‘That’s what I was doing,’ said Alphonse, ‘until Josette came.’
‘I should have torn that wagon to pieces,’ she growled.
‘I’m very glad that you didn’t,’ said Daniel. ‘Please take me to it, Victor.’
‘Get him out of here,’ roared Josette, ‘before I sit on his head and fart in his mouth.’ As the blacksmith led Daniel away, she fired a Parthian shot. ‘And I hope his rotten wagon has been stolen and used as firewood.’
Glad to get out of her reach, Daniel was disturbed by the news that the wagon might have been pillaged. His sword had been hidden under the seat and held in place with some nails. Most people who searched the wagon would not even see the weapon but there was always the possibility that someone might chance upon it.
‘Where did your wife drive it?’ asked Daniel.
‘Down by the stream,’ replied Victor. ‘It was all I could do to stop Josette from tipping it into the water. You upset her, Gustave.’
Daniel looked over his shoulder. ‘Yes, I gathered that.’
‘She likes to get her own back.’
They picked a way between the wagons until they came to a grassy incline. At the bottom of it, perched on the very edge of the stream, was the wagon taken from Ralph Higgins. There was no sign of the horse. When he saw what had happened, Daniel grimaced. Most of the canvas had been torn away from the hoops and the back of the wagon was almost empty. Whoever had stolen the provisions had been very thorough.
Daniel ran quickly down the hill and climbed onto the back of the wagon. Reaching under the seat, he felt for the sword but all that he found was a sharp nail that drew blood from his finger. Daniel was impervious to the pain. He was too numbed by a horrible realisation. His precious sword had gone. He might never find it again.
Still courting his commander’s favour, Captain Raoul Valeran delivered his report with the quiet smile of someone expecting praise for his efforts. Seated at a table in his tent, Vendôme was leafing through some papers as he listened.
‘I believe that I’ve found how he got into the camp,’ said Valeran. ‘Posing as a sutler, he joined some wagons that came here a few days ago. I’ve spoken to some of the soldiers who guarded them.’
‘Do we know what name he used?’ asked Vendôme.
‘It was Gustave Carraud.’
‘How can you be sure of that?’
‘I made enquiries among the other sutlers, Your Grace. A man of that name came and went, leaving his wagon behind him.’
‘Why should he do that?’
‘I can only imagine that he had no need of it.’
‘Then how did he escape?’ pressed Vendôme, looking up at him. ‘He could hardly have walked all the way back to the British camp, especially as he had two women with him.’
‘I have the answer to that,’ said Valeran, eager to impress. ‘It seems that he arrived here with two horses. They vanished at the same time as Captain Rawson and the women.’
‘I see. You’ve done well, Raoul. I congratulate you.’
Valeran beamed. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’
‘It’s a pity that your investigation into the burning down of that farm was not so fruitful. That crime remains unsolved. However,’ he continued as Valeran’s face crumpled, ‘you’ve made amends here. At least we now know how Captain Rawson entered the camp. What is not clear is how he left it during the night.’
‘That takes us into the realm of guesswork.’
‘Quite so,’ said Vendôme, standing up. ‘I assume that you searched this wagon of his?’
‘I did, Your Grace,’ said Valeran, ‘though, by the time I got to it, most of its contents had been stolen. What was left behind, however, confirms my belief that Gustave Carraud was indeed Captain Rawson.’ Lifting up the sword that he was carrying, he showed it to Vendôme. ‘This was concealed beneath the seat of the wagon.’
‘How interesting,’ said Vendôme, taking the weapon and examining it. ‘This has seen good service, by the look of it. I think your supposition is correct – it must belong to Rawson. What use would a sutler have of an army sabre?’
‘That was exactly the question that I asked.’
‘Did you get a description of this Gustave Carraut?’
‘He’s a well-built man in his thirties who can fight like a demon.’
‘How did you find that out?’
‘He had a brawl with some of the other sutlers. I spoke to witnesses who saw him overpower them with relative ease. Evidently, he’s very fit and strong.’
‘That accords with what we already know of Captain Rawson.’ Vendôme studied the sword again. ‘He’s fit, strong, daring and imaginative. He can pass himself off as a wine merchant or a sutler with equal facility. For all that, the captain is not infallible.’ He tapped the sword. ‘This proves it, Raoul.’
‘Does it, Your Grace?’
‘Most assuredly,’ said Vendôme. ‘I don’t need to tell you how soldiers cherish their weapons. They grow to have a superstitious reliance on them.’
‘I’d certainly never part with my sword, Your Grace.’
‘I dare swear that Captain Rawson has the same attitude. He’d never have abandoned this unless he was forced to do so. That’s what I mean about his fallibility,’ said Vendôme. ‘He made a mistake. I suspect that he’s the sort of man who’ll take steps to rectify it.’
Valeran was dubious. ‘Surely, he’d never try to retrieve it.’
‘I think that’s precisely what he might do, Raoul. Perhaps we don’t need Mademoiselle Janssen, after all.’ He brandished the sword in the air. ‘I could be holding a far better hostage in my hand.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
There was a pervasive gloom in the house in Amsterdam. It was almost as if the occupants were in mourning. The longer they waited for news about Amalia Janssen, the more depressed they became. Her father did his best to keep up the spirits of the others but even he was starting to lose hope. Unable to work, he instead watched Kees Dopff, his chief assistant, a short, skinny man in his late twenties who’d once been Emanuel Janssen’s most gifted apprentice. Dopff was a tireless worker, quick to learn, meticulous in all he did and devoted to his master. Conversations between them were largely one-sided because the little weaver had been mute from birth. Since he could use no words, Dopff had to communicate by means of his mobile features and gesticulating hands.
During a break from the loom, he turned to Janssen and offered him a quizzical smile. The old man shook his head.
‘There’s no news as yet, Kees,’ he said, regretfully. ‘I’ve been left in such a daze that I’ve lost count of the number of days that Amalia has been missing now.’ Dopff held up fingers on both hands. ‘Has it really been that short a time? It seems like months. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since Amalia was taken. I’m so grateful to have you to continue work on the tapestry because I’m far too tired and preoccupied to concentrate. However,’ he went on, straightening his shoulders, ‘we mustn’t despair. That’s what the Duke of Marlborough said. In his letter, he advised us to bear up and not succumb to fearful thoughts. He also promised to take every step possible to find out where Amalia is and seek to rescue her.’ Dopff nodded eagerly. ‘The trouble is that she could be hundreds of miles from here. Then again,’ he added, ‘she might still be here in Amsterdam. It’s conceivable that someone might be playing a cruel joke on us.’
Dopff stood up and used both hands to convey what he was thinking, tracing elaborate patterns in the air and reinforcing them with a range of facial expressions. Janssen was able to translate.
‘I agree with you, Kees,’ he said. ‘This whole distressing business is probably linked to the fact that we escaped from Paris. Well, you were there. You saw how desperate they were to recapture us.’ Dopff’s head bobbed again. ‘You had the better of it, I fancy,’ he went on, trying to lighten his misery with a touch of humour. ‘You and Amalia got away by boat. I had to be smuggled out of the city, dressed as a woman. I don’t think
that Beatrix has ever forgiven me for wearing some of her clothes.’
The two men laughed at the memory. Janssen then left the workshop and went into the house, walking through to the voorhuis so that he could be close to the front door in case any mail was delivered. Beatrix was already there, pretending to dust the furniture while she hovered. She gave Janssen a dutiful smile.
‘Kees and I were just recalling our escape from Paris,’ he said.
‘I’d hate to go through that again.’
‘We all would, Beatrix. It was frightening.’
‘I think it took years off my life,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever feel the same again. Yet in some ways, this is even worse. When we had problems in France, we could do something about them. That’s not the case now.’
‘No, it isn’t. We simply don’t know where Amalia is or how we might go to her aid. Being kept in the dark like this is maddening.’
‘We should have heard something by now.’
‘I agree.’
‘The house is not the same without Miss Amalia.’
‘It feels so empty.’
‘Are they still searching the city?’
‘They’ve given up, alas,’ said Janssen, failing to keep a forlorn note out of his voice. ‘They found nothing.’
In the wake of his daughter’s abduction, he’d raised the alarm and a search had been set in motion by the authorities. A handful of witnesses had come forward but none of them had seen the actual kidnap. All that they remembered was a coach hurtling away from the place where Amalia had been seized. Janssen was a man of influence in Amsterdam so no effort was spared and the search was extended well beyond the bounds of the city. After days of disappointment, it was finally abandoned. The conclusion was that she was not there.
Beatrix had spent all her time brooding on the kidnap.
‘I don’t think Miss Amalia is still in Amsterdam,’ she said. ‘I’d know it if she was still close. Someone has taken her far away.’
‘Whoever he is, I do hope that he’s been treating her well.’
‘She’s very brave, Master Janssen. I saw that when we lived in Paris and you disappeared. Miss Amalia was a tower of strength for Kees and for me. She doesn’t deserve this to happen to her.’
‘I know, Beatrix,’ he said. ‘I keep repeating it to myself.’
‘I swear I’ll take more care of her next time,’ she said with passion. ‘If – God willing – there is a next time.’
‘I’m certain that there will be.’
His voice was firm but his mind troubled. He was trying to reassure himself as much as his servant. The disappearance of his beloved daughter had induced a kind of paralysis in him. He couldn’t work, relax, think, act or enjoy his food. He drifted aimlessly through each day in a kind of all-enveloping mist. It was unsettling.
‘This is no way for us to behave,’ he said, attempting to shake himself out of his lethargy. ‘We both have better things to do than to lurk out here, Beatrix. I suggest that we get on with them.’
‘Very well,’ she said, reluctantly.
After a glance through the window at the empty street, she retreated into the parlour. Summoning up his willpower, Janssen returned to the workshop and clapped his hands.
‘It’s time I did some work in here,’ he announced. ‘I’ve been resting far too long. I need something to engross me, Kees.’
His assistant gave him an understanding nod but that was all that he had time to do. Shortly after Janssen came in, the doorbell rang and he immediately turned tail and headed back to the voorhuis. Beatrix won the race to the door, flinging it open and snatching the letter from the hand of the messenger. She thrust it breathlessly at Janssen and watched him tear it open. As he read it, his face was ignited by joy.
‘Amalia is safe!’ he cried. ‘She’s with the British army. And look,’ he added, waving the enclosed note, ‘here’s a message in her own hand. She’s unharmed and in good health. Captain Rawson rescued her.’
Janssen was not simply talking to Beatrix and to the messenger who stood at the open door. His loud cry had brought Dopff and the other servants running. They gathered around him with mounting excitement as he read out what Amalia had actually written. It was wonderful news. They were so overcome by a collective relief and elation that they hugged each other for several minutes. The long and agonising wait was finally over.
Lieutenant Ainley was delighted to be given the privilege of escorting the two ladies around the camp. Neither Amalia Janssen nor Sophie Prunier wanted to be cooped up in a tent all day and so they readily accepted the invitation to combine a tour of inspection with a walk in the fresh air. The only thing that dampened Amalia’s enjoyment was the fact that Daniel was not escorting her. To stroll through the camp on his arm in such fine weather would have been a treat for her.
She’d met Jonathan Ainley more than once and liked his courteous manner and the way that he cheerfully venerated Daniel Rawson. What she didn’t know was that he had a good command of French and so was able to converse freely with Sophie. As the three of them walked between the avenues of tents, the women gathered many approving stares and admiring comments. Sophie didn’t need an interpreter. The looks on the men’s faces were self-explanatory. Civil and attentive, the lieutenant pointed out various aspects of the camp and talked about battles in which the army had been involved. Out of deference to Sophie’s presence, he chose not to dwell on the casualties suffered by the French and their allies.
Amalia sensed that he was developing more than a passing interest in their companion. Even in borrowed attire, Sophie was a striking young woman. Most of what Ainley said was directed at her and she, in turn, asked most of the questions. It almost reached a point where Amalia began to feel that she was in the way.
‘When will you return to Mons?’ asked Ainley.
‘I have to wait until my parents come home from Paris,’ said Sophie, ‘so I may be here for a few days yet.’
‘I won’t complain about that, mademoiselle.’
‘Thank you, Lieutenant.’
Amalia watched as she acknowledged the compliment with an engaging smile. She’d never seen Sophie’s smile before and realised how it released the full beauty of her face. Ainley was captivated. For the first time since their escape, Sophie was relaxed and able to enjoy something. Amalia was glad that the horrid memories of the woman’s ordeal had been put briefly behind her and that she could be in an army camp without feeling endangered.
‘And what do you do, Lieutenant?’ wondered Sophie.
‘I simply obey orders,’ he replied.
‘You have to give them as well, don’t you?’
‘It’s more a question of passing them on. The structure of command in an army is crucial. I occupy a particular place in it with very particular duties.’
‘How long have you served under His Grace?’ asked Amalia, determined not to be left out altogether.
‘Ever since this war started,’ he said. ‘Captain Rawson and I have served side by side – though he hadn’t attained a captaincy when we first met.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard the story of his career.’
‘It bears retelling time and again, Miss Janssen.’ He switched from English back to French. ‘You must be an admirer of Captain Rawson as well, I daresay.’
‘He rescued me,’ said Sophie. ‘I can never thank him enough. I was beginning to fear that I’d never get away from that camp.’
He was amused. ‘When you did so, however,’ he noted, ‘you ended up in another army camp. It was a case of jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.’
‘Oh, no, I think that I am very safe here.’
‘And why do you feel that?’
‘To begin with, it has gentleman like you in it, Lieutenant.’
Ainley was not sure how to cope with the flattering remark so he turned away. Amalia wasn’t watching him. Her eyes were on the smile that Sophie had given him. It was almost coquettish and it worried her. The Fre
nchwoman was behaving oddly and Amalia didn’t know why. Once again, she felt that she was intruding.
‘Well,’ said Ainley, facing them again, ‘you’ve seen almost everything there is to see.’
‘We haven’t seen the big guns yet,’ said Sophie.
‘I didn’t think that cannon would hold any appeal for you. Artillery is not something that usually interests ladies.’
‘I’m very interested,’ said Sophie. ‘What about you, Amalia?’
‘Yes, I’m happy to view the cannon,’ replied Amalia.
‘In that case,’ said Ainley, obligingly, ‘follow me.’
It took hours. Distraught at the loss of his sword, Daniel began the search by going from wagon to wagon and asking if anyone had the weapon. From the shifty looks he collected from certain people, he could see that they’d been involved in looting his supplies but none of them had even seen the missing sword. When he offered to pay handsomely for its return, he still had no response and had to accept that he’d not find the weapon among the camp followers. The one person he didn’t question was the blacksmith’s wife, Josette. Had she possessed the sword, he was certain that she’d have used it on him now that she realised that Daniel was responsible for her husband’s inability to enliven the marital couch at night.
The search took him on a meandering route that ended at the wagon owned by Alphonse and his father. The old man was there this time and he recognised Daniel instantly.
‘Why, it’s Gustave,’ he said, pointing. ‘My son told me that you’d come back. Where have you been?’
‘I had to leave camp for a while,’ said Daniel.
‘That was a mistake. You left your wagon unguarded.’
‘I know that. Almost everything in it has been looted.’
‘Well, don’t look at me,’ said the old man, truculently. ‘We never steal from friends. Josette drove your wagon away. Speak to her.’
‘I already have,’ said Daniel, ‘and she wasn’t pleased to see me.’
The old man cackled. ‘Did she try to hit you?’
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