The Moonless Night (14 page)

“You don’t consider him officially a prisoner of war then?”

“The war is over. Once peace has been declared, one ought by law to free prisoners of war, so unless they mean to turn him free completely, they cannot call him that.”

“It is an irregular situation. He put himself under the protection of English law, or tried to, with his Themistocles-letter to the Prince Regent. If he is granted privileges of a citizen, it would mean a trial. That will never be tolerated by the Tories. He is not a citizen of England.”

“A foreigner on English soil or in English territory, which certainly includes Plymouth Harbor, is given the privileges of a citizen,” Hazy pointed out. “He would have access to habeas corpus, for instance. Since the time of Magna Charta, you know, it is the law that ‘No free man shall be arrested or imprisoned, etc.—nor will the Crown proceed against him save by the judgment of his peers.’ Article thirty-nine, I believe. And where will you find a jury of peers for Napoleon Bonaparte, eh? There’s the rub.”

Sanford listened closely, then replied. “The normal rules are suspended in times of war or rebellion. To quote Cicero,
‘Inter arma silent leges’.
The laws are silent in times of war.”

Marie’s ears nearly flew from her head at this introduction of the name Cicero.

“But we are no longer at war. That would apply during a period of martial law perhaps, certainly not at the present. Bonaparte might be considered a rebel, I expect. Or as a last resort, the House of Commons could always pass an act of indemnity to cover whatever action they decide to take. Liverpool and the cabinet will do exactly as they see fit, and I’m sure the Allies won’t stand in their way. For that matter, though France is not at war, Napoleon as an individual might still be.”

“He surrendered voluntarily.”

“Bah, voluntarily! What choice had he? He has walked into a trap. He will be dealt with very severely. Under no circumstances is he to be landed on English soil. And that is where the Whigs come in,” Hazy finished up.

“You have some plan to get him on terra firma for trial, you mean?” Sanford asked.

Marie, realizing Hazy was casting worried glances at her as a possible pipeline to her father and the Tories, asked innocently, “Would you mind terribly if I had a look at your wife’s new
Belle Assemblée
, Mr. Hazy, as I see you gentlemen mean to discuss politics?”

“You must forgive our bad manners, Miss Boltwood,” he replied with satisfaction. “We sha’n’t be more than ten minutes on the subject, then I shall take you out and show you my rose garden.” He handed her not one but a stack of recent fashion magazines collected by his wife, who was sartorially more modern than her spouse.

“I can amuse myself with these,” she answered, smiling inanely at the stack. Then she opened one and sat, scanning its pages with every appearance of interest, while her ears stretched to overhear every word.

“So, what is the plan?” Sanford asked in a lowered voice, by no means inaudible, but pitched low enough to indicate he was attempting secrecy. Marie turned a page and ran her finger under a line of print, as though her whole concentration were diverted from them. Holding no suspicion of cunning on the part of a mere female, Hazy proceeded to outline the scheme.

“Capell Lofft—there is the genius has found our way out. The situation is this: old Admiral Cochrane, commanding the squadron in the West Indies, was accused by a fellow named MacKenroth, a lesser British official there who wished to get some attention for himself, of incompetence and cowardice in not attacking a French squadron that was coasting nearby. Cochrane was furious, as you may imagine, and promptly brought an action against MacKenroth for defamation—did it in London at the King’s Bench Division. Well, Jerome Bonaparte was part of the French squadron that I spoke of and MacKenroth, wishing to make as big a stir of it as he could to get notoriety, called not only Jerome Bonaparte but Napoleon as well, as witnesses in the trial to follow. Nonsense, of course, but the issue of writ is granted as a matter of course on payment of the fee. So there is a writ out for Napoleon to appear as a witness for the defense in the case of Cochrane vs. MacKenroth. Issued in June, too, before all this business blew up. It is now a priceless document. Of course the catch is that it must be delivered in person to Napoleon Bonaparte by either MacKenroth or a process server. MacKenroth is coming to Plymouth in person to do it. It can be served on either Napoleon or Admiral Keith, his guardian. Keith will try every trick to avoid it, of course, but if we could get it done, English judicial law decrees that he must then appear in court. Would have to land, you see, and remain here till the case was over. It would give us months to work out a suitable fate for Napoleon. I think the people might well relent during the space of several months, might come to feel pity for him in his weakened condition, and show some decent humanity. They treat him with respect when he comes up on deck of Billy Ruffian. They’re sick and tired of our own wastrel monarch—what a contrast they see in Bonaparte.”

Hazy’s eyes were aglow, his cheeks pink. Risking a close look at him, Marie was struck with the notion that she never did believe before that the man was perhaps a lunatic. His ardor seemed to imply that the next step would be to replace their Prince Regent and mad king with Napoleon Bonaparte.

“You plan to keep this a close secret, I fancy, that Keith not catch on there is a writ to be served on him?” Sanford asked.

“Unfortunately he knows all about it. MacKenroth’s aim was never secrecy. He has been hollering it all over town. Our only alternative is to give the thing every publicity, and then get that writ to Napoleon. It will be the aim of the entire Tory Party and the navy to prevent it, but it must be done.”

Not only Marie but Lord Sanford as well sat stunned at this disclosure. “No one is allowed near the
Bellerophon
but official navy vessels. How on earth could the writ be delivered?” Sanford asked.

“That is why we must publicize the matter, try if we can turn public opinion in favor of it. Only fair and just, after all, and we have the reputation for liking justice in this country. Lofft has written up a passionate letter and it is to be published in the
Morning Chronicle
on July 31, next week. I expect there will be an avalanche of letters in support of it. Indeed, we mean to see there is. I have had my clerks scribbling them up by the score, and hope you will do the same, my lord. Be sure to use different names for each, of course, and get them posted by friends throughout the country. There must be no hint of manipulation in it. Real names, and the wording changed, not identical in each. We are not without friends in the cause.”

“If only we could inform Bonaparte of this, he would resist any risky scheme of rescue. There is always a danger of his being accidentally shot in such an affair,” Sanford said.

“You may be sure he knows all about it,” Hazy laughed. “We have not been quite sitting on our thumbs, Sanford.”

“How is this possible? The precautions surrounding Bonaparte seem very tight to me.”

“Let us say it is done by mind reading,” Hazy informed him with an arch look. “There are ways.”

Marie sat, tense, waiting to hear Sanford press on for an explanation of this mysterious business. She could hardly credit her senses when he asked blandly, “You think the scheme has any chance of success?”

“Till we see how Lofft’s letter is received in the country, we are not quite despondent. We have other irons in the fire. Savary is trying to swing a deal with Sir Samuel Romilly, is in touch with him by letter. British law by tradition takes precedence over ministerial decisions, and we don’t plan to let those dashed Tory ministers in London have it all their own way. We would prefer to do it legally, you must know. We none of us wish to end up on the gibbet, and till we see if the habeas corpus works, we sha’n’t do anything desperate. I hope you won’t either, Sanford.”

The warning note in Mr. Hazy’s voice caused Marie to look with a keener interest at Lord Sanford. They knew little of the man. Was it possible he had the reputation of being even more of a lunatic than Hazy? That the latter should warn him to prudence sounded like it. Was it possible that the man behind the plot, Cicero, was Lord Sanford? He soon spoke out in a very sane voice.

“No, certainly not. It would be reassuring to know his other supporters are aware of how matters stand, though.”

“They will know soon enough. July 31, there is the date to look for. Keith has such a tight rein on Boney there is little chance of his ever escaping. The only element desperate enough to try it is that which is in it solely for the money. There is a rumor running around, you know, that the friends of Napoleon have put up a reward of a hundred thousand pounds for any party that effects a safe rescue, but it seems to me it would cost more than that to carry off such a rescue, and the riffraff that are in it for the money could never raise such a sum.”

“I doubt it would cost that much.”

“Something very much like it, to bribe the King’s navy. Well now, I think it is time we stopped boring Miss Boltwood, and go out to have a look at the rose garden.”

Miss Boltwood appeared so immersed in the magazines that she had to be appealed to twice before she heard the invitation. When she looked up, she mentioned that she would adore to have an Empress gown, if only Papa did not think them decadent.

Lord Sanford sat in the saloon with his ankle resting on a footstool while Hazy cut a bouquet for his female guest.

They all had a glass of wine together, then the company left.

“Well, that was a bit of a nasty surprise!” Sanford said as they drove down the road.

“Nasty? I thought you would be all in favor of it,” she said, surprised at his spontaneous reaction.

“I don’t think any scheme that depends on the humanity of the common people for its success is likely to get anywhere,” was his damping answer.

“What would you rather see done then?”

“I would prefer to see the ministers take a positive and benign view. I wrote to Bathurst this morning, urging such a plan on him.” Just as Marie was thinking what a pompous and stupid man he was to think his opinion would weigh with the cabinet, he added, “And I told him what a good home his inkwell had found, too. The pride of Plymouth.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have tough work convincing the cabinet to change their mind.”

“Some few of them are not entirely averse. Wellington secretly admires him, and he is quite a tower after beating Boney at Waterloo. It is Liverpool himself who is adamantly for this wretched rock of a Saint Helena. We’ll sit tight and hold ourselves ready to balk any scheme of the money-grubbers to get him off that ship. At least on that one point we are in agreement.”

“Why didn’t you ask Hazy how he communicates with Napoleon?”

“Unnecessary.”

“It would be helpful to know!”

“I do know, ma’am.”

“How does he do it then?”

“I’ll be happy to deliver any messages you care to send him. But nothing in the nature of hate mail or ‘It serves you right,’ mind. He has enough troubles without that.”

“You don’t know at all. You’re just saying that because you’re ashamed you were too slow to ask him.”

He directed a lazy smile at her. “I have plunged to idiocy rather quickly. Not ten minutes ago you were worried I meant to dash out and pull him off Billy Ruffian all by my slow self. You really are having very poor luck in putting me in a pigeonhole, aren’t you?”

“A pigeonhole is too small to hold a fox,” she answered, every bit as confused as he mentioned.

“Oh I think it a great misnomer to call me a fox. I am not at all sly, only clever.”

They were soon home, to find Benson had recovered his health and gone to the winch and chain room for another investigation of this oddity. David had just returned from a very long and dull session at the telescope to say there was nothing more interesting going on than a request for some books for Napoleon, or maybe it was hooks, he wasn’t quite familiar with his flags yet. Sir Henry was in a dudgeon that Mr. Sinclair had called and refused to sign the petition. “He, calling himself a Tory all the while! A closet Whig is what the fellow is. I’ve a good mind to send his yacht home, but he’d only use it to go after Bonaparte and free him. What had Hazy to say?”

Marie was astonished to hear Lord Sanford give a pretty accurate and complete account of the visit. But then the letter was to be published in the paper, and upon consideration she decided there was no secret in it. Sanford then excused himself to hobble upstairs to pen more letters—postdated and addressed to the
Morning Chronicle
, she assumed. She relayed a few details he had omitted to David, who immediately grabbed her by the hand to go after Benson.

They found him just closing the lid of the enormous chest that held the extra winch chain. “What an ingenious device this is,” he complimented again, but was perfectly willing to exchange this topic for Marie’s news. She dredged up every detail she could remember.

“An excellent job!” he complimented her, while she flushed with pleasure. “The habeas corpus will never work, of course. The crux of the matter is delivering the writ, and that will never be done. I begin to see Sanford wants close watching, though. His yacht coming down, and this secret means of communication—he might mean to undertake delivering the writ himself. It will be well for you to remain on terms with him, Miss Boltwood. Such an unpleasant chore we saddle you with!”

When he smiled at her so warmly, he could have asked her to remain on terms with a wild buffalo. She expressed every willingness to do what she could to help.

“What should we do next?” David asked. “I am worried about the ten thousand pounds, Everett. On our doorstep, the man said. Where the deuce can it be? I’ve searched high and low. It ain’t in the house.”

“Such a sum would not be so very large—more heavy than huge. You’ve tried the cellars and attics?”

“Every hogshead and trunk in the place.”

“If it is being used in preparations to free Bonaparte, then it must be being used every day,” Marie said. “I mean, if someone is to be bribed, as David mentioned—the masquerade scheme, you recall—and to hire a ship or carriage or rent a house to hide out in—well, it must be close to the person who owns it. It seems to me we should be trying to figure the person at the bottom of it all—Cicero. Oh, Mr. Benson! How could I forget? Sanford—he used the very word Cicero today at Hazy’s.”