Hayden’s conscience awoke an hour before the household stirred, and left him lying in the early dawn, thinking of Henrietta. He tried to tell himself that they were estranged and therefore what had occurred with Madame Adair was of no concern to Henrietta – but he knew the ‘estrangement’ was due to a mere misunderstanding that could be cleared away by a single conversation. He did not think what he had done was wrong under the circumstances but certainly it was a betrayal of trust and Henrietta would certainly see it as such. Of course, he had promised Madame Adair on the soul of his mother that he would keep their secret as long as he breathed. Henrietta would never learn of it … but he knew and it made him feel low and unworthy.
Where did I get this schoolboy sense of honour? he wondered.
It had also occurred to him that Madame Adair’s plan had only the smallest chance of success. From his meagre knowledge of these matters, Hayden was aware that when a man and a woman wanted a child they could lie together every night without success. But when a child was not the first desire, a single night together would almost always see the job done. Poor Madame Adair – her ruse would be found out within a month. He knew that she hoped the madness would be over by then, but he feared this was but fancy; the guillotine would persist in its terrible duty for some time to come.
When he heard stirring in the house, Hayden rose, fatigued from lack of sleep, and anxious about the day.
Madame Adair had already broken her fast by the time Hayden arrived downstairs, and Charlotte was being bundled off to visit neighbours, much to her chagrin.
‘But why must I go, Mama? You know how I hate her!’
‘Do not torment me with questions, child. You have made excuses several times before and this time you must go. It is only polite.’ She held up a hand, anticipating Charlotte’s next words. ‘Argue further and I shall send you again next week.’
So Charlotte acquiesced, though frustrated and mystified by the strange logic of adults.
The sun was barely risen when poor Charlotte was taken off by servants. Madame Adair curtsied to Hayden but did not meet his eye or betray any familiarity whatsoever. She excused herself and instructed a maid to serve him his breakfast in the garden.
Settling himself at the table beneath a flourishing chestnut tree, Hayden gazed off at the distant road which wound north towards Brest. From that quarter would come the Jacobins – although if Madame Adair had spoken the truth, they would not come for her by day. There had been an uprising against the revolutionary government in this part of the country already; the Jacobins did not want to provoke another and so did their work under cover of darkness.
Carts and drays did appear from time to time and now and then a man on horseback, some of whom were army officers. A sizeable carriage went by apace, a whirl of dust in its wake. But no gangs of Jacobin thugs, he was relieved to see. The aura of fear and anxiety that overlay the farm began to ease a little. The day was shaping up to be exceptionally fine, fleets of benign clouds sailing across the blue surface of the sky. Birds went winging this way and that, bearing straw and string to build their nests with, and, in the branches above, overladen bees trundled from one blossom to the next, humming like contented hobbyists. One could almost imagine that all was well with the world.
After he had eaten, Hayden set out to walk about the fields, trying to regain his strength. A herd dog attached herself to him, perhaps thinking he went to fetch home the cows, but the cows had already come in to be milked and fed, so she was bound for disappointment on that score.
The farm was spread over countryside as rolling as a stormy sea, the fields all slanting this way or that, hardly one level. Within a quarter of a mile, Hayden was forced to rest upon a little section of tumbledown stone wall. He was out of breath, shaking and slippery with sweat. To escape across country he would need to be able to manage several miles in a few short hours. The only way to hasten his recovery, so that he might undertake this ordeal, was to force himself to exercise. Walking to begin, and then he would start helping with the light farmwork. What the farm hands would think about an officer in the French navy doing farm labour he did not know. He would tell them it was the age of equality or something of that sort.
Forcing himself up, Hayden went on, finding a stick for a cane, his attendant herd dog rushing ahead, then returning to verify his progress, as though he were her charge and she dare not lose him. After another quarter-mile Hayden stretched out on a dry, south-facing slope and fell asleep in the spring sun. Indeed, he could not remain awake, so exhausted was he by walking a mere half-mile!
He woke sometime later, pink-cheeked, frowzy and overheated. Going on was out of the question so he grumpily decided to turn back, disappointed with his recovery.
‘Back to the damn farm!’ he informed the herd dog in French (certainly the dog did not understand English, he reasoned). ‘I feel I have grown old before my time. I am certain I did not manage half a mile.’
And the half-mile back was much longer. He teetered into the farmyard, shaking and thirsty, only to find men sprawled beneath the shade trees in little knots, two servants with buckets plying among them, offering water. A French army officer of unknown rank sat in the chair Hayden had occupied that very morning, and all around a small company of soldiers stood sentry, muskets at the ready.
Prisoners, Hayden realized, and before his exhausted mind could comprehend what this meant, one of the men jumped up and exclaimed, ‘Captain Hayden! Praise God! You are alive, sir!’ It was Gould, and all about rested the officers of the Themis.
Other men broke into grins and began to rise as well, muttering both astonishment and thanks. Too late, Hayden replied in French, gesturing with his hands, expressing polite bewilderment at this odd mistake. Immediately, the French officer rose and approached him. Archer, meanwhile, had jumped up and taken Gould by the arm.
‘This is not Captain Hayden,’ he said to the midshipman. ‘Whatever are you thinking? Can you not see this is a Frenchman? Your brain must be addled by the sun.’
The French officer appeared to look Hayden up and down. ‘Who are you, sir?’ he asked.
‘I am Capitaine Gil Mercier,’ Hayden claimed confidently, showing now some resentment at this foolish mistake. ‘I was a guest of Capitaine Lacrosse aboard Les Droits de l’Homme. These Anglais were prisoners aboard. That is why they recognize me, though apparently they do not know my name.’
The officer motioned Archer forward, and then asked him, ‘Do you know this man?’
‘Yes,’ Archer answered in bad French. ‘He sailed with Capitaine Lacrosse and was wrecked with the rest of us. Capitaine Mercier. He saved many lives, monsieur, and we are much in his debt.’
‘What did this other man call him?’ he motioned to one of his soldiers. ‘Bring that Anglais forward.’
Gould was helped to his feet and led forward.
‘Ask him what he called Capitaine Mercier,’ the officer instructed Archer.
Archer complied and then repeated. ‘“Hayden” is what he said and he apologizes for not knowing the Capitaine’s name. He is very chagrined to have made such a mistake.’
Madame Adair appeared at that moment and the officer made a small bow to her. ‘Madame, is this man known to you?’ He gestured to Hayden.
‘Of course, yes. He was brought here from the wreck almost dead. It is a miracle he is still among us. His name is Capitaine Gil Mercier, sir.’ She looked at Hayden, suddenly concerned. ‘Capitaine? Are you well. Bring a chair!’ she called to the men bearing water buckets. ‘Sit, Capitaine. You are not yet recovered enough to go so far. Please … sit.’
Hayden tumbled down into the chair, dizzy and suddenly hot.
Even the army officer looked concerned.
‘Then you are certain he is Capitaine Mercier?’
‘He was brought here by a local doctor who was on the beach when the ship broke up. He wore a captain’s uniform – shall I have it brought out for you?’
He shook his head. ‘That will not be necessary. My apologies, Capitaine. I wish you a speedy recovery.’ The Frenchman returned to his chair, speaking quietly to one of his men.
Hayden wanted to retreat – into the house or anywhere beyond the gaze of his men. He also did not want to appear to stare but was desperate to know who had survived their ordeal.
Madame Adair called for a servant to bring him water, and this helped a little. Hayden thought his crew all looked as ill as he did and he was gratified to see them loaded onto a dray when they departed. Prisoners were often marched many miles to gaols – difficult enough for healthy men.
As the dray retreated down the lane, Hayden could see the dull-eyed gazes of his crew as they stared back at him. A strange guilt came over him. He should be with his crew, not making more than likely futile plans to escape. But there was no going back now. To admit he had lied would bring about an immediate and official response. He was going to have to make his escape in his present condition. Waiting until he recovered was no longer possible.
‘Why did that man call you “’ayden”?’ Madame Adair asked.
He shrugged. ‘He did not know my name, I suppose.’
She tilted her head and gazed at him quizzically. ‘He seemed very pleased to see you …’
‘I made it my duty to aid them when the ship was wrecked. I am ashamed to say it but the crew of Les Droits de l’Homme did not respond to their situation with courage let alone gallantry.’
‘Well, I am happy you survived, Capitaine,’ she said and smiled, the worry disappearing from her face for an instant. ‘Did you sleep well … after our visitors left?’
‘I was attended by a nightingale; did you hear it? So beautiful and sorrowful.’
She looked suddenly sad. ‘I do not think it will sing again this night, Capitaine.’
‘I would be very melancholy if it went away.’
‘Not so sad as me.’
She turned on her toe and sailed off towards the house. Hayden wondered if everyone saw what he did in the way she moved – some little contentment in the midst of madding distress.
Hayden called over one of the servants who had taken water to the prisoners. ‘Do you know where those Anglais were being taken?’
‘To Brest, Capitaine.’
‘Brest? But Quimper Prison is in the opposite direction …’
The man shrugged. ‘That is what they said, Capitaine Mercier.’
‘Merci.’
Hayden moved to a chair beneath the shade of the chestnut and watched the road north. It was not long before the servant was proven right – the dray with its guards went slowly up a hill, the horses straining.
When Hayden had recovered a little of his strength, he stumbled up to his room, resting once upon the stair, and dropped onto his bed like a sack of oats. He woke to a tugging upon the shoulder of his jacket.
‘Monsieur Capitaine … Monsieur Capitaine?’
‘Mademoiselle?’
Charlotte stood over him.
‘Will you not eat, Capitaine Mercier? Mama desires that you do.’
Hayden swung his feet over the side of his bed, and sat up, bracing himself with an arm to either side. Before him Charlotte stood almost eye to eye. ‘Mama says that one must eat to grow strong.’
‘She is very wise, your mother.’
The girl nodded as though this was merely understood and beyond question. A tray of food sat upon a small table; the smell of it drifted to Hayden.
‘No one woke me for supper?’
‘We tried, monsieur, but you would not stir. I have been shaking you now for at least an hour.’
‘So long? I was very tired.’ A thought arose from the confusion. ‘Did you not go off to visit with friends?’
‘I did but they sent me home. Madame Lepic said that Hortense had taken ill, although she did not seem it in the least.’
‘I am sorry she grew ill. But you do not feel sick, I hope?’
The girl shook her head.
‘Tell your mother I will eat now. And thank her for my supper.’
‘Of course, monsieur.’ She ran off.
Hayden wondered if she had been sent home because the neighbours did not want to be seen aiding a woman who was most likely about to be taken away. No doubt everyone within several miles knew of what had occurred the previous night.
Hayden ate; the food and the scents wafting in his window reminded him of his boyhood visits to his mother’s family. If his friends back in England knew how much love he felt for this country they would probably be shocked. How he wished this terrible war would end! Suddenly, and overwhelmingly, he felt repelled by it. By a war where his two people fought, where madmen and mobs cried out for the blood of women like Madame Adair. Where children were orphaned by some impersonal stroke of a committee member’s pen.
When he was finished, Hayden carried his tray downstairs, wanting to step out for a breath of the evening air. Gravel rattled beneath his boots as he crossed to the grass, the fragrance of the April evening as intoxicating as a woman’s perfume.
He stood upon the crest that looked out over the long valley and felt the soft breeze wash over his face. For a moment he closed his eyes and when he opened them again the darkness appeared to have seeped up from the moist ground to thicken the air.
Madame Adair stood beside him, her arms crossed over her breast, a shawl gathered close. How she had walked over the gravel without him hearing he did not know.
‘Madame,’ he said, giving a little bow.
‘Capitaine. I shall miss this view … terribly.’ She fell silent for a time. Nighthawks flitted across the clouds and the few stars waking. ‘I only hope they do not wake Charlotte. I will make no resistance so there will be no noise. Will you sit with me, Capitaine? When they come I will be here, beneath my favourite chestnut.’
‘Certainly, yes.’
She turned and put a hand gently upon his arm. ‘Thank you, Capitaine Mercier, for what you have done. If there is a child please know that I will raise him – or her – with all my love.’
‘Thank you, madame. I will pray that you are spared.’
She nodded her thanks.
They arranged the chairs so that they looked out to the south-west, where the last light of the spring day ebbed away over the horizon.
A servant brought them coffee and a blanket for Madame Adair to wrap herself in. Little was said, though once it was utterly dark Madame Adair reached out and took Hayden’s hand and held it with a certain tenderness. The night crept on, the clock in the hall counting each muffled hour, as though it rang from some great distance.
Midnight came and then passed. Hayden began to wonder if in fact Madame Adair had been spared – the Jacobins would not come. But then, before the half-hour rang, he heard the sound of horses’ hooves and then muffled voices. Two torches appeared, illuminating men on horseback.
Madame Adair wrung his hand a second, and put a knuckle to her lip, but then mastered herself and rose to her feet. Hayden did the same and she spun and pressed herself against him a moment. Pulling free, she kissed him once upon the lips, and then stepped away, crossing the grass towards the gate that led to the lane.
Hayden followed her – he could not allow her to face this mob alone. Just before the gate they paused, and watched the torches approaching, riders moving in the bloody light. Too soon these men were at the gate then through, alighting from their saddles. They numbered a half-dozen – soldiers, Hayden could see.
‘Madame Adair?’ one of them enquired.
‘Yes,’ she managed, though she could hardly breathe. ‘C’est moi.’
‘That’s him,’ one of the men interjected. He stepped forward into the dull light – a French naval officer. ‘Capitaine Hayden of the Themis. I would know him anywhere.’