But there was a British naval officer's uniform coat buried with him—that is when the trouble started . . . en effet, that is when the records start. Because until then it was no more than a police matter."
"So what happened then?"
"Oh ... it did not happen immediately. I do not know all the dates, but it was late summer, early autumn, when the coat is ... is ... disinterred. And then the commandant's report goes through the official channels, and eventually to Paris.
And then—and then . . ."
"The shit is in the fan?" Paul grimaced at Elizabeth. "Sorry, Elizabeth—and then, Bertrand?"
"And then . . . Colonel Jean-Baptiste Suchet, bringing the fear of God and the Emperor with him, and two squadrons of
gendarmes d'élite from the Young Guard battalions in Paris
—"
"Suchet!" exclaimed Aske, "Meaning 'Soo-shay', Colonel of the Gendarmerie?"
dummy3
"Not the Gendarmerie, m'sieur—" Bourienne shook his head
"—this Suchet was a colonel of the Marines of the Guard, and also a special aide of the Emperor himself . . . What you would call 'top brass'—and not so much a policeman, I think, as—as—as, maybe a colonel of the general staff—or of intelligence, perhaps?"
Now they were really in deep, thought Elizabeth, looking quickly from Paul to Humphrey Aske. Because, with that one flight of comparative fancy, Bertrand Bourienne had lifted up Lieutenant Chipperfield of the Vengeful out of the category of escaped PoW into the realm of cloak-and-dagger.
"Indeed?" Paul seemed disappointingly unmoved. "So just what did this fellow . . . Suchet do, to put the fear of God up everyone?"
"Ah . . . well, he dismissed the commandant at Chauny—for incompetence, one supposes . . . And he summoned the adjoints from Compiegne and Soissons and Laon, and drafted both the local police and the soldiers from the garrisons to conduct house-to-house searches . . . Also, it would seem that he despatched messengers to St Quentin and Arras and Amiens, and even as far as Rouen—"
"What messages?"
Bourienne shook his head. "Messengers . . . what messages, I do not know . . . And he interrogated many local people—
peasants and farmers from Coucy here, and also from Folembray and Guny and Pont-St Mard—after he left there dummy3
were complaints from several mayors to the Prefect, both about his behaviour, and the behaviour of his men . . . chiefly his men, for damage to property . . . and there were two assaults, and the rape of a respectable woman. After the troubles of the winter and the spring, when the conscripts had been combed out, there was much disaffection—even after he left—even with the news of great victories in Russia—
false news, as it turned out."
Bourienne shrugged. "But after that there is little more to tell
— little more that the records here contain, at least. This is the worm's-eye view of what you seek. If you wish for the eagle's-eye view, you must go to Paris, that is what my friend's colleague advises. There are many other records there, and it was from Paris that Colonel Suchet came."
"Suchet does sound like our best bet," agreed Aske. "If he was top brass, someone must know about him. And now that we know he turned up here as well as at Lautenbourg—"
"Lautenbourg?" Bourienne frowned. "In the Vosges?"
"That's where they escaped from," said Aske.
"And Colonel Suchet pursued them all the way here?" The Frenchman's bushy eyebrows rose. "But then that fits well enough—well enough . . ."
"Well enough how, m'sieur?" asked Elizabeth.
Bourienne considered her for a moment. "I said ... a worm's-eye view, Mamselle . . . and that is the truth . . . And there is little enough that I have been able to give you, beyond what dummy3
you already appear to know . . . the more so, as I myself know so little of this period. But there is one thing I do know, which every worm knows . . . and every student of history must learn to identify from the worms' memories—" he paused for dramatic effect "—and that is the heavy tread of authority. . . the tread of history itself crushing down on the worms."
Elizabeth looked at him blankly.
"I do not know what messages Colonel Suchet sent—I do not even know why he pursued these prisoners. But it is clear that he wanted them very badly . . . enough to turn this whole region upside down . . . and it was not merely because they were escapers—of that I am sure." He shook his head. "They were not ordinary escapers."
"What makes you think that?" asked Aske quickly.
"Partly because he was no ordinary policeman—and an imperial aide does not chase ordinary escapers." Bourienne looked at Paul, and smiled. "And partly because he has a nose for the dug-out full of Boches." He came back to Aske and Elizabeth. "And partly because I also feel the heavy tread above me—perhaps that most of all."
"Hmm . . ." Aske wrinkled his nose doubtfully. "A bit of circumstantial evidence, in fact. Plus a lot of mere instinct."
Bourienne gestured towards the hill of rubble. "This is Enguerrand's tower, Miss Loftus."
Elizabeth blinked in surprise. "Oh ... yes ... It was built on a dummy3
hill, was it?"
"On a hill? But no! Here—where we stand—was the edge of a great ditch. The ruin of the tower fills the ditch and also makes your hill, Mamselle. And what we see is but the edge of a huge crater where the tower stood. The greatest single ruin in France is what you see here—am I right, Paul?"
"What?" Paul frowned abstractedly.
The Frenchman nodded. "They were not ordinary prisoners?
Am I right?"
"No, they weren't. I suppose I owe you that, Bertrand." Paul grinned. "But I don't yet know why."
"But you knew before, nevertheless?" Bourienne nodded.
Elizabeth stared at Paul. "How did you know, Paul?"
"I don't know—I'm guessing, like Bertrand."
"They were sent to Lautenbourg, that's why," said Aske.
"Sent there—and then interrogated about something. And then, when they escaped, the French pretended to the British that they didn't exist. And if they'd been caught I'll bet that would have been the truth. 'Shot while escaping' is the standard formula."
"Timing is the giveaway, Elizabeth," said Paul, ignoring Aske.
"They met the Fortuné by accident—the Vengeful was wrecked—they came ashore ... By the ordinary rules they would have been marched to somewhere like Verdun, and Lieutenant Chipperfield and the midshipman would have been semi-paroled there, and perhaps the warrant officers dummy3
with them. That must be what Chipperfield reckoned on."
"So what?" said Aske.
"So he didn't need to escape. Once he reached Verdun he'd be among friends, with a Senior British Officer to advise him what to do next... Or at least he'd be safe, anyway."
"Where does timing come into this?" persisted Aske.
"At first they did march towards Verdun—they nearly got there, in fact. But then they were diverted to the Lautenbourg, and Colonel Suchet turned up. And then they were in trouble." Paul looked at Elizabeth. " Timing, Elizabeth."
He expected something of her—and since he could hardly expect her to be brighter than Aske it must relate to something he expected her to know, and to be able to put together as he had done.
"Timing . . ." Her mind stretched into Father's Vengeful Number Seven chapter, but to no avail. And Bertrand Bourienne, who knew nothing about the Vengeful's last voyage, was looking frankly bemused. And Humphrey Aske—
The Vengeful's last voyage?
"The French couldn't possibly have known that she'd be off Ushant—" But now she was echoing her own answer to the question she'd put to her in the garden at the Old House "—