In the Commodore's Hands

by Mary Nichols

  ‘She was thrown from her horse while jumping a ditch. The horse fell on top of her. She was alive when she was brought here, but in spite of our best endeavours, died an hour ago.’

  ‘I want to see her.’

  ‘Naturally you do. I suggest you make arrangements to take her body home. We do not want it here.’

  Gerald and his brother, the Earl, came downstairs to join them. Gerald was white-faced, his brother cold and unbending. ‘Take her away,’ the latter said. ‘It was bad enough having a live whore here, a dead one is too much.’

  Whatever Marianne had done, he had to defend her from that. ‘She was never a whore.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Gerald said with a sneer. ‘Then you did not know your wife very well, Drymore.’

  ‘I hold you responsible for her death, Wentworth. I should have ended your miserable existence when I had the chance.’

  ‘This discussion is pointless,’ the Earl said. ‘I must ask you to leave, Commodore, and make arrangements for your wife to be removed. I am sure you will find a suitable conveyance for hire in the village.’

  He turned and left. The scene changed abruptly, as dreams often do, and he was back with a covered cart drawn by two horses. A footman conducted him to the room where Marianne lay. ‘Do you want help carrying her?’ he asked in a whisper.

  ‘No, I can manage.’ He bent over the corpse, expecting to see the face of the wife he had married seven years before, and recoiled in horror. The dead face was that of Lisette Giradet.

  The shock of it was enough to wake him. He lay bathed in sweat, trying to make sense of it. He had relived that time in his disturbed sleep many times, but the woman he picked up and carried down the stairs to the waiting cart had always been Marianne, beautiful and still in death. The image of a dead Lisette set him trembling. Did that mean she was so like Marianne she would suffer the same fate? Would she, too, betray him?

  When morning came, he decided to say nothing, but give her the opportunity to tell him of her visitor without being asked.

  He dressed in clothes befitting a gentleman and stooped to remove the bandages on his feet, smiling a little at the memory of them being put on. Then he put on fresh stockings and his own shoes and went downstairs. Lisette was already in the breakfast room and Madame Gilbert was dispensing coffee. He waved her away and sat down next to Lisette. ‘Good morning, my dear.’ It was said cheerfully.

  ‘Good morning.’ She looked heavy-eyed, as if she had not slept, but managed a smile. ‘How are your feet?’

  ‘Oh, they are as good as new, thanks to you.’

  ‘Do you have any more walking to do today?’

  ‘No, a gentle stroll perhaps.’

  ‘Has anything been decided?’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Don’t tease, Jay. About freeing Michel from prison, of course.’

  ‘I’ll tell you after I have seen Robespierre again.’

  ‘Are you going to appeal to him to let Michel go?’

  ‘I doubt that would serve, Lisette. The less he knows about our real errand, the better, don’t you think? Our government would not condone any interference with the way France dispenses justice.’

  ‘You call it justice!’

  ‘No, but the revolutionary French do.’

  She sighed. ‘I suppose you are right, but does that mean you are going to have to get Michel out without official help?’

  ‘It does indeed.’

  ‘Then why go back to Robespierre? Why not simply leave?’

  It was obvious from the hunch of her shoulders, the way she held her head and gripped her hands in her lap, that she was tense, like a coiled spring ready to fly off goodness knew where, and he needed her calm and doing as she was told. ‘I must conclude our discussions on my official errand,’ he went on patiently, taking her hand. ‘I cannot disappear without doing that; Robespierre must believe I am simply an envoy returning home and I also need a permit to get us safely through the barriers. His signature will ensure it.’

  ‘And is that going to be soon?’

  ‘Very soon, my dear, if you can curb your impatience just a little longer.’

  ‘How much longer?’

  ‘Until this evening. Be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.’

  ‘You said you would tell me what you were planning to do when the time came.’

  ‘So I did. Suffice it for you to know that Commodore Drymore and his lady will leave Paris this evening at six of the clock to go home after his fruitful discussions with the Revolutionary Government, all legal and above board with all the necessary papers. That is important if we are to stay ahead of anyone trying to follow us.’

  ‘And Michel? Will he be with us?’

  ‘It is to be hoped so.’

  ‘How are you going to effect his release?’

  He hesitated. Dare he tell her everything? He decided it would be prudent to hold back on the finer details. ‘Harry and the others will do that and bring him to us.’

  ‘But we cannot all squeeze into one carriage.’

  ‘No, of course not. Until we have safely negotiated the barricade there can only be two people in the carriage. Michel will be with you, posing as me.’

  ‘But what about you?’ she asked. ‘How will you get out? You surely don’t intend to be left behind? Oh, Jay, I could not bear that. The risk is too great.’

  ‘Nothing can be achieved without a degree of risk,’ he said, surprised by her vehemence. Did it mean she cared what became of him, apart from what he could do for her and her brother? ‘But if everyone plays their part, the risk will be minimal. The rest of us will acquire mounts and make our own way out of the city. Once safely past the barricades and out into the country we will all meet up and proceed together.’

  ‘What if Lord Portman fails? If he is caught—if you are all caught—what then?’

  ‘He will not fail, Lisette. I trust him implicitly. If I did not, I would not have agreed to let him help us. The only thing that can stop us now is if we are betrayed. I do not altogether trust the concierge, nor that uncle of yours.’

  He watched her carefully, giving her the opportunity to tell him about the man’s visit, but was thrown into despair when all she said was, ‘Madame Gilbert knows only what we have told her and I shall be extra careful if, by chance, I should encounter Mr Wentworth again.’ She paused and seemed to take a deep breath before going on. ‘Jay, what of King Louis?’

  ‘What of him?’

  ‘I heard rumours about a chest of correspondence being found in the King’s quarters in the palace which prove there is a conspiracy afoot to free him and set him back on the throne. It is said Englishmen are involved.’

  ‘Where did you hear that?’

  She could not tell him the truth without explaining Wentworth’s demands. ‘I heard people talking at the Palais de Justice. I went there to listen to more cases.’

  ‘Why are you worrying about the King?’

  ‘I wondered about Lord Portman…’

  Someone, and he did not need to look far to realise who it was, had been feeding her information intended to undermine her confidence in him and their whole enterprise. ‘Oh, I see. No, Lisette, we have nothing to do with any such conspiracy. It would be tantamount to a declaration of war if we were to become involved in that. You may tell Mr Wentworth that if you should see him again.’

  She gasped. ‘Mr Wentworth?’

  ‘He was your informer, was he not? You do not have to answer that, I should hate you to have to lie, but I must warn you that if you have any more accidental meetings with that gentleman, you will put your brother’s freedom at risk.’ He was so angry he could hardly contain himself; angry not so much that she had seen and spoken to Wentworth, but that she was intent on deceiving him. He had given her an opportunity to explain what had happened and she had refused to take advantage of it. He abandoned his breakfast and left her before he lost patience with her completely. The sooner this whole escapade was brought to an end and they were
safely back in England, the better.

  Lisette heard the door bang, heard him run up the stairs, calling for Sam as he did so. She wanted to run after him, to tell him about her uncle’s visit and what the man was asking of her, to put her whole dilemma on his shoulders, which were so much broader than hers. She might have done so if he had not been so furious. His face had been white, his jaw rigid. The man who had kissed her so tenderly had gone and with him any hope of understanding. He was angry and yet he was still going ahead with the plans he had made. She ought to be grateful for that. But how could she be easy about it when she knew the risk was even greater than he realised? And all on account of her uncle.

  Jay’s mission for the British Government had been completed, whether successfully or not she did not know, but there was now nothing to keep him in France except Michel. If she told him about her uncle’s demands, would that make a difference? Would he abandon Michel and force her to go back to England without her brother? She could not let that happen; it would kill her father. Oh, how she hated to be out of sorts with Jay. At a time like this, she needed his strong arms about her, his strength to give her courage, his tenderness to bolster her weakness. But he had gone, goodness knew where, leaving her to her misery.

  It would soon be noon and she had to decide what to do about Mr Wentworth. Her uncle knew who she was, had already guessed that it was Jay, posing as James Smith, who had rescued her father; he could denounce them both whenever he chose. he would certainly do so if she did not meet him as arranged. He would become suspicious and, if he had told Robespierre he expected to be given the names and was not able to produce them, she would not be the only one in trouble. If she were the only one, she told herself, she could bear it, but the others did not deserve to die because of her foolhardiness. But what to do? The whole enterprise was in jeopardy because of her and it was up to her to do something about it.

  A little before half past eleven, she left the house.

  Chapter Ten

  It was cold, in keeping with her mood; the last of the leaves had been stripped from the trees by a raw east wind which made her cloak flap about her legs and threatened to take her hat from her head. She held it on with one gloved hand and walked steadfastly forwards until she was once more approaching the Palais de Justice.

  It was another day of trials—the Revolutionary government was determined to eradicate all dissent—and crowds of people were pushing their way into the courtroom, eager to witness the humiliation and terror of the latest batch of defendants, to cheer or hiss as the fancy took them. Lisette took a deep breath and let the tide carry her forwards but once inside she allowed everyone else to continue into the courtroom while she stepped behind a pillar to wait for the arrival of Gerald Wentworth.

  It was not yet noon and she had a few minutes to wait if he were punctual, longer if he decided to be late. she wished she had not come so early, this waiting about was making her resolve crumble. Then she gasped and put her hand to her mouth in horror. Her uncle was on the other side of the vestibule in earnest conversation with Henri Canard. It was definitely Henri, but he had discarded his shabby black suit and was dressed in a frock coat of dark plum-coloured velvet, rose-coloured breeches and white hose. She recognised the clothes as belonging to her father. Not only had he made free of the château, but her father’s wardrobe as well. She shrank further back behind the pillar, her heart beating in her throat.

  A few moments later, they parted company; Canard went into the courtroom and her uncle found a bench and sat down presumably to wait for her. She stepped out to stand before him.

  ‘Ah, Lisette, punctual, I see.’ He patted the seat beside him. ‘Sit down, my dear, and tell me what you have discovered.’

  ‘I’m afraid I have not been able to discover anything at all. I am not sure there is anything to be discovered and you must be mistaken.’

  ‘I am not mistaken. It is your loyalty which is a mistake, Lisette. Do I have to repeat all the reasons I gave you for helping the Department of Justice to eradicate traitors and those who help them?’

  ‘No, I remember them perfectly.’

  ‘Good, because your brother’s trial is set for tomorrow and the evidence against him is overwhelming. Henri Canard is in Paris with the two prison warders.’

  ‘It is manufactured evidence. Canard knows nothing of my brother.’

  ‘But he does know you and he knows James Smith.’

  ‘Mr Smith is in England.’

  He laughed. ‘Oh, my dear, that was a nice try, but you do not deceive me. Nor will you deceive Citizen Canard and the gaolers who will easily identify him.’

  ‘Henri Canard has taken over the château and my father’s wardrobe and no doubt the apple harvest, the cider-making and the Calvados distillery, so what can he possibly gain by Michel’s death?’

  ‘He believes the estate is his by right.’

  ‘Right through confiscation,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘No, my dear, it is more than that. He tells me the Giradet estate once belonged to his grandfather and that it was taken from him by a trick. He was temporarily in financial difficulties and your great-grandfather lent him the money to pay his debts. Unfortunately he could not find the exorbitant interest, so Giradet took the whole estate in lieu. Canard is anxious to have back what he believes to be his. The easiest and cheapest way to do that is to put an end to the existence of every Giradet who might challenge him.’

  ‘My father is alive and well and out of Canard’s reach.’

  ‘But the Comte is an old man. You and your brother, on the other hand, are young and pose a threat.’ He paused to let this sink in. ‘Come, enough of your prevaricating. Tell me the names of Drymore’s confederates and you and your brother will be given safe passage to England.’

  ‘And my husband?’ She was becoming so used to referring to Jay as her husband, it was almost as if their marriage were a fact and not fantasy.

  ‘The Commodore? Yes, him too. The French would hardly harm an accredited government envoy unless he were caught red-handed.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘Like the coward he is, he has managed to protect himself, but where does that leave you?’

  Do not hurry, she told herself, pretend to be considering his request. ‘I do not know any names,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Then you will condemn your brother to death.’

  ‘He is your nephew, too.’

  ‘So he is and that is why I am doing my best to save him. Isn’t that what you asked of me? Without your co-operation, I cannot do it.’

  ‘My husband and I have passes to leave France this evening. I want Michel to be with us.’ Even as she spoke she wondered if Robespierre would provide the passes if she refused to do as she was asked.

  ‘Only if you supply the names.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘Then you had better make all haste to find them. It is not I who wants them, believe me, but stronger forces than either of us can conceive are at work here. I can promise you the British Government will thank you.’

  ‘I will try to find out what you want to know.’

  ‘Good, but do not take too long about it. Citizen Robespierre is waiting for your answer and he is not a patient man. Meet me here in an hour’s time.’

  ‘Here, not La Force?’

  ‘Michel has been brought here in readiness for his trial. He is, at this very moment, in the dungeons beneath our feet.’

  She gasped; she did not doubt his information had come from Henri Canard. She was sure Jay did not know that and his plans were centred on La Force. It changed everything. Jay himself had said they could not free Michel from here. Her mind was working like an over-wound clock; she had to think of something. ‘I have a condition…’

  ‘What, in addition to your life and that of your brother?’ He laughed again, enjoying her discomfort. ‘You are hardly in a position to make conditions, my dear.’

  ‘Nevertheless I am making one. I want you to arrange for me to see my brother and talk to h
im. Once I am satisfied he is in good health and has not been ill treated, then I will do my best to obtain the names you want.’

  ‘But you will see him when he is released—is that not soon enough?’

  ‘No. How do I know he is alive even? I might give you what you ask for and then you might tell me he died weeks ago. I do not betray my husband’s countrymen for a dead body.’ How she managed to say that with such calmness she did not know.

  ‘It will require an order signed by Citizen Danton.’

  ‘I am sure you can obtain it for me. You told me you had the ear of Robespierre and Danton too.’

  ‘Very well. I shall see what I can do.’

  She was silent. It had not been an easy decision to make; the risks involved didn’t bear thinking about and she was truly frightened. Had she gone too far to turn back? Could she retract? Could she confess everything to Jay? But she would not see him again until the evening when they were supposed to leave. It would be too late then. In a dream—or was it a nightmare?—she heard the man beside her say something and then get up and leave her. She sat on, shaking so much she did not think she could stand, let alone walk away.

  But time was slipping by and she had to make a move. She stood up and hurried from the building, surprised that her feet carried her.

  Jay concluded his business with Messieurs Martin, Robespierre and Danton and they parted on good terms, or so it seemed on the surface; underneath there was deep-seated mistrust on both sides which was not helped when Jay spotted Wentworth on the other side of the road as he left the building. Luckily the man was too busy shouting at a small boy who was taunting him for his extravagant clothes to notice anyone else and Jay slipped down a side road without being seen.

  He did not go back to the Embassy, but hurried to the Cross Keys to meet Harry and the other two, knowing he would have to tell them about Lisette’s treachery. Angry as he had been, he could not help feeling a twinge of sympathy for her. He could understand her overwhelming need to rescue her brother; in similar circumstances he would feel the same, but it was a pity she could not trust him and Had gone to that mountebank, Wentworth, and, what was worse, believed the lies he had fed her. Had she already betrayed them? Had Wentworth been on his way to convey the information to Robespierre?