The Moonless Night (30 page)

“Delightful, but would you excuse me for a moment first?  My eye is bothering me. Your aunt has given me some drops to ease the itching. It does not actually pain, but only itches. I shall be back in two minutes.”

His eagerness to get away from her was perfectly obvious. He was on the fidgets, as nervous as a kitten. And how she was to detain him by her side, when he claimed the need of medication, was an unsolvable puzzle. She could do nothing but watch with a sinking heart as he left the room, to go and rescue Boney! She must make some excuse to go upstairs herself, say, if he saw her, that she had to pin up her ruffle. To reinforce her claim, she even pulled an inch of the flounce loose, and hastened after him. As she looked to the staircase, she saw no sign of Mr. Benson. He had not had time to reach the top—he was gone elsewhere.

She looked about wildly, and though she saw nothing, she heard the telltale squawking of the door that led to a flight of stairs descending to the next floor, and by a little used corridor to the stone steps to the winch room. Was the Emperor even now making for Bolt’s Dock? She had to admit it was unlikely they had chosen such an inopportune moment as a ball to do it, and to be landing him at the actual scene of it.

No, Benson was going to raise the chain so that none of the yachts nor the naval vessel could go after him. Sanford had been right to foresee this danger. She hurried after Benson, wondering how she should prevent him from doing what he obviously meant to do.

A weapon—she must provide herself with a weapon. She dashed into the nearest room and took up a poker from the grate. She figured Benson had had time to get down the first flight of stairs, and went cautiously after him. It was about at this time that she realized she had no desire to go into the dark hall alone. Benson was bigger than she, could overpower her in a minute, and a traitor bent on such a perilous task as freeing Napoleon Bonaparte would not hesitate to strike her down.

It would take him a few minutes to get the winch moving—she must run quickly for help. She dashed back up the stairs, making no effort now to be silent—speed was the major consideration. Below, Benson heard the flying feet and slamming doors, and prepared himself for trouble.

The first person she encountered was her father, coming out of his office. He seemed to her a suitable person to appeal to. “Papa, Mr. Benson has gone to raise your chain and keep the boats all in while Bonaparte is escaping!” she said.

He looked to the poker in her hand, the very real and strong consternation on her face, he recalled Sanford’s many entreaties regarding the chain, and recalled, too, oblique hints, always denied, that Benson was not to be trusted. With only a second to consider that he ought to get other recruits, he went with her alone. Benson—he could handle that jackdaw of a fellow well enough with Marie’s poker. His head full of the glory he would soon be reaping from the whole country, and heaven only knew what rewards besides, he took the poker from her fingers and bolted down the steps, not even feeling the twinges in his knees as he went.

There wasn’t a single light as they got to the stone stairway. He sent Marie back for one, standing against the damp wall himself with the poker raised and trembling violently, but ready to be lowered forcefully at the first stirring of a sound. He rather thought then he should have had some men stationed here with a brace of lights—Sanford should have thought of it. He claimed to know it all. But in the middle of a ball, who was thinking of Bonaparte being rescued? Like David’s, his heart was hammering—worse, he even feared a seizure. M

Marie was back with a single candle. He surprised her with a very strong oath at her foolishness. It was a lantern he had wanted. The candle, one hand to carry it, the other to shield the flickering flame, left him poorly able to wield his poker. He stepped forward slowly, frightened half to death, peering into the distance, but he couldn’t see six feet beyond the weak illumination. Marie clutched at his arm, further impeding his advance. Still he didn’t wish to be quite alone in the dark with Benson, so he let her stay. Both went on towards the winches, taking the smallest of shuffling steps, and praying as hard as they could it was all a false alarm.

Chapter 20

When the attack came, it was not from the shadows ahead of them, but from behind. Silent, hard, expert blows, first to Sir Henry’s temple, then across Marie’s skull, with the butt of a pistol. They fell forward not a second apart. The candle was snatched up before it could be extinguished, and Benson set it on the stone floor. He looked with disgust at the pair of insensate bodies before him, calculating whether they would stay unconscious till he did what he had to do.

There was a rattling of the chain at the opening where it came into the room. The signal—the time had come. Too late now to worry about securing this pair. He blew out the candle so that they could not positively identify him, if they should revive. The curst girl had seen him enter of course, but he could say he had followed someone else. He dashed to the winch and set his shoulder to the wheel, heaved his strength into it. The handle moved easily—more easily than formerly, but it had been oiled and worked much recently. He suspected nothing amiss. He turned and turned, waiting for the stopping of the wheel that would tell him the chain was taut at the surface.

Nothing happened. He kept turning, and the chain kept reeling in, more and more easily instead of with more difficulty. When a greater quantity of chain than should have been there was wound in, he realized what had happened. With a curse he dropped the wheel and dashed from the room, stumbling over Sir Henry’s ankles. He ran up the flight of stone stairs, back up the wooden stairs, along the corridor and into the part of the house where the ball was in progress.

He looked around for Madame, signaled her violently. She smiled to David, excused herself, and tore over to him.

“We’re done for! Someone has cut the chain. Sanford has figured it all out, and will stop Rawlins,” Benson said in a  fierce whisper to Madame.

“Rawlins has had time to get well ahead of him. He has been gone ten minutes.”

“Sanford was gone before I went below. He’s going to block us, I tell you!”

“You panic too quickly, my dear. Let me consider,” she said, her soft smile changing to a calculating expression. David, watching them across the room, was much struck at the change in her habitual charm. She
looked
like Cicero, or one of those old statues with a face as mean and cold as marble. She noticed him staring at her, and the smile was back on her face in a flash. “That
petit chien
, Boltwood, he suspects.”

“The whole crew of them are on to us. The bitch and the old man followed me,” he said in a frantic voice.

“
Mon Dieu
—this is serious.”

“What shall we do, Monique? We must escape before they stop us.”

“You may be right, for once. I have the grand headache, Monsieur. You must take me home,
tout de suite
. A dignified exit—all may not be lost. We’ll head for London and await word.”

“Thank God you unloaded the sapphires. How much do we have?”

“Enough for
two
to escape,” she answered.

“Rawlins will talk. Spill the whole story.”

“
Tant pis
. We haven’t time to take care of him. We may have to dash for France. But first, I think, London. They won’t be expecting us to stay in England. Yes, London will be safer for the present.”

“Better we get out of the country while we can.”

“But we can’t,
mon chou
. Let me do the thinking. It was never your forte.”

She sauntered forward, plumes waving playfully atop her head, smile beaming. David went forward to meet her. “
J’ai terriblement mal à la tête
,” she told him, putting a set of white fingers to her brow. “It is the music, the dancing, the wine. You will excuse? Monsieur Benson has offered to take me home. Adorable party. You will come to me tomorrow, yes? I look forward to seeing you.”

David stood uttering a number of incoherent “but’s” while Cicero turned and walked from the room, Benson at her heels. He looked around in perplexity, but chanced to remember the latter part of his orders, “If they leave the room, dash right down to the dock.” This was really it!

He tore out at such a high speed that Biddy took the notion the place was on fire, and went after him. But he was too far in advance for her to catch him, so while all the excitement was occurring, she sniffed about for smoke, and missed it all.

By the time he got to the dock, he saw the naval vessel sailing out beyond the harbor. Sanford was already aboard
Seadog
, with his crew at their positions. “She’s all yours. Go after them,” he said.

“Hadn’t we better notify the other shipowners? We’ll want the whole fleet.”

“They’ll be coming right along. We want a few witnesses. Sinclair and Hopkins are on their way.” Even as he spoke, a few dark figures with white triangles at their throats indicating they wore formal clothing darted down the cliff to the dock and began leaping into their yachts. David took up his post, so thrilled he couldn’t quite believe it was really happening.

“Just what am I to do, exactly, sir?” he asked. It distressed him to have to say it, but there must be no slip-up.

“Just follow
Phoebe
along to Billy Ruffian and watch.”

“Is Rawlins aboard?”

“Yes, with a bunch of Frenchies he’s hired and stuck into those uniforms you spotted this afternoon. That was a new twist in the plan. I understood they were to wear ordinary seamen’s uniforms that had already been issued to them. Keith must have suggested sending the officers as crew, so that accounts for the change of plan. Lucky you tumbled to it. You’ve been a big help, Boltwood.”

David thought his heart would burst with joy. To be standing at the helm of
Seadog
, commanding the ship, after having been the key to figuring out the whole plan! Practically—a few details were not quite clear to him. As he looked ahead to
Phoebe
, a good deal larger than
Seadog
, faster as well on the open seas, he began to wonder whether he shouldn’t have been told all this sooner. It had apparently not occurred to Sanford, sharp as he was, that with a rear admiral giving orders to a mere captain to turn over the prisoner, a faster, larger ship in which to pilot him to safety, there was very little likelihood of stopping him. Not a gun on board but his own pistol, either.

“Not to worry. I have an ace in the hold,” Sanford laughed. “Just go as fast as you can, and pull alongside when
Phoebe
gets to Billy Ruffian.”

“Yes, but they won’t listen to us, Sanford.”

“They’ll listen to Admiral Lord Keith,” Sanford answered.

“You mean he’s here? Aboard
Seadog
!”

“In full regalia, with ten pounds of medals and ribbons on his chest lest Maitland not recognize him in the dark.”

“By Jove, I am captaining a ship that has Admiral Lord Keith aboard!” This was a little dab of glory never even worked into the daydreams.

“Your destination—don’t lose sight of it—is Billy Ruffian. We are presently tacking east,” Sanford pointed out. They corrected course, and flew ahead in the black night, with never a thought of Benson and Madame.

Rawlins was of course aware that he was followed, and wondered how
Seadog
had got past the chain, but there was only one ship at all close to him. The others straggled in the rear. Maitland would take his orders right enough. Soon
Phoebe
was approaching its target.

“Ahoy!” Rawlins shouted. Maitland stepped up to the deck and called down, asking what was happening.

“Change of plans,” Rawlins called back. “I am to take General Bonaparte aboard. He’s being moved back to Tor Bay. Doing it late at night, to fool that fellow MacKenroth.”

“I received no notification of this,” Maitland objected.

“You are receiving orders now, sir,” Rawlins called back, huffy as may be.

They shouted back and forth for a few moments, till Sinclair too was alongside to hear the nature of the discussion. Maitland looked with curiosity at the other two yachts, mentioned to Rawlins he’d order them off first, in case of trouble.

“They’re with me—escorts,” Rawlins explained, the whole having to be said in loud shouts, audible aboard
Seadog
. Maitland looked in consternation, to see two young gentlemen doubled with laughter at this critical moment in history. What should he do? No naval manual gave a hint as to proper procedure in such an instance. Rawlins was known to like a drink pretty well. If he handed Napoleon over to him, and the General escaped... Still, Rawlins was a rear admiral. The manuals were clear enough on obedience to a superior officer. He stood, undecided.

“Snap to it, sir!” Rawlins called angrily. He didn’t seem to be drunk. Maitland turned to follow orders, then cast one last worried look to
Seadog
.

As he looked, Admiral Lord Keith, wearing his hat and the chestful of ribbons, stepped up to the deck and hollered to him. What a blessed relief it was to hear that deep, authoritative voice, easily recognized by its Scottish burr. The same voice struck Rawlins’ heart to ice. He stared, and in his confusion saluted.

“Don’t bring Bonaparte to the deck. Keep him in his room, and see there’s a double guard posted on it,” Keith commanded. “Rear Admiral Rawlins, I place you under arrest!”

Maitland stood, stunned but happy. He soon recovered his senses and began issuing orders to man all guns. Lanterns were soon bobbing up along the decks and below in the cabins of Billy Ruffian as the men went into action.

Rawlins looked at the
Seadog
, unarmed, and with a practiced eye at Billy Ruffian, lying at anchor, and calculated his chances of escape. They were not good. Certainly, Maitland would order the men to fire, but it was at least a better bet than being hauled immediately into prison. He turned to begin issuing orders of his own, but found that while he had been staring at Admiral Keith, more than half of his crew had mutinied on him, and held the other half at gunpoint. The occupants of
Seadog
noticed this as well, of course, and Admiral Keith said aside to Sanford, “A wise precaution, milord.”