Mary Nichols - In the Commodore's Hands

‘Methinks you have already shown that you are,’ he said. ‘But there is a difference between being strong and being foolhardy. I beg you to remember that.’ He spoke so earnestly she turned to look at him in surprise, but he was looking straight ahead and she could read nothing from his profile.

‘Indeed I will. But tell me about yourself. I know only what little Sir John has told me. Are you married?’

‘I was once. My wife died.’

‘I am sorry, not for a moment would I add to your grief.’

‘It was over three years ago. An accident while I was away at sea.’

‘And have you not thought to marry again?’

He looked sharply at her, then turned away again. ‘No. Once is enough. I would not put myself or my children through that again.’

‘You have children?’

‘Yes, Edward is ten and Anne is eight. They are staying with my parents while I am away and making mischief with their cousins, I do not doubt.’ His voice softened when speaking of his children, which made her realise this seemingly cold man must have a heart.

‘Your parents being the daughter and son-in-law of Sir John?’

‘Yes.’

‘It must be lovely to have so large a family,’ she said, a little wistfully. ‘I only have Papa and Michel.’

‘Perhaps we could find your English relations for you.’

‘I doubt they would accept me. They never once wrote to Mama.’

‘But it was all so long ago. My mother is longing to be reunited with Sir John, so why not you and your grandparents?’

‘Let us wait and see, shall we?’ she said.

They had entered the gates of the château. In the light of a torch set in front of the door they could see the Liberty Tree casting a long shadow across the gravel of the drive. Its leaves had fallen and were scattered on the ground, but the decorations still hung there. ‘What is that?’ he asked.

She explained it to him. ‘I dare not have it taken down,’ she added. ‘It will only inflame the mob further and I do not want to make it more difficult for my father.’

‘Or be arrested yourself,’ he added.

‘No.’

They reached the door, which was flung open by Hortense. ‘Lissie, I have been so worried about you. You have been so long gone. I should not have let you go alone. Anything could have happened to you.’ She glared at Jay as if her anxiety were all his fault.

‘I have been perfectly safe with Sir John and Monsieur Drymore,’ Lisette said. ‘We have been talking of ways and means to free my father.’ She turned to Jay. ‘Hortense is my maid and she worries about me. I thank you for your escort, monsieur . I bid you bonsoir until tomorrow.’

She held out her hand to him; he took it and bowed over it. ‘Your servant, mademoiselle . I will be here at ten o’clock.’

He turned and left them. He did not look back, but heard the door shut behind him. The flame in the torch flickered and died, leaving the drive and the ghostly tree in darkness.

Striding along the country road back towards Honfleur, he mused about the task he had been set and the woman who asked it of him. She was not what he would call womanly; she was too tall and thin for a start, her features a little too sharp, but her blue-grey eyes revealed intelligence and a stubbornness which might cause problems. He smiled to himself, anticipating squalls. So be it, he was used to squalls and having his commands obeyed.

But could you issue commands to a woman? He knew from sad experience how difficult that could be. Marianne had objected to simple requests, to pleas to think of her children, to consider the consequences of her wilfulness, by simply laughing and going her own way, with tragic results. When she died, it was left to him to tell Edward and Anne, who had loved their mother and knew nothing of the secret and not-so-secret life she led. Naturally he could not say anything of that and they had been broken-hearted at her loss.

Comforting the children and pretending all had been well between him and their mother had been difficult and accomplished only with an effort of will that left him dour and uncompromising—he would not put them or himself through such an experience again. Lisette Giradet had brought the memories back with her questioning and he had found himself resenting it. He shook his ill humour from him; better to concentrate on the task in hand.

Instead of going back to his grandfather’s villa, he went to one of the town’s hostelries where he had arranged to meet Sam. It was a squalid place, low-ceilinged and dingy, but it had the advantage of being very close to the prison. Sam, who had spent the day exploring, was already there, sitting in a corner with two men in the blue uniform of the National Guard, who were apparently enjoying his hospitality. They had several empty bottles in front of them and were drinking cider from tumblers.

‘Ah, here is my friend, James Smith,’ Sam said in excruciating French, using the alias they had decided upon. ‘Jimmy, this is Monsieur Bullard and Monsieur Cartel.’

Jay shook their hands and sat down, pulling a tumbler towards him and pouring himself some cider. He took a mouthful, made a face of distaste and spat it out on the floor. ‘No better than vinegar,’ he said. ‘Sam, my friend, couldn’t you find anything better than this to give our friends?’

‘’Tis all this Godforsaken place had,’ Sam said in English, then added under his breath, ‘They are prison guards.’

‘What did you say?’ Bullard demanded. He was the bigger of the two men and he had a very red face and broken teeth. ‘Speak French, why don’t you.’

‘I am afraid my friend’s language skills are not up to it,’ Jay explained. ‘But I will translate. He is sorry that the Black Horse does not have anything better to offer you.’

‘It is good enough. Who are you to find fault with our cider? And how did two Englishmen come to be here?’

Jay laughed. ‘Trade, my friends, trade. I buy good Calvados to take home.’

‘Smugglers,’ Cartel said, laughing. ‘Even in these times it still goes on.’

‘Yes, more so in these times, when legitimate trade is difficult,’ Jay agreed. ‘How else are we to drink the good French brandy we are accustomed to? But I will not be taking any of this rotgut back home. I can get much better at the Château Giradet.’

‘Château Giradet! Why there?’

‘I am told it makes the best Calvados in the area and Comte Giradet will sell it to me cheap.’

‘What do you know of Comte Giradet?’

‘Nothing. He was from home when I called there. I spoke to his daughter, who told me he was locked up.’

‘Locked up!’ Both Frenchmen laughed uproariously. ‘Yes, he’s locked up and like to hang when Henri Canard has done with him.’

‘Not before I have had time to deal with him, I hope,’ Jay said. ‘His daughter is disinclined to sell to me without the Comte’s consent. She did let me have a couple of cases, but what good is that to my thirsty friends in England?’

‘When he is convicted his goods and chattels will be forfeit,’ Bullard said.

‘Then I must act before that. Tell me, who is in charge at the gaol?’

‘We are,’ Bullard said.

‘Then I have struck lucky.’ He looked round and called out to the landlord to bring Calvados to replace the cider. ‘You will let me see him, will you not?’

‘Hold hard, there,’ Cartel said. ‘What’s in it for us?’

‘Money, good sound louis d’or , not that new paper money.’

They gasped at this. The gold coins had been withdrawn in favour of the paper assignat , and they could not legitimately spend them, although there were always people who would take them. Cartel looked at Bullard and back at Jay. ‘It might be done.’