Drums of War (20 page)

'Thank
you,' said Daniel. 'I'm very grateful. You've been a true friend, Ronan.'

'Oh,
I'm not doing it for your sake, Dan. It's for my own benefit. I want my wife to
stop asking what you're all doing here and whether or not you'll bring the
police down on us. I'll be glad to wave you off,' he teased. 'As long as you
leave Amalia behind,' he added, wickedly. 'She can work beside me at the
bakery. I'll teach the little darling how to make bread - among other things,
that is.'

While
she was pleased to leave the Flynn house, Amalia was not entirely happy in the
tavern that Daniel had found for them. It guaranteed their anonymity but they
were no longer enjoying the hospitality of friends. Kees Dopff was patient and
undemanding, quite content to spend the day guarding the tapestry or taking a
walk near the river. Beatrix, however, was less able to cope with the waiting.

'The
police are still looking for us, aren't they?' she asked.

'I
expect that they are,' said Amalia.

'They're
bound to find us one day and then what will happen?'

'Try
not to think about that.'

'I
can't help thinking about it, Miss Amalia.'

'Captain
Rawson has a plan.'

'How
can he get all of us out of Paris?'

'I
don't know, Beatrix, but I believe that he can.'

'Why
does he keep leaving us alone like this?'

'I'm
sure there's a good reason,' said Amalia. 'All that we can do is to watch and
pray.'

'Oh,
I've been praying every hour of the day,' confessed the servant. 'I've been
praying that we all get safely back to Amsterdam but that's like asking for a
miracle.'

They
were still at the tavern. Though Amalia tried valiantly to still Beatrix's
doubts, she still had several of her own but she didn't voice them in case she
turned the servant's fears into complete panic. When Daniel finally called on
them that afternoon,

Amalia
wanted to fling herself into his arms in gratitude but Beatrix's presence
deterred her. Sensing the taut atmosphere, Daniel managed to reassure the older
woman a little before asking her to leave them alone so that they could have a
private conversation. As soon as the door closed behind the servant, Amalia
gave vent to her feelings, taking Daniel by both hands and imploring him to
tell her where he'd been.

'I've
been searching for a boat,' he explained.

She
was perplexed. 'A boat?'

'I
want you to leave the city by river.'

'What
about Father?'

'God
willing, he may be able to quit Paris at the same time.'

'How
will you get him out of the Bastille?'

'I
think I may have found a way,' said Daniel. 'First, however, I need you to
describe him to me.'

'Why
do you want me to do that, Daniel?'

'I
need to know how old he is, how tall, how fat or how thin. Tell me everything,
Amalia. I have to be able to recognise him at a glance.'

'There's
a chance that you'll
see
him, then?' she said, excitedly.

'I
hope so. Your father's being held in one of the towers at the Bastille.
Prisoners get far better treatment there. It's likely that he's still in good
health.'

'Thank
goodness!' she exclaimed.

'Tell
me what he looks like.'

Amalia
gave a detailed description of her father and there was a mingled respect and
affection in her voice. Since her mother's early death, she'd been brought up
almost exclusively by Emanuel Janssen and the bond between them was very
strong. Daniel was interested to hear that the tapestry-maker was stout,
bearded, in his fifties and of medium height. The plan forming in his mind took
on more definition.

'Do
you have any idea when we might leave?' she asked.

'It
could be as soon as tomorrow or as late as next week.'

Her
face crumpled. 'Next
week?

'I
have to seize the moment when it comes, Amalia,' he said. 'It will depend on a
number of things over which I have no control.'

'The
longer we stay, the more worried everyone becomes.'

'I
could see that Beatrix is suffering badly.'

'Unless
we leave soon, Daniel, she'll vex herself to death.'

'I
said this to you when we first met and I must say it again. You must all be
ready to leave at a moment's notice. In your case, Amalia,' he said, feasting
his eyes on her face, 'you must disguise yourself in some way.'

'Why
must I do that?'

'Everyone
guarding the exits to the city will have been furnished with a description of a
beautiful young lady with fair hair and blue eyes. If you're seen looking like
that,' he went on, 'you'll be recognised at once. There'll be guards on the
river as well as at the gates.'

'What
about my passport, Daniel? It bears my name.'

'His
Grace thought about that in advance. The Duke of Marlborough always looks ahead
for possible difficulties. It's the secret behind all our victories in the
field. I not only travelled with a forged passport for myself - as Marcel Daron
— but I've brought papers for you and the others.'

'Does
that include Father?'

Daniel
grinned. 'We can hardly leave him behind.'

'Oh,
you've done so much for us, Daniel,' she said, taking him by the arms. 'I can't
believe that anyone else would have gone to such lengths to help us.'

'I'm
simply obeying orders.'

'But
they could arrest you at any minute.'

'They
could, Amalia,' he agreed, cheerfully, 'but they'll have to catch me first and
I'm determined not to be caught. That's why I chose the perfect hiding place.'

'And
where's that?'

'It's
inside the Bastille.'

Henry
Welbeck's voice had developed over the years into something akin to the boom of
a cannon gun. It had a volume and intensity that compelled his soldiers to
listen even as it threatened to burst their eardrums. Drilling his men that
afternoon, he yelled out his orders and excoriated anyone who failed to obey
them correctly. After the criticism received from Major Cracknell, he paid
especial attention to the alignment of his men, keeping them in serried ranks
that were perfectly symmetrical. The sergeant didn't notice anyone watching him
until the drill was over. Out of the corner of his eye, he then caught sight of
a figure standing beneath a tree. It was not the fault-finding major this time.
It was a potato-faced drummer boy. The youth took time to pluck up enough
courage to approach Welbeck. All that he got by way of a greeting was a
bellicose question.

'What
do you want, lad?'

'I'd
like to speak to you, Sergeant.'

'Who
are you?'

'Private
Dobbs, sir. I'm a drummer.'

'Then
why aren't you practising with your drumsticks? You've no need to be in this
part of the camp at all.'

'I
needed to tell you something,' said Dobbs.

'Well,
speak your mind then bugger off.'

'First
of all, you ought to know that he didn't send me. In fact, if he knew I was
here, he'd probably punch me on the nose.'

'It
might improve your appearance,' said Welbeck.

'I
came of my own accord. Tom would never come himself.'

'Tom?'

'Your
nephew, Sergeant.'

'I
don't
have
a nephew in this regiment.'

'He
said you'd deny it.'

Welbeck
checked himself from making a sharp retort. He could see that Dobbs was already
in a state of trepidation. It was unfair to rebuke someone who was acting out
of simple friendship. He'd already worked out that the youth must be the same
Hugh Dobbs who'd tormented Tom Hillier on his arrival and had taken a beating
as a consequence. Clearly, they had now settled their differences.

'I
don't like people who run to me with tales,' warned Welbeck.

'I
know, Sergeant, and I've never done this before - not even on my own account.
When I joined this regiment,' said Dobbs, 'the other drummers had great sport
with me. It's what any new recruit must expect. One day, they stripped me naked
and threw me into a patch of nettles. It stung for weeks but I never thought to
report it.'

'I'm
not interested in your memoirs, Dobbs.'

'No,
sir, and nor should you be. Tom is different, though.'

'Private
Hillier's affairs are nothing to do with me.'

'That's
what he told me.'

"Then
why didn't you have the sense to listen to him?'

'I
worry about him,' said Dobbs, earnestly. 'I know what it's like to fall foul of
a sergeant. I did it myself once. When it's an officer, it's far worse. He can
grind you into the dust.'

'What
are you talking about?'

'His
name is Major Cracknell.'

'Be
very careful what you say, lad,' Welbeck cautioned. 'You're not in the army to
question any decision made by an officer. Your duty is to obey. If you have
grudges, you keep them to yourself.'

'This
is more than a grudge, Sergeant.'

Welbeck
held back the expletive that jumped to his lips. If anyone from the ranks came
to him with a complaint, they usually received short shrift. He told soldiers
that they had to address their own problems and not turn to him like a child
running to its father. When disagreements between the men spilt over into
violence, the sergeant invariably banged heads together, telling the disputants
that they had to learn to get along. Facing this new situation, however, he was
torn between involvement and indifference, wanting to know the details yet
needing to remain detached from it all. After minutes of pondering, he reached
a decision.

'What
happened?' he asked.

Dobbs
told him about the way that they'd been caught by Major Cracknell and about the
punishment meted out to Hillier. There had been a second incident on the same
day when the major found a spurious excuse to subject the drummer to further
punishment. On that occasion, Hillier had been made to run in a wide circle
with a heavy pack on his back. Dobbs talked about the ugly red weals, left on
his friend's shoulders by the straps.

'It
started all over again this morning,' Dobbs continued. "The major singled
out Tom again and made him—'

'That's
enough!' snapped Welbeck, interrupting him. 'I want no more of this whining.
This regiment is full of people with grudges against certain officers and
they're almost always without any foundation. I suggest that you do as Private
Hillier seems to be doing and that's to keep your mouth firmly shut.'

'I
thought you'd like to know.'

'Then
you were badly mistaken, lad.'

Dobbs
was crushed. 'Yes, Sergeant,' he mumbled.

'Don't
bring any more of these silly stories to me.'

'No,
Sergeant.'

'Be
off with you!'

Wounded
by the rebuff, Dobbs scampered off. Welbeck looked after him and was grateful
that his nephew had such a good friend. He was impressed that Tom Hillier had
taken his punishment without feeling the need to complain and was struck by
something else as well. It was evident that Dobbs knew nothing of the warning
that the sergeant had issued to Hillier about Major Cracknell. The drummer had
kept it to himself. That pleased Welbeck. Where an officer was concerned,
however, the sergeant was powerless to intervene. If he so wished, a major
could beat someone from the ranks black and blue without even needing an excuse
to do so. Hillier was in grave danger.

His
third night as a turnkey at the Bastille followed the same dreary pattern as
the others except that, on this occasion, Rivot unloaded more of the drudgery
on to Daniel. Now that the new man was familiar with the routine, Rivot kept
sneaking off for short, unscheduled rests. This allowed Daniel to be more
generous with the distribution of water and to converse with some of the
prisoners. Those who stirred from their straw to come to the door were
extremely grateful for what they saw as a concession. When Rivot was on duty,
they had virtually no human contact. Suddenly, they had a friend who showed
interest in them. Daniel was astonished to learn that one of the ragged inmates
had once been a member of the
Parlement.

'How
did you end up here?' asked Daniel.

'I
spoke my mind,' replied the man.

'How
long have you been imprisoned?'

'Over
two years.'

'When
will you be released?'

The
prisoner gave a hollow laugh. 'There's no talk of release down here. I'm locked
up for having the courage of my convictions. And I'd do the same again,' he
went on with a battered dignity. 'If I see corruption in government, I have to
speak out.'