Spies and Subterfuge
Page 10
“You have not moved them to another location?”
The Comte smiled. “Would they not have informed you of such? I can only think that your Dutch traitors have moved them—did they not arrange for one of them to take a barge journey on the upper Scheldt?”
“One of them sent me a letter at his return. He made no mention of any plan of his to change their safe location.”
The Comte shrugged again. “I think you had better ask your Dutch traitors where they have gone.”
“I have no reason to suppose it is the Dutch who have moved them. I would be grateful if you could set someone to locate them and let me know.”
“Since we are allies, I will do as you ask, but I do not guarantee that the search will be fruitful. Is that all you wanted?”
“No, Monsieur le Comte. I have to inform you that I have received instructions to deliver a diplomatic letter to the French authorities. I assure you it does not contain anything that could harm France or yourself in any way.”
“Instructions? From Whitehall?”
Bond chuckled. “From the White House, actually. Or the American ambassador, at least.”
“You work for les Americains, aussi?”
“No. Not at all, but a communication that came to me in the name of my American alias has opened a new dimension to my mission here. This communication must be sent with great security to Monsieur Crawford in Paris. Your people will see me or my agent enter the prefecture tomorrow—it will be to hand them the documents.”
“You surely know that Fouché will read them. As I am quite sure you also have perused them. What is in the documents?”
“That, I am not at liberty to divulge. It concerns some issues between His Majesty’s government and the Americans. You may ask Whitehall for a transcript if you wish, but I doubt they will honour your request.”
“Hmm. Is this information worth the lives of your two missing men?”
“Those men are very dear to me, but I cannot barter their lives for such a secret.”
“A hint, perhaps?”
Bond walked in silence for several yards. “It concerns an American request to Napoleon for a loan.”
The Comte laughed shortly. “One bankrupt begs from another?”
Bond joined in the laughter. “Quite so, but the American President expects Napoleon to rate the American alliance worth the asking for enough gold to maintain the level of his contribution to their war.”
“Hmm. Interesting. I suppose you know the amount of the request?”
“As much as they might get. The Americans have no state banker to support their war finances.”
The Comte nodded and turned back toward the building. They walked in silence, and Bond wondered if he might ask for the assistance he had requested once more. He decided to let the other decide what he wanted to tell.
They reached the door to the building and were met by the two men in long overcoats. “Please take our guest back to his conveyance, Henri.”
Bond stood partly blocking the door. “Have you forgotten something, Monsieur le Comte?”
The Comte shook his head. “I think the information will serve you little use. Your men are in the guardroom of the Fourteenth Companie of Artillery at Berendrecht. I expect they will be moved but when and to where I do not know.”
Bond bowed and moved away from the door, allowing the Comte to enter. He paused long enough to say, “Please give my regards to Mrs. Paine: I hear she has just arrived from America.”
Chapter Fourteen
Long Wait at the Prefecture
Roberta glanced out the carriage window as they stopped.
The driver leaned down. “Allez, Monsieur American. C’est le Prefecture.”
Lord Bond climbed out and turned to help her dismount. While he paid the driver she looked up at the imposing building. She knew they must enter, but this was the home of their greatest enemies.
He took her arm and guided her across the pavement to the entrance steps through a fast moving throng of people and officials going in and out. “Now, do not fret, my Dear,” he murmured. “We have no reason to suppose they will entertain the slightest suspicion about our identities. Gideon Paine has been selling tobacco in France for at least three years. He is a friend of the American Ambassador; his sending official dispatches to the embassy in Paris through them could be nothing new.”
Roberta made a smile. “Yes, of course, Husband.” But a small voice in her head whispered yes, but we do not know where he is.
The policemen at the entrance barely looked at them—well, perhaps they looked at Roberta in a way that was scarcely polite. She had taken great pains to look her best this morning, even to wearing the wonderful diamond brooch Lord Bond had given her on his return yesterday. She could barely take her own eyes off it.
The corridor inside was just as crowded but Lord Bond held her close and elbowed his way to a counter where an imposing policeman with great moustaches held sway. “Your business, Monsieur?”
“We are American citizens and have an official document to place in the hands of the Chief of the Prefecture himself.”
“Alors. Please show me the document.”
“I am sure you realize that is impossible, Sergeant, but I can show you the portion of a letter to me from the American Ambassador in Paris where he instructs me to ask the French authorities to transmit this with the greatest secrecy.”
The policeman leaned away and stroked his moustaches as Lord Bond drew out the intercepted letter to Gideon Paine. He looked down at the paper as it was set upon his counter. Very quickly he drew back. “It is not in French, Monsieur.”
“As you say, it is not. It is in English—the official language of America. Can I prevail upon you to send for an official who will be able to read it?”
The policeman backed away from the counter to speak with several of his fellows. What Roberta could hear of their discussion seemed to centre on the outrageous form of the request and the likelihood that the Prefete would be extremely angry at their so disturbing his day.
When “Moustachios” returned to his counter, Roberta pushed in beside her husband to address him. As she expected, his answer was in the negative.
She smiled winningly. “May we then ask you to send a policeman to apprise your immediate superiors of my husband’s request. We would be most grateful if you would allow us to accompany him to another floor of the building that is less crowded and noisy. This is hardly the place that gentlemen such as yourselves would expect a lady to wait in.” She followed this up with her most coquettish expression.
“True, Madame,” the policeman agreed, and withdrew again to converse with a new batch of busy officials who had replaced the earlier conversationists already.
At length, one of the group made his way to a wicket in the counter and opened it to admit them. “Please to come this way,” he said in passable English as he guided them to a wide staircase at the rear of the foyer. “You do have ze papers de identification?”
“I have everything necessary,” Lord Bond replied, with a smile at Roberta as he held out the documents and let two twenty franc coins slip from one hand to the other. “I hope your kindness will place you in great favour with your superiors.”
They went up one flight of stairs and then another. Their guide conducted them into a less crowded corridor and showed them to a wooden bench against the wall between the doors to two offices. “Please to wait while I speak within.”
They sat waiting for the better part of half an hour, as officials passed to and fro, before their guide returned. “Will you accompany to present votre papers?” he said to Lord Bond.
Lord Bond stood and indicated Roberta. “If my wife is to wait for me here I would like you to find her a more comfortable room.”
“I will do as I can,” the man said as he led Lord Bond down the corridor and the two disappeared around a corner.
Roberta sat as quietly and calmly as she could, although her heart’s palpitations seemed
so loud to her that she wondered if people in the adjacent offices would hear it. She could hear voices and snatches of conversation from both, but not sufficient to understand what was being discussed. She began to wonder if the young man had forgotten her.
She watched the people going up and down the stairs they had ascended about fifty feet away but few entered her corridor. It seemed to her that there was a distinct air of anxiety and haste among most of them—as if something had been forgotten—or perhaps something unexpected had transpired.
Their young guide appeared from around the corner, but he only progressed half the way to her before a louder burst of concern from the staircase made him turn and scuttle away. Was he perhaps expecting a company of soldiers to erupt into the landing to lay hands on her and Lord Bond and carry them away to the cells?
As she watched, the tumult eased into complete silence. Now, there was no traffic upon the stairs at all. People who had passed her on their way down the corridor vanished into doorways, leaving her entirely alone on her bench.
Gradually, the sounds of voices from below came to her, as of a new group ascending the stairs. When these came into view she was concerned to see the elaborate uniforms and accoutrements they wore. They seemed mostly older men, weighted down with orders and medals on their multi-coloured uniforms. Their voices were calm and measured as they conversed with one dressed in black at the centre of the party and addressed as “Monsieur le Duc” and “Excellency”.
Roberta’s breath almost failed her when the men paused before ascending the next flight of stairs and this senior official stopped long enough to regard her before continuing. A duke! But what duke? All of Napoleon’s right hand men were similarly ennobled with titles of nobility, and even monarchy.
As their voices faded with their progress out of sight she felt sure she heard one say, “La Americaine.”
She willed herself to sit calmly and take measured deep breaths, and gradually the corridor repopulated as those who had disappeared emerged again to continue their business. Within a few minutes the orderly bustle of the corridor resumed and officials walked from one office to another. Roberta steeled herself for a longer wait, sure that the official arrival had been unexpected and that it would result in great delays for the normal business of the Prefecture. It transpired that she was not far wrong.
After an hour or more a young officer appeared and walked the length of the corridor to stop before her. “Madame Paine? Please to accompany me, if you will.”
“Is something amiss?” she asked.
“Nothing at all, Madame. I have been instructed to conduct you to a more comfortable place of waiting. If you will come this way.”
He then led her along the corridor to the staircase and offered his arm to assist her ascending it. She did not know whether to feel honoured at being assisted to a place that was clearly higher in the hierarchy of the Prefecture, or imperilled at being so far removed from the place Lord Bond would expect to return to. It was all she could do to keep up an appearance of calmness as they reached the culminating heights and walked the length of another corridor laid with brilliant and luxurious carpeting. They stopped at a door at the end of this for the young officer to knock.
Almost immediately, another officer opened it to look out. “Ah, la Americaine charmante. Please to enter, Madame.”
Roberta noticed about three or four other gentlemen inside but her eyes fixed upon the older man dressed in black as he stepped forward. Without warning he took her hand to raise. “How charming you are Mrs. Paine . . . how beautiful. I’m afraid your husband’s business will take somewhat longer than he expected, but at least we can offer you some diversion and perhaps some welcome refreshments. Have you breakfasted?”
“I have . . . Sir . . . er, My Lord . . . I must apologise, but I do not know who I am addressing.”
The officer who had received her at the door smiled. “Then you may be pleased to know that you are the guest of Monsieur le Duc d’Otrante.”
With that, the Duke lowered his head to her hand and kissed it and Roberta was heartily glad that meant he missed seeing the expression she could not prevent flitting across her face. Otrante! Joseph Fouché, Napoleon’s Chief of Police and head spymaster.
Chapter Fifteen
Lunch with the Devil
Roberta felt as if she should try to vanish into the floorboards, but her fighting spirit told her that was impossible. As his face emerged from kissing her hand, she aimed a whimsical smile at him. “I am so thrilled to meet you, Monsieur le Duc, but why would you take such trouble to welcome a very ordinary American to your country?”
Fouché laughed. “Do not underrate yourself, my dear lady. If even one American husband thinks France, surrounded as it is by its enemies, is safe to bring his wife to, then we may be on the edge of greater things.” He turned his head toward a table covered with the remains of an excellent petit dejourner and addressed the footman beside it. “Garçon, please bring this charming creature some delicacies and wine.”
“But I did have breakfast, Excellency. I am sure that you have far more important things to do than feed me.”
“Ah, yes. Many duties and concerns; which is why I crave your presence for just a few more minutes to refresh my spirit.” He turned to the others as the footman approached with a tray. “You may go on to the next meeting without me. I cannot desert my new guest until she has satisfied her appetite . . . and perhaps her curiosity.”
The men turned to file out as Fouché led her to a chaise longue and sat with her. The footman set a small table before them and poured glasses of wine for them both. Roberta felt she should shake her head to dispel this fantasy. “My curiosity, Excellency?”
He did not answer until they had clinked glasses. “Salut. Your curiosity about why the second most powerful man in France should wish to entertain you.”
“It does intrigue me, to say the least, Monsieur le Duc. I cannot even pretend to offer amusing conversation about my impressions for I hardly have any. I have been in France no more than three days.”
Fouché signalled to the footman that he should leave. “Three days? How did you arrive?”
“Aboard the schooner, Reaper, that anchored in the Oostkade at Neuzen the afternoon of this Friday past.”
“A blockade runner. Did you have any perilous moments as you passed through the English ships?”
“We hardly saw any, Excellency. Captain Monkman undertook a course that took us around the north of Scotland; a region that I was told is only lightly watched. We saw but one vessel the whole voyage, an English frigate, as we neared the coast—but it could not match us for speed.”
“Ah, you Americans are such bold sailors.” His smile faded as she bobbed her head at the compliment. “And was your ship investigated by our navy?”
“We met a . . . what is the word . . . ah . . . a corvette that boarded us and then led us into the anchorage at Neuzen.”
“They did not advise you to come to Antwerp?”
“Ah, no. Our sails and masts had suffered from our escape from the English ship. They are being repaired at Neuzen.”
“I understand. And the diplomatic letters that your husband has brought to the Prefecture, they were in your care during the voyage?”
Roberta looked away to pick up a savoury from the plate before them. She knew that this question was no longer entirely an innocent pleasantry. What explanation for his possession of the documents would Lord Bond have offered the sous-prefete? “Not at all, Excellency. The packet was concealed in one of my husband’s bales of tabac—presumably to evade the search of the English—should Reaper be apprehended.”
“I see. Bien. But does it not seem strange that the American Government should send their secrets to Paris in a French diplomatic bag?”
“Is it, Excellency? I’m sure I would not know. These affairs are far over my head.”
Fouché smiled. “Ah yes. Of course. But your husband made no remarks upon this circumstance?”
“Ah, yes. You are acquainted with Monsieur Crawford?”
“Oh no. I don’t believe Mr. Paine had met the Ambassador before he arrived in Paris.”
“You do not live at Philadelphia, then?”
“No. We are from New Bedford in Massachusetts.”
“Hmm. Have some more refreshment. Some more wine?”
“I had better not.” She paused as he raised the bottle himself and poured her a new measure. “Oh, I should not drink that much, Monsieur le Duc.”
Fouché shrugged and set down the bottle again. “By all means. Have as much as you prefer.”
Roberta raised her glass and took a tiny sip. She may yet need her wits about her. “Is my husband’s business complete? He will be looking to rejoin me soon.”
Fouché waved a nonchalant hand. “Perhaps. I cannot help but notice that you speak French with commendable facility. I cannot suppose that to be usual among merchants’ wives in New Bedford.”
Luckily, Roberta had thought to decide upon a reason before she had even landed in France. “I know a family of Acadians back home; they are connected to my father by marriage. A young cousin visited us much and I learned from her.”
“Acadians? I am told the English cast them out.”
“Almost all, yes, Excellency, but some moved no farther than America.”
“I see. Does your husband have other duties for Monsieur Crawford?”
What did he mean by that? Roberta shook her head. “He assured me he did not—we hope to look for his cargo coming from Neuzen today and must arrange its auction.”
“I’m sure we can facilitate the permits he will need for that. Bien . . . it is only right that a man should make himself useful to his government when in a foreign land—but you might remind him that it should not become too customary.” Fouché leaned closer as he said this—his face almost touching hers. “I must leave you now—I trust you have rested and refreshed yourself sufficiently. Please indulge an old man’s fancy a little before you leave. A kiss, perhaps?”