Patrick O'Brian - The fortune of war

Mr Herapath found his tongue again, and talking half to himself, half to Jack as he stood near the step of the box, he kept up a continuous low stream of words: 'How long he is ... I could have done it in half the time ... always the same, dilly-daily, dilly-daily ... we should have started far earlier, as I said ... hush, there is a man crossing the street... I am not as young as I was, Captain Aubrey. These things are all very well for young men... how long he is, the God-damned fool of a boy... ain't it cold? My feet are like blocks of ice ... you know, Captain Aubrey, I am a prominent citizen, a member of the town-meeting; anyone may recognize me. that was Reverend Chorley... it would be much wiser for me to sit inside the coach, if you will come up on the box.'

'So I will,' said Jack. 'But first I shall just step along to the corner, so see what the angle gives.' His mind was running fast and clear; that singing indoors did not speak of any state of siege, nor of an ambush; the balcony might prove a gift of God, even with his injured arm - it was swelling most unpleasantly, and it had little strength, but still it would get him up. He had that fine contained feeling of going into action, heart beating high but well in hand, and the freshening breeze on his cheek as he stared up at Diana's shuttered window strengthened the impression: yet he kept his fingers crossed.

Behind the shutter, sitting by a pair of candles burnt almost to the sockets as Stephen read in Johnson's book, they heard a knock.

'Oh my God, it's Johnson,' whispered Diana.

The knock again, and she called out in a high sharp voice, 'What is it?'

'Mr Michael asks if Mrs Villiers can receive him,' said the ancient voice of the hotel porter, almost the only person still on duty.

'Yes, yes. Ask him to come up.'

Minutes, the minutes drew out, unnaturally long, and at last he was there. 'I am sorry to have been so long,' he said. 'I stood to watch the last French officers leave. They are just by the door, arguing and laughing: one at least is drunk. In a few minutes we may go. Captain Aubrey and my father are below, with the coach. I will go on to the landing, see them out, and tell you.'

'We shall be ready,' said Stephen, springing up. 'Diana, pack some clothes.' He hurried back to Johnson's room, made a quick, accurate selection of papers - by the wavering light of his candle Dubreuil's waxy face, white in the open privy door, seemed to move, losing the awful gravity of death - returned and sat with them on his knee, a heavy pile.

'Stephen,' whispered Diana, 'you said my diamonds were in Johnson's desk Is it open, then?'

'It is. But do not go in there, Diana: you would see a very ugly sight'

'Bah,' she said, 'I do not give a damn. They are mine I have earnt them'.

She came back, carrying the jewel-case, and her footsteps left a diminishing trail of blood.

'I mean,' she said, 'by receiving his horrible political guests, and translating...'

He looked down. The Diana he had known could never have said the first words, or having by some impossibility said them, she would never, never have produced the explanation.

She was obscurely aware of this: she said, 'I did not know you had anything to do with spying, Maturin.'

'No more I have,' he replied. 'But I know the army intelligence officer in Halifax, and these papers may be useful to him.'

Herapath put his head through the door. 'They are going out,' he said. 'They are in the outer lobby. Let us walk down.' He took Diana's small trunk and they went slowly down the stairs into the empty hall. The old porter was moving away from them, putting out the lights in the bar.

At the same time the Frenchmen, moved by some freak, burst out into the street with a concerted whoop, waving their hats. The coach instantly surged into motion; it was already going fast by the time it passed Jack on the corner. The Frenchmen hallooed, running past him after the coach for a little way, and then, still calling out and laughing, they faded into the fog. The horses could be heard breaking from a trot to a gallop.

Jack turned, saw his friends come out and stand, an uncertain group, looking right and left. He joined them as the light went out in the hall, and leading them round the corner he said, 'The horses bolted. Are there any Frenchmen left?'

'No, sir,' said Herapath.

'Cousin Diana, your servant. Stephen, how are you? Not hurt? Give me your bundle. Herapath, I am most uncommon obliged to you; by God, I am. Can you show us the way down to the harbour?'

'The quietest way is by this lane,' said Herapath. 'It leads by my house. Will you step in, and rest, or take some - some refreshment?'

'No, I thank you,' said Jack. 'The sooner aboard the better. But we must not hurry. We must walk naturally.'

Their steps echoed in the empty streets, and as they went the moon came through, faint at first and then quite clear as the fog fled with the breeze, until she showed most of the time, gibbous, hunched, sailing away north-west among the higher clouds and shedding her spectral light. A few cats, a sleeping hog, and from the back of Herapath's low and squalid house the fretful crying of a child.

'That is Caroline,' he said. He went in; the crying stopped; some time later he came out with a lantern, and by its light Stephen inspected Jack's wounded arm, bound it up and slung it with his neckcloth, taking the books and papers from him without a word.

In five minutes they were on the deserted moonlit quay, walking along by the ships, which creaked and groaned as they rocked on the rising tide. Herapath led them aboard the Acturus, below, and to the bread-room. He opened the metal flap, and after a slight hesitation Diana climbed in, followed by Stephen: neither had said more than a few words since leaving the hotel and indeed the tension had mounted steadily from that point onwards.

'There is a basket in there, behind you,' said Herapath, still speaking very quietly. 'I will bring you some more food tomorrow.'

Diana spoke up, and spoke handsomely: she thanked Mr Herapath extremely, more than she could say, for this evening; she could not tell him how she admired his coolness. She begged he would kiss that dear child Caroline for her, and she hoped she might see him again after he had had a good night's rest - no man had ever earnt it better. And if it should cross his mind to bring a little milk, she would be so very grateful.

Jack walked with him to the break of the quarterdeck, glanced at the sky, and said, 'Herapath, you have done nobly by us. Nobly, upon my honour. But we are not entirely out of the wood. There will be the devil's own hue and cry tomorrow, and I am not quite happy about your father. Do not suppose that I mean to make the least reflection upon him: after such kindness that would be a sad, shabby thing to do - base - contemptible. But he is an old gentleman: older than I had thought. And if they start to question him, what with the shock of tonight, and the horses bolting, he might be led - you understand me?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Now we spoke of a boat, your father and I - I think it was before you came in - so that when time and tide allowed I could get the Doctor and Mrs Villiers clear away. But now it seems to me that this is the time; and the tide will suit the moment it has reached the full. On the other hand, your father is out of the way at this moment; and tomorrow may be too late. Can you find me one?'

'There is Joe's boat alongside, sir. But it is only an old sawn-down scow he goes fishing in; it would never face the open sea, nor even a blow in the harbour. You could never reach Halifax in it, I am sure.'

'Grant reached the Cape in the cutter. But I hope I shall not have to go so far. May we have a look at it?'

Herapath crossed the deck to the starboard rail, found a rope and pulled: an ugly, slab-sided craft appeared from the gloom and ran alongside into the moonlight. A shrouded object lay fore and aft, and three cans gleamed in the moon like eyes. 'That must be his mast and sail,' said Herapath, 'and, those are his bait-pots. I can smell them from here.'