The moonless night, p.17
The Moonless Night, page 17
They did not return, in fact, till nearly dinner time. David entered smiling to tell her, “Sanford took us out for a spin on his Seadog. By God, she’s a lovely craft, Marie. You should have been there. Could outdistance the Fury easily. We must convince him to bring her back here. What a boon she’d be to our fleet.”
“Benson went to see Madame Monet,” she told him.
“Did he, by Jove? So that’s where he was off to, and not breathing a word of it to me. He’s too close by half. Sanford has got the cleverest setup on his yacht. Luxurious as any saloon I’ve ever been in. Even a fireplace in it, sort of a blue-looking marble or something. Imagine! She sleeps a dozen.”
“I don’t see why he should have gone there. Rawlins is already making up to her to find out what she knows.”
“No harm for Ev to get to know her as well. I think it was lapis something or other, the fireplace. Very valuable. Sanford was saying he means to sail her to Wight after Boney is sent away, and asked me to go along with him. Now that was downright civil of him, considering that I’ve hardly said more than good day to him since he got here.”
“It seems to me everyone is making a great deal too much of Madame Monet. I can’t think she has anything to do with the affair at all. She’s only here to find a husband.”
“Best not to take any chances. He let me crew on the main sail, and says I have a good knack for it. I’ve never handled such a big ship before. Jove, but I wish Papa would set up a rig like that.”
There was clearly no consolation to be gained from David, and in a snit Marie said, “You are getting on mighty close terms with Cicero!”
“Eh? Oh, you’re talking about the brass buttons. All a hum. It was a uniform I saw, and not a lounging jacket. That’s what he calls it, a lounging jacket. He is giving me a pattern for it. All the crack, but I think I’ll have mine made up in dark green. Sanford is sorry he didn’t get green. Sanford didn’t get here till after three the night he arrived, and it was at one I heard the men talking below my window, so it must have been an officer, all right. Sanford is only here to try to stop anyone from freeing Boney, same as we are doing ourselves. Said so. He’s really not so toplofty once you get to know him a little. I think we ought to join forces with him. The more heads we can get together, the better. Only he don’t like Benson much, and didn’t think it such a hot idea for us to include him. Clever of him to get to work on Monet. He beat us all out in figuring how to get around her. Took Rawlins a week to tumble to it. Sanford saw right off the bat the likes of her was to be cozened by a spot of romance. He says she... Oh, but I wasn’t supposed to mention that.”
“What?” she demanded sharply.
“Nothing to the point. It’s only about her lovemaking. We’re inviting her to the ball. Sanford thinks it’s a good idea. I may have a go at her myself.”
“We are not inviting that hussy to Bolt Hall!” she shouted, so incensed that she was sidetracked from discovering Madame’s secrets in the arts of dalliance.
“Sanford’s already done it, and she’s accepted, too.”
“Without asking me and Biddy if he might!”
“He told Papa.”
“Told him!”
“Asked him, I mean.”
The ball, so looked forward to as a social triumph by Marie, withered to dust before her eyes. “I suppose she will open the ball, too!” she demanded.
“No, how should she? She has no social standing here. It will be Sanford who opens it, be stuck to stand up with you, very likely. Only fitting. Well, I must wash up for dinner. Gad, but I’m starved. There is nothing like a good sail to whet the appetite. Sanford says before he leaves we’ll go out for a whole day, and he’s got a chef aboard, and a whole galley that can serve a hot meal, and even a bit of a wine cellar, with champagne.”
Marie’s spirits sank to see how David’s reason had been perverted by a schooner larger than Fury, and a wine cellar. But it was not only Sanford’s yacht that had won him. Benson was not confiding in him as he ought. To be sitting up at the Point reading the signal flags, that often didn’t change once in three or four hours, was no fitting work for a spy. Benson had bungled the retrieving of the message the night before, while Sanford, wide awake, had got it and turned it over to the proper authorities. Not an inch of headway had Benson made in finding the all-important gold. David was toying with the idea of telling Sanford about the gold, and seeing what he suggested. Of course, he must let Benson know what they found out, but really Benson was not at all as wide-awake as a spy ought to be.
He asked Benson, when he returned just before dinner, “Anything turn up today?”
Benson said vaguely that he had heard some rumors at the quay about some aborted attempt to save Boney, but in the end it had been only the local moonling, with his lobster boat and a rope three yards long, and it was just a joke. Not a word about his having visited Madame Monet! No confidences shared. Benson had wasted his afternoon discussing Jed Sykes, the town’s moonling, who had been bragging from Day One that he meant to rescue Boney, as he was his half brother. He was so disgusted he didn’t tell Benson about Sanford turning the message over to the authorities, though he did wonder when he had done it, as he hadn’t left Bolt Hall except to go to Sinclair’s place. Must have mailed it off to London, he supposed.
Chapter 14
Immediately dinner was over David began looking from Benson to Sanford, wondering which to approach with regard to looking for gold. “I have to run over and see Mr. Hazy,” Sanford said. “I am anxious to hear what he thinks of public reaction to Capell Lofft’s letter. The Chronicle announces it has had more than a hundred letters supporting it.”
“That’s not many out of the whole population,” Sir Henry pointed out. “I had three hundred petition signers for his execution.”
“True, but then Capell Lofft did not petition—his supporters are voluntary,” Sanford parried.
Almost any other visit mentioned would have elicited an offer from David to accompany him, but the Hazy residence was off limits to him. Papa had let Marie go, but a girl on the catch for a title could not be expected to let mere principles stand in her way. He turned his attention to Benson instead. Ev was wearing a nice cagey expression on his face. Obviously he had some interesting plans.
“What are you doing, Ev?” he asked.
“I, too, must go out. I am meeting with Rawlins tonight.”
“I'll run along with you,” David offered at once.
“I’m afraid not tonight, David. He will be more communicative if I go alone. He is a little military in that respect— will only tell me if I am alone. I must find out if he had any luck in questioning Madame Monet, and inform him of that business about the message Sanford intercepted.”
David eyed him askance. To have waited nearly twenty-four hours to tell Rawlins about the message, and to have done so little to find it, was already evidence of mediocrity. To omit mentioning that he had been to Madame Monet himself showed a lack of confidence. Benson was playing a close hand, and with his eyes narrowing suspiciously, David replied, “Very well, I’ll keep an eye on things here while you’re gone.”
“I would appreciate that.”
Benson was gone, and David Boltwood, spy-in-training, foresaw an evening doing nothing more exciting than listening to Biddy and Marie natter on about prawns in wax baskets and flowers and punch. It was infamous. He sat nibbling his thumb, turning over in his mind paying a call on Madame Monet. All the competition was safely accounted for. Sanford with Hazy, Benson and Rawlins together at the naval station. He wasn’t likely to find such an opportunity again. He went upstairs to make a fresh toilette, lavishly sprinkling himself with Steek's lavender water, brushing his brown hair down over his forehead and before going out the door, giving his boots a final polish with the edge of a bed cover. He walked down the stairs to say good night to the ladies, but found Marie alone, moping in front of the cold grate.
“Where’s Biddy?” he asked.
“Gone to bed. She didn’t sleep well last night because of having to tend to Sanford’s groom. Where are you going, David? Ugh—what is that awful smell?”
“Awful? It’s my new scent. All the chaps are using it. I’m going out.”
“Yes, I can smell that, but where are you going to?”
He was reluctant to confess his destination, but she had soon weaseled it out of him. “You’re going to make up to her!” she charged at once, knowing her brother as only a sister can.
“No such a thing. Just want to see if I can find out where the gold is hidden.”
“She won’t be apt to tell you.”
“She might let it slip out. No saying.”
“Don't think the hussy will be alone. She’ll have some man in her saloon.”
“I’ll peek in the windows first, and if she has, I’ll just cock my ear to the window and spy.”
Marie had spent an utterly boring day. No company but Biddy, and now even that companion was gone from her. To have to sit for hours waiting for the return of the gentlemen was too dreary to contemplate. “Let me go with you,” she said. “Certainly Madame will not be alone. You won’t be going in, and I can listen at the window as well as you.”
“How can you go? Father will be looking for you. With Biddy gone to bed, he’ll want someone to tell about his parish business.”
“He never tells me. Did you hear the name of the latest mother, by the way?”
“Effie Muldoon, down at the inn.”
“I thought so. But Father has gone out somewhere and probably won’t be back till all hours. Let me go with you, Dave,” she implored. His heart, as soft as a sponge, was persuaded. The nature of the call would necessarily change from romance to spying, but he was about equally keen on both. Marie was a good spy, too. It was she who had followed Sanford to the telescope and discovered about the message. Benson likely wouldn’t have told him a thing if Marie hadn’t been there. He was so secretive and evasive David half thought it might have been Benson himself at the Point.
“Oh, very well then, but mind you wear a dark outfit. We’ll go on horseback—quieter, and faster to get away. I can’t take my curricle if I ain’t going to the door like a gentleman.”
Within ten minutes they were headed down the road towards Madame’s cottage. They tethered their horses across the road in an orchard and proceeded on silent feet to the window, familiar to David now from his work the preceding evening. The curtains were drawn this evening, however, and drawn so closely that no view at all was possible. It began to seem their evening was a total loss, or Marie’s in any case, as David rather thought the thing to do was to make a social call. “Come around to the back,” Marie suggested before he could voice his change of plans.
The house was small, only a cottage, and the main saloon took up the whole side of the house, with a window giving on to the rear as well as the west side. The curtain at the back was not drawn, but neither was the window placed low enough to allow easy viewing. David, taller than his sister by six inches, could get a peek only and the sister could see nothing. “There’s somebody there with her, all right,” David announced. “I can see a black head. Can’t be Rawlins. He’s grizzled.”
“Rawlins is meeting with Benson. It might be Sanford, letting on he’s gone to Hazy, but really come here.”
“Could be,” David agreed, stretching his legs and neck to try to confirm it. It was no good. He could see no more than the very tip of the black head. They began looking around the yard for something to stand on. The only likely object was a wheelbarrow. Not stable, and hardly large enough for two, but stability was achieved by turning it upside down with the wheel facing the sky, and height by their standing one behind the other, Marie right against the window, David peering over her shoulder. They distinguished the caller’s identity at the same moment.
“Benson!” they said in unison, marveling a moment over his duplicity in coming here. They were soon marveling over greater marvels. He was not behaving at all like a spy trying to inveigle information out of a pretty foreigner. He was jawing at her, even shaking his finger under her nose, much as Papa did when he was in a pelter.
“Gudgeon!” David muttered. “That ain’t the way to get it out of her. He ought to be making up to her.”
Marie thought it as good a way as any other. Benson was too fastidious to pretend to like her; he was threatening, instead. Madame was not cowed by his bullying, however. She was soon shouting back at him, gesticulating in the French manner, throwing her hands about, hunching her shoulders. Benson, in his turn, replied, the anger seeming to lessen. Oh, if only they could hear! She seemed to have Benson on the run—his expression was apologetic, his hands and shoulders going up in a way that said as clear as words that he was at a loss—he didn’t know—couldn’t explain something or other. She was firing questions at him, receiving short answers. The Boltwoods were so entranced they weren’t aware of another person approaching till the horse was a yard from the corner of the building. Had barely time to crouch down from the light of the window into the concealing shade of the wall. They stared after the back of the newcomer, not recognizing him, but both realizing it was not Sanford. The nag was not spirited enough, the man’s shoulders sloping a little forward—an older man. For a whole minute David thought it was his father, and felt betrayed. The horse proceeded to the stable, and David was hit with inspiration. “We’ll nip around to the front door and watch him go in. Might learn something.”
This was done, and though they were unable to see the man, they would learn his identity as soon as they got back to the wheelbarrow at the window. Their trip around was worth their while. “Come in—he’s already here,” Madame said in an excited voice. “The worst news, George.” Not Papa, thank God! Then the door was heard to close, and it was back to the wheelbarrow, to discover the newcomer was none other than Rear Admiral Rawlins. Again there was something like an argument enacted silently before their fascinated eyes. They said nothing, knowing they would have ample time to talk it all over later. Now was the time to look and wish they could listen. Rawlins flung angry statements at Benson, who returned with angry gestures and expressions of his own. Madame was the peacemaker, pacifying both, later going for drinks.
Then the three sat on the sofa with their heads together for a long time, talking more peaceably. At length, after the Boltwoods’ eyes were stinging from strain and their necks, arms and legs stiff from craning, the party broke up. Rawlins went out the door first, Benson a step behind him, after first placing a kiss on Madame’s cheek. They exchanged a meaningful, familiar smile. It was dangerous to risk being at the window when the men went for their mounts, so they slipped away into the nearby field, holding back the million conjectures and questions that were eager to come out.
The two male callers parted at the roadside with no more than a wave, to go their separate ways. Benson would get back to the Hall before them and be wondering where they were, but this detail was only mentioned. Of much graver importance was to figure out what they had seen.
“What can it mean?” Marie asked.
“Benson didn’t actually say he was going to the naval station. Maybe it was fixed for him to meet Rawlins at Monet’s place. Well, it was—’He’s already here,’ she said.”
“How could Rawlins tell him anything, or vice versa, in front of her, when he wouldn’t discuss it before you? No, they were not discussing the message last night at all. It was something else.”
“Unless Madame’s working with them,” David thought aloud. “She says often enough she hates Bonaparte. Maybe she does.”
“The navy would never trust a Frenchwoman in such a critical case,” Marie thought. “And Benson kissed her.”
“Pooh, a peck on the cheek. She’s French—she’d expect it,” he said, and stored this French custom up for future use.
“It seems to me there is something very irregular going on here, David. Benson shouldn’t have been making such a fuss in front of Madame, jawing at her as if he were her father, such a familiar way he had with her.”
“Rawlins welcomed as ‘George.’ What could the ‘worst news’ be? Must be the message Sanford got away with, don’t you think?”
“I suppose it must be, but I’m surprised Benson should tell Madame. And I’m sure it was Benson at the Point last night, too, though he denied it.”
“I fancy it was. He don’t trust us, Marie. There’s the sum and total of it. They were both giving him the deuce for losing the message. We’re left out of it because we’re only amateurs. It’s pretty clear to me Madame is his assistant, in the thing with Rawlins all the way. A professional spy. Nothing else makes any sense. Benson was too familiar by half with her for it to mean anything else. All his letting on to hate her is just part of his cover. And the reason he’s sore at Sanford setting her up in the love nest is because he doesn’t want another amateur homing in on the case.”
“Or on his girl friend. He kissed her. Rawlins didn’t, so don’t bother letting on it is the custom.” She found herself wondering if Sanford, too, kissed Madame.
“Well, you can be sure there’s nothing fishy in it when Rear Admiral Rawlins was right there. It’s official business, right enough, and Benson don’t see fit to tell me what’s going on, after the hours I’ve sat up at the curst telescope. I’m sorry I ever thought of it. He’s just trying to be rid of me so he can get on with his own business. But I’ll tell you this: he ain’t half as wide awake as Sanford. Who was it got the message last night? Sanford. Who was it knew in a flash Madame was right at the heart of it? Sanford. I begin to wonder if it ain’t a poor idea having the chain sitting at home waiting for somebody to raise it at just the crucial minute, too. Sanford is up to anything. I mean to take him into my confidence. Only thing to do.”
All Sanford’s evil activities and views were beginning to be seen in a different light since Benson would not accept any help from amateurs. The brass buttons were innocent of being anything but stylish; the association with Madame an act of deep cunning; the views on the chain a wise precaution (though not one to be heeded). There remained only his friendship with Hazy and his lenient views on Napoleon to be dealt with, and these were by no means impossible of overcoming. He wasn’t vengeful, that was all. Bathurst himself used the word vengeful with regard to Papa’s petition, and while David had happily put his signature to that petition in good faith, he would as readily at that moment have signed one requesting Napoleon’s internment on the Isle of Wight. He was not so old as to be quite immovably set in his views.
