The waiter came to remove the soup course and while he did so, the maitre d’ arrived at the table. “A message, Monsieur,” he said, leaning confidentially close.
“Oh. A message. Merci. Please lay it there,” he said, pointing to a place between him and the wine decanter. What message could this be? van Ee would not set out on his mission before the morning.
“Is it a problem, husband?” Roberta asked, her eyes on the small square of paper.
“I am not expecting one. The damned thing can await my convenience.”
The waiter arrived with their main course and he started on it with the intention of returning to the joyful mood they had been enjoying. It would not return; the dratted scrap of paper soured every witticism he offered. At length Roberta held his eye and inclined her head to the message.
“Oh. Very well. I must get the dratted thing out of our evening.”
He picked up the paper and opened it. Two words and a number: Langenhorst room 135. An icy hand swept away the connubial jollity. Elise was back and staying in this very hotel. “It seems I have a messenger with information about our other tobacco factor. I will have to meet with him immediately after dinner. I am sorry that it interferes with our enjoyment of the evening, my Dear.”
“I am not vexed by it, Husband. This must be the message we have been waiting for.”
“Yes. I suppose it is, but I am disappointed that it intrudes into our pleasant evening.” He gave her a meaningful look to convey the pleasantries he had in mind. “I will make amends as soon as I can,” he said with a knowing expression.
They had barely returned to the viande when Elise herself appeared in the dining room, following behind the maitre d’. The way his wife sat prevented her seeing the two and he hoped the table chosen would continue the same. It was not to be; Elise pointed the maitre d’ to a table that would mean both women would be able to see one another with only a slight turn of the head. He scowled across the room at her while Roberta was looking the other way.
Roberta gave a slight smile. “Would it not be better to take your leave of me for a few minutes and see this person right away?”
“I’m afraid that will not work,” he said somewhat crossly. “The meeting will have to be later into the evening.”
His wife seemed to take his petulance as directed at her and returned to her meal in silence. “I’m sorry, my Dear, but I must consider what the news may mean for our business here. The writer of the note did not allow whether the enterprise of finding the gentleman has been a success or a failure. That single word would have made all the difference to my temper. I might even take the omission to have been a deliberate attempt to ruin it.”
He glared at Elise across the room when next Roberta lowered her eyes to her plate. The little minx replied with a chuckle only barely concealed behind her serviette. He resolved not to look at her again.
At the end of the meal he plied his wife with a glass or two of a sparkling white wine from the Department of Champagne, while he had two stiff brandies. They sat talking words only of conventional significance until his wife looked at the clock across the dining room. “It must be almost time for your meeting. Will you escort me to our room first? And have a boy go upstairs to call my maid.”
He pushed his chair back. “Yes. Of course.” At least he would know where she was while he conducted this secret business.
It was actually thirty minutes past nine when he knocked at the door to number 135. Elise immediately opened it, giving him the impression she had been waiting for him behind the door in her dressing robe. She did not allow him to close the door behind himself before clasping him in a tight embrace and kissing him passionately on the mouth.
He struggled to free himself. “Dammit, Elise. Please calm yourself. I came here purely on business. What did you find out about Paine?”
“Oh, fie upon Paine! What have you done? I am told the statuesque redhead is your wife. Should I not be hurt and angry?”
“Yes, wife. She is the indisputable Lady Bond. What we had between us was very good, but you were aware that you could never be the marchioness—the Old Man would never permit it—leave alone the existence of your husband on Java.”
“Pooh! He is an adulterer and a fornicator. You could find a hundred women to testify it.”
He managed to free himself from her embrace but could not fail to notice that she was unclothed beneath the robe. “It was imperative that I bring Roberta to Antwerp. She is an expert on the steamships that we spy upon, but she would not consider our cohabiting without the benefit of clergy.”
“A woman who is an expert upon steamships. What kind of simpleton do you suppose me to be?”
“You may doubt as much as you like—I tell you the truth. Roberta is the daughter of George Stephenson, the railway inventor.”
“And the skill it rubs off from the father?” she retorted in her most waspish voice.
“She manages the shipyard in Scotland for him. But I will speak of her no more. Where is Gideon Paine?”
Elise opened her robe and rubbed a bare nipple with her fingers. “All in good time. First I must have my reward for being your special confidant.”
He attempted to back away as she pushed herself against him. “Good Lord, Elise, can you not understand? I am married now . . .” He stopped as she placed her hands on the front of his breeches. “I cannot make love to you.” He pushed her hands away.
She pushed her hands back and rubbed hard. “Poof! You are a stallion. You can easily satisfy two women. Or is your redhead already too much for you?”
“Of course not.” He held her hands to stop her rubbing. “I will not discuss my wife. If you wish me to continue being your friend and benefactor you must promise not to speak with her—not to meet her.”
“We are in the same hotel—how can we not see . . . perhaps politely to speak?”
“I will move you from the hotel. I refuse to pay your debts.”
“I do not need your gold. I have money.”
He shook his head. “I don’t believe you. Where did you find money?”
She laughed and pulled one of his hands to her breasts. “Wouldn’t you like to know. But I will say nothing until you have made me feel the heat of your passion.”
He found her lips pressed to his and became aware of his arousal under her hand. “This must be the last time. I promise to find you another protector. I will . . .”
His words died as she wrapped her arms about him. They stepped clumsily toward the bed and fell upon it.
As Lord Bond rolled away across the bed a clock downstairs chimed eleven o’clock. He stood up and reached for his breeches. Elise lay still amid the rumpled covers with her hand over her eyes.
“You do not have to get up,” he said, “but you do have to answer my questions about Paine. Where is he?”
She shifted slowly and peered at him with one eye. “Most likely he is at Ghent.”
“What? You do not know?”
“That was where I left him this morning.”
He looked at her with narrowed eyes as he reached for his shirt. “This morning? He could be anywhere by now.”
“No, he could not,” she said with a laugh. “I have his money belt. You will find it over there on the escritoire.”
“You stole it from him . . . you were cohabiting?”
“Yes. You are lucky that your Mr. Paine is very impressed by titles.”
“Even when they are fake,” he said, raking through the covers for his cravat.
“Most especially then, it would seem. The wife he went to Paris to get rid of is also adept at using names and reputations she did not own. I felt quite sorry for her.”
He shook his head. “I do not follow all this. Tell me the whole story from the time you discovered he had departed Antwerp.”
“He received a message from Paris telling him that she was engaged in adultery and if he was quick, he could gain the evidence to divorce her. I learned this when I caught up to hi
m at Ghent—he took an earlier diligence from Antwerp, but I caught up while he awaited the Paris stage.
“We were seated together in the rotonde and chatted amicably all the way to Paris. It seemed no matter to consider deeply that we should pool our money to share a room in the capital. His informant was able to point us to the lodgings where the adultery was taking place and they were most impressed how much I could contribute to his investigation.”
“Hmm. He was very careless if he is indeed an American spy working for Ambassador Crawford.”
She squirmed about under the covers with a laugh, her hands clearly caressing her charms. “The poor fool did not have time to consider. He was as much in heat as I have ever known. But who said he was an American spy?”
“I hear that is Fouché’s suspicion. He is in Antwerp, by the way.”
“Ha ha! I suppose he told you?”
“He told Roberta. She is a very sharp woman, with a cool head in an emergency—easily your equal.”
Elise’s eyes opened wide, like huge blue lanterns. She sat upright in the covers. “You jest! Where did she meet him?”
“At the Prefecture. We had to follow some instructions of Ambassador Crawford’s in order that our cover could be maintained. But we digress, what else must you tell me of Paine?”
She sat silently a moment, studying his face. “You will tell me all?”
“Perhaps. Go on—you and Paine were spying on his wife in Paris.”
“That is most of it. He had to put out a sum of money to begin court proceedings and asked if I would pay for our passages back to Ghent. It seemed he had received instruction from Crawford to go there . . . perhaps Fouché is correct, he is more than a friend of the Ambassador.”
“Never mind. What happened there?”
“Yesterday, in Ghent I was able to read the letter he had received from Crawford—I have it over there with the money belt. He is a liar—he had ample money for our journey. You do not need to look at it now—I will tell you the important parts.”
Bond turned away from the escritoire and resumed his dressing.
“The Ambassador had learned that a certain ship had arrived in Neuzen and someone using his name had taken charge of the cargo.”
“Good Lord! Someone has already reported our actions in Neuzen.”
“I suspected the report was true and that you were the person in the message. Paine went out to enquire about canal passage to Neuzen. I waited for him to return and tied him up . . .”
“He submitted just like that?”
“Of course not! I hit him over the head with a wine bottle. That reminds me . . . you will find a bottle of brandy on the table over there—be an angel and bring it and two glasses over to the bed. I think we will need a nightcap.
“Anyway, I took his money, his correspondence, and his passport. He cannot leave Ghent until he can receive assistance from Crawford. After that I hurried here to tell you.” She smiled as she lowered the covers that had concealed her body. “Do I not deserve my reward?”
Bond did his best to ignore both invitations and began to pace. “I must get to him before he receives any assistance from the Ambassador. He could completely wreck our operation. But, dammit, I must take Roberta to spy on the river tomorrow. And then we must attend the auction of the consignment of Paine’s tobacco from the Reaper. Where is he staying? I will rent a horse and get there tomorrow evening.”
Chapter Eighteen
Wife Does Duty
Lord Bond groaned and buried his head beneath the pillows when the servant knocked upon the door; he could not remember at what hour Elise had let him depart. “Arouse, Monsieur American, it is six of the clock.”
“Go away! Abominable fellow.”
“Six of the clock, Monsieur. You promise two francs for me the rouse.”
“I will give you four to go away.”
Roberta sat up, pulling the covers around her. “I believe you should pay the boy, Husband. Remember that you told me we must be aboard the boat at seven.”
“Boat? Damn the boat.”
Surprisingly rough hands tore the pillows away. “Get up, Julian. Are you drunk?”
“Drunk? I could be. But no, I think I might be dead. I need to sleep.”
“You seemed most unsteady and clumsy when you got into our bed at two in the morning. You did not even want to undress . . . I had a terrible time.”
He sat up and stared at her. “You undressed me? What did I say?”
“Some very coarse words that I would not bring myself to repeat. And you called me ‘little minx’.” She paused and sniffed at him. “You were drinking. You smell of brandy.”
“I may have had some, but I am not drunk. A gentleman is never drunk.”
Someone knocked heavily on the door. “Monsieur—do you hear me?”
He fumbled at his shirt for some coins, they weren’t there of course. “Roberta, my sweet angel. Find two francs and take them to that lout outside the door.”
“I most certainly will not! Do you expect me to open the door in this state of déshabillé? Get out of bed and pay him yourself.”
“You are merciless. I regret marrying you. Oh. What did I say? No, I do not regret, I never regret. You are my only true love. Please find my money purse, would you?”
He closed his eyes and lay back, only opening them to peek when he felt her move. He almost felt an urge in his groin as he made out her shape under the light shift. So slender . . . so firm. “My money belt must be inside my breeches.” He began to giggle. “Reach inside my breeches, there’s a good girl.”
She came back with the money belt and slapped him hard with her free hand.
“Ouch! What was that for?”
“For being vulgar. I am taking ten francs. We will need some petit dejourner before we embark on the boat.” He watched her pull a robe over her shift and walk to the chamber door. She opened it slightly. “Here are your two francs and here are three more to bring us fresh croissants and some very strong coffee.”
Bond put his head in his hands. Damn that Elise, she had got him into a real mess. He heard the voice of the boy outside the door, “We only have acorn coffee, Madame. And I need a gratuity to bring it to the chamber.”
“Well, bring what the kitchen has and be quick, or you will have a gratuity you may not like.”
Roberta moved around the chamber and returned to the bed. A full basin of cold water descended on his head. “Get up, Julian. We must hurry or we will not be able to use the boat.”
He glared at her as he sat up spluttering. “Boat? Oh God, yes. I had almost forgotten—and then I must ride to Ghent.”
Roberta offered as little conversation as possible as she sat before the mast of the small shalop. She tried to ignore her infuriating husband while he retched over the side. The watermen readily took their instructions from her as they hid their smiles and pretended not to see their other passenger.
“This is the new quay built by our Emperor in the past several years,” one of the men in the bow said as he turned and pointed. “If it were not for the English devils it would be filled with ships with rich cargoes.”
“It hardly seems used,” she observed.
“It was filled with invasion barges until a month ago. They were moved down the Schelde to Flushing.”
“Word is,” said the other, “that a new flotilla of barges will come down the river and many men will be needed to work to prepare them for sea.”
“This goes on all the time?” Roberta asked.
“Most all the time,” he replied.
“I had been told that I should see the steamships on the river. I would like that. I have never seen a steamship.”
“We can sail past the Emperor’s new dock. You will likely be able to see a steamship there or on the new mole.”
“Interdit! Speak not of such,” the helmsman grumbled in a loud voice.
“Ah, it cannot harm if a lady should want to see.”
A sound in the stern made
Roberta turn to see. Her husband had moved from the thwart to sit in the bottom with his head against the side. He pulled his cloak around himself and closed his eyes. What had this interrogation of the messenger entailed last night? Drinking brandy must have been a good part of it.
The shalop turned into the wind as the crew set it on the other tack. It sent cold needles into her face, the end of summer and the beginning of autumn seemed very close this morning. They must expect the first of the season’s attempts at a real storm before long. Roberta pulled her cloak tight and set her mind to assessing the traffic on the river instead of the temperature.
One of the watermen pointed ahead. “See you the smoke, Madame? That will be one of the Emperor’s steamships.”
Roberta looked where the man pointed and could see a cloud of black smoke coming down the wind toward them. The vessel itself was likely out of sight around a bend in the river, but she guessed some crew were lighting their furnaces for the day’s activity. Other than the supposed ironclad, there had been no rumours of other types of steamships at Antwerp, so this must be one of the pyroscaphes she had come to see.
Sure enough, when they had gone little more than halfway up the curved river course beside the city, they reached the new mole and passed quite close to the vessel she looked for. It turned out to be quite unprepossessing—a glorified tugboat with two cannon ports before and two aft of the side paddlewheels. She could count the number of floats and estimate the diameters of the wheels, but without a chance to measure the speed of rotation it did not tell her the power of the engines. They could hardly remain here watching until the craft got under way.
She judged the length to be about a hundred and twenty feet, and the beam . . . perhaps thirty feet. By the shape of the hull she might estimate the tonnage to be three hundred at the most—her Spitefuls could easily crush its sides. What would happen to the barges they towed? No one had spoken of sinking them, but even so, it troubled her to think of the plight of the helpless soldiers cast adrift on the Channel. If only there were some way to prevent Napoleon from embarking on this invasion—well, there was. If her new vessel, the battle ram, should sink the ironclad designed to keep the navy’s frigates away from the barges, the soldiers might never leave the coast of Europe.
Spies and Subterfuge Page 12
