~ Twenty-Four ~

 

 

IT HAD BEEN TWO DAYS since Bel had visited with the English ambassador and relayed what he knew. It hadn’t taken long for him to realize that he couldn’t send a message off to the Home Office without Bonaparte detecting what he had done. He was being watched. He felt it everywhere he went.

He had lied about his connection to the Home Office, and they knew he had lied. How they knew was of no importance at this juncture.

He stood at the library window and frowned. The tension in the air when they attended a rout the other night was so thick, he felt he could have sliced it with a dagger. He had already sent off Heckson and his driver with instructions to meet his yacht in Le Havre, and to hire a vessel to take them across without waiting for them. However, it was now time to get Lady Marling and his Letty on the road in his own coach. He, Fitz, and Charles would be the outriders.

A French servant came into the library, a silver salver extended, as Toddle had been sent along with Heckson. Bel took up the note with a raised brow. “Thank you.”

He waited for the French man-servant to leave, and as it was from John Darcy, he opened it immediately to read:

“Dearest Bel,

I have the pleasure of advising you that I have our Lady Broadhurst safely in hand as we leave Paris at our backs. Marriage and Xanadu await, and when next we meet, it will be in England.

As for you, wake up ole man, see the forest through the trees…she is your match and you know it!”

Letty entered and skipped up to him to say, “I have heard from Lady Liz. She is on her way to Xanadu with John, where they will be married.”

“Xanadu?” Fitz said as he had followed her into the library. “Never heard of it.”

Letty and Bel laughed, and Bel explained, “It is the hideaway that Kublai Khan used.”

“Why would John want to go there? Seems an odd thing to do.” Fitz shook his head.

Charles walked in and heard this last, laughed and said, “I daresay, John is being romantic, as is his nature. Actually, he advised me yesterday that he meant to be off with Lady Liz this morning at some ungodly hour. They are headed for Switzerland and then home. He obtained a Special License and will be married to Liz along the way.” He shook his head. “It is John and Liz’s style, isn’t it? They will give one another a lively dance through life.”

The French servant, who had left, returned in some distress, stood in the doorway to call out, “My lord…the gendarmes…they…”

He was cut short as said gendarmes forced their way past him and stood, three abreast, to say, “We are here for the Viscount of Belfort.”

“May I ask why?” the viscount said as he came to attention. Charles and Fitz moved to take a stand beside him.

Letty got to her feet and said, “What is this?”

“I regret to inform you that you are under arrest. Kindly come with us,” one of the militiamen said in English.

“Arrest?” the viscount scoffed. “What nonsense is this?”

“We have orders from Napoleon. You are to be taken into custody immediately,” he said again in English.

Bel turned to Charles, and said in a low voice, “You must immediately get the women to my yacht.”

“But, Bel…?” Charles started to argue.

“As quickly as you may!”

Letty cried out and grabbed Bel’s arm. “Bel…Bel?”

He patted her hand. “Do as Charles tells you, my little love. I shall get this sorted out.”

“Where are you taking him?” Charles demanded.

“To Vincennes, monsieur,” the militiaman replied respectfully.

They followed Bel to the front door and saw him to a military equipage.

 

* * * * *

 

As it happened, there were many reasons for the viscount’s sudden arrest. Top on the list was the fact that the British had seized Malta, which had thrown the First Consul into a rage. The viscount was one of many names he gave to be the first of these Englishmen to be arrested.

Chaos ensued as British citizens hurried to escape France. Letty, Charles, and Fitz, however, had no intention of leaving without the viscount.

As promised, Fitz and Charles saw Aunt Fanny into her coach. Letty handed Max to her, and he curled up by Fanny’s booted feet. “Don’t let him run off, Aunt Fanny, he does, you know, if one doesn’t watch him.”

“I will take care of him as you would. I am quite fond of the little rascal,” Aunt Fanny said, patting her hand. “Are you sure you won’t join us in the coach? Leave this business to Charles and Fitz.”

“I can’t. You understand…I just can’t, and besides…I have a plan,” Letty answered.

Letty had told Charles some of her plan. He approached her now and said, “I still think you shouldn’t be a part of this.”

Charles had found it impossible to argue with her when she told him, “See here, Charles. You cannot stop me from coming with you. I know I can be of service. I am not leaving without Bel. The French may have declared war on our country, but they have also declared war on me!”

Thus, they watched Aunt Fanny’s departure before they took to horse.

Letty was once again dressed as a page, a hat pulled low over her forehead, as the three made their way towards the grimmest part of the city.

 They had the viscount’s horse tethered to Charles’ saddle as they made their way through the streets. They stopped briefly near a quiet alley to go over their plans once more. Timing would be everything. Just now, the French soldiers were in a state of confusion, unsure what their orders would be. This was the time to strike!

“As I mentioned, when we first arrived in France, at that inn…you remember, I met a young boy,” Letty started. “He is the Comte de la Bedissière. He had a note from Napoleon and wished to trade it for Max. When he realized I would never give Max up, he gave me the note as a souvenir of our meeting.” Letty produced the folded gilt-edged paper and waved it at them. “This…this is going to get us to Bel!”

Charles read the missive and whistled low and softly, as Fitz read it over his shoulder. “This letter authorizes the bearer to receive the article in question, and it is signed and sealed by Boney, but how will it help?”

“Simple,” Letty returned. “First of all, very few French soldiers can read. However, they will note Boney’s letterhead and signature. What if I change the word to read prisoner instead of article, just in case one of them can read?”

“Famous!” Fitz declared. “There you have it.”

“Yes, but can we change the word without the alteration being detected?” Charles said on a frown.

“Yes, I learned how to do so growing up in the Rochdales’ house,” Letty said sadly. “We just need to go back a mile to that posting house I saw where I can obtain some ink.”

This was attended to, and when they were close to their destination, it was past five in the evening, and already dusk had fallen. They made their way through the city unheeded towards the Vincennes Prison.

Vincennes was a daunting structure, Gothic in style, and in the poorest part of Paris. The prison stables were housed outside the prison gates.

They eased their way through the streets, careful to avoid any military units, aware that if they were discovered to be English, they would have a difficult time of it.

They ducked into a dark alleyway beside a dilapidated tavern, where Charles and Fitz huddled, lest they be seen.

“This is the part of your plan I dislike the most,” Charles said. “I had expected a few more bosky military fellows to walk out of the tavern by now.”

“Indeed, here are two, and they look very much in their cups.” Letty pointed excitedly.

“Good girl!” Fitz said. “You are on, and we are depending on you.”

Letty waited for the drunken militiamen to walk near enough to the alley and rushed at them, saying breathlessly in French, “Sirs, please, sirs!”

“What is it?” one asked harshly.

“There is an English gentleman forcing himself on my mistress. She cried for me to get help!”

The two gendarmes had been linked arm in arm, singing a merry tune, but this brought them around, and they followed Letty to the alleyway.

All at once, Fitz and Charles leaped on them from behind. The struggle was hard, with some grunts and groans, but was over quickly. The gendarmes were not fit for the fight, and for good measure, Fitz hit each with a wooden club he had found in the alley and said, “That should keep them down instead of rousing up a call.”

The unconscious men were dragged beneath the stairwell and undressed while Letty watched the alleyway. The two were gagged and tied securely with the rope they had brought along for the job. Charles and Fitz donned the uniforms that fit well enough while Letty rolled up their discarded clothing and secured it to their saddled horses.

“Rip off your tassels,” Charles ordered Fitz.

“Oh…but…no,” Fitz complained.

“Do it, I’ll buy you new boots when we get to London,” Charles said exasperatedly.

“Right then, but I don’t need you to buy me new boots. It is just a shame to ruin these,” Fitz said sadly.

Letty giggled. “Come on.” She put the letter in Charles’ hand, and he said, “I only hope my French is good enough to pass for a soldier’s guttural accent.”

“Don’t let Fitz speak,” Letty warned.

“I beg your pardon,” Fitz objected. 

“Oh, dearest Fitz, your accent is wonderful for the ballroom, but not, I fear, for the dungeons,” Letty returned.

Charles put a pistol into Letty’s hands. “Don’t hesitate to use this.”

“Don’t worry, Charles, I shall be in front of the gate in twenty minutes, horses in tow.”

“At the first sign of trouble, you are to ride off and save yourself,” Charles answered.

“No, I will merely tell them I am one of Boney’s pages come to escort you and the English lord to the Tuileries, where the First Consul means to interrogate the prisoner himself. You will have Bel by then, and we shall face it all together.”

“Listen to the child, born to be a criminal,” Fitz said, and chuckled.

 

* * * * *

 

The building was a five-story donjon with lofty vaulting and stained glass throughout. It was both cold and uninviting, and sent a chill through the two Englishmen dressed in French uniforms.

As they walked, side by side, Fitz leaned in and said, “I knew coming to Paris was wrong, now look at us.”

Charles laughed. “French. Only speak in French, but try not to speak at all.”

The guard at the gate smiled at them and asked if they had seen Armand at the tavern. Charles laughed and replied in guttural French that they had seen no one but the lovely Marie.

This answer drew a chuckle from the guard as he allowed them through.

Fitz leaned into Charles and said, “Marie?”

Charles frowned at him. “Bound to be a Marie, and if not, he wouldn’t think anything of it.”

They made their undeterred way into the building, and took the wide stone steps to the second floor, where they found a sergeant seated behind a desk.

“Pardon,” Charles started as he waved the document in the air. “We have orders from the First Consul to obtain one prisoner—the English Viscount of Belfort. We are to transport him to the Tuileries.” He gave over the letter and looked as stern as he was able.

“Eh? But why?” the sergeant asked on a frown.

Happily, Charles’ uniform outranked the desk sergeant. “Yours is not to question the orders of Napoleon Bonaparte. I am certain he has his reasons.”

The sharp rebuke reduced the desk sergeant to a hasty salute and whimpering acquiescence as he rose and held the door open for them. “Come, he is being held in the turret room.”

They followed the waddling soldier up a narrow flight of stairs that led to a small hallway. Evidently, there was only one room on this floor. The door to that room was bolted from the outside and guarded by an armed militiaman, who was presently slumped in a corner and completely asleep.

For his transgression, he was kicked in the hip and told to get up. The hapless lad did so, turned red, and bowed to apologize as the sergeant inserted the key and unlatched the crossbar.

The door swung open, presenting the viscount, who stood to his full height, in a room no larger than nine feet square, and was lit by one small and spluttering candle.

Bel had only a slice of bread to eat all day, and absolutely nothing to drink. His spirits, however, were bolstered when he saw the two French soldiers who stood behind the sergeant.

“What the devil are you at, disturbing my rest!” Bel shouted, tongue in cheek, as his eyes met those of his cousin and dearest friend.

Charles feigned displeasure. “Be quiet, you, and come along. No tricks. I will shoot you if need be.”

“No tricks,” Fitz said, getting into the spirit of the thing, giving his cousin a shove, and was rewarded with a threatening eye.

“He speaks strangely, this one,” the sergeant said.

“Oh, him? He was from the Old Regime, you know. Still clings to their ways,” Charles said grimly.

“Eh? That is foolish,” the sergeant returned, lifting the letter to read it for the first time. It was a dimly lit area, and even though he squinted, he had a difficult time, but he saw the seal and Napoleon’s signature.

Charles took back the letter, frowned, and led both Fitz and Belfort down the stairs and into the courtyard.

The sergeant followed, disturbed by something he could not name.

 

* * * * *

 

Letty had allowed the necessary time to elapse before taking the leading strings of all four horses and guiding them down the alley and across the narrow street to the forbidding prison building. There, she identified herself as Napoleon’s page to the guard on duty and advised him she was waiting for the soldiers to bring out the English lord.

“But where are your papers?” the guard demanded.

Letty got aggressive and said authoritatively, “Imbecile! Have I not told you? I do not take any prisoner. I am a page. Non, non, that is not for me to do, what papers? Non. The lieutenant and his man, they have the papers.”

“Yes, but you may not call me an imbecile. You are no more than a boy!” the guard snapped.

The sound of steps over the cobbled courtyard brought his head around. Letty stared at the viscount, desperately wanting to throw her arms around him and thank God he was safely in their hands…but they still had a long way to manage.

The guard sneered at the viscount. “We French, we care nothing for your title. You go now to face our First Consul. He will cut you to size.” He opened the gate.

Bel glared at Letty, and she could see he was most disturbed to see her there. She prepared her speech, for, to be certain, he would scold all of them.

They were on horseback and attempting to walk their horses away when a shout was heard from the far end of the courtyard!

The four English riders spurred their horses into a lope over the slippery road and made their way into the darkness.

Charles could not help himself and he rode up to Fitz and admonished, “We told you not to speak! Why did you have to open your mouth?”

“Blister it, Charles…they aren’t after us because of the one sentence I spoke.”

“Someone noticed a pair of men in nothing but their woolen underclothes,” Bel said lightly, and grinned. “I suppose they were the original owners of the uniforms you two are wearing.”

Letty’s laugh rang out in the night, and he turned to her. “Devil a bit. Letty…you have put yourself in danger, and, Charles…”

“Oh, don’t blame Charles, I gave him no out, no choice, no way to stop me,” Letty said merrily.

“Aye, and to tell you the truth…rescuing you was all Letty’s doing. She had the means, and planned the entire damned thing. Couldn’t have done it without her, but may I suggest we leave all this until we are well away?” Charles stuck in.

“Yes, let’s ride!” Letty called enthusiastically. “I daresay they will be hot on our tracks very shortly!”

The next fifteen minutes maneuvering their horses through the city was done in silence. They took narrow alleys and a little-known route Bel knew of to get them to the outskirts.

Even when they were well out of the city, they did not breathe a sigh of relief until they were able to give their horses full rein, riding at a spanking pace.

Two hours later found them with their horses drinking from a shallow stream in the thick of the woods that bordered the main road.

Dismounting, Charles and Fitz took cover behind some evergreen bushes, where they discarded their uniforms for their own clothes.

During this time, Bel lifted Letty off her horse and held her waist. “My own heroine!”

She laughed, but they were interrupted by Fitz, who, followed by Charles, stepped out saying, “How the devil can I tie my cravat in the dark?”

“No one will see it in the dark,” Charles said impatiently.

Bel shook his head, and pulled Letty close to whisper, “I don’t know how you pulled this off…but I will tell you this. All I could think of while I was in that prison was…Letty, I wanted to see Letty, and tell her how I felt, and then…there you were!”

“Oh, Bel, I couldn’t bear it when I thought of you locked away!” Letty cried, and put her face against his chest.

“Letty…” he said, taking her chin in his hand. “I have to say something.”

“Bel, you are always saying something. Now is the time to do something!” Thus, she threw her arms around his neck, bringing his face to hers and her lips to his.

Charles and Fitz stood by at first and watched, but as their kisses increased in number and passion, Charles cleared his throat, and coughed loudly.

Two smiling faces looked his way, and Charles laughed while Fitz remarked, “Upon my soul!”

“Indeed,” Charles said hurriedly. “We had better think about letting the horses eat some grass and then head out. It will be a long way before they can be bedded down with their hay.”

“Yes, yes,” Bel said as they each took the reins of their horses up and moved to the tall grass.

While the horses fed on the tall grass lining the creek, Bel asked, “How did you manage to get past the prison guard…and then to my cell?”

Fitz and Charles took turns recounting their adventure and giving full credit to Letty, explaining how she manipulated the letter she had.

Letty cut in and warned, “I don’t think the French soldiers will stop to rest their horses. They need only change them for fresh ones at the first posting house they come across. We need to travel.”

Thus, they mounted and were on the road again. Only one other rest was taken, where once again the horses fed on grass. They rested for a good twenty minutes before they headed out again. It was another few hours before they reached the outskirts of Le Havre, where they wound their way to the docks.

The viscount’s yacht was spotted by Fitz, who said, “No doubt your crew is asleep. We will have to wake them and set sail as speedily as possible.”

“Yes,” Bel agreed. “They know, and have had the yacht in readiness for days.”

Letty patted her mare’s neck. “Prime blood, our horses. They must be exhausted. There, there, my sweet. We’ll get you onto the boat and into your stall, where you will have all the hay you can eat, and even a bucket of grain.”

“Indeed, prime bloods, deserve their…” Charles started to say and stopped, one hand up. “Did you hear that?”

They had indeed.

A shot had blasted through the dark, and another followed. They looked up the avenue to find four French soldiers seated on their steeds beneath the moonlight, their pistols leveled at them as they were told to stand their ground!

Letty saw Fitz and Charles pull out their own horse pistols, and Bel handed her the reins of the horses and ordered, “Get them onto the boat and into the hold…go on, sweetheart.”

She knew she had to do as asked or risk their horses being shot. Hurriedly, she walked them down the gangway, and saw the crew, who must have heard the shots, was scurrying onto the deck. One of the sailors took the horses from her as she told them to get ready to set sail.

Firing at the soldiers merely to stall them, Bel called out to the deckhand, “Make haste…set sail, men!” Seeing Letty coming towards him, he yelled, “No, Letty, stay…”

A series of shots rang out, and one of her men released a sharp sound of pain, and she called out, “Bel, are you hit, my love? Are you hit?”

Fitz suddenly slumped forward, and both Bel and Charles each took an arm and helped him the remaining distance over the gangplank to the deck, then to his quarters. Letty followed and prayed. They laid his limp body on his cabin bed, and Bel checked his pulse. Sir Charles, normally calm in all circumstances, was beside himself, and took Fitz’s shoulders to shake him vigorously. “Fitz…my boy, Fitz!” He turned to Bel and angrily shouted, “The devils have shot Fitz!”

Letty felt the sway of the yacht as it was already being steered away from the harbor towards the channel, when she squeezed in between Bel and Charles and said quietly, “Fitz…?”

Charles shook him again, to which Fitz flashed open his eyes and grumbled, “Why the deuce must you shake me like a rag doll?”

Charles slumped onto the bed and laughed. “Thank the saints!”

Fitz moved and attempted to sit up as Bel, chuckling, said, “Good man, we need to remove your coat and see where you were hit.”

“My arm…near my shoulder,” Fitz said. “Blasted devils.”

Letty threw her arms around him and nervously laughed. “You gave me such a fright.”

He patted her. “There, there…excellent adventure this. Wait ’til we hit the club.”

“Ah,” Bel commented at this point. “The bullet left a nasty graze, and we’ll have to see to keeping it clean, but thankfully, it did not lodge itself in your arm.”

“Ah, you say?” Fitz demanded. “You drag me to Paris, involve me in a prison break, and then a run for our lives, and all you can say, is ‘ah’?” He glared at Bel, “No doubt I shall have to wear a sling?”

“I am not sure that will be necessary,” Bel returned.

“Blister it! I will wear a sling,” Fitz snapped. “It is at least something to show for this devilish business. Imagine the ladies when they see me in a sling, and all will want to know how I was wounded! Zounds. It will be famous.”

His companions burst into mirth, and Letty announced, “Now we need food. We haven’t eaten all afternoon and night.”

Lady Marling stepped out of her cabin, with Max rushing past her to throw himself at Letty, who picked him up and groaned. “Max, you are getting heavier every day!”

Lady Marling put her arms around Charles. “You have saved our dear Bel, and are still in one piece. It is such a relief.”

“I, on the other hand, have been shot,” Fitz said merrily.

“Oh, my poor Fitz,” she said, and stroked his face. “Now sit and tell me everything.”

Bel smiled and said to Letty, “Come, we’ll go into the galley and see what we can put together in the way of food.”

“And a bottle of brandy!” Fitz called after them.

“I’ll fetch the brandy from Bel’s cabin,” Charles stuck in.

Bel took Letty’s hand and led her away, stopping in the open doorway to say in a determined voice, “My love, when we leave Dover, you will be my wife. You do want to be my wife?”

“Yes,” she said on a laugh. “More than anything, but how can you manage such a thing? Don’t we have to post the bans and…”

“No, I shall obtain a Special License when we dock in Dover, and we will be married before we travel home to Belfort! Lady Marling will, I am certain, enjoy putting a small ceremony together for us.”

“Oh, Bel…”

He didn’t have to say anything as he scooped her into his arms.

Fitz saw them in the open doorway and declared, “Charles, they are at it again. I do think you should tell Bel that it is not the thing to go about kissing his page for all his crew to see.”