Strange Capers (21 page)

I know we all cast our eyes out to sea when the turns in the road allowed us a sight of it. The moon shone silver on the calm waters. A very small stretch of shore was visible to us at any one time, and we had at least the reassurance of seeing that no French flat-bottomed boats were harbored directly below us. Every twist and bend of the road brought a new fear that they would come into sight. Our steps would speed up as we approached these corners, then slow down when we saw the empty shingle beach where the wet pebbles gleamed in the cold moonlight.

It was hard to walk in slippers designed for the saloon. I felt every stone and bump through the thin leather soles, and from time to time pebbles found their way inside my slippers to slow me down as well. After a few miles of travel, I had to stop to remove the stones from my slippers and to rest my legs. I went off to the side of the road and sat on a milestone. A blister had formed on my left heel, and I tried wadding my handkerchief up to use as protection. Strange how such a trivial exigency could exert itself above the much deeper terror of the invasion.

I drew a deep sigh and looked up at the hilltops to see that a series of stacks were ablaze now. The first fierce flames of the furze had long since burned out, and it was the more sluggish turf that burned on. The moving figures of the men at the fires looked like black shadows. They didn’t even have guns with which to defend themselves and the helpless citizens. I remembered that this was the night the guns were to have been delivered and felt a moment’s satisfaction that Aiglon’s plans had gone awry. But it was a short-lived satisfaction. He wouldn’t be shipping the guns to France because the French were here, around one of the dark bends in the road, waiting to pounce.

When I looked at the road, I realized that the crowd had passed me by. They were getting away from me, and I was on thorns to attach myself to whatever safety their numbers conferred. I tied my slipper and braced myself to rejoin the caravan. I took one step, then stopped. What was that noise? A tangle of bush grew at the side of the road, and from within its invisible depths issued a rustle. A Frenchie! They had spread out from their landing spot and were creeping about the countryside to murder us one by one. I froze, praying that he hadn’t seen me. There was another rustle, and I took to my heels. Not down the road—I’d have to run right past him to do that. No, I ran back, and when there was a break in the bush, I scampered up the hill toward the closest rick. At least there would be one or two Englishmen there to help protect me.

I looked over my shoulder once as I ran, but saw nothing. I didn’t tempt fate by stopping or by returning to the road. I scrambled up that hill like a mountain goat, digging into the earth with my fingers to keep my footing, for it was very steep. A sharp pain grew in my chest, but I forged on, clinging to roots and bushes and outcrops of rocks till I crested the hill.

When I reached the top, I realized that I had run to the largest rick. It was just outside of Folkestone, and it was the one that was to be lit to pass the signal down the coast. The Leas and the Church of St. Mary and St. Eanswith were just a few hundred yards beyond it. The militia would be gathered there, and I was as safe as anyone could be at such a time.

At any rate, I could see that the man stoking the fire was an English farmer in fustian and a battered cap. I didn’t stop but ran on, my feet dragging now, to the church. There stood Captain Cokewell with his ragtag and bobtail troop of militiamen formed into a marching group, armed with pikes and shovels and any old stick they could grab hold of. The townspeople hovered in a frightened half circle around their defenders. I asked the woman beside me what the militia was going to do, and she told me they had sent out runners and were waiting to hear in which direction they should march.

“Two of the runners have come back already, and it’s beginning to seem that it was all a false alarm,” she told me hopefully.

“How could such a thing happen?” I asked, yet I, too, felt a surge of hope that she was right.

“There’s whispering it was done as a prank by some young lads. They ought to be whipped if that’s what it is,” she said sternly.

“It’s hard to believe anyone would do such a thing!”

“It was none of our local boys, and that’s for certain,” she told me, emphasizing this with a nod of her head. “But there’s been a new young bunch of fellows from London hanging about the town lately. I expect that’s their idea of a romp, to go scaring the daylights out of honest women and children. That’s some fine example his lordship is setting, is all I have to say!”

“His lordship?” I asked, but I already had a good idea of what she’d reply.

“Aye, young Aiglon and his crew. I knew they were up to no good hanging about with Dougherty and that French madame of his. That’s who’s behind this fracas, see if it isn’t. And never a step will be taken to chastise them, either,” she added angrily.

My own first reaction was of rightful indignation like the woman I was talking to. It took a minute or more before the other possibility occurred to me. Aiglon had had the fires lit, all right, but it wasn’t just a harmless prank. He had done it for a purpose. It was a distraction to keep the militia busy while he absconded with the guns!

I flew forward and grabbed Captain Cokewell’s arm before timidity could prevent me, for it was hard to run out into the field in front of the assembled group and make a spectacle of myself.

“Not now, Miss Pethel,” the captain said, shaking off my arm.

“This is urgent. Desperately important! Don’t you see? Aiglon has done this to tie you up while he seizes the shipment of arms!” I told him.

“Good gracious, what put that in your head?” he asked, looking at me as though I were a moonling.

“This is the night they arrive!”

“No, no,
tomorrow
night, Miss Pethel.”

“I tell you it’s a trick! You’ve got to stop him.”

“My job is to stop Napoleon Bonaparte, miss, and I’d be grateful if you’d let me do it!” he hollered. He shook me off into the shadows in disgrace.

He didn’t believe me. And neither would anyone else. I was the only person in the whole town who knew what was happening at Lord Ware’s dock just a scant few miles away. There was a little bay there, which made that bit of the coast invisible from town. But what could I do? I didn’t even have a gun. And I didn’t have transportation, either.

That last necessity wasn’t impossible to overcome. There were any number of carriages and mounts gathered around the Leas. I edged to the back of the throng, aware of the curious eyes following me, but soon the crowd’s attention was diverted by the show Cokewell and his men were putting on. I stood quietly until no own was looking, and during this time I picked out my mount. There was a white mare tethered to a tree a little apart from the others. Best of all, there was a pistol wrapped in fustian and attached to the saddle. Several of the wagons had hunting guns in them, too, but a horse would be easier to get away on.

I eased myself toward the white mare, unfastened her line, and walked her off a few yards from the throng. No one seemed to notice. As soon as I got behind some trees, I pulled myself up into the saddle and took off. I wished I had Jeremy and Jake or some men with me, but there was no one I recognized or trusted. They were somewhere in that troop of Cokewell’s, impossible to get at. The mare didn’t like having an unknown rider and gave me some trouble at first, but I spoke gently to her until I was beyond hearing, then urged her on to a gallop.

When I reached the highway it was deserted. There wasn’t a soul on the road except me. I had the eerie sensation of being the last person alive in the world. I flew through the black night, with the white moon shining down on me, hastening to Lord Ware’s home. I recognized the perimeters of his land when I reached his spinney and took the short cut through it. Here the moonlight vanished, and I picked my way more slowly along the horse trail, listening for any unusual sounds.

Ware Castle soon rose up in the distance, a great gray stone giant brooding over the water. I saw lights in two of the upper windows before I could see the bottom part of the house. When I was close enough that I required more stealth, I dismounted and went forward on foot, not forgetting to unwrap the pistol and take it with me. There was a bare, unprotected area between the spinney and the house, which I traversed by hunching down low and running as fast as I could.

Soon I was in the home garden, with the rear wall of the castle before me. I wanted to go around to the front, which would give me a view of the sea and what was going forth there. I flattened myself against the wall, thankful for my gray gown which disappeared against the stone facade. I inched forward, ears cocked. Before I reached the front of the building, I heard stealthy sounds. There were a few words spoken in voices I didn’t recognize. I didn’t recognize the words, either, for they were in colloquial French. Any doubt that I had been mistaken in my fears now vanished. This was the time and the place where the guns were being sold to the French. There was only one more point to verify, and that was that Aiglon was a part of it.

I crept forward, inch by inch, till I could peek around the front of the castle. There was a whole line of huge crates there, and in the darkness of night, men were unloading heavy boxes and carrying them down to the wharf, with two men for each box. One box had its top removed, revealing guns packed in sawdust. At the wharf, Lord Ware’s old ship had a gangplank placed to allow easy loading of the cargo. I tried to count the number of men and lost track at eighteen. How was I ever to stop so many armed men? For they
were
armed. In fact, it was the duty of two husky brutes to do nothing but stand with pistols cocked, looking all around for intruders.

I recognized Mickey Dougherty. He stood just at the top of the gangplank directing the loaders where to stow the boxes. I looked around for Aiglon, praying he wouldn’t be there. There was the sound of a door opening, and suddenly two of the Frenchies turned toward the castle.
“C’est le patron, “
one of them said. I waited to see who would emerge as the chief of the operation. Would it—impossible thought—be Napoleon Bonaparte himself? The boots that strode down the steps had an arrogant, imperial sound to them. My heart beat like a drum in my throat during those interminable few seconds while I waited for le patron to show himself.

He strode boldly out into the white moonlight, and I recognized the unmistakable outline of Lord Aiglon. He rattled off some French. One of the French guards darted away and returned with their leader. The man in charge of the French part of the expedition carried something in his hand, some sort of bag. He delved into it with his other hand, and came out with a fistful of golden coins. They poured from his fingers like rain to be caught in Aiglon’s outspread hands. Fury burned in my throat. And still I had not come up with a reasonable means of stopping this despicable treachery.

Lights were called for. Aiglon examined the coins, hefted them, rubbed his fingers over their surface to be sure he wasn’t receiving counterfeit. At last he appeared to be satisfied and called for
“le vin pour tout e monde. “
Right there, in front of Lord Ware’s castle, wineglasses were distributed and wine poured.

Mickey Dougherty wasn’t likely to pass up a glass of wine and came running to join the party. “Let’s not dally with this, Aiglon. Get them shoved away from shore
aussit
ô
t que possible,
and all that,” Mickey advised.

“You underestimate me, Mick. The burning stacks will keep the town and Cokewell entertained for several hours. Best to leave nothing to chance,” Aiglon replied, as calmly as though he were in a polite saloon. He even proposed a toast in French.

And still I didn’t see my way clear to tackling so many men. I thought if I could get either Aiglon or the French leader at my gun’s point, the others might do as they were told, but I was by no means sure of it. The cowardly thought occurred that I could always have the English half of this team arrested after the French had escaped and at least bring them to justice. But then those crucial guns, which were needed here, would be off to France to arm Boney’s waiting soldiers. No, I had to do something now before the arms left in that boat.

It was either desperation or lunacy or both that propelled me from the shadows. No one noticed me as I glided forth. I advanced a few steps and drew a target on Lord Aiglon’s chest. And then I didn’t know what to say. The most frightening words I knew were those spoken by highwaymen, so I said, “Stand and deliver.” My voice shook, but my gun held fairly steady.

A shocked silence settled over the men. They looked at each other, then to their respective leaders for orders. It was Mickey who recognized me.

He uttered some unrepeatable curses, ending in the words, “By God, it’s Constance Pethel!”

Aiglon didn’t say a word. He peered through the shadows, trying to determine whether it was indeed me. The moon shone full on his face, turning it a ghastly white. He looked like a statue dressed up in a topcoat and breeches. I was so busy staring at him that I missed what the others were doing. I didn’t realize that part of the tableau had come to life, that the French
patron
had drawn his pistol and cocked it. I just saw Aiglon’s arm fly out, and later thought that he was trying to deflect the bullet’s direction. I saw a flash of orange from the Frenchman’s gun, heard a deafening roar, and jumped back. My head hit the corner of the stone castle, and I was momentarily stunned by the impact.

When I opened my eyes, I was lying flat on the ground, being examined for bullet wounds by Aiglon, who was cursing a blue streak. I sat up and saw that Mickey was harrying the Frenchies aboard. I had failed. My head reeled with the shock of sitting up. Blue and purple wheels spun in crazy circles, bright yellow spears flashed in between, and somewhere in the dim background was the creak of sails being raised and their direction taken. As it was too late to do more, and as I had failed so miserably, dying seemed like a good idea. I closed my eyes and tried to die, but my ears went on tending to business. They recognized the sound of Mickey’s voice.