The Moonless Night (10 page)

Her eyes spoke volumes of gratitude, and her lips said a few words. “You are too kind, Lord Sanford. Please not to think I am unappreciative, but I must stay here till Bonaparte’s fate is decided. It is of the utmost importance to me. Perhaps later…”

“Your presence can make no difference one way or the other,” Sanford pressed on, seeming to be determined to get her to one of his establishments. “You would be happier waiting out the interval in the comfort of a decent home. Don’t say no, or I shall fall into the sulks and ruin our little party.” But his smiling face made clear he was far removed from the sulks.

Madame beamed and flapped her lashes at him. “I cannot leave Plymouth, the area.”

“I don’t understand just why it is you came,” Sanford said, “putting yourself to so much inconvenience. Would you not have done better to stay with friends in France?”

She looked a trifle disconcerted, but rattled on gaily. “I like to be where there is action. Vienna for the Congress, Plymouth for Napoleon’s capture—I am the sort who follows the excitement.”

Listening to this and admiring her with three-quarters of his faculties, David noticed that Benson was observing her dispassionately, and soon it occurred to him that this was no real reason. Certainly, she was here to spy and engage in the plot.

Madame, her eyes flitting around the table, was eager to change the subject. “After the excitement dies down here, I shall be happy to go to a private house and await the next event. Are you very sociable and merry at Paisley Park, Lord Sanford?”

“If you will come to me, I guarantee every interesting person in the country, both of them, will come to me as well.”

“Is that Byron or Napoleon you are excluding?” Benson asked. “I take it Beau’s presence is assured.”

“You should know, Benson, as Madame Monet has already expressed her dislike for Napoleon, that it is the General who is excluded,” Sanford answered.

“After the bourgeois types I have been exposed to at the inn, the noise and disturbance at all hours of the morning, the poor service, I would hardly object even to the General.”

“You cannot remain here! This is absurd,” Sanford said, completely taken in by this tale of woe, Marie assumed. Yet Madame had not given a single good reason for having subjected herself to all this squalor.

“Oh, I shall survive,” Madame assured him bravely, with just a little trembling of her lower lip. The lips were not so killing as the eyes.

“If Sir Henry can't be talked into it, I shall speak to a friend of mine, Mr. Hazy, who will certainly…”

“Mr. Hazy! But he is for Napoleon Bonaparte! Sooner I would put up with torture than stay with him. You must know I was joking to say I would not mind Napoleon himself, Sanford, and Mr. Hazy, he, too, is abominable.”

By this reckoning Lord Sanford would be equally abominable, but it was observed by Miss Boltwood that he let up on his praise of Bonaparte. He preferred the charms of an aging French widow even to those of an aging Corsican General, it seemed. The food arrived, causing a welcome diversion. The Boltwoods were bestowing smoldering glances on Sanford, who sat impassive, refusing to comprehend. They were all hungry, and every mention of Madame’s going to Bolt Hall was out-talked by praise of the raised pigeon pie and mutton.

Mr. Benson was firmly with the Boltwoods in not wishing to have Madame under the same roof as himself. Marie, watching him, noticed him covertly examining the woman, a look of disgust on his sensitive face at her vulgar outfit, her lack of breeding at encouraging every mention of placing her where she was so obviously not wanted. Seldom had she suffered through such an unpleasant repast, which no doubt was responsible for the haste with which she declined dessert, coffee or any of the other treats pressed on her by Lord Sanford, who had become by some means the host of the meal. The Boltwoods and Benson hastened to the door while he settled the account, but noticed over their shoulders that he went back to speak to Madame, bowing low over her hand, joking, flirting outrageously, and taking several minutes to do it.

“Another example of poor taste on Sanford’s part,” Benson said, in a condemning way.

“Aunt Biddy would be furious to know what he is up to,” Marie said, to David, but with no effort to conceal her speech from Mr. Benson.

“The outside of enough to be offering hospitality on the part of another and when it was pretty clear you were both against it. I would say we were all against it, but it is no affair of mine.”

He had made clear all the same that he considered their discomfort his own affair, and won a smile from both his companions. At length Sanford joined them, and began immediately exhorting the family to charity on Madame’s behalf.

“You had better speak to my father about it,” David said with a stiff face. He was doubly chagrined by the affair. In his secret heart, he would have liked very well to ask her.

“I shall certainly do so the moment we reach the Hall,” Sanford answered, then offered his arm, so lately clutched at by Madame, to Marie. She looked at it as though it were a dead rat before turning pointedly to accept Mr. Benson’s escort. There was only one other thing to be done before leaving the town. David wished to obtain a copy of the booklet that explained the flag language used by the navy. As it was no secret document, he got ahold of it at the ships’ chandler shop, and stuck it into his pocket for the ride home.

The wind continued rising as they rode along to Bolt Hall, a good stiff breeze off the ocean, that sent David’s curled beaver flying off his head, and caused Marie’s skirts to billow in a bothersome way. These were only minor irritations; the real disappointment in it was that the trip out to see Boney must be postponed to a better day.

Biddy told them with unsuppressed glee that they had waited too long to go, and it couldn’t be done today.

“It’s only a gentle breeze. The
Fury
could take it,” Sanford objected, looking to the men for agreement, and finding none.

“I doubt very much my stomach could take it,” Benson admitted. “I am no sailor, I fear.”

“You must be, Mr. Boltwood, as you live on the coast,” Sanford continued, undaunted as usual by one negative.

Much as he disliked to admit to Sanford any inferiority in anything, David knew his father would skin him alive to be taking
Fury
out into the teeth of a gale. Furthermore, his major reason for going was to help Benson along, so he replied, “The keel is not dry yet.”

“Your father said she could be launched today,” Sanford reminded him.

“We’ll wait for tomorrow, so that Mr. Benson can go with us,” David replied firmly.

Sanford expressed his displeasure by lowering his brows and staring at them. In the saloon, he sat drumming his fingers on his knee in a way to set everyone’s teeth on edge. He soon arose, saying, “I’m for a jog about the countryside. Is anyone coming with me?”

David looked to Benson, who had taken up a magazine to thumb idly through it, with no apparent intention of doing anything else, so of course David too had to remain at home.

He was eager to get searching for the chest of gold, eager to study the flag language, even more eager to reach a first-name basis with the spy, and start sharing secrets.

Marie wished to join in the search too, and looked away so that she might be excepted from Sanford’s canvas of companions. “Will you be kind enough to come with me, Miss Boltwood?” he asked her averted cheek. She turned on him a face full of reproach, approaching hatred. He looked startled to have engendered so much hostility. She waited a moment before answering, hoping Biddy would rescue her and forbid her going out, but Biddy, influenced possibly by the title, said only, “You won’t want to go too far. We’ll have rain before nightfall. Wear your serge riding habit, Marie.”

This advice was not followed. Many of Biddy’s wise counsels were ignored, especially when Sir Henry was absent. Marie arose, cast a withering eye on Sanford, and went for her bonnet and gloves. She did not take him for a sensitive man, nor a feeling one, and was a little surprised when he uttered some words strangely resembling an apology as they walked towards the stable.

“I hope I haven’t forced you out against your will,” he said.

“No, certainly not,” she answered in a controlled voice.

“I can perfectly well go alone if you could point out to me some few facts about the neighborhood.”

“I am going with you,” she replied curtly. She spurned all offers of assistance in mounting her mare, and as they rode across the meadow, she said not a single word.

“It is certainly kind of you to accompany me. Nice to have someone to talk to,” he said after five minutes’ silence.

“I will be happy to tell you anything you wish to know.”

“I would like to know why you are in the boughs.”

“I was referring to your interest in the neighborhood. What is it exactly you wish to see?”

“What I would like to do is get the general lay of the land,” Sanford began, giving up on any effort at conciliation. “Discover where it is possible to dock a ship, and if there are any empty houses or buildings of any sort in the area. Anything that might be used in rescuing Napoleon is what I mean,” he concluded.

“You are undertaking single-handedly to thwart the rescue attempt, are you?”

“It begins to seem I may have to act alone. In any case, I take a strong personal interest, and will certainly do what I can to see he is not stampeded into any foolish attempt at escape that will more likely see him killed.”

“You are determined to save him for your Isle of Wight residence, are you?’

“Just so. One dislikes to envisage the Emperor running from pillar to post, like a chased hare. He is too great a man for that indignity. His retirement must be carried out in a manner befitting his station.”

“His station is that of a prisoner of war! He’s lucky he isn’t to be thrown into Dartmoor Prison with the rest of them.”

“Is that your real feeling, or are you influenced by your father? I had the impression you shared my admiration, this morning at the telescope. You looked enchanted, enthralled, when you were looking out to Billy Ruffian.”

“I was enchanted with the idea that he is captured.”

“You would actually like to see him executed? You would enjoy to see that great man’s head on a spike, or to see him hanging by the roadside?”

“No, Lord Sanford, I think he should be beheaded in the Tower of London, to lend all due dignity to his position as the greatest menace that ever bestrode the world.”

She expected some argument, but he just shrugged indifferently, saying, “It takes all kinds. We’ll go this way.” He pointed eastwards, as they had traveled west in the morning, and his conversation throughout the ride was of a business nature. Sinclair’s Dock was pointed out, a few promontories were given a superficial examination. Every lane and byway had to have its termination explained in detail, and if it featured a building at all, a little jog was made to inspect it.

Just the dull, stupid sort of a ride to fray the nerves. Not a good gallop the whole time. There were no homes standing empty within two miles of Bolt Hall. The closest place of any interest in that respect was a barn, all that remained of a once thriving farm that had burned down three years previously. He displayed some interest in the barn, the more so as there were plentiful signs of traffic leading through the field to it, a regular path beat, and a shiny new lock on the door. Marie knew very well this was the local cockfighting barn, but was so miffed with Lord Sanford that she wouldn’t satisfy him by telling him. He tethered his stallion to a fencepost and walked quickly all around the building, trying doors with an eager air, but failing to gain entrance.

“I must see what is going on in there,” he exclaimed in excitement

“There is a window, but it is very high up,” she pointed out. It was a good eight feet from the ground, and impossible for Sanford to see through.

“If I lifted you up on my shoulders you could get a peek in,” he suggested, looking at her hopefully.

The image this suggestion conjured up was so bizarre she could hardly hold her lips steady—herself clambering up on this haughty man’s impeccable shoulders. “I would prefer not to,” she answered primly, and remained where she was, on her mare’s back.

He exhaled a breath of air angrily giving her a corresponding look.

“There is an old door lying on the ground. I believe they have put on a new door. My, there must be something very interesting going on in there, for someone to have taken such a precaution. I wonder if you could lean the door against the barn and climb up,” she suggested.

He immediately went to the door and hauled it up, examining the decaying wood uncertainly. “If you held it secure at the bottom I could use it as a ramp,” he said.

As this promised some amusement, she agreed. “I would be happy to,” she told him, hopping down from her mount.

It made an extremely wobbly unsafe ramp. Sanford’s foot went right through the wood on the third step up, taking a gouge out of his beautiful Hessians and also jarring his knee. “My valet will have my hide,” he said, but was not hurt, and continued balancing his way up with a good deal of agility.

Marie was uncertain in her mind afterwards whether she might have prevented the accident. Just as Lord Sanford approached the point some good five feet from the ground and was leaning precariously forward to get his fingers on the windowsill, the door gave a lurch. She tried to grab it, but with his weight, it was difficult. Or maybe she didn’t try so very hard—that was what caused her to wonder later, for really she was overcome with a strong desire to see him tumble ignominiously in the dust. In any case, door and lord both went crashing to the ground, where a very ungentlemanly oath left his lordship’s lips. He cast a look of utter loathing on Miss Boltwood, who said in a show of dismay, “How clumsy!” as he struggled out from under the door, where his leg was pinned. His first step caused a wince of pain and another oath.

“I’ve sprained my godda—my ankle,” he said. “What a time for it! If you had let me lift you up as I wanted to, this wouldn’t have happened.”