hulks, and all that . . . plus a well-founded dislike for the English, as a result—he'd be the ideal man to put his heart and soul into the project, obviously—" he came back to the Professor "—obviously?"
Paul frowned. "What evidence have you for this?" He ignored Aske. "Apart from circumstantial evidence?"
Belperron nodded. "He withdrew all the Hamilton maps and the Rousselière plans from the archives of the Ministry of Marine in the autumn of 1811, to the Ministry of War, where he had a small staff of officers working under him. It is my belief that these officers—and there were engineers and naval experts among them—that they were bringing the Portsmouth Plan up to date on the basis of fresh intelligence from England." He nodded again. "Also ... he solicited reports from Admiral Missiessy on the condition of the squadrons in the Channel and Atlantic ports, and on the construction programme—and from Count Emeriau and Admiral Cosmao on the numbers of trained seamen in Toulon and Genoa, who could be transferred north, to bring the crews of those ships up to strength."
"But. . . except perhaps for those maps ... all this is still circumstantial," said Paul. "Is there any real proof that there was a new Portsmouth Plan, Professor?"
"Circumstantial... up to a point, Dr Mitchell. It is even true that the plans prepared by Hamilton and de la Rousselière were not the only ones Colonel Suchet called for—indeed, all this I already knew, from other researches, though I must dummy3
confess that I never assembled it in this fashion until now . . .
for none of it came to fruition. Because in December—
December 1812—all the maps and plans and charts were returned to the Ministry of Marine, inevitably."
"Why inevitably?" asked Elizabeth.
"The Russian disaster, Mademoiselle. For after that Colonel Suchet was no longer working to strengthen the fleet—he was stripping it of men for the army, in preparation for the European campaigns of 1813. The Portsmouth Plan perished in the snows of Moscow."
"If there ever was a new Portsmouth Plan, Professor." The retreat of the Grande Armée encouraged Aske to advance again.
But Professor Belperron smiled. "Oh, there was a new Portsmouth Plan, I believe that now, even though I have not had time to prove it yet. Not conclusively . . ."
He had something else, thought Elizabeth. He had had it all along, and he had just been waiting for the right moment to let it out of the bag, to impress them.
Paul caught her eye, and grinned—Paul had come to the same conclusion, and that grin told her that he was quite prepared to be impressed if that gave him what he wanted.
He even kept the grin in place for the Professor. "You know ... I don't think you've been quite straight with us, Professor," he said.
The little man, who had been concentrating on Aske, now dummy3
frowned slightly at Paul. "Pardon, Dr Mitchell?"
"What we want to know is why Colonel Suchet was so keen to get our fellows from the Vengeful back into the cooler—
which should also give us the answer why they were treated the way they were, and shunted off to the Lautenbourg, instead of to Verdun, or somewhere like that, where there were other prisoners." Paul leaned forward again. "Well, my old friend Bertrand Bourienne told me that you know more than any man alive about what was happening in France in Napoleon's time, and particularly the last five years of the First Empire—he said, if you didn't know, then no one knew, by God!"
For a moment Elizabeth was afraid that he was laying it on a bit too thick, but then she saw that the Professor was visibly disarmed by such confidence.
"Dr Mitchell... I fear your friend overrates me—"
"I don't think so. I think you know exactly what Suchet was after . . . Or, you've got a pretty damn good idea of it."
Aske sniffed. "Well, it's pretty damn obvious, I should have thought: somehow the poor devils had tumbled to this new Portsmouth Plan of his—it can hardly be anything else, can it?"
Belperron's eyes glinted behind his spectacles. "Can't it, Mr Aske? Can't it?"
Aske opened his mouth, and then thought better of what he had been about to say, and said nothing at all.
dummy3
Belperron shook his head. "To tell the truth, my friends, I do not know exactly what Suchet wished to suppress—I have had far too little time . . . only a matter of hours ... to look for the necessary confirmation of what I believe . . . All I have at this moment is another name—another name connected with Colonel Suchet—and the known facts about him ... a most interesting man . . ."
"What man—what name, Professor?" asked Paul, dutifully on cue.
"James Burns—no, I am sure you will never have heard of him, Mr Aske. James Burns, merchant—import-export, as we would say now . . . James Burns, of London, New York . . .
and Portsmouth, Mr Aske."
"Another traitor?" Aske's mouth twisted. "Or another renegade patriot?"
"No, none of those." The little man shook his head. "This time
— another spy, Mr Aske. Even perhaps a super-spy, since you British never caught him—never even suspected him, so far as I am aware . . . though I know nothing of his subsequent history as yet."
Whatever happened to Father's book on the twelve Vengefuls, there was a book here—or at least a learned article in the Annales historiques de l'Empire in the making, thought Elizabeth. It was surprising that Belperron was prepared to let so much slip.
"How was he not a traitor—or a renegade, Professor?" she dummy3
asked.
"Because he was not an Englishman at all, Mademoiselle,"
said Belperron simply. "He was an American—an Irish American."
"But also a French spy—a spy for France?"
"Ah . . . now there again we are on those debatable frontiers!
Where should a good American—and an Irishman ... an Irishman in any age . . . where should such a man be when England is at war? And in those days, after the Irish Rebellion of 1798, in which my country assisted so inadequately and disastrously?"
"In Portsmouth, apparently," said Paul dryly. "And we let him import-export from there, did we?"
Belperron shook his head. "In England I am not sure that he was James Burns— American . . . not from the way he continued to move at will between the two countries after the Americans had declared war on you. What he did in England, except that he traded in naval stores . . . American timber and cordage, and the like . . . that I do not know. But here in France it was in military equipment—in British greatcoats and boots for the French Army—"
"In what?" Paul's voice cracked.
"British greatcoats and boots—the Grande Armée wore them both into Russia . . . imported through Hamburg, of course."
The Professor smiled his little coldly-amused smile again.
"You must understand how the Industrial Revolution and the dummy3
French Revolution came to terms with each other, Dr Mitchell, and how honest neutrals were caught between them
—it was not a business as conducted in later war. Because in those pragmatic days an honest trader could also obtain licences to break the rules, to the advantage of all parties."
"And James Burns was good at getting licences?"
"That is what I think, Dr Mitchell. As yet I am not sure."
"But you're sure he was a spy?"
"James Burns was a client of Joseph Fouché's Ministry in 1805, and again in 1808—and a close colleague of Colonel Suchet in 1812—that I know, Mr Aske." Professor Belperron brought his hands together. "James Burns had a dream . . . of confusion to Albion . . . that is what I believe."
"With the Portsmouth Plan?"