nor ever again.'

  Rennie pulled his flask from his coat, poured brandy into a glass, and crossed the room. He handed the glass to James.

  'Here, drink this.'

  'I don't want anything.' Shaking his head.

  'Drink it, if y'please.'

  And James took the glass, looking at Rennie. He drank off the spirit, and coughed.

  Rennie reached for the glass, and poured another generous measure. 'Drink that, too.' Handing back the glass. 'If y'please.'

  James drank.

  'Now, then.' Rennie. 'I will like you to listen to me—'

  'If you are going to say that I should go home, sir, in spite of all that has happened, you are mistaken.' Over him. 'I have lost my son, my only son, and I have deserted my wife. Beyond that I have lost Juliette. Cannot you understand? Cannot you see? I am utterly wretched. I have lost everything that has mattered in my life. Everything.'

  'You damn' fool!'

  'Eh?' Shocked out of his misery.

  'Ye've been spared, for Christ's sake! To live another day, and make the best of things! The world may not be very lovely just at present, but we must lift up our heads and hearts in it, and face whatever it may bring. You have a home. You have a wife. Go to her! Go home to Catherine, and tell her that you love her! Or by God, James, I will never be your friend again!'