Spies and Subterfuge

by Christopher Hoare

  For good measure, he smiled at the young man behind the counter and raised his hat before going into the street.

  Reaching the Office de Prefecture he paused a moment before ascending the steps to the open front door. The gendarme standing on guard at the head of the steps eyed him suspiciously and hefted a musket.

  Bond decided upon his course. “May I have an appointment with Monsieur le sous-prefét?”

  “Entrez vous,” the man snapped. “All citizens are required to attend the office of police.”

  Bond ascended the steps. “And, which way . . . ?”

  The man took a few steps inside and pointed him down a dark corridor. “Parlez-vous au sergent.”

  Bond thanked the man with a polite nod and made his way to the office indicated. He stepped immediately to the ink stained counter before him. “I am an American citizen, Gideon Paine from New Bedford, a merchant in tabac. I came here to meet my wife and accept a cargo of tabac just arrived on the schooner Reaper.” He placed his open passport on the counter. “Would you please satisfy the requirements of the authorities by affixing your official stamp to this document?”

  The sergeant took the passport, stared at it and pulled at his moustache, but made no move to oblige.

  “Is there some instruction that forbids such a course of action?” Bond demanded.

  “I will send for monsieur le sous-prefét,” the sergeant replied, and disappeared into an inner office.

  The sounds of voices were too indistinct to be understood, but eventually an older man with a bald head and thick spectacles came to the counter. He set Paine’s passport on the counter. “You have come from where, Monsieur?”

  “From my warehouse in Antwerp. I am here to greet my wife and to accept a cargo of tabac just arrived from America aboard the schooner Reaper.”

  “Hmm. And ze vessel?”

  “Is just this morning moored in the Oostkade.”

  The man looked toward the window, which was clearly too dirty to afford any view of the canal basin. “Yes. The ship was reported. You need . . . Monsieur?”

  “I wish to engage a room in the hostelry for my wife and myself while I am arranging for my cargo to be transferred to Antwerp. The clerk at the hostelry says I must have a passe. No such document was required in Antwerp when I left.”

  “Vraiment, Monsieur. It is a new order for ze ports of ze Westerschelde.”

  “Then . . . ?”

  “Immediatement.” The sous-prefét pointed the sergeant to the document, and the appropriate stamp was applied.

  “Merci.” Bond pocketed the passport, wished the officials a good day and went out into the street. He stood at the edge of the quay a moment to observe a small vessel about to enter. It was the Nederlander. Good, he would send one of the Dutch cabin boys to find van Aa. With luck, the letter from Elise would have arrived while he was at sea. He needed desperately to know if the real Gideon Paine had been abducted again.

  Chapter Eleven

  Increased Observation

  While her husband was away obtaining the police documents, Roberta was ushered into a narrow anteroom that held a small table and several comfortable chaise. She considered sending Annie away to the servants’ area to find her some small refreshment to while away the time.

  For the interim, she had little to do but watch the people coming and going in the reception area. From the snatches of conversation she heard it seemed that a passenger carrying barge on the Neuzen-Ghent Canal had arrived and those passengers who could not find room aboard the stage to Antwerp were looking to find accommodations here.

  Annie seemed concerned. “Lawd, Mistress, they might take all they rooms afore Mr. Paine can get back.”

  “I think you underestimate my husband’s personality and resourcefulness,” Roberta said with a smile. “He will find accommodation here, even if it means displacing the owner. But your concerns may be assuaged if you regard the newcomers more carefully; by their dress, these are country people away to some market or other who will not demand more than the most economic of accommodations.”

  Within a few minutes of Annie’s departure on the errand, a mother, son, and two daughters with baskets of simple housewares arrived in the anteroom and took possession of two of the chaise. Roberta returned the shy smile of one of the daughters, before the mother’s severe expression made the girl turn away. She decided not to be a reserved Englishwoman but to practise being an American by forcing her friendship onto the family.

  She turned her smile on the shrewish mother. “You have just arrived in Neuzen? So have I,” she said loudly in her best passable French.

  The woman made no attempt to answer. A very embarrassing silence threatened that was broken at last by the son, a lad of about eighteen. “Mother speaks only Flemish,” he said in accented French. “But the Emperor has proscribed the language in public places.”

  “Oh, really? I did not know. I have only just arrived in the country from America.”

  “America!” the two daughters repeated in unison. “Mama, ze lady is une Americaine. Do you speak any Flemish?”

  “I am sorry, I do not. But my husband, who is away speaking with the police, does. He is a merchant selling American wares in . . . ‘greater’ France.”

  “Police?” the younger daughter said, her eyes round.

  “My arrival in the country has to be recorded,” Roberta answered with another smile.

  “You came from America today?” the elder asked.

  This resulted in a lively exchange in Flemish, ending with the son’s French sarcasm, “It takes much more than a day to travel from America, you foolish girl.”

  “You come here Neuzen today?” the mother ventured in halting French. “Comment?”

  Roberta pointed. “The schooner moored in the Oostkade. Do you see the American flag?”

  The younger daughter jumped to the window to look out. “Oh la la. C’est enorme. It is yours?”

  Roberta laughed. “No. My husband bought a passage.”

  The enthusiasms of the family were too great for their command of French and soon they were all speaking Flemish. Roberta sat silently and just watched them. They did not seem that much different than any English family, except in one very noticeable feature. All three women displayed themselves in hats of a style much more fashionable than the one she wore.

  Hers was the bergere hat she had bought in London to wear to the Admiralty. Good lord—it simply screamed Anglais! And yet it was a French style, in English estimation. She must do something about that at once.

  The loud conversation soon drew attention from the foyer. A bearded man in a black suit of clothes arrived in the doorway and spoke curtly. The mother slapped the nearer of her daughters and the son silenced the other. “Speak French or hold your tongues,” the man ordered.

  “Yes, Papa,” the elder daughter said meekly.

  “Gather your things,” the father continued. “We have to look for a pensione.”

  Lord Bond arrived and stood aside as the family filed out in silence. The younger daughter hesitated in the doorway and turned to flash a fleeting smile at Roberta. She returned it and surreptitiously raised a hand into a tiny wave.

  “What was that all about?” Bond asked.

  “I’m afraid I made the youngsters too excited, their father became alarmed at them all speaking in Flemish.”

  “Yes. I told you about that. I will translate if any questioner knows no French.” He looked about briefly. “We have a room—well, actually a suite with adjoining bedrooms. The porters are carrying your luggage up now. Do you want to change, perhaps rest?”

  Roberta shrugged. His mouth had said rest, but his eyes carried another message. “I thought you needed to oversee the transfer of cargo, Husband. I have to go shopping.”

  “Shopping?”

  “I must buy some hats. I will need fifty French francs.”

  “What on Earth? Did I bring you here to go shopping? Hats, for Lord’s sake?”

  Rob
erta rose and embraced him. “Essential disguise. I could not help but notice how this one might give us away.” She raised a hand to one of the lappets and twirled it to and fro. “I must replace it with some that are more obviously French. Mrs. Paine will hardly fit into the fashion scene without them.”

  Lord Bond’s business aboard the ships was delayed for the length of time it took him to escort Roberta to the business street of the town and decide on the suitability of several of the magasins offering fashionable hats. He attended her while she tried on every example in the first of the stores, without choosing a single one. Bond decided, when Roberta assayed to the next, that the maid, Annie, might serve as sufficient escort for the other premises.

  “I had better return to the Oostkade and conduct my business there, my Dear. If you will remain in this establishment for a while I will send one of the Nederlander’s crew to carry your parcels.”

  “Good Heavens, Mr. Paine. These people seem perfectly friendly. I will be quite safe, I assure you.”

  He stood in a moment’s indecision, torn between the imperatives of fashionable society in England and the reality of introducing his lawful wife to the hazards of an enemy country. The problems had been so easily dismissed before his reputation as a husband and gentleman were liable to be called into question. “I am sure you are, my Dear, but even in Baltimore a husband would not send his wife into the streets unescorted.”

  He hurried to the quayside to look for the Nederlander and eventually spotted it tied up against the water side of the Reaper. His officers had shown their initiative in preparing for the cargo transfer, but they really should have waited for him to take charge. By rights and the circumstances of their secret arrival, neither the captain of Reaper nor the master of the hoogaar should own to have ever seen the other before. Thank God the French corvette and its charming but shrewd captain were far away making all sail toward Flushing. It was so easy for untrained spies to make fatal errors in a foreign land.

  The first thing he did when he had boarded the Reaper and crossed to its other side was to call down to his yacht crew. “Send young Piet up here, will you, Mr. Bloggins?”

  “Aye aye, Sir.”

  Young Willis joined him at the rail. “What’s afoot, Mr. Paine, Sir? Is there some duty for me?”

  “Does Mr. Monkman not have a job for you?”

  “I’m not a man for shifting cargo, Sir. And besides, Mr. Monkman has designated me as watch officer for the night hours.”

  “Then should you not be in your bunk?”

  “And miss all the fun and activity in a strange port? No, Sir. Not me.”

  The Dutch cabin boy arrived on deck. “You called for me, My Lord,” he said in English. He put a hand to his mouth. “Oh . . . I mean, Mr. Paine, Sir.”

  Bond looked around, there was no workman from the quayside near them. “Do not make that mistake again, Piet. I have a job for you—go to Mr. van Aa’s lodgings and tell him to come to the Oostkade at once. And be sure to bring the correspondence!”

  “Aye, Mr. Paine, Sir.”

  Bond looked at Willis. “You might go with him into the town for me, Willis. Piet, here, will direct you to the milliners’ shops in the main street. You will find my wife and her maid in one of them. If you would be so good as to escort her in the shops and for her return to the hostelry I will be much obliged.”

  “A pleasure, Sir. Come, Piet, you must show me the town on your way.”

  The afternoon was old and the sun looking for the horizon before Bond saw Piet and van Aa making their way along the quayside to the Reaper. He had accomplished everything about the cargo that he needed for the time being and stood with Lieutenant Farley on the poop deck discussing possible eventualities.

  “If we are discovered I will do everything I can to see Mrs. Paine back on board Reaper. Even if she is the only one of us to reach you, get underway at once and make a dash for the blockading squadron.”

  “What about you and your other two gentlemen?”

  “You must expect us to be aboard Nederlander or else taking refuge with the Dutch resistance until we can find an alternate way out of the country.”

  “I have the Marines and a number of armed sailors in my crew; we might send a rescue party if we are called upon.”

  “Very good of you, but that is the very last eventuality I will entertain. Your duty is to see my wife and the intelligence she has gathered safely at sea with the Navy.”

  Farley looked at him soberly. “This is a very uncertain course you are on. How long must I expect to remain here at Neuzen?”

  “Six or seven days. If we do not return in that time, or contact you through this gentleman you see about to step upon your gangplank, you must return to sea.”

  “I might take up a mooring outside the dock as soon as the repairs to the ship are complete. I will station Willis ashore with the crew of the longboat.”

  “That is a good idea.” At that moment van Aa and the cabin boy arrived on deck and Bond made the introductions. “Let us go below to the master’s cabin to converse more.”

  When the three were seated, Bond asked van Aa if he had received a message from Elise.

  “I have received the letter from her, but I doubt it says what you were expecting.”

  Bond frowned and held out his hand for it. When he opened the single sheet he saw it had been written in haste.

  Paine packing to leave. I will follow to find where he goes. Langenhorst.

  It was dated the day after he had left Neuzen for the blockading squadron . . . fully four days ago. A great deal could have happened in that time. He dropped the letter in front of Farley. “And there has been nothing since? No clue about the direction they have taken?”

  van Aa shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Bond’s mind raced. Paine could have travelled halfway across Europe in that time. He could have given Elise the slip. He could have received another letter from the American Ambassador. Or, worse, he could be en route from Ghent by canal to look in Neuzen for the ship carrying his cargo.

  “Paine could even arrive here,” he said to van Aa. “If he does, you must play the part of the cargo broker to bring him aboard Reaper. He must expect nothing amiss.” He looked at Farley. “You will put him in irons below. He must be kept from identifying Mrs. Paine and me as imposters.”

  “What will you do now?” van Aa asked.

  “Mrs. Paine and I leave for Antwerp on the first coach tomorrow. I will communicate with you here in Neuzen by mail. You will send the information to me as soon as you receive a letter from Elise.” He stared at Farley as his mind raced. “Address the letter to Caleb Monkman at Poste Restante, Antwerp. I will identify myself to you the same way—until Paine is found.”

  He and Roberta made a sober party at dinner in the hostelry. He decided to tell her everything . . . well, almost everything. She did not need to know who was trailing Paine on his sudden journey. Langenhorst could be anyone.

  Roberta set her knife down on the table. “If his journey has taken him four days, then we might expect him to return to Antwerp in another four. That will have to be long enough for us to accomplish our tasks.”

  “Say three in all probability, allowing time to deliver the letter here announcing where he has gone.”

  “The letter we have says nothing about Mr. Holmes and Captain McNab. Was nothing learned of their whereabouts or was there too little time to add the information to the letter?”

  “Possibly the former. I will have to contact the Count’s people in Antwerp; the lodgings they used were provided by his followers.”

  “But what if it was the French Royalists who betrayed the gentlemen?”

  Bond shrugged. “I can see no reason for them to do such a thing—not as an organisation. On the other hand, any individual might have sold them to one of Fouche’s informers.”

  “Or information reached Antwerp from this informer in the Admiralty.”

  Bond scowled. “I do not discount the possibility
of there being a traitor in the Admiralty, but would suppose him to be some flunky or a clerk. Such a person would not be party to information about our spy mission.”

  “I hope you are correct.”

  For the rest of the evening, Bond did his best to reassure her and raise the morale at the dinner table. He was gratified that she was sensible enough to accept his reassurances, even if she might not believe them. She drank more wine than he had seen her take before, but her bearing and mind seemed as sharp as ever. She did accept his arm to help her up the stairs to their suite, and seemed more starry-eyed than usual.

  She accepted his help in unfastening her gown; the maid having been given leave to find her own bed. She returned his affectionate kisses as her bodice fell aside. However, she refused his attempt to caress her breasts.

  “We have a hard day tomorrow, and I am still tired and sore from last night, Sir. If you please, I would rather we sleep alone tonight for us to get all the rest we might.”

  He laughed lightly. “Very sensible of you, my Dear, but if you will, I shall undress in my room and visit you again to say goodnight.”

  This he did, but when he went to open the door to her room he found the bolt had been drawn. He stood against the door and rapped upon it. “Open the door please, Wife. Remember your vows.”

  She did not answer and he rapped louder.

  After his knocks grew louder he heard her breath on the other side of the door. “Please, Mr. Paine, do not embarrass us with a scene that all the hostelry might hear. Please grant me this respite tonight. I will not disobey you tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The Mail in Antwerp

  The morning diligence to Antwerp was packed. Roberta sat squeezed into a window seat that her husband had secured for her, with only her maid, Annie, seated between her and the roughest crew of passengers she had ever seen. At least the draft from the window swept away much of the smells of bad wine, vomit, and unwashed bodies. She rather felt she would have been better off beside her husband on one of the open seats on the roof of the carriage.