Another Small Kingdom (26 page)

Chapter Fifty-four

M
acleod tried hard to retain control of himself. They needed names and even one name might be enough. But of all the names and titles she might have given him, this one made him despair.

‘A bishop?'

‘More than a bishop. A cardinal in Rome. St Clair said he would be the one who would become the new king. That it was a great joke on the British.'

‘It seems more like a great joke on us.'

‘No, no, I did not understand, but that is what he said.'

Something stirred in Macleod's memory.

‘A cardinal as king? No, it makes no sense. Did he say anything else?'

‘Only that the great joke on the British would be that he could finally succeed where his elder brother had failed.'

Suddenly, forgotten memories from Macleod's childhood came flooding back sharply into focus and he was once again a child at his father's knee listening to stories of the old hatreds. How his father had fought for the Catholic Prince Charles Edward Stuart.

‘My God!'

‘What is it, does the name help us?'

‘I don't know but I think I might know why Fouché would choose a Catholic cardinal to be his king. If Cardinal Bishop Henry Stuart is the younger brother of Charles Edward Stuart then he is the last Jacobite claimant to the British crown. If Fouché could put him on a throne, any throne, it might re-ignite the Highlands. At the very least London would have to garrison Scotland again. A Jacobite king with his own kingdom looking at Farmer George's throne from across the Atlantic. The Stuart cause would live again. My God, it's not madness, Marie, it's genius.'

Marie misinterpreted what she saw as a burst of enthusiasm.

‘It has helped? It will make us safe?'

‘I don't see how.'

‘Will this Cardinal Henry know the names we need, the important ones?'

‘If he is involved …'

‘Yes, if he is?'

‘Well, I doubt he would get involved with something like this without being sure there were men behind it whom he could trust to carry it through.'

Marie clapped her hands.

‘Then we have a name, Cardinal Bishop Henry Stuart.'

‘But he's in Rome and we're in Boston. I don't see how it helps us.'

‘Then we must go to Rome. We must see this Cardinal and we must ask him for the other names.'

‘Please, Marie, even if we could get to Rome and managed somehow to see him, why would he give us the names? You must be sensible.'

‘No, Jean, it is you that must be sensible. Twice they have tried to kill me here in America. Amélie lies dead upstairs. Now we know that even here, in your home, I am not safe. To be sensible is to go away, to be sensible is to go to Rome. This Henry Stuart is a Bishop, a Catholic priest, he cannot refuse to help, to save my life.'

‘But how could we get there?'

‘You have money, you are rich. You live in this fine house and in New Orleans you had the best clothes and plenty of money.'

‘Yes, but money isn't our problem. If it was Fouché's agents who tried to kill you then going to Europe makes it that much easier for them.'

‘How could the danger be any greater than it is here? If we move quickly they might not be able to follow us. They would not know we go to Rome, and once there the Bishop will shelter us.'

‘But …'

But Macleod couldn't think of anything to offer in place of going to Rome. He could not trust his own Government, nor keep Marie safe even in his own house.

‘Jean, we must go. Last night they failed but now there is no more Amélie to stay awake and be watchful over me.'

Macleod was stung by her words, but he could not deny their truth. He had slept while Amélie stayed awake and watched. It was Amélie who had kept her alive and was now dead. In Charleston it had been the sailors who had watched over her while he allowed himself to be stunned in an alley.

‘Very well. But if we go, we must go at once. I will make the best arrangements I can.'

‘We will see the Cardinal, Jean, and all will be well. Do you not think so?'

‘Of course.'

It was a very small lie, considering their situation. For uppermost in Macleod's mind was not how to get to Rome, or how to see the Cardinal, but how to get them both out of Boston alive.

Chapter Fifty-five

‘
T
wo pistol shots!'

‘Two.'

Molly and Melford looked at each other then back at Gregory who stood, hat in hand, with one eye roving and the other fixed on a point just above their heads. His manner of delivery strongly resembled someone giving evidence before a magistrate.

Molly's response, however, was not in the least like that of a magistrate.

‘Damn and blast you, you wall-eyed monkey. Why did you let anyone get in? Didn't you realise he might be after her?'

‘Ah, but I wasn't told to stop anyone, was I? I was told to spy out a soft point of entry if there was one. I did that and told you about it. You told me to go back and observe. Your very word, ma'am, observe. So I observed. I observed him going in, heard the shots and I observed him coming out. Then I came back, roused you both and now I'm making my report.'

As Molly seemed temporarily lost for words, Melford took up the questioning.

‘Did you recognise him?'

‘Yes, it was the man Bentley.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Did he see you?'

‘No, sir. I made sure I wasn't seen.'

Melford turned to Molly.

‘Is she dead do you think?'

‘How should I know?'

‘So what do we do?'

Molly turned back to Gregory.

‘Go back there, monkey, and see what you can find out.'

If Gregory resented being called a monkey he didn't show it.

‘How do you want it done?'

‘How the hell do I know? You're supposed to be the expert at that sort of thing. Use your judgement.'

Gregory lifted his hat carefully onto his head, turned and left.

‘It wasn't his fault, Molly. He was told just to keep an eye on things.'

‘Yes, and we both know which of his two blasted eyes he used.'

Melford shrugged. If she wanted to vent her spleen on Gregory, he didn't care much one way or the other. The door opened and Kitty came in.

‘I saw Gregory leaving. What did he say?'

‘Bentley went into Macleod's house, there were two pistol shots then Bentley came out again. The witless fool just let him walk in and then walk out.'

‘Two shots together or a gap between them?' Kitty looked at Molly and Melford in turn, but neither answered. ‘Stap me, did neither of you ask?'

Molly said nothing. Melford gave a small shrug of indifference.

‘Does it matter?'

‘Two shots together would both have come from Bentley. Two shots apart could mean someone must have heard Bentley's shot and taken a pop at him. It would be handy to know, I think, which it was.'

Molly and Melford remained silent. Both knew the question should have been asked.

‘Did you think to ask if Bentley was moving normally when he came out?'

Melford tried to regain some little ground.

‘Why do you ask that?'

‘Because unless he was carrying something with two barrels or a pepper-pot he'd only get one shot. A double barrel is a heavy piece to cart about and a pepper-pot is fine if you're almost in touching range, but useless even from even a small distance. My guess is Bentley only got one shot off. If I'm right, ask yourselves who the second shot came from?'

Molly answered.

‘Macleod.'

‘Yes, Macleod. And if he hit Bentley it would likely show in the way he moved.'

‘But why does it matter? If the first shot was Bentley's then Macleod was already too late.'

‘If Macleod was ready with a pistol by him then it means he was expecting something like this to happen. Bentley got his shot off, but if they were ready for him who's to say what he was shooting at, maybe no more than a bolster stuffed under the sheets. He used a masked lantern I suppose? He couldn't have gone in blind, he'd need to see what he was doing.'

Molly was beginning to regret her outburst against Gregory. Kitty was asking the right questions, the ones she should have asked but hadn't, and now she had no answers.

‘I don't know, I suppose he had a lantern.'

‘Mother of mercy, Molly, what's got into you? Other than Bentley getting in and out and two shots being fired, do you know anything?'

The reply was surly but honest.

‘No.'

Kitty stood up.

‘Then I'll go and get Gregory, bring him back and we'll see what else he knows. You sent him back to find out what he could, you managed that much?' Molly nodded. ‘Good. Now, we have two ways it can go. One, she's dead. If that's the way it is we have to take Macleod and hope she spilled what she knew to him. Two, she's not dead. If she's alive then Bentley's little outing has finished any chance of negotiating, so we'll have to croak Macleod. It's the only way we'll get her from him. While I'm out give your minds, such as they are, to working out what we do once we know the way things have gone.'

Having delivered her summary of the situation Kitty left them and went in pursuit of Gregory.

‘Well, Molly, I think we've both just had a good telling off by your maid.'

‘We have and we deserved it. I was a fool and you were a dummy. Well, forget that and let's do as she says and give some thought to what we do now.'

‘Which is?'

‘We make Macleod the mark. If she's alive we want him dead, if she's dead, we want him alive and somewhere we can put the squeeze on him. Either way we want him, and we'll have to look sharp and go careful. If he was ready for Bentley then I was right and he's not the booby you took him for.'

‘No, it seems I was wrong, though God knows why he chose to play such a part. And I confess I hadn't anticipated any such move from Bentley.'

‘No, nor I.'

‘Why did Bentley go for her though? If he wants her dead then that makes him with the French doesn't it?'

‘Perhaps. If the French think she knows anything they'll want her mouth stopped all right but I don't see how he could have been sent after her. He lives here. He's a respected citizen not somebody sent here to finish her off.'

‘True. But he's in this, we know that.'

‘Oh, he's involved all right, but I don't know how.'

‘Well, whoever he's working for, he seems to want her dead.'

‘Right, and if he missed tonight he might try again, so we have to move before he does. If she's not dead and Macleod put any kind of hole in Bentley we'll have had a mighty big slice of good fortune, and the way things are that's exactly what we need.'

Chapter Fifty-six

M
acleod was furiously busy all morning making preparations for their departure.

He left his house as soon as he knew the offices of his clients would be open. His first visit was to a feed and grain merchant. He stayed ten minutes, talked of nothing in particular, then left, leaving the feed and grain merchant extremely puzzled as to why he had called at all. His next call was on a client who sold farm machinery. He stayed a similar time as on his first visit and once again left the client with no clear idea of why Macleod had chosen to call on him. The third client was an importer-exporter in a substantial way of business. Here he stayed for nearly half an hour and left the client in no doubt whatsoever of what it was he wanted from him. He then went to his own offices and spent an hour giving detailed instructions to his clerk. Then, satisfied that all he could do was done, he returned home.

‘How long you have been, Jean. All the time you were gone I was terrified that someone would come.'

‘I'm sorry, Marie, I had to be sure no one could know what we were planning to do. If I was followed, all they will know is that I went to visit three of my clients and then spent some time at my office.'

Marie made no effort to hide her disappointment and frustration.

‘Mon Dieu, you visit clients? You go to your office? This is not time for business. You said we would go to Rome yet now you …'

‘It was not business, Marie. The third client I visited is a merchant who's building up his trade in the Mediterranean. He usually has a ship a week going out or coming in. There's one that leaves for Livorno early tomorrow and he's given us passage on it. I told my clerk to wait about half an hour after I left the office and then go to the docks and arrange things. Speed in this is vital. We have to get you away before …' but he decided not to finish the sentence. ‘As I say, speed is vital.'

‘Oh Jean, that is wonderful. When will we know our passage is secured?'

‘Soon I hope, very soon. Now you must go and pack whatever you will need for the voyage.'

‘Thank you, Jean. I am sorry I doubted you.'

‘No matter. My clerk will see that supplies, bedding and all other necessaries for the journey will be delivered on board. After that he will go to the bank, withdraw money and arrange for letters of credit. Then he will come to the house with a carriage. When he does we must be ready.'

‘But if they are watching?'

‘Let them. We shall be out of the house, into the carriage and off to the docks before they can do anything. I hardly think they will have enough men watching the house to mount a kidnapping in broad daylight on a busy street.' Macleod felt more than a little satisfied with himself. He had been quick and he had been clever. Bentley, Lord Melford and Madame de Metz may be the agents, the ones familiar with intrigue, but had they known what he had done, they would realise that he was not without resource himself. ‘Go now, Marie, and pack what you think you will need.'

Marie left and Macleod stood feeling a little deflated. He had done all that was necessary, now he could do nothing but wait.

He went to the table where his loading materials lay. He gathered them together into the weapons case from which he had laid them out and took them and the pistol to his room. He packed his clothes and other necessities into his trunk and laid the pistol and case carefully on top of his clothes. Having secured the trunk he carried it down the stairs, returned to the living room and waited.

About ten minutes later Marie returned.

‘I have packed a small box. I have put it by your trunk in the hall.'

‘You should have asked me to bring it down for you.'

‘No, I must not be a delicate thing, a doll. Now you need a woman by you. But there is something you can do for me.'

‘Name it.'

‘Would you come and pray with me by Amélie? I sat with her through the night, but now we must leave her here, without benefit of priest or proper burial. She served you faithfully for many years and last night she saved my life by giving her own. There is no way we can try to repay her now except by praying for her soul.'

‘Of course I'll pray with you.'

‘Thank you.'

They went up to Marie's room and both knelt down by the bed. They both crossed themselves and Marie began the words of a prayer which Macleod's mother had often used with him as a child when she took him to mass on Sundays. It was a prayer for the dead. He joined in and when he did Marie stopped and looked at him.

‘You know this prayer?' Macleod nodded. ‘Are you Catholic?'

‘Yes, though a bad Catholic these days, one who hasn't seen the inside of a church for many a year.'

‘Ever since your wife and child were killed when you were away in the army?'

‘Yes. How did you know?'

‘Amélie told me about how they died from British cannon fire. You had put them where you thought they would be safe but it was not so. They died. She told me of your grief and how it turned to hate for the British. We talked so much about you. She liked to talk about your childhood, your wife, your child. She cared for you very much, Jean.'

Macleod was silent for a moment.

‘I didn't realise.'

Marie was silent for a moment, then turned.

‘Must we leave her here like this? Could we not do something?'

‘No, to make any arrangements would be too dangerous.'

‘I see.'

Marie hung her head and Macleod forced himself to think.

‘But when we are safely on board our ship and ready to leave, I could send a note to my clerk telling him that Amélie is here and asking him to make whatever arrangements he can. To use his own judgement.'

‘A mass, a requiem?'

‘Amélie was shot, murdered. I cannot ask him to go beyond the law, but if he trusts me, if he is prepared to believe that I could never have …'

‘Of course he trusts you, Jean, as I trust you. He will take care of Amélie for your sake. Now we must pray for her soul. Until you can send your note it is all we can do.'

They began the prayer again and when it was finished they knelt in silence until their thoughts and prayers were interrupted by a ringing at the front door.

Macleod rose quickly.

‘Come, Marie, that will be my clerk with the carriage.'

The dry clerk stood smiling at the door, beyond him was a covered wagon.

‘You told me discretion was all in this matter, sir, so I used my judgement. Had I been followed then a carriage might have given a warning of what was afoot. But a wagon, sir, is no more than a wagon. Who would notice one more in the street?'

Macleod turned to Marie.

He was concerned that such a form of transport might create a repeat in her of his New Orleans experience. But Marie seemed quite unconcerned. She looked past him at the clerk.

‘Tell him to be quick, Jean, to load our luggage so we may be gone.'

But the clerk needed no interpretation.

‘Hi, driver, luggage here.'

And the carter climbed from his seat and began to manhandle the trunk and box into the wagon.

The clerk continued as the carter worked.

‘You and the lady can go straight to the docks and board at once. I've arranged that bedding and supplies be brought on board for you. I'm afraid it will not be a comfortable journey for the lady, but I did the best I could.'

Macleod turned to Marie.

‘Get your cloak and bonnet, we leave at once.' He turned to the clerk. ‘You have everything I asked for?'

The clerk handed him the small leather satchel he had been holding.

‘Yes, sir, all in here and just as you asked, money in gold and silver and letters of credit good at any bank in Europe.'

‘Well done. I'll get my cloak and hat and we'll be on our way.'

The driver, having loaded the luggage, resumed his seat as Marie came to the door wearing a cloak and bonnet. She allowed the clerk to assist her into the back of the wagon while Macleod pulled the front door of the house shut, locked it, then handed the key to the clerk.

‘Goodbye, sir, and good luck to you both. I'll be sure and look after things here.'

Macleod climbed up beside the carter and looked down at the clerk.

‘Thank you, you'll not find me ungrateful when I return, I promise you.'

‘Tush, tush, sir, no need for that. Now, off you go,' and he called across to the driver, ‘drive on. To the docks and make all the haste you can.'