'What about your father?'
'Captain Rawson is making enquiries about him.'
'Oh, I wish I knew what was going on,' Beatrix wailed. 'I never wanted to come here in the first place.' Dopff's expression showed that he agreed with her. 'But at least we had a fine house.'
'It may have served its purpose, Beatrix,' said Amalia. 'Now why don't you and Kees gather together the few belongings you'll be able to take if we're forced out of here.' She saw the anguish on Dopff's face. 'There's no call for alarm, Kees,' she went on, softly. 'I promise you that we won't leave the tapestry behind.' He brightened immediately. 'You'd better be ready to take it down from the loom.'
Dopff nodded and left the room. Amalia sent the servant off to pack her bags. About to go to her own bedroom, she saw a horse pull up outside the front window and recognised the rider. She ran to the door to admit Daniel then brought him into the parlour.
'Well?' she asked. 'Did you see Monsieur Lefeaux?'
'He was not able to help us,' replied Daniel, sadly.
'Didn't he know where Father was?'
'I'm afraid not, Miss Janssen.'
'What exactly did he say?'
'That doesn't matter,' said Daniel, keeping the awful truth from her. 'What has become clear is that you must leave here tonight. I called on my friend and he's willing to look after us for a while. He has a horse and cart.'
'How far must we go?'
'The house is on the other side of the city.'
'Who is this friend?'
'His name is Ronan Flynn and he has a warm Irish heart. He and his wife will look after us until we're ready to leave Paris.'
'And when will that be, Captain Rawson?'
'When we've discovered where your father is.'
'Someone must know,' she said with an edge of desperation.
'Yes, Miss Janssen, and I think he's standing outside in the street. That man who's been watching the house is still there. If anyone knows what's going on, he does.'
'What are you going to do?'
'I'm going to have a friendly word with him,' said Daniel.
Chapter Seven
They waited until evening shadows began to lengthen and the streets began to clear of people. Daniel then issued his instructions. Amalia Janssen was ready to obey them to the letter but Beatrix was fearful.
'I don't want to go out there, sir,' she said with a shudder.
'Why not?' asked Daniel.
'That dreadful man is waiting.'
'He won't trouble you for much longer.'
'What are you going to do?'
'I simply need to speak to him.'
'Well, why can't you go out there and do that, sir?'
'Listen to Captain Rawson,' said Amalia. 'He knows best. All that we have to do is to walk for ten minutes. No harm will come to us if we're together.'
Beatrix was not convinced and it was clear from Dopff's face that he, too, had qualms. On the other hand, the weaver had been impressed by their visitor's decisiveness and had no doubts about Daniel's good intentions. He just wished he understood why a British soldier had come to their assistance out of the blue. Daniel repeated his orders slowly.
'Give me five minutes and then leave the house together,' he said. 'Walk past the man at the corner and lead him around in a circle before coming back here. Is that understood?'
'Yes,' replied Amalia.
'Where will you be, Captain Rawson?' asked Beatrix.
'I'll be waiting for him,' said Daniel.
After giving them all a smile of encouragement, he let himself out into the street and mounted his horse. He trotted off in the opposite direction to the corner where the watcher was stationed. Turning into the adjacent street, he rode on until he reached another corner. When he turned right again, he kept his eyes peeled.
Amalia Janssen, Beatrix and Kees Dopff stood in the parlour and watched the pendulum of the clock as it swung to and fro. Dopff wanted to point out that it was a Dutch mathematician who first invented the pendulum clock over half a century earlier but he felt it inappropriate. It would also take far too long for him to convey the information by means of gesture and facial expression. When the five minutes had elapsed, Amalia gave a nod and led them to the front door. Beatrix was still reluctant but she could not refuse to go. She pulled a scarf around her shoulders and gritted her teeth. With mixed feelings, Dopff opened the front door and the women went out into the street. They heard the door being shut behind them.
'I don't like this,' confided Beatrix.
'Stay close to me,' said Amalia.
Crossing the street, they walked side by side, trying to appear as natural as they could. They turned left at the corner and expected the burly man to confront them but he was not there. For a second, they dared to relax. The man had apparently gone away. Their sense of relief was rudely shattered when he stepped out of a doorway opposite and tipped his hat in a mocking salute. They walked quickly on. His heavy footsteps soon fell in behind them. Neither of them dared to look over her shoulder. They were both quietly terrified.
Daniel had found a dark alleyway where both he and his horse could hide. It was only a question of waiting now. Certain that Emanuel Janssen had been identified as a spy, he prayed that the man was still alive and had been spared torture. He winced at the thought of having to tell Amalia that her father had been killed. She seemed so young and fragile that the news could destroy her. From the way Lefeaux and his wife had been summarily hanged, it was evident that no mercy would be shown to spies. He could only hope that Janssen's exceptional skill as a tapestry- maker had saved him. A monarch who took such delight in the work of artists of all kinds might think twice about condemning a supreme craftsman to death.
Daniel had no more time to reflect upon what was only a faint hope. A horse and cart went past then an old man staggered by on a walking stick. What he saw next as he peered around the corner of the alleyway were the two women, walking in step and staying close together. Yards behind them, he could just pick out a brawny figure in the gloom. Flattening his back against the wall, he was ready to pounce. Amalia Janssen and Beatrix got nearer and nearer until he could hear their matching footsteps. When they went past him, they didn't even think to look down the alleyway. Neither did their stalker and it was a bad mistake. Daniel leapt out, grabbed his collar to pull him into the alleyway then held a dagger at his throat.
'Who are you?' demanded Daniel.
'I've got no money if that's what you're after,' said the man.
'I want to know why you're following those two ladies and why you've been outside their house all week.' Daniel shoved him hard against the wall then pricked his neck with the point of his weapon. The man yelped. 'Next time, I'll cut your throat. Now — who are you?'
'My name is Jacques Serval,' admitted the other, 'and I wasn't following anybody. I live nearby and was on my way home.'
'Don't lie to me or I'll slice you to pieces.' Daniel reinforced the threat with a kick on the shin and a punch on the nose. Blood gushed down on to the man's beard. He glowered at Daniel. 'Where is Emanuel Janssen?'
'I've never heard of him,' said Serval, a hand to his nose.
'Why keep his house under surveillance?'
'I don't know what you're talking about.'
'Then you're no use to me,' said Daniel, pulling back his arm as if to thrust the dagger into him. 'Goodbye, my friend.'
'No — wait!' exclaimed Serval, cowering.
'Have I jogged your memory?'
'I didn't take him away. The others did that. I was just asked to watch the house to see what his daughter did. You've got no argument with me, sir. I'm not important.'
'You're important to me because you're the one person who can solve this mystery. I'll ask you once more and, if you still insist you don't know, I'll send you off to the Hell you deserve for tormenting those ladies.' With his free hand, he slammed the man against the wall, knocking off his hat. 'Consider your answer very carefully, my friend. Where is Emanuel
Janssen?'
'Somewhere you'll never reach him,' said Serval, defiantly.
'He is alive, then?'
'Yes.'
'Is he still here in Paris?'
'Janssen won't ever be leaving here.'
'Why do you say that?'
'He's in the one place where nobody leaves.'
'And where's that?'
Serval smirked. 'The Bastille.'
Daniel was stunned. Relieved to hear that Janssen was still alive, he was dismayed to learn that he was being held in the city's most notorious prison. It was like a body blow to Daniel. As he tried to absorb the impact, he took a step backward. Serval saw his chance and took it. Lunging forward, he grabbed the wrist of the hand that held the dagger and tried to twist it away from him. Daniel fought back at once, grappling hard, looking into the Frenchman's crazed eyes and recoiling from his foul breath. With a sudden move and a swing of his leg, he managed to trip Serval up. Falling to the ground, Serval kept an iron grip on his wrist and pulled Daniel after him. They struggled violently. It was a trial of strength now.
Serval was a powerful man who had come off best in many tavern brawls. He spat into Daniel's face then turned his head sharply to bite his wrist, forcing him to drop the dagger. They were on even terms, needing to subdue or kill their opponent with bare hands. After trying to gouge Daniel's eyes, Serval rolled over so that he was on top for the first time, his substantial weight bearing down on Daniel. The Frenchman was sweating freely and panting hard but he now had the advantage. Rising up to sit astride Daniel, he got both hands to his throat and began to throttle him, blood from his nose dripping on to Daniel's face. Anticipating success, Serval let out a growl of triumph.
It was premature. Daniel was not finished yet. Gasping for breath, he put all his strength into a punch that caught Serval on the ear and knocked him sideways, weakening his hold on Daniel's neck. A second punch dislodged his hold altogether and Daniel was able to throw him off and scramble to his feet. Serval was quick to recover, getting to his knees and pulling out his own dagger. Daniel reacted by instinct. If he let the Frenchman get up, then the result would not be in doubt. Serval had to be disarmed. With a firm kick, Daniel caught him in the crotch and made him double up in agony. Then he dived in to grab Serval's wrist, twisting it so that the dagger turned towards the Frenchman's chest. With a howl of rage, Serval tried to pull himself upright and turn the weapon back on Daniel but he slipped on the cobbles and fell backwards. As Daniel tumbled to the ground on top of him, the dagger went straight through the Frenchman's heart. Serval's body convulsed for a moment then all resistance drained out of him.
When he was sure that the man was dead, Daniel searched him quickly and took some papers from his pocket. Then he lugged the body down the alleyway and hid it in a doorway. Retrieving his own dagger, he put it in its sheath and went to collect his horse. Now that the fight was over, he was able to address his mind to what he had found out. He did not relish the task of passing on the information to Amalia Janssen. Her father might be alive but he was incarcerated in the infamous Bastille. That was a death sentence in itself.
Amalia was increasingly worried. After their walk, she and Beatrix had returned safely to the house, expecting Daniel to join them almost at once. While they'd been on foot, he had a horse. She could not understand why he'd been delayed and was immediately prey to all kinds of fears. Daniel was the only person who had brought hope into her life and she needed him. Even on such a short acquaintance, Amalia had been drawn to Daniel, struck by his bravery, grateful for his honesty and touched by his charm. It was only when she heard the clip-clop of hooves in the street outside that she began to calm down. Instead of leaving the task to Beatrix, she ran to open the front door herself. Daniel had come back.
'What did you find out?' she asked, breathlessly.
'We must leave tonight,' he said, dismounting and holding the reins. 'I'll fetch the cart and be back within the hour.'
'What about my father?'
'He's alive, Miss Janssen.'
'Thank God!' she exclaimed. 'Where is he?'
'I'll explain that later,' he said. "The important thing is for us to reach a place of safety as soon as we can. In due course, you'll understand why.'
Amalia gave a stifled cry. It was fairly dark in the street but she had just stepped close enough to Daniel to see the blood on his face and the tear in his coat. She also noticed the dirt on his clothing.
'What happened, Captain Rawson?' she said.
'This is no time to discuss that.'
'Were you involved in a fight with that man?'
'Forget him,' said Daniel. 'Impress upon Kees and Beatrix that this is an emergency. If they have to leave things behind, so be it. They must be ready to go the moment I get back. It won't be a coach and four,' he apologised, 'but it will get us there in one piece.'
'I'm worried about you, Captain. Are you badly injured?'
'I'm not injured at all, Miss Janssen.'
'Something has obviously happened.'
'Tell the others what I said,' he urged, mounting his horse.
'Where exactly are we going?'
'You'll find that out when we get there. Now please hurry up. There's no time to lose. If you stay in this house one more night, then all your lives will be in danger.'
Ronan Flynn was a lanky, raw-boned man in his early forties with long grey hair and curling eyebrows. Having served in an Irish regiment that fought in Louis XIV's army, he had picked up a certain amount of the French language. It was when he had met Charlotte Rousset that his fluency had perforce improved by leaps and bounds. Falling in love with the pretty young Parisian woman, he had courted and married her. Charlotte was almost eighteen years younger than her husband yet they were so contented that the age difference became irrelevant. Flynn lived happily in a small but comfortable house with his wife and baby daughter. It was, he reminded himself every day, far better than being a soldier.
'There are four of them?' said Charlotte with concern.
'It will only be for a short time, my darling.'
'But we don't have enough room for so many.'
'We'll fit them all in somehow,' said Flynn. 'There's room in the attic for the man and the two women will have to share.'
'What about your friend?'
'Oh, Dan Rawson will lay his head down anywhere. He's the one person you don't have to worry about. He's a soldier, used to sleeping on the ground in all weathers.'
'Why are they coming here, Ronan?'
He hunched his shoulders. 'They need a roof over their heads.'
Flynn had told his wife as little as possible. All that she knew was that Daniel and her husband had once fought alongside each other in the army. Charlotte didn't realise that Flynn had been in the British army at the time. She assumed that both men had served under the French flag. The salient point about their friendship was that Daniel had rescued the Irishman when he'd been captured by the enemy. There was an unpaid debt that had to be honoured. Flynn would not, in any case, have been able to give his wife full details of why four strangers were about to descend on her because he didn't know them himself and didn't wish to know. A friend was in trouble. That was enough for Ronan Flynn.
'Who are these people?' asked Charlotte.
'They're friends of Daniel and they've had to leave their house.'
'Why?'
'I've no idea, my darling,' he said, kissing the chevron of concern on her brow. 'Let's wait until they tell us, shall we?'
'It seems so odd, coming here at this time of night.'
He beamed at her. 'Paris is an odd place. Where else could an ugly old Irishman like me marry the most beautiful woman in the world?' Charlotte softened and hugged him in gratitude for the compliment. 'If looking after these people for a few days is all we have to put up with, I'd say that we were very lucky. Doesn't the priest tell us every Sunday that it's good to help others? Or has my French let me down? It sounds to me as if that's what he's saying.'
'Yes — they have nowhere to sleep.'
'Where is their house?'
'I don't know,' he told her. 'Somewhere on the other side of the city, I think. There are all kinds of reasons why people have to look for accommodation. Perhaps they had a quarrel with the landlord or discovered the place was infested with vermin. Maybe there was a fire. Whatever the cause, we mustn't pester them with questions. Be nice to them, Charlotte, please. Will you do that for me?'
'I'll do anything for you,' she said.
Flynn embraced her and kissed her on the lips. Before they could savour the moment, however, there was a cry from upstairs as the baby came awake again. Charlotte smiled tolerantly and went off up the steps. Flynn followed her.
For the three Dutch passengers, the ride through Paris at night was nothing short of an ordeal. Having lived in such a pleasant quarter of the city, they hadn't realised that most of it was given over to narrow, fetid, swarming streets lined with tenements and decaying old buildings. The pervading stink was matched by a continuous din. Boisterous taverns and pleading beggars supplied most of the noise. Yapping dogs and screeching cats added a descant. Daniel drove the rattling cart with Amalia beside him. Amid a pile of belongings, the others sat uncomfortably behind them. Beatrix clung to her bag so that none of the grasping hands could steal it while Kees Dopff held the tapestry in his arms as if clinging to a piece of timber in a swollen river. Both of them were highly distressed at the number of drunks who lunged wildly at the cart or threw missiles out of random malice. They were all relieved when they entered the wide thoroughfare of a more respectable district. As the hubbub subsided, they were able to hold a conversation at last.
'Who is this friend of yours?' asked Amalia.
'He's a mad Irishman,' said Daniel, 'and his name is Ronan Flynn. We met when he served in the British army but he later joined a French regiment. That's when we were on opposite sides.'
'Is he ready to help an enemy?'
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