The Gathering Storm (15 page)

A moment of silence, then: 'Why do you ask that?'

'I wished to know if she had left the château. I believe
that if she returns to Paris she will be in very grave danger,
once it becomes known that the king has flown.'

'She will remain here until Their Majesties are safely in
the ship – and then she will go.'

'You will not like to consider the danger she may be in,
if she—'

'I will not, Lieutenant.' Sharply, over him. 'Your concern
is Their Majesties' passage away from France, and nothing
else.'

'Yes, in course it is my concern ... and I do not yet know
their destination. I have been told nothing about that. Will
you tell me where they are going?'

'When they arrive there, and news of their arrival reaches
us here, then you will be free to go. Until then their destination
does not concern you, Lieutenant.'

'Why was not I permitted even to see the king and queen?
Would not it be sound sense for them to see me before they
go into the boat, so that Their Majesties would not be
alarmed by a strange face among them on the beach?'

'When the boat comes ashore you will be returned to the
château at once. You will not see Their Majesties – who wait
separately – and they will not see you, when there is plainly
no need.'

'My God, I cannot understand why you wish to treat me
so churlish, monsieur, when I—'

'Churlish? Lieutenant, I must ask you to be silent.' Sharply,
over him. 'Your questions are irksome to me. In truth I do
not enjoy your conversation at all. It is repetitive, whining
with complaint, and dull. I thought the English prided themselves
on their fortitude, and wit.'

James bit his tongue, counted to twenty, and effortfully
kept his temper. The wash of the sea on the rocks, the occasional
rattle of a stone as one of them shifted his feet, and
the drifting reek of seaweed, and shellfish. They waited a
further hour, signalled again, and again found no response.

'The ship will not come tonight, monsieur.'

'We will wait, and try again.'

Further hours passed, the same procedure was followed,
and produced – nothing.

As dawn approached James yawned, and stood up – they
had all sat down on the rocks long since – and stretched to
ease his numb backside and stiff limbs.

'
Expedient
will not come, Monsieur Félix.'

No response.

James rubbed his face, sighed, and: 'The ship is not here,
she is delayed. We must return to the château, and wait
another day.' To his surprise M. Félix grunted, grumbled,
and allowed:

'Hm, perhaps after all you are right, Lieutenant. It has
been a long night, and we are all tired.'

They climbed the cliff, and returned to the Château de
Châtaigne in a covered cart, a horseman riding ahead. James's
blindfold was not replaced for this journey, and he saw that
the house was not more than two miles inland, hidden in a
vale, and approached by a circuitous route through orchards
and woodland, the road little more than a winding lane. When
they reached the château they did not go in by the great gate,
but came to the rear and a small gate let into the wall under
a spreading tree. For the first time James saw the extent and
grandeur of the house and surrounds. From this side the
château looked almost like a fortress, a place much older than
he had at first imagined.

He was taken to his bedchamber, and again locked in. He
lay down on the cot and at once sank into an exhausted,
dreamless sleep.

When he woke hours later it was to the scraping and
turning of a key in the lock. He heard soft footfalls, and felt
someone sit on the end of the bed. For a moment or two
he had no notion where he was. At home, in Birch Cottage?
Nay, there was no room like this in Dorset. Light from a
tall window at the end of the room. Afternoon light, he
thought. He sat up, blinking in that light, scratched his head,
drew in a breath – and saw Madame Maigre. Heaven, her
looks.

He said in French: 'You have not gone away.' Using '
tu
'.

'I have not gone away. I wished to see you first.' Softly,
using '
tu
'.

'I am so very glad.' Heartfelt. All thought of Dorset flying
from him.

And now the thing that had been inevitable between them
from the beginning overtook them, and they were consumed.
It seemed entirely natural to them both to be thus devoured
by a force too powerful to resist, and when later they lay
side by side neither felt anything but serenity and contentment,
and a new intimacy. At first the intimacy was simply
of closeness, and quiet, and then it grew naturally and became
the intimacy of lovers' talk.

They talked through the late afternoon, and into the softening,
fading light of evening. He wished to know her given
name.

'What is yours?' she countered.

'I am James. James Rondo.'

'I like Rondo best. It is more gallant, and romantic. I shall
call you Rondo.'

A sudden pang, and he frowned. 'I would prefer that you
did not.'

'No? Why not?' Amused.

'I – I am not at ease with that name any more.'

Gently, seeing that he was troubled: 'Then I shall call you
James.'

'Thank you, I prefer James.' Smiling at her. 'And now tell
me your name.'

'Juliette. But I am not Madame Maigre. That is a false
name.'

Turning to look at her. 'Ah, you mean – just as my name
when I first came ashore was Henry Tonnelier?'

'Yes. We all live and work under these invented names.
Thus, if we are ever taken, our families cannot be harmed.'

He was tempted to ask her if she was married – and
then did not. She would certainly ask the same of him, and he
did not wish to think of his home, and Catherine, and all of
his past and future life in England. He did not wish to feel
any further regret or remorse, with Juliette's scent in his
nose and hair and the taste of her on his tongue. Not now.
Not at this moment of languor and easy voices in the quiet
magical air.

Presently Juliette: 'Talking of names, do you know Lady
Sybil Cranham?'

'No.' Propping himself on elbow to look at her. 'Who is
she?'

'She has helped to arrange this escape for us, through her
friends in London. Your ship. You yourself.'

'I have never met her. I know nothing about her, except
what you have just told to me. She is your friend?'

'Yes, very much.'

'And she will return, after the king has gone?'

'I had better say nothing more.'

'You don't trust me?'

'The less each of us knows about the other the safer we
shall be.'

'Those are not your words, though. They are Monsieur
Félix's words, are not they?'

'Hush. Let us not talk of these things, when we have so
little time left.' She leaned and kissed him, but he drew back
a little, and:

'I am greedy. I want more time.'

'My love, we must attend to our duty, and save the king.
That is all that—'

'I will like to save you.' And he kissed her, began again to
drown in her.

Crack! Crack-Crack! Crack-crack-crack!
'

Echoing across the stone wall and courtyard below.

James leapt off the bed, ran to the window, and was
shocked by a hole punched through the glass by his head,
and splinters of wood flying all round him as the musket
ball smashed into the casement. He fell back, and felt
stinging where fragments of glass had cut his face and
neck.

'James!' Running naked to his side.

'Keep down, keep away from the window!'

Crack! Crack-crack!

Another ball exploded through the window, shattering the
entire pane, and ricocheted along the wall with a fizzing
whine.

James hopped and stumbled, pulling on his clothes and
shoes. 'Have you the key, Juliette?'

She pulled on her own clothes, and he was fleetingly aware
of her breasts and unpinned hair as she struggled to button
and fasten. Fleetingly but intensely aware of her sheer physical
allure. As she found and held out the key, pushing back
her hair, he thought:

'I cannot bear to lose her.'

And he took the key, unlocked the door, and ran with
her, hand in hand down the long stone stair, as further
shots rang across the courtyard. Shouts echoed, the whinnying
shriek of a horse in mortal pain, and the screams of
men.

Juliette, panting by his side as they ran along a passage
into the great hall: 'We must save the king!'

M. Félix met them in the doorway at the far end, his gaunt
face very pale and grim. If he was surprised to see James
with Madame Maigre he gave no hint of it. Tersely:

'The National Guard surround the house. Somehow they
have discovered that the king is here. There is no hope of
fighting them, or even holding them off – they are too
many. We will use the passage to go out undetected.'
Turning and leading the way along a narrow corridor.

'Passage?' James followed him with Juliette, still holding
her hand.

'There is an underground passage leading to the heart of
the wood behind the house. We will wait in the passage until
nightfall, then come out into the wood, and go to the beach
at the Pointe de Malaise.'

More shots from without.

'The gate will soon be smashed down, and the loyal platoon
overcome. They must find their luck where they may, we
cannot aid them now. The stable is already overrun, and we
must go into the passage.'

'Is the platoon well armed?' James, as they hurried to the
end of the corridor.

'With muskets and pistols only. There are over a hundred
National Guard troops outside the walls. They may well
have a field gun, to shatter the gate.'

As they came to the narrow doorway at the end of the
corridor, James took M. Félix's arm.

'Juliette – Madame Maigre – cannot now return to the château
from the beach, Monsieur Félix. Nor can I. Will you give me
your word that we may go into the boat, and then into
Expedient
?'

Pulling free his arm. 'There is no time for that now, for
God's sake.'

James seized his arm again, and spun round him with all
his sailor's strength: 'Give me your word.' Fiercely.

'Very well, Englishman. You may have it, I suppose.'

*

'Our destination on the coast is three leagues due east, sir,
but I fear mist is rolling in from the west.'

Captain Rennie, having kept the deck without a break five
watches through, had returned from his cabin after a deep,
necessary and refreshing sleep. He glanced to the west, and
saw a bank of fog on the water.

'Thankee, Tom.' To Lieutenant Makepeace at the binnacle.

Rennie looked aloft, and again west, and asked for the
direction of the wind, the speed and direction of the ship,
and what canvas had been bent, or put in the brails, in the
last glass or two. His first lieutenant told him, reading from
his notations as the duty midshipmen prepared for the
changing of the watch. Rennie listened, nodded, again glanced
aloft, and paced to the tafferel, where he brought up his long
glass. Away to larboard the Pointe de Malaise rose black and
clear in the early evening light, and the islets that lay just
offshore – but for how long? The setting sun would soon be
obscured behind that bank of fog, the fog would roll relentlessly
on, and envelop the ship, the surrounding sea, the scene
entire.
Expedient
was already late at the rendezvous. Should
he risk standing in, now?

'I do not wish to go aground in fog and darkness.' To
himself. 'But I must do everything I can to make the
rendezvous tonight.'

If the fog became dense, no signals would or could be
seen, and the rendezvous must be postponed at least
another day.

'We will tack east a further league, Mr Makepeace, if
y'please. If the fog keeps pace with us, or indeed overhauls
us, then we must anchor and wait.'

'Very good, sir.' To the helmsman: 'Due east, on my
command.' Raising his speaking trumpet, and walking forrard
a few paces: 'Stand by to tack ship!' And shortly after, calling
aft: 'Starboard your helm!'

Expedient
duly swung east in a graceful curve. The fog
followed. Before the ship had sailed even half a league the
fog overtook and enveloped her, and Rennie ordered the
ship to heave to, and anchor. She lost way, maintopsail aback,
and presently:

'Let go!'

The stopper let go, and the bower falling with a splash
and a thrumming whine of cable.

Expedient
, her sails brailed up – all but her mizzentop that
now lay aback – came to a stop in the shrouded sea, and lay
still.

'Mr Tangible.'

'Sir?'

'Y'may pipe hammocks down.'

The echoing notes of the call along the deck, and
Rennie took a great sniff of misty sea air, turned to his first
lieutenant, and:

'Will ye join me for supper, Tom? And we'll drink a glass
or two to keep this damn' mist at bay.'

'Gladly, sir, thank you.'

The underground passage was low, narrow, and smelled of
earthen damp. Tendrils of something James could not identify
hung from the curved arch of the roof. Slime? Weed?
Cobweb? The royal party was some distance ahead, a huddled
group protected by a core handful of troops. The glow of
their lanterns was too low for James to be able to make out
faces distinct, or even precise numbers. The dripping quiet
– down here all sound of battle and invasion was blocked
out – was broken only by subdued murmurs of conversation
in the dim light.

Presently word came back to the group at the rear – James,
Juliette, M. Félix and Serge – that the royal party wished to
move forward. The soldier who had brought the message
returned to the party ahead, and M. Félix nodded:

'We cannot wait here in the tunnel. We must leave the
château at once, and go into the wood. Serge, you will remain
here at the rear. I will go forward to Their Majesties, and
guide them.'

M. Félix advanced along the tunnel, and with much bowing
and murmuring took his place at the head of the royal party.
Presently the two groups, still separated by considerable
distance, moved ahead. They walked perhaps three or four
hundred yards, twice negotiating dog-leg bends, and came
to a steep and narrow stone stair at the end. One of the
soldiers went up the stairs and was lost to view. Presently
all those in the dingy tunnel felt an exhilaration, a sense of
immediate relief and release, and James realised that the
cause was fresh air. He had frequently experienced the same
sensation at sea, coming on deck to take his watch after a
prolonged period below in the oppressive air of bilge stink
and the odour of unwashed bodies massed together in the
hammock rows. The smell in the tunnel was not of too many
bodies, but of too many days and months and years of dripping,
bricked-in airlessness.

A brief delay, then a message came back. Fog had rolled
in from the sea, thick and heavy, and there was no possibility
of embarking tonight at the Pointe de Malaise, or even
of finding it.

James advanced toward the royal party, seeking to consult
with M. Félix. His way was blocked by a soldier with a
musket, bayonet fixed.

'No, monsieur, you will come no further.'

'But I wish to speak to Monsieur Félix. It is most
important—'

'You may speak to me, monsieur, and I will give him your
message.'

Even though this man was in the uniform of an ordinary
foot soldier, James was certain that he was addressing an
officer. The man's bearing said so, and his educated voice.

'And you are ... ?'

'Monsieur?'

'Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lieutenant Hayter,
RN.'

'Then it is your ship that will take us out?'

'Yes, the
Expedient
frigate.'

A nod. 'You will understand, under the circumstances, that
I am not at liberty to reveal my rank to you, Lieutenant, nor
my name – but yes, I am an officer in the service of His
Majesty.'

'Then you will readily understand, in turn, that we cannot
remain here in the tunnel. We must leave the château altogether,
and go into the woods. If we remain, the inner
entrance of the tunnel will almost certainly be discovered,
and we should face certain death. The National Guard have
at least one hundred men, well armed. We are but a few,
with few weapons.'

'There is a dense mist outside, Lieutenant. We could not
find our way to the shore, and your ship will not send a boat
in such conditions. We—'

'We must take our chance in the woods, or perish like rats
in this dungeon.' Forcefully.

'You may not talk of Their Majesties in such terms,
Lieutenant, while I have the honour to protect them.'

'I apologise. It is my wish, as much as it is your own, to
protect Their Majesties. We must go up out of this tunnel,
and make an attempt to reach the inlet at the Pointe de
Malaise. The fog will eventually lift, and then the boat will
come. If we stay here, the—'

'You are not in command, Lieutenant.' Over him. 'Kindly
allow us to know what is best for Their Majesties' welfare.
Please to rejoin your group at the rear, now.' A jerk of the
head.

'Do not you see? The fog will certainly confuse those
National Guard troops, just as it will hide us from—'

'It is you who do not see, Lieutenant. Be silent, if you
please, and allow me to do my duty.'

James was beginning to despair of this officer when
he saw M. Félix approaching from the end of the tunnel. He
addressed him directly:

'Monsieur Félix, are you in command of the royal party's
escort? Of this enterprise altogether?'

'I am.'

'Then I beg you – let us go out of the tunnel now, make
our way through the mist to the lane beyond, and on down
to the shore. We must make the attempt.'

'The fog is far too thick.' With finality, pointing to the
stair, from which eddies of mist could be seen descending
in the dim lantern glow. Turning back to James and cutting
him off before he could continue. 'We must therefore wait
here, below ground. When the National Guard have searched
the château without success, they will very likely assume that
Their Majesties have already escaped.'

'You assume they will not find the entrance to this tunnel?
Do you?' Shaking his head.

'As you saw when we came down, the entrance is concealed
behind an apparently solid stone wall. To trigger the sliding
mechanism that opens the wall would require direct knowledge
of it, or astonishing good luck. The attackers will have
neither.'

'Can you really be certain of that, Monsieur Félix? They
knew where to come to find the king, exact. Did not they?'

'But they have not found him. They cannot, and will not.'

'Christ Jesu, will not you ask yourself – how came they
to this place, hid away on the coast, far from Paris? As out-of-the-way
a place as it would be possible to think of in all of
Brittany, monsieur. And yet they came here, over one hundred
strong, and stormed the house. How? How did they know?
Because they had information!'

'We will remain in the tunnel until the mist has cleared.'
Stubbornly, firmly.

'Then will you in least allow me to go up and out, and
make my own way to the Pointe de Malaise? If the fog lifts,
and the boat comes in, I could—'

'No one will leave the tunnel tonight. I have made my
decision.' Turning away toward the stair.

James gripped his arm. 'Tell me, monsieur – what does
His Majesty think?'

'What?'

'Does His Majesty agree with you, Monsieur Félix?'

'That is not your affair.' Curtly.

'Oh, is it not? But I dispute that, you know. I think it is
my business, absolutely. As the officer who will get the royal
party into the boat, and aboard the ship, I believe it is my
responsibility to inform His Majesty how I intend to manage
it. Will you take me to him, monsieur?'

'I will not.' A furious glare.

'Then I will go to him, anyway.' Making to move past
M. Félix.

Juliette, who had remained silent until now, took James's
arm. 'No, James, no. Not even I am permitted to approach
Their Majesties. The bodyguards would certainly shoot you.
We must do as Monsieur Félix asks.'

M. Félix continued to glare at him, and at last James:

'Damnation!' In bitter exasperation, knowing he could not
persist. He let go of M. Félix's arm, turned to face the other
way, and with the dank reek of the tunnel in his nostrils like
an omen of the tomb, resigned himself to wait.

*

'There it is! There is the light.'

On the shingle of the inlet Lieutenant Hayter saw the
glow of the signalling light from the ship, a league off –
one, two, three long flashes in the darkness. A sea breeze,
the saline tidal smell of the rocks, the subdued surging
hiss of waves breaking on shingle, and sucking in retreat.
And now the click of the dark-cover on their own lantern
as the answer was made. A confirming series of flashes at
sea, and James turned to M. Félix, who said no word to
him, but returned to where the royal party remained
huddled and separate at the top of the beach, beneath the
towering cliff. Serge covered the lantern with his cloak,
and waited for further instruction. Juliette had lain down
in the hollow of a rock hours since, covered by her own
cloak.

'Why do not you join the royal party?' James had asked
her. Long hours in the dark, damp tunnel under the château,
then the urgent flight through the wood, and in commandeered
farm carts along the lanes at dawn, the awkward,
stumbling descent down the cliff path, and the subsequent
anxious wait through the day at the inlet, had left everyone
exhausted. 'They will undoubtedly have blankets and cushions
to make themselves more comfortable.'

'I may not,' Juliette had told him. 'It is forbidden.'

'By whom? By Félix? Ain't he free to join them, if he
wishes?'

'As their tactical commander and adviser, that is all. Not
as equal, or anything like.'

'God's love, are not we all in this together? We are all of
us human beings, wishing to get into a boat and escape, and
save our lives, are we not?'

'Their Majesties are more than that. It is something that
is understood. They are the heart and soul of France, her
life's blood and her honour. I am merely a servant.'

'Yes, are you? But even a servant must keep herself warm.
Wrap yourself up.' Concerned by her shivering pallor. And
she had followed his advice.

Now he straightened up, stretching his aching limbs, and
fervently wished he had a flask and a wedge of pie, his usual
sustenance on watch through the night at sea. The royal
party had had food and drink, he was certain. James and
Juliette, and Serge, had had no food in twenty-four hours,
and nothing but a little water to drink. M. Félix had very
probably eaten when he was with the royal party, James
thought. He had made requests, but had been curtly
rebuffed.

'Our departure into the tunnel was very sudden, as you
know. There was no time to prepare and bring food for
us all.'

'Have not Their Majesties ate and drunk?'

'That is not your business.'

'Not my business ... ? Have you ate, Monsieur Félix?'

No response. James had grown irate. 'Look here, you had
better explain to the royal party that we are not beasts of
burden that aid them in their escape. We are human beings.
If they have ate, so should we have ate. Tell them that, if
you please.'

'I will do nothing of the kind, and you will hold your
tongue.'

'Then in least let Juliette have something to eat, if you
will not feed me.'

'I am all right, James. I am used to hardship now, travelling
through France.'

'Damnation to that. I demand—'

But M. Félix had simply walked away from them, and
returned to the base of the cliff.

'Could not he in least
ask
for some food for us?' James,
astonished and furious.

'He may not. He may not. Their Majesties will assume
we have our own food. And he may not importune them in
our behalf. And so we must bear a little hunger, a few hours.
It is nothing, James.'

'It ain't nothing to me. I never heard of such damned infamous
treatment. It would never be permitted at sea.'

'We are not at sea, my love.'

'Not yet.' Savagely.

Soon all this would be forgotten. Soon the boat would
come, and they could go into it, and be taken out to
Expedient
.
He looked to seaward, hoping to see the lantern in the boat,
but saw nothing there but blackness. He sighed, and turned
to look back up the beach, and saw the gleam of a light at
the top of the cliff. Then another. And another.

'Christ's blood, we are discovered.' Whispered. A moment
of hesitation, then he began to run toward the party at the
base of the cliff. And stopped, skidding on the shingle.
The National Guard clearly knew they were on the beach.
What was the point of preserving silence now?

'Félix! Monsieur Félix! The cliff! We are under attack!'
In bawling, carrying French.

At once the lanterns at the cliff base were extinguished,
as the soldiers of the guard sprang up and readied their
weapons. Lights bobbed and danced high above, rapidly
descending.

Crack! Crack!

The muskets of the guard, fired at the flickering lights.

James, unarmed, ran to where Juliette lay concealed by a
rock, and found her gone.

'Juliette! – Juliette!' Staring round him, then peering up at
the cliff again. 'Juliette!' No answer, no sign of her. He twisted
to look seaward – and saw the lantern of a boat. Nay, two
lanterns, by God. Rennie had somehow read the situation
correct, had anticipated their desperate need, and sent two
boats in through the dangerous channel. Thank God for a
man of action, a sea officer of sharp understanding.

'Boats ahoy!' Hands cupped, bellowing as if through his
speaking trumpet on deck. 'Lay out with a will, lads, and
take us off! We are under attack upon the beach! Cheerly!
Cheerly now, for the love of Christ!' And turning up the
beach he bellowed in French:

'Félix! Monsieur Félix! Bring your party down to the water!
Our boats have come, and we must go into them!'

The royal party began to hurry down the shingle in the
darkness, stumbling and clattering. A puff of sea breeze
on James's face as he turned again to the boats. A whistling
whirr by his ear, and a musket ball pocked the water
beyond. Crack! The sound of the shot, and James ducked
down. Crack! Crack-crack! A ball struck a rock in a snap
of sparks. Another spun away whining into the darkness.
The attackers were firing from on high.

'Hurry! Make haste, for the love of God!' James ran up
the beach, slipped and nearly fell, and:

'Juliette! Juliette, where are you!'

Crack! Crack! Crack! Answering shots from the royal
guard, fired up the cliff face. One of the lights high above
went out, and a moment after a lantern pitched down on to
the shingle, tumbled end over end and came to rest in a spill
of broken glass.