So Near So Far (29 page)

Mr Xenophon now spoke in French again, addressing Jacquemard.

“The captain here wishes to ask Henriette a few questions. Please understand that the situation is extremely serious. You must also understand, however, that we are perfectly convinced of Henriette's discretion and loyalty to you. She is a good girl and intelligent enough to answer a few simple questions. Would you be good enough to come forward, Henriette, and sit at the table opposite Captain Delancey?”

After looking to her mother, who nodded, Henriette sat at the table with obvious reluctance. Looking at the girl with her perfect oval face, a little sunburnt and freckled, Delancey felt for a moment how easily he could himself have fallen in love with her. Who has not felt the same protective urge when confronted by such a picture of innocence? Glancing sideways, he could see that the Honourable Mr Northmore was already her slave. He could not allow his own sympathies to go so far. He could, however, be kind.

“How old are you, Henriette?”

Her voice barely audible, she whispered “Nineteen.”

“And you have lived here all your life?”

“Yes,” she admitted, nervously twisting the hem of her frock.

“Was it not rather a dull place?”

“I don't know.”

“Without too many young men?”

“Very few.”

“But there was Pierre Lebrun?”

“Yes” (in a whisper).

“How old is he?”

”Twenty-five, I think, or perhaps twenty-six.”

“And living in the next village. Did he fall in love with you?”

“I don't know.”

“But surely, Henriette, you must know?”

“He said that he liked me.”

“Were you betrothed to him?”

“No, never.” She looked to her father for support.

“No,” agreed Henri. “But Pierre had made her an offer she had not refused.”

“And then all the soldiers came, some of them with boots to be mended, and some of them liked you?”

“They said they did, one or two of them.”

“And one of them you liked. Was he a sergeant?”

“Yes, but quite young.”

“And what did your father think of him?”

Henri decided to intervene at this point:

“I thought him a fine young man with a gallant record in the war, a better match than Pierre, who was lame from birth.”

Looking around, Delancey was aware that Mr Xenophon had disappeared. He resumed his questioning.

“And now all the soldiers have gone?”

“Yes” (with a catch in the voice, a half-sob).

“And did your sergeant say where he was going?”

“He didn't know.”

“Did he say when he would return?”

“How could he?” (She was crying now.)

“But you expect him to write?”

“Oh, yes, I know he will.”

“Did you talk with any other soldiers?”

“With two or three, one of them in the artillery.”

“Camped to the north of here?”

”Camped up there.” (She pointed, still in tears.)

“And did any of them know where he was going?”

“No.”

“Nor when he would return.”

“A soldier never knows that.”

“I suppose not. So we must hope that your sergeant will come back to you.”

“But he will—I know he will!”

“Of course, Henriette. You wouldn't have Pierre now, I expect, whatever happened?”

“Pierre? Never!”

“He must be disappointed though?”

“I am sorry if he is unhappy, but I wouldn't have him.”

“Do you think he might be angry and turn against you?”

“I haven't thought of that. I suppose he might.”

“Could he be dangerous?”

“I don't think so. Being lame could have made him bitter though.”

“How did it happen?”

“There was an accident, I have been told, when he was a little boy.”

Mr Xenophon was now back in the room and Delancey brought his interrogation to an end.

“Thank you, Henriette. You have been most helpful. We all wish you every happiness.”

He could see that Mr Xenophon was very pleased with himself and asked him, accordingly, what he had learnt. The reply, in English, was brief:

“I found the letter. It is posted from Bethune and he says in it that he is learning German from a comrade. I think that is all we want to know. He is on his way to Germany.”

”That seems all but certain. But what if other regiments come here to replace those that are gone?”

“I should like to be reassured about that. At the same time, I think it improbable. Napoleon would never use mere garrison troops for an invasion attempt. He would want his best regiments. And here we have proof that at least one of these has been sent away.”

“Before embarking I must have a look at the camp site north of here, east of Zuphen. Perhaps you would like to come too? You might be able to tell whether a camp site has been permanently abandoned or is to be occupied again.”

“Very well, then. I am willing, anyway, to try. I cannot at the moment decide what we should look for, the water supply, the drainage, or what else would signify in the eyes of a military man. It occurs to me—”

At this point Higgs quietly opened the front door and warned Delancey that some two or three men were approaching the cottage from the east, along the road. Delancey told Mr Xenophon and added that he would admit the leader to the cottage, leaving Mr Xenophon and his men to deal with the others, whatever their number. Mr Xenophon went outside at once and Delancey called Higgs into the cottage.

To Jacquemard he said, “Please answer the door when someone knocks. If it is someone you know, admit him. If it is Pierre Lebrun admit him and say ‘Good evening, my friend' as you do so. Don't admit anyone else. Tell the women to go up to the loft.

“Higgs, stand behind the door. If more than one man should try to enter, knock the second man on the head with this.”

He took the poker from the hearth, and handed it to the petty officer. Last of all, he drew his sword and took up a position
on the other side of the front door, motioning Northmore to stand behind him.

The intruders seemed to make an infinitely cautious approach, pausing to listen and then moving nearer with silent tread. It was too dark for Mr Xenophon to identify them but he was able to assure himself that they numbered three. He waited with patience, holding his loaded walking stick. He heard, presently, a whispering near the front door of the cottage which ended when one man went forward, now with an audible tread, and the other two moved left and right so as to remain unseen when the door opened. After pausing again to listen, the leader of the group knocked on the door. Inside, Delancey motioned to Jacquemard who answered the door, calling out “Who is there?” There was no chain on the door but the same purpose was served by a log of wood which he had pushed into position. “Who is there?” he repeated, opening the door by about three inches. The visitor gave his name quietly and Jacquemard replied “Good evening, my friend.” Kicking the log aside and opening the door more widely, he admitted Pierre Lebrun, who limped into the lamplight as he returned the greeting. Jacquemard closed the door after him and slid the bolt. Lebrun could now be seen as a stocky man of nondescript appearance in ordinary countryman's clothes. No suitable match for Henriette, thought Delancey….

“Are you alone?” asked Lebrun. Jacquemard nodded and Lebrun continued, “I have brought two friends with me, men on whom we can rely. May I call them in?” At that instant Lebrun glanced sideways and saw Delancey, realising at once that he had been trapped. Before he could move Delancey ran him through with the sword, the point entering his left side near the heart. With no more than a single stifled cry he
collapsed on the floor in a pool of blood. He had been wearing a woollen bonnet and Delancey now used this to wipe his sword before sheathing it. Then he opened the door more widely and waited. In a minute Mr Xenophon joined him and said quietly, “We have taken care of the other two.”

“Are they dead?” asked Delancey. Mr Xenophon nodded.

“We could not take prisoners. I see that you are of the same opinion.”

“I was thinking of Jacquemard's safety.”

“So was I, and I hope to God that these are the only men who knew of his association with me. I incline to believe that they were. Lebrun expected a reward for betraying Jacquemard but he would not want to share it with more than he had to.”

“It remains to dispose of the bodies. I expect that Jacquemard will help us.”

Far from being immediately helpful, Jacquemard was crouched, white-faced, over the fire, trembling violently after being sick on the hearth.

“B-b-but why? Why kill Lebrun, your own agent? I never saw bloodshed before. Why?” He made the sound of vomiting but nothing came. “You are murderers!”

“He was betraying us, Jacquemard,” replied Delancey. “He had come with two men to arrest you. It was to protect you that we killed them all. What else could we do? But we need to dispose of the bodies so that the disappearance of these men will have nothing to do with you. They left their homes in darkness, walking out into the night. No one will know where they went. No one must ever know. We must bury them where the newly turned earth will not show, and we must do it quickly. Let's lift Lebrun outside, to begin with. Then call the women down.”

“But they had best know nothing about it.”

“They know already. Do you think they are deaf? Some intruders have been killed. They need not know their names but we need their help to clean up the mess. Not a spot of blood must remain. Quick, Jacquemard, you must be ready by daylight to deny all knowledge of the affair. You have not seen Lebrun for days and cannot imagine why he should have gone out after dark. He will return, no doubt, you will be confident: and your daughter will be sad indeed if he doesn't.”

To Mr Xenophon Delancey spoke as quickly and firmly

“I shall go on to look at the artillery camp site. I suggest, however, that you remain here and attend the funeral. Then keep the rendezvous at the creek below Zuphen. We must be at sea before daybreak.”

D
ELANCEY set off for the camp site, accompanied only by Northmore. He set a rapid pace, knowing that time was short. As they stumbled and slipped on loose stones he tried to explain the object of his mission. “We know,” he said finally, “that the camps near Ambleteuse have been deserted. We do not know whether the regiments which have gone will return or will be replaced by other troops. If the sites have been deserted for good we may conclude that Napoleon has cancelled the whole invasion plan. I think myself that all danger is past but a report to that effect must be supported by some real evidence, of which we have little at the present moment.”

“What sort of evidence can we find, sir?”

“I don't know. We shall have to use our eyes and brains.”

“I'll do my best, sir, but why should any regiment be sent away and then ordered back?”

“Why, to find grass for their horses. But Napoleon might also want to deceive us about his intentions, pretending to break up his invasion army but meaning to come back after our defending forces have been dispersed.”

“But why should they disperse, sir?”

“Again, to find grass for
their
horses. So long as Napoleon's threat remains, our defending army must be grouped round Dover and other possible landing places. That means that the army cannot go elsewhere and raid French territory. So
Napoleon has his motive for leaving us in doubt. We shall perform a valuable service if we can report that this threatened invasion is now a mere feint.”

“I understand, sir.” The conversation died away as they went uphill. Then, as the ground levelled off for a space, Northmore ventured on the subject which filled his mind.

“What did you think of Henriette, sir?”

“I thought her very lovely. She is the sort of girl one remembers for the rest of one's life. We shall never see her again, however; that much is certain.”

“But the war may end and we could travel once more.”

“We should find her married to someone else. She will be married within the twelvemonth. You won't marry until you command a ship of your own, and then you'll marry the Admiral's daughter.”

“It sounds a dull prospect, sir.”

“Maybe I didn't set you the best example.”

They were going uphill again and spared their breath for a while, each with his own thoughts. Delancey reminded himself that every man must at one time have dreamt about loving a perfectly innocent young girl, someone who would be affectionate, without artifice or pretence, a flower just ripe for the picking.

He had had that dream himself a lifetime ago in New York. Such a love affair or marriage might, he supposed, prove idyllic. Or would it? Who can tell what a pretty and giggling schoolgirl will turn out to be later on when aged thirty or forty? We might guess that she will be like her mother but who is to know? An attractive girl, too diffident to reveal her true character, can later be petulant, quarrelsome, extravagant, and vain. Henriette might end as a virago…. No, she wouldn't. Odd
how the whiteness of her hands contrasted with the sunburnt complexion of her face. He himself had married late in life, as his professional career had served to dictate, and no sensible man would at that age have married a schoolgirl. He had been lucky enough to find a woman of the world, beautiful, passionate, and experienced. He wished that he were with her now and in her arms. Instead of that he was pacing the land of France, an enemy or spy, due to be killed on sight or shot after capture. He had best forget about his girl's white shoulders and think rather of his own peril. He looked anxiously at the eastern sky. Was it his imagination or was there already just a hint of the coming daybreak?