The Fortune of War (32 page)

On the most recent page, after a complaint about the Frenchmen's attack on Dr Maturin, Johnson had written, 'I shall have a further interview with him on Monday, when I propose to bring greater pressure to bear; if however he should still prove obdurate, I believe he must be discreetly resigned to Dubreuil in exchange for a free hand with Lambert and Brown, preferably in a place where this will excite no public comment. I have already repatriated virtually all the fit prisoners, to prevent any unpleasant incident.'

Had Johnson written this before or after he had read Diana's letter? If before, had he then given Dubreuil leave to go ahead, or had the Frenchman, fearing that Stephen would yield on Monday, decided to confront Johnson with a fait accompli once again? They were interesting points; but purely academic at this stage. He returned to the study of the book. It was easier to read now, the midday sun having partially dispersed the fog; and with the greater light the town had woken up - the noise of traffic in the

Street had reached something near its usual pitch, and someone at no great distance was letting off fireworks. Was this perhaps a holiday? Another American victory at sea? The pain in his head was growing and in spite of the greater light his eyes would not keep their focus long.

Lost in his reading and his conjectures and his pain he did not perceive the opening of the door that Pontet-Canet had left unlocked until it was already on the jar. 'Tu es là, Jean-Paul?' whispered Dubreuil.

No choice this time; no question of silence now. Stephen rose, whipping round with the pistol already in his hand, thrust it against Dubreuil's recoiling chest and fired. The man jerked back against the edge of the open door and as it slowly yielded so he fell, the expression of amazement and malignity lasting until his head was quite down, dull and indifferent at last.

Stephen stood with the smoking pistol in his hand, listening to the immense report that seemed to fill the room and his head so lastingly. The smell of powder and scorched cloth. Slow, slow, the minutes passed; yet no one seemed to have heard the shot. No running feet, no hammering on the outer doors, no sound at all but for the clock striking the quarter; and outside some kind of a procession was passing the hotel - remote cheers, laughter, a squib or two.

The tension diminished to a tolerable pitch. He put the pistol down and dragged Dubreuil to the privy, to the hipbath. 'This is like the end of Titus Andronicus,' he said, with an affectation of callous brutality, as he heaved the body in.

But he was, he found, seriously disturbed, and he wondered why. He had not even searched Dubreuil. Why not? Corpses he had seen by the score, even by the hundred, in open and clandestine battle, yet this killing sickened him. It was unreasonable: he had had to kill or be killed, and Dubreuil was the man who misused Carrington and Vargas so inhumanly until they died. Yet there it was, and he found that he could do no more than read mechanically, scarcely retaining anything of significance... the squalor of his own conduct and of his enemies', all for the best of motives. The extreme violence of this morning, the physical and perhaps moral exhaustion, were obvious causes for his state, yet it was strange that he could not master his thinking mind and compel it to answer the question, What was he to do next? He posed the question again and again and the only answer was that it was impossible to leave the hotel with the Frenchmen waiting in the hail; that he must nevertheless get these documents and Diana clear; and that the Asclepia could be no sort of refuge once Johnson was back. A string of negatives, no more.

He heard Diana return. She was talking and for a moment he thought it must be Johnson, back before his time, perhaps warned by the traitor Peg; but then he realized that the other voice was Herapath's.

He went towards her, door after door, and she met him in the dining-room. Her face was anxious and downcast and as soon as she saw him she said, 'I am so sorry, so very sorry, Stephen darling, but Andrews was not there. He is gone back to Halifax in the cartel, with nearly all the prisoners of war.'

'Never mind it, my dear,' said Stephen gently - he felt an immense pity for her, he could hardly tell why. 'Herapath is with you?'

'In the drawing-room.'

'Were there any Frenchmen in the hall?'

'Yes, quite a crowd, laughing and talking, some in uniform; but neither Pontet-Canet nor Dubreuil.'

They walked into the drawing-room. Herapath greeted Stephen with a look of deep concern, but Stephen only gave him a vague how-d'ye-do and said he must write a note. 'There is a writing-table in my room,' said Diana, opening the door and pointing.

He stared stupidly at the paper for some moments and then wrote: Jack, I have been obliged to kill two

Frenchmen here. There are other Frenchmen below and I cannot get out - they tried to kill me this morning. I must get Diana out of here at any cost at all, and some papers and myself if it can be done. Wogan will not do - do not tell Herapath this - nor the Asciepia. Choate might find Diana a refuge or Fr Costello, who is to marry me. I am not myself. Jack, do what you can. The big porter might prove a friend.

'Mr Herapath,' he said, coming back, 'might I beg you to give this to Captain Aubrey as soon as ever you can reach him? It is of the very last importance to me, or I should not trouble you.'

'With all my heart,' said Herapath.

They were alone, and Diana moved about the room, lighting candles, drawing curtains. She looked at him from time to time and said, 'My God, Stephen, I have never seen you look so down, or low, or such a wretched colour. Have you had anything to eat today?'

'Not a thing,' he said, trying to smile.

'I shall order a meal at once. And while it is coming, lie on my bed and have a drink. You look as if you could do with it. I shall have one too.'

He did as he was told - his head was furiously painful now - but he said, 'No food.'

'You do not like to see me drinking, do you?' she said, pouring out the bourbon.

'No,' said he. 'You are a fool to your complexion, Villiers.'

'Is whisky bad for it?'

'Spirits harden tissues, sure: that is a fact.'

'I only drink any when I am excited, as I am now, or when I am low. Still, as I have been low ever since I came here, I dare say I must have swallowed gallons. But I will not be low with you, Stephen.' A long silence, and she went on. 'Do you remember, years and years ago, you asked me whether I had read Chaucer, and I said "Filthy old Chaucer?" and you abused me for it? Well, at least he did say "In woman vinolent is no defence. Thus knoweth lechers by experience..."'

'Diana,' he said abruptly, 'do you know anyone in America - have you any sure friend that you can trust, that you can run to?'

'No,' she said, surprised. 'Not a single soul. How could I, in my position? Why do you ask?'

'You were so kind as to write me a letter yesterday, a very, very kind letter.'

'Yes?'

'It never reached me. I found it on Johnson's desk, next to your diamonds.'

'Oh my God,' she said, quite deadly pale.

'Clearly we must be away before he returns,' said Stephen. 'I have sent to Jack, to see what he can do. If he can do nothing, why, there are other possibilities.' Maybe there were: but what were they, apart from a wild flight in the dark? His mind could not, or would not, grapple with the problem hard and tight: clear, prolonged incisive thought was beyond his power.

'I don't care,' she said, taking his hand. 'I don't mind, so long as you are there.'

'Captain Aubrey, if you please,' said Michael Herapath.

'What name?' asked the porter.

'Herapath.'

'You are not Mr Herapath.'

Looking into those black implacable eyes Herapath replied, 'I am George Herapath's son. I have brought the Captain a message from Doctor Maturin.'

'I will take it up. No visitors are allowed.'

Shortly afterwards he reappeared with a nurse and said in a more human tone, 'Ascend. Miss will show you the way.'

'Mr Herapath,' cried Jack, holding out his hand, 'I am heartily glad to see you.' And when the door had closed, 'Come, sit close by my bed. Is the Doctor hurt?'

'Not that I could see, sir. But he was strangely slow: dazed, I might say.'

'Did you see any Frenchmen as you came away from the hotel?'

'Yes, sir. It is their general rendezvous, and there were eight or nine of them sitting about the lobby, soldiers and civilians.' His former captain had always been a formidable figure to Michael Herapath; he was still more so now, as he sat straight up in his bed, looking larger and broader and more angry than ever he had done aboard the Leopard, and when, after a dark, brooding pause, he said in that strong, decided voice of his, 'Reach me my shirt and breeches, will you?' Herapath did so without protest. He did cry out however when Jack plucked off his sling and thrust his injured arm into the sleeve. 'Surely, sir, Doctor Maturin would never allow...'

The only reply was 'My coat and shoes are in that tall locker. Mr Herapath, is your father at home?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Then be so good as to give me an arm down the stairs and to show me the way to his house. God damn and blast this buckle.' Herapath knelt to fasten it, reached Jack his pistol, and helped him down the stairs. 'Not,' as Jack observed, 'that I am not spry enough; but when you have been laid up a while, sometimes you are unsteady when it comes to a flight of steps. And I would not stumble now, by God.'

But in the hall the porter stopped them. 'You are not allowed out,' he said, his hand on the lever that controlled the door.

Jack compelled his face to assume what amiability it could, and he said, 'I am only going to take a turn, to see Doctor Maturin.' His left hand clenched round the barrel of his pistol, and he measured the force of the blow he should have to give to disable such a powerful man. 'The Doctor is in some trouble,' he added, remembering Stephen's note.

The Indian opened the door. 'If he needs me,' he said without any change of expression, 'I am his man. I am free in half an hour: less, if necessary.'

Jack shook his hand, and they walked out into the fog, as thick now as it had been in the morning. 'Do you know, those damned French dogs set upon him this morning. They mean to kill him if they can. It is like attacking a ship in a neutral port. God rot their..

The rest of his words were lost in a deep growl of blasphemy.

Yet on the surface he was calm enough by the time they reached the house. He asked Herapath to go in first and tell his father he wished to see him alone, and when he was shown into the study he found the big man there, looking concerned, surprised, but welcoming.

'I am delighted to see you in my house, Captain Aubrey,' he said. 'Pray sit down, and take a glass of port. I do hope and trust that this is not imprudent, in such a fog, with your...'

'Mr Herapath, sir,' said Jack, 'I am come to your house, because you are a man I trust and esteem. I am come to ask you a service, and I know that if you cannot do it, if you must decline, you will not blab.'

'You do me honour, sir,' said Herapath, looking at him hard, 'and I am obliged to you for your confidence. Please to name the service: if it is a matter of discounting a bill, even an important bill, set your mind at rest.'

'You are very good, but it is far more than any bill that I could draw.' Herapath looked grave. Jack considered for a moment and said, 'You showed me two fine barques of yours, Mr Herapath, tied up not far from the Asclepia. Now when they were sailing, before this accursed war, I dare say your masters did not care to have all their best hands impressed. I dare say they had their hiding-holes.'

'That may be so,' said Herapath, his head cocked to one side.

'And knowing you, sir, I dare say they were about the best hiding-holes that could be devised.' Herapath smiled. 'Now I will not beat about the bush: I will tell you straight out, my friend Maturin is beset by a gang of Frenchmen who mean to kill him. He is gone to ground at Franchon's hotel, and he cannot stir. I mean to get him out, and with your leave, I mean to hide him in one of your barques.' He saw agreement and relief flood over Herapath's enormous purplish face. 'But that is not all. I must be quite open and candid with you. He has also knocked a couple of them on the head: the others do not know it yet, I am sure, but it cannot be long concealed. He also wishes to take an English lady with him, a cousin of my wife's, to whom he is contracted in marriage, Mrs Villiers.'

'Dr Maturin is to marry Mrs Villiers and take her away with him?' cried Herapath, perfectly aware that if Diana were to vanish Louisa Wogan would take her place; that Louisa was at present in the country with

Johnson; and that Johnson would wish to have no part of his Caroline.

'Yes, sir. And what is more, Mr Herapath, what is more, I wish to go with them myself, to try to get them clear in a boat, when tide and weather serve, if you can let me have one: for you will observe, sir, that I have not given my parole. I am not a prisoner on parole. A dory would do. Stephen Maturin is a very learned man, but I would not trust him to cross a horse-pond in any kind of craft whatsoever, and I must go with him. There, sir: I have given you a plain, straight-forward account, and upon my honour I do not believe I have misrepresented anything, nor concealed any risk.'

'I am sure you have not,' said Herapath, walking up and down with his hands behind his back. 'I have a great respect for Doctor Maturin... I am amazed at what you tell me..

'Do you wish to consider on it for a while?'

'No, no. I am only slow in answering because I cannot make up my mind which is best of Orion or Arcturus - the hiding-holes, I mean. A lady and two gentlemen: Arcturus it must be - so much more space. I have a fool of a ship-keeper aboard... that's of no consequence. But tell me, sir, how do you propose to get him out?'

'I thought of reconnoitring the place - backstairs, stables, servants' quarters and so on, before making any plan. All I know of the position is what your son has told me, and what I learnt from Maturin's brief note. I know that he is in Mrs Villier's rooms - your son saw him there - but I do not know the nature of the terrain at all.'