She looked fiercely at Charles. ‘And this Comtesse … the de Montignot woman … her description is circulated to every port and border in France. If I had guessed she was lodged in Cornand’s house I wouldn’t have set foot in it! This town is not Paris, I tell you. This is a small place, and everyone knows the other’s business. A strange, sick woman will not go long undiscovered, even hidden away in the back room!’
‘Keep your tongue still!’ Charles said roughly.
Her face reddened. ‘I’ll not be quiet. We have paid good money for this passage, and we demand to leave immediately. There isn’t a hope for that woman, and while we stay here the lives of all of us are in danger!’
‘There are other foreign vessels in port,’ Charles said. ‘You are at perfect liberty to find a passage with any captain who will take you. Or else’ ‒ he paused ‒ ‘or else get down on your knees and pray that Louise de Montignot lives to board this ship.’
He turned slowly to Jane. ‘You have heard all this, and now the task is more difficult than we believed when we left England. Are you still willing to come ashore and help us with Louise?’
Jane nodded. ‘I’ll come!’
Paul got to his feet, his face wearing a look of irritated resignation. ‘I’ve always believed that this whole venture was a piece of folly committed without thought. You,’ he said, looking at Charles, ‘should never have set foot in France while the present madness is on them, and you already know what I think about Jane being here.’ He gestured briefly. ‘However we are here, and every hour we remain increases the danger, so let us go and be done with it.’
Duval’s delicate hands gripped his knees convulsively. ‘Monsieur … as things are at present, the National Guard is likely to search all ships in the port … I implore you, Monsieur …’
‘We will return as speedily as possible,’ Paul said.
The Duvals sat in grim, unwilling silence as the three left the cabin.
II
Matt Shore and another hand from the Dolphin rowed them to the quai. They already had their instructions from Paul; they were to wait by the steps of the quai until the next morning, if necessary, and if they were questioned they were to say the Master of the Dolphin was ashore negotiating the purchase of a cargo. Nothing was to be said of the passengers who had gone aboard the Dolphin.
The evening was mild, and there was still a great deal of activity in the streets, with doors and windows flung open, and the sound of rapid voices everywhere. The stern lights of the ships riding at anchor in the Basin made broad gleaming paths across the water; the tide was running high, and the stench from the rotting garbage and debris tossed into the Basin was not so strong as it had been through the afternoon. The boat nosed the granite steps of the quai gently, and Paul stepped ashore, turning to give his hand to Jane. She found it was a miserable business trying to scramble from the boat to the slippery steps, hampered by her skirt and petticoats. As soon as Charles was ashore, Matt used his hands to pull the boat along to a mooring ring on the dock wall; the oars were shipped, and the two men settled themselves for their watch.
There was the usual number of idlers on the dock, sitting about on the bales and crates, enjoying the warm evening, chewing tobacco and spitting with relish as they discussed the day’s news from Paris. Charles began to mount the steps; Jane followed, with her arm through Paul’s; Charles was wearing the oldest coat he could find among the crew of the Dolphin, and a battered, stained hat. In his hand he held a lantern. Jane’s eyes were on him as he climbed to the level of the quai, and she wished that he would carry himself with less pride. With his height and his head erect, even in those deplorable clothes, he was a figure to turn and look at. It was a mistake, she decided, and one that Paul had spoken against from the beginning, to allow Charles to come ashore. Even so soon two groups at the top of the steps had fallen silent, their gaze fixed curiously on Charles. He stood very still, holding the lantern low to light the steps.
Under his breath Paul muttered a restrained curse. ‘Why does he have to look like that ‒ even here!’
Jane looked beyond Charles as she reached the quai, and she sensed that what happened was not as accidental as it was made to appear. A man detached himself from the group nearest Charles, making some remark in French she could not understand. He stepped backwards and cannoned into Charles with considerable force. With an exclamation of annoyance, Charles spun round. Instantly his body went limp, and she saw him sway a little as he stood. The lantern, she noticed, he held well down at his side.
They exchanged a few words; even in the unfamiliar tongue Charles’s voice was slurred and thickened, the stranger’s apologetic. The man, however, did not step away from Charles; he was shorter than Charles, and he stared up intently into his face. Then Charles turned, still swaying, and caught Jane’s arm. He leaned on it heavily. Quickly Paul reached over and took the lantern from his hand. Suddenly Jane felt herself caught roughly in Charles’s arms; he tipped her head back and the hood of her cloak slipped off. Then Charles’s lips were on her mouth, and he was kissing her. She stayed in his arms obediently, numb with astonishment. She could feel his hands in her hair, pulling it free of the cloak so that it spread about her shoulders. He went on kissing her, and from one of the groups there came a little chorus of appreciative whistles and cries.
Charles said softly, his mouth still pressed against hers. ‘I’m drunk, and so are you! Understand!’
Then he pulled himself away from her a little and looked in the direction of the whistles. He held his arm about her shoulder, and sketched a grotesque, clumsy bow, swaying as he did so. He called something to the men in French, and there were some answering comments, and laughter, and someone shouted ‒ ‘Une Anglaise!’ Jane could feel the pressure of Charles’s hand on her shoulder forcing her down in a rough curtsey. She smiled as she did it, and knew that Charles was laughing too. A small round of applause greeted her action; standing on tiptoe she managed to place a kiss on Charles’s cheek, at the same time reaching up to tweak his ear.
All this time the man who had cannoned into Charles stood silent, his eyes moving rapidly over the three of them. Suddenly he put out his hand to detain Charles. Paul stepped in beside Charles and brushed roughly against the stranger.
‘Pardon, Monsieur,’ he said amiably. He spoke with an exaggerated English accent. This seemed to amuse the men standing about; there was more laughter. By the time Paul had recovered from his stiff foolish bow, and replaced his hat, Charles and Jane had already moved down the quai, Charles walking with the absurd erectness of a drunken man.
‘Hey! Hey! wait for me!’ Paul cried, starting to run after them. He waved his hand with a flourish to the men by the steps. When he reached the others he slipped an arm about Jane’s waist. They walked as rapidly as they dared towards the Rue de Paris.
Suddenly, as her mind cleared a little from the bewilderment of those moments by the quai, Jane found herself afraid. She did not dare to question Charles yet about the stranger who had cannoned into him; there was nothing to say, and nothing to do but imitate his slightly lurching walk. In the emptiness, fear touched her with its reality for the first time. A faint shudder ran through her body. Instantly she felt Paul’s arm tighten about her, comforting, reassuring.
He bent close to her ear. ‘Don’t be afraid, sweetheart. Nothing will happen to you ‒ nothing.’
She knew well enough that he was making an uncertain prediction, but there was no uncertainty about his tone. His words were clear and bold, and she believed, irrationally, that somehow he would see to it that nothing did happen to her. It was easy to believe whatever Paul said. She raised her head, and entered with more spirit into the part Charles had assigned to her.
***
In the Rue de Paris there were more people, and more noise. There was also more light from the taverns and shops, as well as the upper storeys of the close-packed houses. The doors of the brothels were wide open, the half-naked prostitutes soliciting briskly amon
g the seamen and townspeople who passed by. Charles pulled his hat forward on his head, tipping it at an angle so that it partly shadowed his face.
‘Who was it?’ Jane said in a low voice. She stopped by the doorway of a shop to poke at a great hoop of cheese displayed there.
Charles crumbled the edge of the cheese with his forefinger. ‘Has he followed us? Is he anywhere near?’
Paul glanced casually back. ‘I can’t see him.’ He leaned closer to Charles.
‘His name is Bouchet,’ Charles said. ‘He used to be a steward on Phillipe de Montignot’s estate. It was he who denounced Phillipe and gave evidence against him at the trial. As a reward for his display of patriotism he was given a position serving the Commune. I imagine he’s grown fat on bribes during the last year.’
‘What is he doing here?’
‘I can think of only one reason. They must know in Paris that Louise is believed hiding here, and they have sent him to stir up the authorities, and to identify her. It must have been he who saw Pierre Latour, and hoped he would lead them back to Louise. He must have been waiting here in Le Havre hoping that she would be forced to show herself. Maybe he knew that Latour got away on the Dolphin and he is having a watch kept on all the quais in case the Dolphin should return. He must be certain that Louise did not escape with Latour, or he wouldn’t still be in Le Havre.’
‘But you …’ Jane said. ‘Did he recognize you?’
‘I think he did,’ Charles answered. ‘He isn’t quite certain ‒ it was dark enough there to make him doubtful, and he’s only seen me a very few times some years ago. Either he was confused by what we did there at the quai, and believes we’re no more than smugglers taking a lady on a joy-ride to France, or else he knows that Latour left on the Dolphin, he has recognized me, and now he waits for us to take him to Louise.’
Then he suddenly shouted to the shopkeeper, and demanded that he come and cut some cheese immediately. Charles paid for it, counting the coins with drunken solemnity into the man’s hand. Then he broke it in three, and handed a piece each to Jane and Paul. They nibbled it as they continued on down the street.
Paul began to hum softly, unmusically, waving his hand to match the rhythm of the beat; suddenly, to the air of Greensleeves Jane heard him sing: Cornand’s shop is on the corner over there … Cornand’s shop …’ Jane nudged Charles. ‘Cornand’s … Cornand’s …’
They marked it with only the briefest glance; it was a triangular building, commanding a view of two streets, and it didn’t seem to lack customers to sit at the tables in its dimly lighted interior. Paul had continued to hum, now he broke into a whistle. Under cover of it, Charles spoke.
‘We’ll go to a tavern where you’re known, Paul,’ Charles said. ‘We’ll have to find someone you can talk to about buying a cargo.’
‘I know only a few people in Le Havre,’ Paul answered. ‘It isn’t one of my regular ports … We could try the Three Brothers in the Rue d’Ingouville. Will Bouchet follow us?’
‘Of course he will! That’s why you’ve got to behave exactly as you would if you were here to get a cargo.’
‘We’ll have to separate if we’re to get rid of him. He can’t follow each of us. The one he follows should go back to the Dolphin ‒ that will keep him away from Cornand’s.’
‘Supposing he has other people helping him?’ Jane said.
‘He hasn’t had time to get help yet, and if we keep moving he won’t dare let us out of sight … We’ll make the Three Brothers first, then move on before he has time to send a note or message to the Guard …’
Les Trois Frères was a dim little shop, heavy with the odours of stale sweat and tobacco. It sold good brandy and was a recognized meeting-place for seamen. The proprietor nodded to Paul with a half-familiar gesture, and came to serve them immediately. As he placed the glasses before them, Bouchet entered. He did it quite openly, without trying to efface himself. Charles had carefully seated himself with his back to the door. Paul spoke to the proprietor, using slow precise English, loud enough for Bouchet to hear.
‘Have you seen Monsieur Bordillet this evening?’
‘Monsieur Bordillet? ‒ ce soir? Non, Monsieur.’ He shook his head.
‘Damn!’ Paul said. ‘Swallow your drink, and let’s move on. He’ll be about somewhere.’
The shopkeeper shrugged uncomprehendingly, and pocketed the coin Paul gave him. Paul helped Jane to her feet; Charles caught her arm as before, and they walked out to the street. Behind they could hear the scrape of the chair as Bouchet stood up.
At four other taverns they did the same thing. At each Bouchet either entered boldly, or stayed within sight of the door. At the fifth one a large moustached man suddenly rose as they entered, calling cheerfully to Paul.
‘Oh ‒ my friend! They tell me you’ve been enquiring for me!’
‘Every blasted place in the town,’ Paul said. ‘Drinking too much of your bad French brandy.’
‘My friend, you cannot insult our brandy ‒ they pay too much for it back in England …’
He seated himself at their table, and called for brandy. Jane didn’t even attempt to drink it when it came; she merely smiled in acknowledgement when Bordillet raised his glass to her. Suddenly she felt Charles’s arm round her shoulder again; he spoke softly in her ear.
‘Can’t you do better than that? ‒ you’re supposed to be gay!’
Obediently she reached for the glass, forcing it to her lips, turning to toast Charles smilingly. The brandy was like fire to her throat and her protesting stomach. It was a long time since the scrappy meal one of the hands had thrown together on the Dolphin, even a long time since that bit of cheese they had eaten in the Rue de Paris. She wondered how many more taverns there would be, and how many more glasses of brandy … The room was growing hazy before her eyes; in a little while she would be too stupid to be of any help to Charles. A kind of despair entered her then, recognition of the possibility of failure. She wanted to put her head on that stained battered table and weep.
Suddenly, under cover of the table she felt Paul’s hand seek hers, and finding it, grip it firmly; with his thumb he stroked the back of her hand. All the time he talked on to Bordillet, but she knew what the gesture meant. With that pressure on her hand he was saying to her all the things of which his love and concern for her gave him intuitive knowledge. He knew her misery and near-defeat, he knew even her hunger and the nauseous burning of the brandy in her stomach, he knew the closeness of despair; he was placing himself between her and the spectre of fear, telling her that she had not been lost from mind even in the heat of danger. And all the time he kept up the loud, aggressive talk with Bordillet appearing even to enjoy the drawn-out haggle over the price he would pay for tobacco. He shouted his scorn and contempt of the other, and had the same insults hurled back at him; both men seemed to be equally engrossed in the matter. This was one cargo that Paul would never take aboard, but certainly Bordillet could not have guessed it, nor did she think could Bouchet, seated two tables away. She half-turned her head, and took a long look at Bouchet’s intelligent, bitter face; he returned her stare unblinkingly. She hated the mocking falseness of this chase where pursuer and pursued remained only a few feet apart.
She leaned towards Charles, smiling at him for the benefit of Bouchet.
‘How long do we go on this way?’ she whispered. ‘We’re no nearer to Louise!’ Her hand tightened on his arm. ‘Why does he just follow you? Why doesn’t he arrest you and be done with it?’
‘This phase of our play is coming to an end now,’ he said. ‘It is important that Bouchet believes you and Paul are genuine, even if he suspects me. Now he has seen you here with Bordillet, I think he won’t trouble you.’
‘But you …’
‘He may not be sure that I’m the same person he knew as Charles Blake, who was a friend of Phillipe de Montignot, though I’m sure he knows that Charles Blake was imprisoned and escaped. Prison changes a man’s appearance, and it’s some years since
he’s seen me.’
‘But he follows you, just the same.’
‘What else can he do? He has no other clue. When Latour escaped from Le Havre Bouchet lost the trail to Louise, and now he is sticking with me because he hopes that I’ll lead him to her.’
‘Why doesn’t he have you arrested on suspicion?’
‘What good would it do him? Even to prove that I was Charles Blake? He knows I wouldn’t tell him where Louise is ‒ and to the Commune, and for Bouchet’s own future, she is a much more important capture than I. Besides, with luck, he might get us both!’
‘So … what do we do?’
He drained his glass and set it down firmly. ‘I will leave here, and Bouchet will follow me. When you see that he is gone, take Paul and go to the Cornand’s shop. If necessary, you must take Louise to the Dolphin without my help.’
‘She will find more strength for the journey if you are there,’ Jane said slowly.
He nodded. ‘I know that, but if I can’t shake off Bouchet, you and Paul must manage it alone.’
‘How long are we to wait?’
‘No longer than an hour. The streets are quieter and it grows more dangerous.’ He dropped his hand on to hers, lying on the table. ‘At all costs you must get her to the Dolphin ‒ and Paul is to sail as soon as he can make ready.’
‘To sail! But what about you!’
‘Don’t wait for me.’
He pushed back his stool and prepared to stand up. ‘Don’t wait for me, do you understand? If the Dolphin sails without me, I’ll make my own way back to England.’
‘And if you don’t …?’
Blake's Reach Page 36
