Letter from a Dead Man Page 33

  ‘Found what?’ I asked quietly, when he failed to go on.

  He looked up at me, almost as if he’d forgotten my presence, and taking something from his pocket, threw it on the table. ‘That,’ he denounced in a mixture of loathing and despair.

  I picked up the folded paper, and opened it to find a large detailed map of the Isle of Wight with a good deal of writing on it. All in French. Certain coastal areas were marked out, including I was horrified to see, Dittistone, Hokewell Bay and Luckton.

  ‘This is an invasion plan,’ I gasped, for it didn’t take much intelligence to see these were landing areas.

  Far from denying it Vincent took another large gulp of brandy. It was obvious Piers approved of the aims of the French Revolutionaries, but I had not thought him actively involved. To find he meant to assist the French to march across our Island, killing, burning, plundering - well, it turned my stomach. I studied the map again, learning little more, my French being too poor. But much else became clear to me.

  ‘Piers explored the Island to discover what defences we had,’ I said, ‘and the best beaches to land an invasion force.’ That was why he’d tested the sand at Hokewell bay with that long stick. ‘And he’d questioned the local fishermen about their welfare hoping they’d assist an invasion.’ Furious, I burst out, ‘Piers only came here to spy for the French.’

  Bowing his head in shame, Vincent said, ‘When I saw that map I called Giles at once. Mr Reevers, hearing my distress, came too. They were as shocked as I.’ He drained his glass. ‘My son is a traitor, ma’am. You cannot imagine how I feel.’

  ‘Do you think the French mean to invade tonight?’

  He looked at me, almost as if it didn’t matter. ‘Giles found a screwed up note on the floor, written in French, telling Piers to be at Dittistone Bay at eight tonight. We rode like the wind, but it was almost nine when we arrived, and the place was deserted.’ I glanced at the clock; it was well past ten now. If there had been an invasion we would know about it by now. Vincent’s thoughts, however, were elsewhere. ‘I pray Piers will be found before he does anything further to shame me. To think that my own son could betray our country------’

  Frankly I didn’t think the message had any connection with a possible invasion. That an invasion was being considered, I did not doubt, but it wouldn’t come tonight. The message was related to something else that was meant to happen tonight; something I could have prevented if Giles hadn’t locked me in the boathouse.

  Vincent rose unsteadily to his feet, crossing to the sideboard to refill his glass. While his back was turned, I quietly left the room, and a few minutes later I rode out of the stable yard, heading for the coast.

  It was a particularly dark night, no moon or stars, and there being little wind, the sea was calm. Riding between Dittistone and Hokewell, I saw no signs of smugglers, no lights flashing on shore signalling it was safe to land, and if there were boats waiting off shore, it was too dark to see them. Nor did I find Giles, but I had not expected to now. I already knew I was too late.

  I had planned to follow Giles when he left Ledstone, obtain the evidence needed to satisfy a jury, and thus stop him adding to the family deaths.

  But Giles had made his own plans, and he never left anything to chance. Fearing I was still involving myself in his affairs, despite warning me to keep out of it, he’d made sure I couldn’t interfere. He guessed I would be prepared for a third attempt on my life, but perhaps not for a simple trick designed merely to remove me from the scene. And how right he had been. That possibility had not crossed my mind.

  On reaching Hokewell I found Mudd and Leatherbarrow talking to Thorpe, the Riding officer. Thorpe informed me four of his men patrolling the coast from Dittistone to Hokewell had gone missing a couple of hours ago.

  ‘I’ve just found them ma’am, in a ditch, trussed up like chickens.’

  I groaned inwardly. ‘What, all of them?’

  ‘They were patrolling in pairs, some distance apart, and were pulled off their horses by a gang of French smugglers who attacked them with clubs.’

  I swallowed hard. ‘When was this?’

  ‘Some time between eight and nine.’ When Mudd and I were still incarcerated in that wretched boathouse.

  Leaving Thorpe to continue his duties, the two grooms and I carried on searching for Giles, but it was too dark to see anything, and eventually we went back to Ledstone, where I hoped Giles, Mr Reevers, or Piers might have returned. I was not surprised to find none of them had.

  At my behest, Leatherbarrow gathered all the Ledstone grooms together outside the stables, where I explained the situation to them in simple terms, and immediately despatched them with messages asking the local gentry to assist with a thorough search at first light. After which I went back into the house, and found Vincent sitting where I had left him hours before.

  The brandy decanter was now almost empty. The branch of candles on the table flickered in the draught of the open door, and the fire had all but gone out. Vincent had removed his coat despite the chilliness of the room. He looked up at me in a decidedly befuddled fashion, and remembering his manners, tried to rise. Swaying, he put his hands on the table to steady himself, attempted a bow, hiccupped, and slumped back into the chair. Lifting a hand, he slurred a greeting, added something to the effect that I ought not to be there, raised his glass to me, and in doing so, spilt brandy down his shirt front. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. Vincent swallowed what liquid remained in the glass in one gulp, and his eyes began to glaze over.

  Aware I would not get any sense out of him tonight, I was about to leave when I saw the invasion plan and the note to Piers, still on the table. I don’t think he noticed when I picked them up and slipped them in my pocket. Even if he had, I thought, he wouldn’t remember it in the morning. Then, without a word, I turned and left the room.

  Out in the hall I found the butler hovering. ‘Parker, has Mr Vincent been in the drawing room since I left?’

  ‘Yes, my lady. I didn’t hear you come back, or I would have warned you he wasn’t in a fit state to----’

  ‘That’s all right, Parker. As long as he hasn’t informed Mrs Saxborough that Mr Giles is missing.’ I didn’t need to explain why it was better to keep her in ignorance of that fact. Parker, who had been at Ledstone Place some thirty years, understood all too well. She would have to be told sometime, but I could at least spare her one night of anguish.

  Parker said, ‘Mrs Saxborough retired early tonight to recruit her strength for the wedding tomorrow.’ His face was lined with anxiety, but he didn’t ask if the wedding would still go ahead. His fears were far more fundamental. ‘I keep thinking of Mr Thomas and Master Tom my lady, and well - what I mean is - do you think Mr Giles is – is he still alive?’

  I answered him truthfully. ‘I’m quite sure he is, Parker.’

  Thankfully, Marguerite’s ability to sleep through any disturbance meant I did not have to face her tonight. But Lucie would have to be told. When I returned to Westfleet, however, I found everyone, except my uncle, had retired for the night. Glancing at the clock, I saw why. It was already past two. My uncle had waited up for me and fallen asleep in a chair in the drawing room. Quietly, I put more logs on the fire to keep the room warm, tiptoed out and crossed the hall to the library.

  Having lit some candles, I rekindled the fire here too, for it was a cold night, and I had things to do. Watching a flicker of flame taking hold, I thought of what would happen at daybreak. Of the Island gentry, snug in their beds at this hour, who would arrive at Ledstone Place at first light to begin the search. I could picture them now, gathering in the stable yard, sombre-faced, stamping their feet in the chill early morning air, their breath mingling with that of their horses, speaking in hushed tones of old Cuthbert Saxborough, who had taken a tumble from his horse, and how they had always suspected there was something fishy about it.

  Then Thomas and young Tom had been murdered, but had the Frenchies really been responsible, like everyone said
? Now Giles had disappeared on the eve of his wedding. There would be much sighing and muttering of what was the world coming to, as they speculated on who was behind it. But I was ready to swear that not one of them would come close to guessing the truth.

  Once the fire was ablaze, I took the invasion plan and the note to Piers from my pocket. Locking the note in my writing desk, I spread out the map on the library table, holding the corners down with heavy books. Placing the branch of candles beside it, I tried to translate the written detail. Although I could read French better than I could speak it, many of the words were beyond me.

  When the library clock chimed three, the wind began to pick up a little, stirring the leaves that always collected in one particular corner outside the window. I looked out to see if the weather had changed, but an overcast sky still obscured the moon.

  Returning to the plan, I saw, thanks to the French words for infantry and artillery being similar to our own, that the proposed invasion force included twentyfour battalions of the former, and eight companies of the latter. I didn’t know how many men that signified, but I took it to be a considerable number. I soon gave up struggling with the language though, and went to wake my uncle. He was the person I needed here.

  When he opened his eyes and saw me smiling down at him, he murmured, ‘Thank heavens you’re safe, Drusilla. You must have been very late home.’

  ‘I was.’ I told him what had happened at Ledstone, but did not mention the boathouse episode at that time.

  His eyes were full of anxiety. ‘Is anyone out looking for Giles?’ I shook my head, explaining a search was planned at first light, and asked him to look at the invasion plan. Following me into the library, he studied the plan carefully, and whispered aghast, ‘Vincent found this in his son’s room?’

  I nodded. ‘If you remember, the sketches Piers made of the beaches included every rock he could see.’

  ‘To aid the French with their landings,’ he muttered in disbelief. ‘How must Vincent feel, knowing his only son is a French spy?’

  ‘He seemed to feel it deeply. In fact he was drowning his sorrows when I left him.’

  He looked down at the plan again, his face grave. ‘Have you worked out what it says, Drusilla?’

  I shook my head. ‘That’s why I woke you.’ I told him the few fragments I had made out. ‘But what does this mean?’ I said, pointing to the first words I’d puzzled over. ‘Whatever they are, there’s two hundred of them.’

  ‘Oyster ketches,’ he said. ‘They have very shallow draughts. Perfect for landing on a beach.’ He studied the written details, translating as he went along. ‘French warships will protect the fleet, with smugglers who know the Island directing the force to their landing places.’ And he exclaimed, ‘Well of all the nerve - once they’ve captured the Island, they will send the most influential inhabitants to France as hostages. Anyone not needed to work the land or build their fortifications will be transported to the mainland. Their dragoons, it seems, will bring their own saddles, bridles and pistols, but use Island horses.’

  ‘I’d shoot mine first.’

  He gave another gasp. ‘Drusilla, this monstrous thing is planned for next month.’

  We looked at each other in horror, and I asked, ‘Does it explain how they intend to capture the Island?’

  ‘Oh yes, it’s all here. Good God, they mean to land at Dittistone, Hokewell and Luckton.’ He read on again and muttered, ‘Damned cheek. Oh, I beg your pardon Drusilla, but it seems they expect little or no resistance, and to capture the Island in a single day. After which they’ll load fifty ships with huge boulders and sink them in a manner that will force all our ships to use the narrow Needles channel—’

  ‘Where there are shoals and sandbanks, and dangerous tides and currents,’ I put in. ‘They know what they’re doing, Uncle.’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Once Gosport is captured, they’ll bombard Portsmouth dockyard until it’s totally destroyed.’ He straightened up saying, ‘There’s a good deal more, but that’s the main gist of it.’ And he looked at me. ‘Mr Pitt must be informed at once. If we take this to the Governor of the Island—’

  ‘That’s what I had in mind. I’ll see Mr Orde has it later this morning. For the time being it should be safe enough in my desk.’ And I locked it in the secret drawer. ‘First, I must look for Giles,’ I ended in a choking voice.

  Putting his hand on mine, he murmured compassionately, ‘My dear, that’s no task for a woman.’

  ‘He must be found Uncle, and I cannot sit here doing nothing. I should go mad.’

  He walked across to the fire and stood, one foot on the fender, gazing into the smouldering embers. After a moment, he said, ‘You’ll take Mudd with you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Which left my uncle with the appalling task of breaking the bad news to my aunt and cousin when they woke up, for there was nothing to be gained by rousing them any earlier. My heart went out to Lucie, who instead of waking to the happiest day of her life, would have to be told Giles had disappeared. As for how my godmother would react, I could not bear to think of it. And if it came to a public trial------------- Resolutely I pushed such awful thoughts from my mind. It was imperative that I kept a clear head.

  CHAPTER THIRTYSIX

  This being the day of the wedding, much of the household was up earlier than usual. Wanting to be away at first light, I rang for hot water to be brought to my bedchamber. I washed, changed my clothes, and felt a little better. Looking out the window, I saw the faintest suggestion of light on the horizon. Going back downstairs, I found Jeffel in the hall, and asked him to come into the library, where I explained briefly what had happened overnight, and that I was joining the search for Giles. I told him my uncle and cousin would go to Ledstone to be with Mrs Saxborough, but I didn’t know what my aunt would do, in view of our guests.

  ‘If she does go Jeffel, you will be in charge of the house.’

  He bowed. ‘Very good, my lady.’

  ‘Look to the needs of our guests, and do whatever you think necessary.’

  He nodded. ‘Don’t you worry about the house, my lady. I can see to it all.’

  ‘I know that Jeffel,’ I said, forcing a smile. ‘In fact I don’t know what I would do without you.’

  His cheeks grew a little pink, but all he said was, ‘Do take care, my lady.’ And noticing I’d left my pistol on the table, he pointed it out to me.

  Picking it up, I put it in my pocket. ‘If there’s any news, I’ll send word at once.’

  ‘Thank you, my lady.’

  I realised, as I walked down to the stables, that Jeffel had not asked for specific instructions on the wedding arrangements, or the food for the wedding breakfast. If by some extraordinary chance the wedding went ahead, I realised I would find the arrangements in order. If it did not, he knew it would not matter. Such welcome common sense left me free to concentrate on what was important.

  Mudd had the horses saddled ready, and as the first grey light appeared we rode out towards Westfleet village. The morning air was cold, the overnight clouds having finally given way to clear skies. As we trotted past the church where the wedding was due to take place later that morning, I found myself thinking, incongruously, of the brandy hidden in the tomb, and of the nervous sexton. And his concern that Mr Arnold might find it. He couldn’t know that Mr Arnold had something far more important to do.

  To Mudd, I said, ‘We’ll start at Hokewell and work along the bay.’ If there was anything to be found, I was sure it would be along this coast. Men were already making their way out into the fields as we cantered down the road, and those we passed touched their forelocks. On reaching the bay, we rode slowly along the cliff top in the direction of Dittistone, where in the growing light, I could just make out the magnificent chalk cliffs.

  Shrieking gulls wheeled and dived overhead, the morning dew clung precariously to the short, springy downland grass, and unconsciously I filled my lungs with the sea air, the familiar taste of salt on
my lips. A light breeze had sprung up, billowing out the sails of the vessels at sea as they went about their business. I saw a number of fishing boats, a man o’ war, and one of Mr Arnold’s smaller revenue boats, though there was no sign of the cutter, ‘Swan III.’

  The tide was coming in, and would soon cover the sand. Up on Hokewell Down, flocks of sheep grazed, and looking behind me I saw the sun just beginning to edge over the eastern horizon. Lucie, like all brides, had so hoped the sun would shine on her wedding day. At first, where the cliffs were quite low, it was easy enough to look down onto the beach, but as the land rose higher in the great sweep of the bay, it became difficult, at least on horseback, to see into some of the deeper crevices. Mudd dismounted in order to search them, while I took the reins of his horse, and in this manner we progressed slowly along the cliff top, until the long stretch of beach that led to the Hokewell chine came fully into view. When, suddenly, Mudd stopped dead in his tracks.

  ‘What is it?’ I hissed, my heart pounding. He neither answered, nor moved, but just stood staring straight ahead. I urged Orlando nearer the cliff edge, bringing the whole beach into view. And saw for myself.

  There was a body on the beach. A man in riding breeches and a green coat, who lay face down in the wet sand. Even from the cliff top, I could not mistake the Saxborough blond hair. Orlando, sensing my tension, shook his head restlessly. While I, like Mudd, just stared. I tried to speak, but found I could not.

  I start to shake, and aware of a roaring in my ears, imagined it to be the sound of the sea, for I had no idea I was actually holding my breath, and close to fainting. I wondered, vaguely, why the waves still moved, when I could not. I sat in the saddle, motionless, gazing fixedly at the body, my mind refusing to comprehend.

  I saw, but did not believe, could not believe, that Giles, one of my dearest friends, who had survived childhood against all the odds, who had risked his life to rescue my uncle from a French prison, was now dead. Yet, in the same instant, I knew I had to believe it. And that, somehow, I must also endure it. For there was no other choice.