Over joyous bonging from the belfry, the Marquis-who, she now remembered, was a tall man, physically impressive, and handsome in a disreputable way-insisted on a celebration at his place. The produce of local vines, orchards, and distilleries was made available to a small and select list of guests. Some hours later, Jean Bart could be seen making his way home, tacking down the street in the manner of a ship working to windward.
The comtesse de la Zeur and the Marquis d’Ozoir kept an eye on Bart from the same room where Eliza had had her audience with d’Avaux three days earlier. She and the Marquis got along very well, which, given his past association with the slave trade, rather made her flesh crawl. He took a sort of avuncular interest in Jean-Jacques, which perhaps stood to reason given that the two had been born in such similar circumstances.*
The conversation that took place after Jean Bart had gone home, and the servants had been sent away, would have been altogether different if these two had inherited their titles. As matters stood, however, there were no illusions between them, and they could converse freely and without pretense. Though to do so for a few minutes (Eliza decided) was to be reminded that inhibited and pretentious chatter was not always such a bad thing.
“You and I are alike,” the Marquis said. Which he meant as a compliment!
He continued, “We have our titles because we are useful to the King. If I were a legitimate son of the Lavardacs, I’d not be permitted to do anything with my life other than sit around Versailles waiting to die. Because I am a bastard, I have traveled to India, Africa, and the Baltic as far as Russia, and in all of these places I have engaged in trade. Trade! Yet no one thinks less of me for it.”
He went on to explain why, in his view, Eliza was useful to the King. It all had to do with finance, and her links to Amsterdam and London, which he described aptly. This was unusual in a French noble. The very few of them who actually comprehended what went on in a Bourse, and why it mattered, affected ignorance for fear of seeming common. To them Eliza made as much sense as the Oracle of Delphi. By contrast, the Marquis affected to understand more than he really did. To him Eliza was a petty commercant. Or so ’twould seem from his next remark: “Fetch me some timber, if you please.”
“I beg your pardon, monsieur?”
“Timber.”
“Why do you require timber?”
“You do know that we are at war with practically everyone now?” he asked, amused.
“Ask the controleur-general whether the Countess de la Zeur knows it!”
“Touche. Tell me, my lady, what do you see when you gaze out the window?”
“Brand-new fortifications, very expensive-looking.”
“Closer.”
“Water.”
“Closer yet.”
“Ships.”
“Closer yet.”
“Timber on the shore, piled up like ramparts.”
“You know, of course, of my family’s connections to the Navy.”
“Tout le monde knows that your father is Grand Admiral of France and that the Navy has grown prodigiously during his tenure.”
“During his tenure as a man in a glorious uniform, attending ship-christenings and twenty-one-gun salutes, and throwing magnificent fetes. Yes. But tout le monde also knows that it was Colbert who was responsible for it. In addition to Grand Admiral, my father was Secretary of State for the Navy until 1669, did you know that? Then he sold the post to Colbert, for a lot of money. Did he want to sell it? Did he need the money? No. But he knew that the funds had been advanced to Colbert-a commoner-by the King himself, and so he could not refuse.”
“He was fired,” Eliza said.
“In the most polite and remunerative way imaginable, he was fired. Colbert became his superior-for of course the Grand Admiral of France is accountable to the Secretary of State for the Navy!”
“When you put it that way, it must have been an interesting time for the Duke.”
“It is just as well I was living as a Vagabond in India at the time. I could almost hear his screaming from Shahjahanabad,” said the Marquis. “In any case, he was well paid for the demotion, and he went on to make a great fortune out of the ship-building program that Colbert then instituted. For whenever so much money flows from the Treasury to the military, there are countless ways for those within the system to profit. I should know, mademoiselle.” And he glanced around the interior of the salon. Like much in Dunkerque, it was small. But everything in it was magnificent.
“You had your title in ’74,” Eliza said, “and made yourself useful as a part of this Navy-building project.”
“I am always eager to be useful to my King,” he said.
“God save the King,” Eliza said. “I of course share the same eagerness to be of service to his majesty. Did you say you required some timber?”
“Oh, but of course. There’s a war on. To this point, naval engagements have been few-a small battle in Bantry Bay when our ships were taking the soldiers to Ireland, and of course the heroics of your friend Jean Bart. But great battles will come. We need more ships. We require timber.”
“France is blessed with enormous size, and deep forests,” Eliza pointed out.
“Indeed, my lady.” His eyes strayed inland, to the crests of the dunes, which were held together with scrub, which here and there gave way to the firm straight lines of new earth-works concealing mortar-batteries. “I do not see any forests hereabouts.”
“No, this is like Holland, or Ireland. But farther inland, as you must know, are forests that cannot be traversed in less than a fortnight.”
“Fetch me some timber, then, if you wish to be of service to the King.”
“Would it be as useful to le Roi, if the timber came instead to Le Havre, or Nantes? For Dunkerque is not at the mouth of any great river, but those places are, and this would make the shipping infinitely easier.”
“We have shipyards in those places, too; why not?”
Here, Eliza ought to have paused to wonder why there was a shipyard in Dunkerque at all, given its location; but after weeks of boredom here, she was so pleased to have been given something to do that she did not give any thought to this paradox.
“Timber costs money,” she reminded him, “and I have given all of mine away.”
He laughed. “To the French Treasury, mademoiselle! And you shall be buying the timber on behalf of the King! I shall send letters to the Place au Change in Lyon. Everyone there shall know your credit is backed by the controleur-general. Speak to Monsieur Castan there-it is he who makes payments to those who have had the honor of lending money, or selling goods, to the King of France.”