The Gathering Storm (31 page)

'But you have a wife in England.'

'Yes, thank you for reminding me. My brother will no
doubt see her when he is in Dorset. She is living at my
father's house at present.'

'You will go back to her, will you not ... ?'

'Why do you ask me these things, Juliette, when our
circumstances are difficult enough? I might equally ask
whether or no you intend to return to France.'

'I cannot go back there. I can never go back, now.!'

James was silent a moment, and the quiet of the house,
broken only by the silver notes of birds, rising and floating
across the quiet green garden outside, emphasised their solitude
and seclusion. Juliette touched James's face, and he
turned his head to look into her eyes. A breath, and she said:

'I am sorry. Forgive me. We will live day by day together
– until we are free.'

*

At luncheon Mr Sacheverell happily conversed with Juliette
in French, on trivial subjects. He made it clear to her, politely
but firmly, that he wished to know nothing of the present
difficulties in France, nor of her own particular circumstances
in that regard. They discussed the benign climate
of the south; provincial manners compared with Parisian
manners, &c., &c.; French cooking; wine. After luncheon,
when Juliette had gone to rest, Mr Sacheverell took James's
arm and they went into the garden. As they walked under
the trees:

'Nicholas has engaged Laidlaw to transform the lower
half of the garden. It is two acres, nearly two acres and a half.
You know Laidlaw?'

'I confess I do not.' Slightly uncomfortable.

'No? He is the coming man. Not perhaps at such a
premium as Brown, or Kent, or Repton, nor on the same
scale of landscape – but on the smaller scale, a few acres, he
is sublime. I will show you the drawings afterward, if you
would like to see them?'

'I should like to very much.' For something to say.

'And now I must broach another subject.' Pausing and
turning to James. An intake of breath. 'What am I to say to
Nicholas?'

'Say to him?'

'Now, now, James – I may call you James?'

'In course you may – Handy.'

'Good. Now.' Again the pause, and the glance. 'You and
I both know that I cannot pretend that you was never here,
when Nicholas returns – hey?'

'Nay, in course you cannot. Why should you?'

'Exact, exact. I must tell him everything. So. What shall
I say about your friend Madame Maigre? After all, you are a
married man.'

'Be candid.'

'Ahh. Candid. Candid ... entire?'

'Yes. Yes.' Nodding. 'I should not wish you to dissimulate.
You must tell my brother everything, as you said.'

'But your wife is at Melton, ain't she? Nicholas will have
seen her there, and they will have talked of you, will not they?'

'I expect so.'

'Yes. I see that you do wish to speculate as to his feelings
on the matter, when he learns that you have been here with
another woman. Hm. Hm. But you see I know Nicholas
very well.' Tapping his chin with a finger. 'He is a curious
amalgam of emotions and attitudes, your brother. On the
one hand generous-spirited, humane, the least censorious of
men – and on the other ...'

'Yes, I know. A prig.' An uncomfortable half-smile. 'About
certain things he is quite unbending.'

'So, you see, I am in something of a dilemma.' Mr Sacheverell.

They walked on a little way, and at last James:

'Handy?'

'I am here.'

'Since we are being candid about my own circumstances,
may I dare to be candid about your own?'

'Mine?'

'Indeed. What is your relationship with my brother?'

'Relationship?' A sharper glance, and a tightening of the
languid tone.

James looked at Mr Sacheverell, and tilted his head on
one side a little, and waited. Presently Mr Sacheverell sniffed
in a breath, and with a tight smile:

'We are the closest of friends. You follow?'

Again James waited, and said nothing. Mr Sacheverell:

'You are a sea officer, often away from home for long
weeks or even months. Surely you must find, at sea, that
there are other officers – perhaps one in particular – with
whom you think yourself more in sympathy than with anyone
else? Yes?'

'Well, I suppose so ... yes.'

'It is like that with Nicholas and myself. We are companionable.
We are in sympathy.' A sharp little glance, and a
slightly arched brow. 'You understand?'

James saw that he must go very carefully, now, else provoke
disaffection or even outright animosity. In all delicacy and
decency and good sense he could probe no further. The
friendship between Mr Sacheverell and Nicholas was almost
certainly more intimate than Mr Sacheverell was prepared
to admit.

'However, it ain't my business.' James, in his head. Aloud
he said:

'Forgive me for presuming to press you about your
friendship with my brother, Handy. I had to be certain,
you apprehend, that you would not wish unfavourably to
influence his opinion as to my own circumstances. That
you would wish to make him understand, in light of your
own friendship, that this is not a fickle, foolish affair.
Madame Maigre – Juliette – is very dear to me, and I must
find a way through that will be least painful for all
concerned. You see?'

Had he put it both tactfully and clearly enough? Without
appearing to threaten? Had he?

Mr Sacheverell put a hand on James's hand, looked at him
very direct, and nodded.

'In course I do see, my dear James. Yes, certainly.'

Mr Sacheverell nodded again, and withdrew his hand, and
they walked on down to the lower two acres to see the
progress of the work there.

Captain Rennie fretted at Bedford Street, wrote a further
letter to his wife Sylvia in Norfolk, and waited one day longer
– in the hope that James would either send word, or return.
No word came. In the evening Mr Mappin came to the hotel.
He was not his usual calm, assured, urbane self.

'I have had intelligence from France that a certain party
is here in England, which can only mean grave danger for
Lieutenant Hayter. Where is he?'

'Is this party – female?'

'Nay, it is a man. Can I assume from your question that
Lieutenant Hayter is with a woman?'

'He has gone away with her. A Frenchwoman. When he
has a wife.'

'Yes, so he will will not have gone to Dorset, that is certain.'
Glancing down into the street from Rennie's window. 'If he
and the woman are still in London, they are in very grave
danger indeed. We must find them.'

'Aye, that's all very well to say, Mappin. London is very
big and wide, and we are two men of a million in that bigness.
How in God's name of d'y'propose to find them, hey? Or
even to begin the search?'

Mr Mappin, turning from the window: 'We must make
the attempt. We know that he will not go to Dorset with
her, when his wife is there. Has he any particular friends in
London that you know of?'

'Nay, I don't know.' Shaking his head. 'If he has, I've never
met them.'

'At Portsmouth, then?'

'Only shipmates.'

'Hm. We must hope he has not gone there. Agents of this
man will be watching there, I am in no doubt.'

'Agents? Who is this fellow?'

Mappin moved again to the window and glanced down
anxiously into the street. Over his shoulder:

'It was thought he was an absolute loyalist, but now there
is contrary intelligence. It appears that he has had a change
of heart, and has joined the revolution.'

'Good God. Was he involved in the—'

'Yes, he was.' Over Rennie. 'He was intimately connected
with the plot to bring King Louis out of France. He goes
under the name of Félix.'

'I think I heard James mention that name. Yes, in fact –
in fact it was to do with the woman he has now run away
with.'

'You have met her? You know her?'

'Nay, I don't. She is called Juliette, and he is infatuated
with her. That's all I know.'

'Aye, Juliette. Madame Maigre. She should never have
come. She is in mortal danger from Félix, as is the lieutenant,
and all of us that have been party to the plot.'

'Well well, I am not averse to danger, you know.' Rennie,
getting up on his legs. 'I have faced danger on many—'

'At sea, Captain Rennie.' Mr Mappin, over him grimly.
'You have faced danger at sea. But we are not at sea now.
We are on land, in a great dark city, and in any doorway,
round any corner, there may lie in wait deadly peril.'

'Then I am ready for it.' Rennie took up his sword.

Mr Mappin raised a finger. 'Lieutenant Hayter has two
brothers, has not he?'

'Two older brothers, yes.'

'One of whom lives in London, yes?'

'You are right, by God, he does. He practises at law.'

'What is his name?'

'Thomas, I think. Nay ... Nicholas.'

'Where are his chambers?'

'At Lincoln's Inn, as I recall.'

'We must go there at once.'

'At night? Surely there will be nobody there at night?'

'There will be a watchman or a clerk that can tell us where
Nicholas Hayter lives. Lieutenant Hayter may have gone to
him to seek refuge. That is our best hope. I have a carriage.
Let us go down. Nay, do not encumber yourself with that
damned sword, Captain Rennie. You have pistols?'

'Pocket pistols, aye.'

'Bring them.'

*

They found Nicholas Hayter's chambers at Lincoln's Inn by
asking directions of a watchman, in the open square, and a
second watchman pointed them to the correct stair, but
added:

'You will find no one there, gen'men. Chambers is all
locked up a-night.' Holding up his lantern to show them
the entrance. He allowed his staff to rest against the wall,
an indication of his confidence that he was not about to
be attacked by these late callers. His rattle jiggled at his
waist.

'Surely there is a clerk?' Mr Mappin.

'Aye, but he don't sleep 'ere, sir.'

'Then where does he sleep?'

'He will not 'ppreciate being disturbed at night, gen'men.'

Rennie spoke now, in a voice tutored by command: 'We
are officers in His Majesty's service. We must speak to this
man at once. The matter is urgent. Show us where he lives.'

'Show you ... ?'

'Take us there, man!'

The watchman took them, grumbling under his broad hat,
and coughing, and sniffing. Presently they came to the
dwelling, a tenement house in a courtyard, and Mr Mappin
knocked.

A delay of a quarter of an hour before the clerk could
be brought from his bed, and persuaded to talk to the visitors.
Rennie fretted, paced, swore. Mr Mappin fretted but
was still. At last the clerk appeared in his nightshirt. Mr
Mappin addressed him, having got his name from the
watchman.

'Now then, Mr Baldry—'

'Baldock, sir. William Baldock. It is very late, and I—'

'We wish to know where Mr Nicholas Hayter lives.'

'Mr Hayter? Oh, I could not tell you. I could not say.'

'D'y'mean that you do not know?' Sharply.

'That is – correct. I do not.' To the watchman, who was
preparing to return to his duty: 'Did you not tell them I
don't know where he dwells, Hill?'

'They said it was urgent, Mr Baldock.'

'Well, I cannot say, all the same.' Nodding at Mr Mappin.

'I think you mean – you will not say.'

'I mean, sir, that I—'

And now Captain Rennie again felt obliged to take charge.
Stepping forward to the doorway:

'I am Captain William Rennie, RN, and I wish to find
and speak to Lieutenant James Hayter, Mr Nicholas Hayter's
brother, on a matter of the greatest urgency.'

'Well, I – I know nothing of Mr Hayter's brother. I am
only a clerk. I tell you, I do not know where—'

'So urgent that I have been given authority to pay for
information.'

'Pay!' Beginning to be indignant. 'You mistake me if you
think—'

'Ten guineas. Ten guineas in gold, payable at once, into
your hand.' Taking his purse from his pocket, and shaking
coins into his palm.

'Good heaven ...' Mr Baldock's eyes grew wide.

The watchman cleared his throat, and lifted his lantern
the better to see the gold. Mr Baldock recovered himself,
and assumed an expression of wounded dignity. Dismissively:

'It is of no avail, it is of no avail. Mr Hayter ain't even in
London, he is away in the country, in Dorset.'

'Damnation!' Rennie, turning away.

'Wait, though.' Mr Mappin. 'Even if Nicholas Hayter is
away, that don't mean his brother has not gone to his house
in London. Eh, Mr Baldock?'

'I tell you. I told you. I know nothing of his brother.' The
clerk closed his eyes, and shook his head.

'But you know where that house lies, do not you? What
place, what street?'

Mr Baldock opened his eyes, sighed heavily, looked from
one to the other, and at last: 'Will you give me a solemn
undertaking never to trouble me again? Will you go away,
and never come back – if I tell you?'

'We will.' Rennie, with authority.

'Will you promise never to mention my name in this
distinction? Will you give me your word, solemnly give it,
as to that?'

'We will. Here, take the gold.' Holding out the coins.

And Mr Baldock took the money.

*

They came to the house in the dead of night. There was no
moon, and the carriage lamps did not well illuminate the
lane outside. Mr Mappin had provided himself with lanterns,
and he and Rennie each took one as they approached the
house, leaving the carriage and driver waiting under the trees
in the lane. As they approached along the path, Mr Mappin
– in the lead – abruptly came to a halt, and Rennie came up
against him.

'What is it? Why d'y'stop, Mappin?'

'Just a sense that all is not well here ...'

'What d'y'mean? You saw something?'

'Nay, nothing. But everything is too quiet, almost as if the
darkness itself was holding its breath. In my trade I have
learned that such a sense, such an instinct, should not lightly
be ignored – and never at night.'

'I have seen nothing, nor heard nothing, neither. Ain't you
being fanciful?'

They were speaking in very subdued tones, and now in spite
of himself Rennie felt a shiver of unease run through him.

'I am never fanciful, Captain Rennie.' Mr Mappin. 'And
if I am right ...'

'Then we had better raise the alarm, by God.' Rennie,
pushing aside timidity and striding forward toward the house.
'I will pull the bell, and knock, and let them know—'

'Nay! Nay!' Mr Mappin, in a warning whisper, catching
Rennie's arm. 'Do not!'

'What the devil d'y'mean?' Rennie,
sotto voce
, furiously. 'If
my friend is in peril in that house, I will not stand by and
allow him be slaughtered in his bed, d'y'hear?' Shaking
his arm free of Mr Mappin's grasp. But Mr Mappin gripped
it again, even more forcefully.

'Listen now, if villainy is afoot as I suspect, and assailants
are attempting to gain entry to the house, they will likely
do so at the rear. It will be better for us – and Lieutenant
Hayter – if we go to the rear ourselves, and take them by
surprise. Yes?'

Rennie was obliged to admit that this made perfect sense,
and he nodded: 'Yes. Very well.'

'You have your pistols?'

'I have them.'

'Cover your light with your coat, and follow me.'

And Rennie did that very rare thing for him, after many
years of command – he did as he was told, and followed.

They made their way cautiously down a side path to
the rear garden, the bulk of the house dim on their right,
their part-covered lights showing them only the ground
immediately ahead. They came into the wide garden.
There was no glimmer of light anywhere in the garden,
nor from inside the house. Mr Mappin held up a warning
hand, and whispered:

'Wait. Very, very still ...' A moment, and they heard a
clicking, fidgeting sound, coming from the rear of the house,
subdued but clear in the hushed darkness of the garden.

They had reached a clump of bushes and paused there,
and now Mr Mappin turned to Rennie and whispered:

'Wait here, will you? I am going forward to investigate.'

'Wait here? Nay, Mappin ...' But before Rennie could
protest further Mr Mappin had slipped away in the darkness,
leaving Rennie alone. Long, anxious moments, and
Rennie crouched down, waited, and heard no more of the
fidgeting, clinking sound. Presently, cautiously, he rose on
his legs. And was at once struck a blow to the head from
behind. A rocket burst of stars exploded in his skull, and he
slumped senseless on the dew-moist grass.

*

When he woke it was in a well-appointed, well-lit room, to
the sound of voices and the smell of coffee and tobacco. A
tall, slim man was leaning over him, peering down with a
cheroot in his hand. Smoke curled up against the light.

'Who are you?' Rennie demanded, and felt an instant
searing pain in his head.

'I am Handy Sacheverell, and you are in my house, Captain
Rennie.'

'Who? Where? Ohh ...' And he clutched at his head,
felt a bandage, and was further bewildered. Had a block
fallen from the rigging and struck him? But he was not
at sea ...

Mr Mappin's concerned face now appeared beside that of
Mr Sacheverell.

'Good God – Mappin. You are here, too.'

'I am here.'

'I – I begin to recall, now. We came in search of James.'
The light blurring at the edges, the faces above him blurring,
then clearing into sharp focus.

'Aye, we did.' Mappin's grim little nod.

'To a house at Lambeth ...' Concentrating on Mr
Sacheverell's face. 'Your house, sir, did y'say?'

'In truth the house belongs to Mr Nicholas Hayter – but
it is where I live, yes.'

'Where is James? And his companion?'

Now Mr Mappin shook his head. 'Gone.'

'Gone! Ohh ...' Again clutching at his bandaged head,
which he felt would split under the bindings.

'They have been took. I was too late. By the time I reached
the house the assailants had got in at a window, and dragged
Lieutenant Hayter and Madame Maigre from their bed, and
escaped through the front door of the house.'

'I fear I slept through it all.' Mr Sacheverell, with a little
apologetic shrug. He puffed at his cheroot, and exhaled
smoke. 'I sleep very sound in usual, I confess.'

Rennie sniffed camphorated tincture under the tobacco
smoke, and knew the reason. And now he attempted to sit
up, holding his fragile head.

'They cannot have gone far, surely. We have a carriage.
Let us—'

'They have took my carriage.' Mr Mappin, very matter-of-fact.
'Clearly they had lookouts posted, who saw our
arrival, and when we went to the rear of the house one of
them followed us, and the other sprang upon my driver
and overpowered him. I found him lying in the lane. He
is dead.'

'Good God.'

'So y'may consider y'self lucky, Captain Rennie, that y'did
not suffer the same fate. That you will live through this night
with only a sore head.'

'My head ain't so damned sore that I cannot make some
attempt to save my friend – and even that damned woman,
that has got him into this trouble.' Sitting up properly, and
fighting off waves of dizziness.

'We can do nothing before daylight. They have got clean
away.'

'You made no attempt to chase? None at all?'

'My dear Rennie, they were escaping at the front of the
house before I had even gained entry at the rear. You had
been felled by what was clearly intended as a fatal blow. Only
your hat saved your life. By the time I had found my
coachman dead, and found and recovered you into the house,
all hope of hot pursuit was lost. Indeed, for a time – while
your head was being examined by Mr Sacheverell – I thought
that perhaps we had lost you.'