Spies and Subterfuge

by Christopher Hoare

  One of the stokers arrived to open the closest firebox for the men to shovel more coal into it, and she made a mental note of the rate of firing that might be obtained. Her further inspection was interrupted by the appearance of the Emperor. “Ah, here you are. You have found yourself a warm corner, I see.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. Although I already find it uncomfortably warm.”

  A voice behind her expressed the same observation—it was Fouché, was he watching her? “Shall we return to the upper deck, Madame? I believe I have seen more than I ever wished of the mysterious workings down here.”

  “I will agree with you, Monsieur le Duc,” Roberta said with a laugh. “Will you give me your hand?”

  “Certainement. I must note that your amusement at the workings did not extend as far as the propelling machinery.”

  Roberta glanced at him, did he suspect the reason for her interest? “No, Monsieur le Duc, I do not pretend any interest in such machines. The warmth was my main goal.” Her answer was little more than the truth. She could learn everything she wished to know about the engines from what she had already determined; the steam pressure and the revolutions per minute of the paddlewheels. The presence of five grates within the five fireboxes could keep a good head of steam . . . perhaps allowing the pyroscaphe to maintain ten knots in a moderate sea.

  When Roberta returned to Elise and the colonel she suggested they move into the deckhouse. “I believe they have provided seating and some refreshments there in a salon. I feel somewhat fatigued and would enjoy a small respite from this sightseeing.” Actually she still felt sure Fouché watched her, perhaps suspecting she might be taking an unusual interest in the vessel. It was time to play the decorative and harmless female.

  They thanked the colonel to fetch them glasses of wine and then sat upon an upholstered bench against the wall of the salon where they could watch two of the dignitaries play a game of bésigue—a trick-taking game with cards. It seemed not long after that the rest of the official party joined them and a loud and enthusiastic group formed around the Emperor to congratulate him for his foresight in ordering the steamships.

  Fouché arrived, holding a half-empty glass of wine, and seated himself beside her on the bench. “I trust you are sufficiently entertained, Madame Paine. It must be boring in the city with your husband far away.”

  “Thank you for your interest, Monsieur le Duc, but I feel so privileged to be part of such a distinguished group of gentlemen—and even the Emperor himself—that I could never imagine being bored—even if I do not understand the principles of the matters you all are studying. I must admit to being most impressed with a vessel that proceeds so, without the constant rushing and climbing of masts that seemed to never end as we sailed from America.”

  Fouché smiled indulgently. “And when do you expect your husband to return, Madame?”

  “He could not be definite when he departed, as he did not know how long it would take to rectify the problem that had transpired.”

  Fouché smiled again. “Ah well, he will surely not be long—Ghent is not that far from Antwerp.”

  Roberta could hardly breathe; she turned to say something to Elise in order to hide her apprehension and probable pale countenance. Elise seemed to have a similar concern–she must have been listening. Either Fouché had her husband followed or else he had received a report from informants in the city. What else did he know?

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The Parade of Ships

  When the pyroscaphe Suffren tied up at the Emperor’s new dock, the crew assembled the planks of what became the review stand. Napoleon and some of the dignitaries took their places there while the two ladies stood with Colonel Riviere and the rest of the party to the downstream side of the platform. If she craned her neck, Roberta could just make out a dense assemblage of vessels far upstream awaiting the signal to begin the ship parade.

  At length the Emperor signalled he was ready and the captain sounded a long double blast upon the vessel’s steam whistle. As she waited for the vessels to come closer Roberta looked about at what she could see of the dock behind. This was the secret location where the pyroscaphes were completed, and no doubt the site of the larger graving dock where the Emperor’s steam artificers were building the mysterious ironclad. From her present position she could see almost nothing.

  Another military band struck up a revolutionary march as a large number of row barges emerged from an anchorage close at hand and rowed past. The oarsmen were in infantry uniforms, as were the armed soldiers standing resolutely in the bow as if ready to disembark on an enemy beach. Soon after, the first of the parade vessels came near—six armed gunboats with sails on two masts and long sweeps to urge them along.

  Roberta did not feel the necessity of paying attention to the ranks of sailing craft and oar-powered invasion barges as they came past—indeed she had to own a tinge of guilt, because these were the army transports the spitefuls were intended to sink. Perhaps some of these young looking lads—so boldly saluting their Emperor as they went past—were actually going to be drowned beneath the rams of her vessels.

  She tore herself from the sight of them to look for the expected steamships. A cloud of smoke in the distance beyond the city betrayed their approach, and as the squadrons of oared and sail vessels moored or anchored along the stretch of river that had been cleared for them, all eyes watched the black smoke coming closer.

  “They must be trying for full speed,” Colonel Riviere murmured. “This is not as it was planned.” He exchanged a frown with one of the artificers standing nearby.

  “I believe the vessels are the Duquesne and the Tourville,” the man replied. “Their captains are bitter rivals.”

  Roberta watched the approaching ships as they came into view around the bend in the river. Thick black smoke poured from their smokestacks, an indication that the stokers must be charging the furnaces as fast as they could shovel coal. She dared not make a comment, but it was evident to her that the actions were beyond foolhardy.

  The crowds roared with excitement as the two pyroscaphes came closer. Roberta could see that they both had four large invasion barges in tow which cut their river speed to about six knots, but neither captain was willing to slow and let his rival take the lead. The clouds of smoke almost hid the pair of them from view as they neared the review stand. She heard the Emperor’s voice among the sounds of consternation from the dignitaries as he shouted orders that the crews could not hear. A swirl of the smoke in the wind opened a brief view of the two closest barges under tow, one carried two field guns, their limbers, teams and gunners—the other held a troop of light cavalry with their mounts. To Roberta, it seemed as if all the occupants feared they were about to be plunged into the river.

  The race continued beyond the review, and bore down upon the parade-marshal’s cutter, standing authoritatively in the middle of the channel. It seemed inevitable that they must slow their headlong rush before they both collided with the cutter, but here was the danger, Roberta realized. If their artificers tried to bring the steam engines to a halt too quickly there would be nowhere for the build-up of steam to go. It must inevitably—

  BOOM!

  The tall smokestack of the closest vessel toppled over side as an eruption of steam, iron fragments and once-living bodies filled the air. Complete bedlam seized the ships; their towed barges; the crowds upon the quays; and the dignitaries on the review stand. Most of the official party ducked for cover, leaving Napoleon standing alone on the dais with his angry face as dark as the scattering smoke. Colonel Riviere gallantly offered his body as a shield for his two charges as the crowd about them fled. Roberta did not think the debris from such a low-pressure boiler would send any deadly fragments as far as their vantage point—even if the steam pressure had doubled its design figure momentarily. She stood as upright as Colonel Riviere’s arms would permit, allowing her to see that Fouché too, had deigned not to succumb to panic.

  The Emperor called to the Colon
el. “Riviere! Take that artificer beside you and commandeer a cutter. I want a full report of this debacle and the names of them that bear the responsibility.”

  The Colonel saluted. He turned to Roberta. “My apologies, Madame Paine, Freiherren, but I must leave you. I feel sure that one of the gentlemen here will look after your welfare.”

  “I thank you for your diligent care, Colonel. I believe your thought will be proven apt.” She had hardly said the words before Fouché appeared before them.

  “I must go to the Prefecture at once to ensure order is restored after this disaster. If I might offer you both a ride in my coach?”

  Roberta felt more alarmed than grateful. But she managed a fitting answer. “Why, thank you, Monsieur le Duc. You are most generous with your time.”

  He smiled. “Perhaps.”

  Roberta wished she could respond with the aplomb Elise showed—she smiled and laughed gaily. The response gave her courage—Fouché may be suspicious, but could prove nothing, he merely attempted to frighten them into a mistake.

  They descended the ship’s gangplank onto the quay and Roberta could see clearly that they were in a closed stretch of the river frontage, with barred gates and sentry posts at each end. Fouché called to a policeman nearby. “The carriages of the official party—take us to them.”

  “Oui, Excellency.”

  The man led them away from the nearest city gate and onto a swing bridge across the entrance gate of the dock. From the vantage point Roberta could see the partly completed hulls of four more pyroscaphes on slipways on the far side. She allowed herself a glance, but no more, with Fouché walking beside her. He, however, seemed more interested in Elise.

  “Where is Langendorf, Freiherren?”

  “It is close to the border with the Duchy of Luxembourg I am told. I have never been there.”

  “The title is defunct, is it not?”

  Elise said nothing while they left the swing bridge and began to follow the edge of the wall surrounding the dock. The water below was green with weed and the sheen of some oil on its surface. “You suggest it is not truthfully mine, Monsieur le Duc.”

  He laughed lightly as if enjoying the joke. “I merely suggest you would have to be eighty years of age to be the last legitimate holder of the title.”

  “You have taken all that trouble to investigate me? I am flattered.”

  “I am interested to know why you have stolen it.”

  “Stolen! That is a cruel accusation, Sir. But I must point out that it is a more prosperous name than my father’s.” She looked defiantly at the Duke as if challenging him to announce her real name.

  “Ah, yes, your father. Was he actually Dutch?”

  Roberta listened to the duel with a growing horror, but that did not prevent her from taking note of a line of naval cannons drawn up beside a warehouse—twenty-four pounders without a doubt.

  Elise seemed to walk along with a light spring in her step as she considered her reply. Roberta felt sure she would have defiantly twirled her parasol if they had not been left in the carriage. “My father’s name was Appelhof, he was a spice merchant in Sumatra in the Indies. His chief assistant married me, and when my father died, sent me to Amsterdam to get me out of his way. Sometimes, he remembers to send me the remittance money we had agreed upon.”

  “Ah, a sad tale. It completely explains why you live here on your wits, Madame.”

  Roberta wanted to round upon their tormentor and pummel him until he explained what he was up to, but she held herself in check. Instead she decided to round upon Elise. “So, Freiherren, you thought to make a stranger, myself, the next victim of your wits? What did you expect to obtain from me?”

  Elise laughed. “I was not sure, but the opportunity to claim the company of a stranger, an Americaine, no less, who was left in the Hotel without her husband—while he perhaps embarked on the kinds of adventures my husband enjoys out of my sight—”

  “How dare you speak in that way of my husband.” Roberta felt real anger and outrage. She attempted to push past Fouché to reach Elise, but he held her back.

  “Excellent, excellent, ladies. You could not do better under my tutelage.” He regarded them both with cool amusement until Roberta’s fury at her husband and Elise abated a little. “So, what name should you go by, Lady not Freiherren?”

  “Louise Appelhof will do you well.”

  “I hope she will. Tell me—who do you spy for in Antwerp?”

  Roberta almost fainted, but continued walking as if this were no more than a somewhat risqué conversation.

  Elise answered quickly. “For your Colonel Riviere, of course.”

  “Ah! You were the informant about the presence in the city of the royalist, Auguste le Comte de la Marck. How did you learn of him?”

  Roberta had a sinking feeling at the answer. Lord Bond had told her that their mission could be compromised by the enmity between their two allies. None other than his most trusted spy was the one to compromise it.

  “My Dutch friends discovered him. They told me to take the information to your officials. I took it to Claude. For my own reasons.”

  “Ah yes. I can imagine them. What can you tell me of Monsieur et Madame Paine?”

  “That Monsieur Paine is a factor, like my father, except that he deals in tabac. Madame Paine has so recently arrived on a blockade runner from America that she does not yet know her way around. I think without my presence she would have missed this . . . exciting and amusing afternoon completely.”

  Roberta rather thought the word “missed” somewhat understated her present feelings, but found the mingling of truth and fact evidence of a remarkable talent. Perhaps the words might deflect Fouché’s interest in her completely. She walked on as they followed the policeman around what proved to be a large graving dock across their path.

  “I find you an excellent scoundrel, Madame Appelhof,” Fouché said in a voice of complete good humour. “I can use you to perfection in my service. Are you interested?”

  Elise spread her arms wide and held both Roberta’s and Fouché’s eyes as she replied. “Delighted, Monsieur le Duc. How could I refuse you?”

  With that, the two put their heads together in whispered conversation while Roberta walked a few steps behind. She desperately wanted to know if Elise was betraying all of them but knew she had better trust than attempt to eavesdrop. In all probability, Elise could satisfy the spying tasks of both the French and Lord Bond without betraying either too badly. She had already been doing that.

  Roberta paid attention to the vessel in the huge graving dock beside her as they walked. She noted that it seemed to be two large frigates joined together by huge iron cross-beams. There were tall smokestacks on both halves of the resulting vessel, and two large paddlewheels located between the pair of hulls, where enemy cannon fire could not damage them. A portion of the nearest hull between the cannon ports seemed to be reinforced with plates of iron—no more than two thicknesses—as a protection against enemy fire. This was the secret ironclad she had come to Antwerp to see.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Two Visitors and a Race

  Roberta was aroused early the next morning to receive a messenger. She had Annie help her into a boudoir robe and sent her downstairs to see who it was. “Do not tarry, we must be ready to leave; just as soon as I have gone to the Poste Restante to find if Lord Bond has sent me a message.”

  “Yes, Madame,” Annie replied, clearly uneasy at the prospect of their fleeing Antwerp.

  While the girl was away, Roberta checked the powder charges and balls in her Nock pistol. If Fouché had intended to frighten her the previous day he had succeeded, but her part of the mission was over—she had learned the secrets she came for. All that remained was for her to escape back to England, but first she had to locate her husband and learn his plans. She could hardly leave without him. She hoped he was already somewhere plotting how to rescue Mr. Holmes and Captain McNab.

  As far as she knew, Elise had not
returned to the hotel last night—at least there had been no answer to a knock at her room door at a quarter to midnight when she tried to call her. What had happened to her when she rode away with Fouché after they had left her at the hotel? Had he been telling the truth when he spoke of having a job for her? Had he been toying with her as a cat might with a mouse? She might even have been ex—. No she could not conclude the thought, it was too terrible.

  It was also very clear to her that he might as easily have arrested her for questioning yesterday. He had been watching her behaviour on the pyroscaphe, even though she thought it completely unlikely that he suspected her of understanding enough of steamships to function as a spy. He no doubt frightened her with his knowing where her husband had gone as a form of habit. She had no doubt that the fear he had caused in others before her had made them give themselves away.

  Annie returned and stopped before entering. “’Tis the cabinboy Piet from the Nederlander, Ma’am.”

  “Bring him in.”

  The lad looked about wide-eyed as Annie led him in, he had most certainly never been in a lady’s boudoir before.

  “What message do you have, Piet?”

  “I must tell thee two, Lady. Herr van Ee has sent a message to Mr. Bloggins that our friends is to be moved from the artillery guardroom to Ghent today or tomorrow. They are to travel by water and he needs the Nederlander if he has any prospect of releasing them.”

  Roberta gave a relieved smile. “That is good news! We have the opportunity to rescue them. What of the other?”

  “Mr. Bloggins sends a message to you, Lady. His Lordship ordered him not to leave Antwerp without you. You must be aboard this morning.”