Another small kingdom, p.26
Another Small Kingdom, page 26
Macleod left the room, hurried upstairs, found her robe then returned to the living room. He turned his back as Marie put it on.
‘Thank you, Jean, you may turn now.’ They stood in silence for a moment, neither sure what to do. Then Macleod picked up the pistol which Marie had put on the table.
‘I will put a chair by the stairs and keep guard. You must go up and try as best you can to rest. This night has been an ordeal for you.’
‘No Jean, I am calm now, and there is Amélie.’
‘Yes, of course, there is Amélie.’
They both stood silent for a moment.
‘Do you think she knew she was giving her life to save mine?’
‘Perhaps, probably. She certainly stayed awake and watchful to see that you came to no harm, thank God.’
‘Poor Amélie. Did she love me so much in so short a time? I think you should put her on my bed. I will sit with her until morning and pray for her soul.’
‘I will watch at the foot of the stairs until daybreak. And this time I will not sleep.’
‘No, Jean, neither of us will sleep any more tonight. Only Amélie. Come.’
And together they mounted the stairs to put Amélie to rest.
Chapter Fifty-two
Bentley arrived at Darcy’s rooms, threw off his cloak and hat, snuffed his dark lantern and sat down heavily. Darcy brought him a brandy which he took gratefully and swallowed.
‘By God I needed that.’ He held out the glass. ‘Macleod must have had a pistol by him. He got a shot at me and damn near took my head off.’
Darcy almost dropped the glass he’d taken.
‘He saw you?’
‘Don’t be alarmed. He saw someone. He cannot know it was me.’
Darcy went and poured another brandy.
‘If he had a pistol by him do you think he knew you were coming?’
Bentley took a drink.
‘I don’t see how he could. Maybe he was being cautious. That visit from Melford and the de Metz woman would have rattled him. It certainly rattled me.’
‘But you got her?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Don’t know!’
‘I hit someone, but I fear it may have been that old French scold of a housekeeper.’
‘My God, what did you do, rouse the house when you arrived?’
Bentley finished his drink.
‘I got in through the back, went upstairs and found her room all right, but the old woman must have heard me.’
‘The housekeeper, not Macleod?’
‘No. If he was close he must have been asleep, but she was obviously sitting up listening somewhere.’
‘But why? You say Macleod had a pistol by him. If so, why put an old crock of a woman on guard and go to sleep yourself? It makes no sense.’
‘No, no sense at all but there she was. Before I could get a shot off she rushed in, cannoned into me and I dropped the damned lantern. I got my shot away but which one I hit, if either, I couldn’t say and I didn’t think it was wise to stay and find out. I got my lantern and ran. Macleod was up at once and nearly put a ball in my skull when I was on the stairs. In the dark it was a damn fine shot even to come close.’
Both men sat in silence.
‘Well, Bentley, you’re the brains in this. If you killed her, all well and good. But if you missed, if she’s still alive, what do we do now?’
‘The British seem to want her, so first and foremost we must make sure they don’t take her.’ Bentley held out the empty glass. ‘Get me another, then set out writing materials. If she’s still alive I must send at once for someone, someone who won’t miss.’
Chapter Fifty-three
The night had passed. Marie had dressed and come downstairs soon after day-break and insisted on going into Amélie’s kitchen to make coffee. They sat together at the table in the living room, Macleod’s pistol by his cup.
‘The question is, will they try again and, if so, when? You were right, Marie, and I see now that I was wrong. You are not safe here in Boston, not safe even here in my house. You are still in great danger and it seems that I alone cannot protect you. Fool that I am, I realise at last that you will remain in great danger wherever you are until this whole business is finished one way or the other. These people can reach across the Atlantic as if it was just the other side of some street in London or Paris.’
‘But if that is so where can we go? There must be somewhere, somewhere I can be safe.’
‘First you must tell me all you know. If I am to help you I must know what this is all about.’
‘You are right, my danger has become your danger. I will tell you and then we will decide what it is best to do. There is a plot as you know and, as Madame de Metz said, it originates in Paris from the office of Monsieur Fouché, who is head of their police. It is aimed, of course, at the British, to weaken them in their war against France. It is aimed at the British but it is to be carried out here in America. Fouché plans to make America into a kingdom, but a kingdom controlled from Paris.’
Macleod couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
‘That’s madness. How could anyone turn our Republic into a kingdom? It couldn’t be done.’
‘Oh, but it could. There are important people in America who have agreed to work with Fouché, people with money and people high in your Government. That his plan has gone so far should already show you how clever this Fouché is.’
‘You mean there are traitors, traitors even in our own Government?’
‘How else could it be done? St Clair was a part of the plan and wanted to tell people what a great man he was, but of course that was impossible. So he talked of it to my husband. He boasted how clever Fouché was and how stupid the Americans. De Valois laughed when St Clair laughed but did not comprehend, he was too stupid to understand. That I might hear did not bother them. I was a woman, a doll, nobody. I was invisible. But I understood, and I understood that what I heard was my chance of freedom, so I listened. It was as if I was in the schoolroom again, learning my lessons. I sat in a corner, sewing, listening and remembering. There is a natural antagonism in your country, the North and the South. The North has factories, the South has plantations. The North is for barbarians, the South is for gentlemen. The South must have slaves, the North opposes slavery. There are other things which I didn’t understand, things to do with your politics.
‘The plan is simple but very clever. Fouché’s agents are well placed to see that the North and the South can be brought to the point of civil war. When they are at each other’s throats and know they cannot draw back, a group of men will step forward. They will talk of the horror of civil war, the certain disaster that awaits all unless a solution can be found, they will propose the one plan that could avert such a calamity. They will put forward a man who can be trusted by both sides. A man who has served his country, a man who has held high positions, positions of trust, untouched by loyalty to North or South, whose loyalty is to America alone. They will ask him to form a government, a temporary government to find a way forward and avoid civil war.’
‘Which man?’
‘I do not know.’
‘But how will one man achieve what Fouché wants?’
‘Because that man will say that a Republic has been tried and has failed, the only way forward is to establish a monarchy, to put on the throne a king, a ruler in name only but one who will be above all politics. A government which served such a king could lead the country back from the abyss. It will be a temporary kingdom only, he will say. When the time is right the king will be invited to step down and the Republic restored. Of course this king will choose a government of Fouché’s agents and once in power they will keep power. They will establish an alliance with France and Fouché will have what he wanted, an ally across the Atlantic to threaten the British.’
Macleod thought for a moment then shook his head.
‘No. It couldn’t happen. America would never let things get to the point of civil war. To think so is sheer madness.’
‘I think Monsieur Fouché would disagree with you. The Governor of New Orleans answers to Paris and allows Fouché’s agents to provoke unrest. They stir up the slavery problem and do many other things. The plan is real, the plan is working and unless the British do something to stop it, the plan will succeed.’
‘The British! Why the British? If you know who these traitors are we must go to the American Government. Once they know what is happening and who is involved they will stop this treason. We must go to the Government. You must give them the names.’
‘I cannot.’
‘Yes you can. Forget the British, forget the money. For your own safety and mine, for the safety of America you must.’
‘I cannot.’
‘Damn it, Marie, I have risked my life for you. How can you now …’
‘But, Jean, you don’t understand. I know of the plot, what it is, how it works, but I do not have the names of your traitors. I saw names on letters in the satchel but only briefly. How could I remember them? I have no names to give to the American Government, I have no names to give anyone, only what I know about the plot.’
The full meaning of Marie’s words sank in.
‘My God. But don’t you understand, without names your information is useless to us.’
‘No, Jean, I know the plot, I can tell them all …’
‘Tell who? How would you know who to tell? If, as you say, Fouché has agents high up in Government, who could you trust?’
Suddenly it dawned on Macleod that what he was pointing out to Marie applied just as well to himself. Who could he trust? He had given his papers to Jeremiah Jones, and Bentley said they had been used to identify a murdered man as himself. If true what did that mean? Bentley said he worked for the Government, but which Government, the true one or the treasonable Government-in-waiting? As Macleod thought about it he became aware that there was now no one, literally no one, he could trust with Marie’s information, not even the General. He and Marie were completely isolated in a world of secrets, lies, intrigue and murder and, if he believed in Marie’s plot, helpless while his beloved Republic was being eaten away from within.
‘Marie, if what you say is true, then we are on our own. There is no one we can trust but each other.’
‘But the British, they will help us surely? If we go to Madame de Metz and Lord Melford they will listen and reward us. They will make us safe.’
‘What do you really know of Madame de Metz?’
‘She was accepted in New Orleans. I never thought to question who she was. I suppose it was the same with others.’
‘What if Madame de Metz really works for Fouché? What if she was sent to spy on St Clair? Maybe Fouché was worried he might become careless. We know that he had become careless. What if she decided that St Clair had become a risk? What if she even found out that he had been careless in talk in front of you?’
‘Well?’
‘She would silence him and then try to silence you. We were followed from New Orleans and an attempt was made on your life at Charleston. We arrive here and she is waiting for us, and tonight there is another attempt on your life. Would you still say we can trust what Madame de Metz chooses to tell us about herself?’
‘But this man Bentley, you say you know him. Can he help us?’
‘No, I find I don’t know Bentley at all.’
Marie sat silent for a moment, thinking.
‘Then it is as you say, Jean, we are alone.’
‘Alone unless we find the names and then we will know who we can go to. You are sure you have no names, not even one?’
‘No, none. Except,’ she paused, ‘except perhaps one.’
‘Thank God, what is it?’
‘It will be no good to us.’
‘Tell me anyway, anything is better than nothing.’
‘I only heard it once.’
‘And it was?’
‘Cardinal Henry Stuart, Bishop of Frascati.’
Chapter Fifty-four
Macleod 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
‘Two 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.
‘Thank you, Jean, you may turn now.’ They stood in silence for a moment, neither sure what to do. Then Macleod picked up the pistol which Marie had put on the table.
‘I will put a chair by the stairs and keep guard. You must go up and try as best you can to rest. This night has been an ordeal for you.’
‘No Jean, I am calm now, and there is Amélie.’
‘Yes, of course, there is Amélie.’
They both stood silent for a moment.
‘Do you think she knew she was giving her life to save mine?’
‘Perhaps, probably. She certainly stayed awake and watchful to see that you came to no harm, thank God.’
‘Poor Amélie. Did she love me so much in so short a time? I think you should put her on my bed. I will sit with her until morning and pray for her soul.’
‘I will watch at the foot of the stairs until daybreak. And this time I will not sleep.’
‘No, Jean, neither of us will sleep any more tonight. Only Amélie. Come.’
And together they mounted the stairs to put Amélie to rest.
Chapter Fifty-two
Bentley arrived at Darcy’s rooms, threw off his cloak and hat, snuffed his dark lantern and sat down heavily. Darcy brought him a brandy which he took gratefully and swallowed.
‘By God I needed that.’ He held out the glass. ‘Macleod must have had a pistol by him. He got a shot at me and damn near took my head off.’
Darcy almost dropped the glass he’d taken.
‘He saw you?’
‘Don’t be alarmed. He saw someone. He cannot know it was me.’
Darcy went and poured another brandy.
‘If he had a pistol by him do you think he knew you were coming?’
Bentley took a drink.
‘I don’t see how he could. Maybe he was being cautious. That visit from Melford and the de Metz woman would have rattled him. It certainly rattled me.’
‘But you got her?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Don’t know!’
‘I hit someone, but I fear it may have been that old French scold of a housekeeper.’
‘My God, what did you do, rouse the house when you arrived?’
Bentley finished his drink.
‘I got in through the back, went upstairs and found her room all right, but the old woman must have heard me.’
‘The housekeeper, not Macleod?’
‘No. If he was close he must have been asleep, but she was obviously sitting up listening somewhere.’
‘But why? You say Macleod had a pistol by him. If so, why put an old crock of a woman on guard and go to sleep yourself? It makes no sense.’
‘No, no sense at all but there she was. Before I could get a shot off she rushed in, cannoned into me and I dropped the damned lantern. I got my shot away but which one I hit, if either, I couldn’t say and I didn’t think it was wise to stay and find out. I got my lantern and ran. Macleod was up at once and nearly put a ball in my skull when I was on the stairs. In the dark it was a damn fine shot even to come close.’
Both men sat in silence.
‘Well, Bentley, you’re the brains in this. If you killed her, all well and good. But if you missed, if she’s still alive, what do we do now?’
‘The British seem to want her, so first and foremost we must make sure they don’t take her.’ Bentley held out the empty glass. ‘Get me another, then set out writing materials. If she’s still alive I must send at once for someone, someone who won’t miss.’
Chapter Fifty-three
The night had passed. Marie had dressed and come downstairs soon after day-break and insisted on going into Amélie’s kitchen to make coffee. They sat together at the table in the living room, Macleod’s pistol by his cup.
‘The question is, will they try again and, if so, when? You were right, Marie, and I see now that I was wrong. You are not safe here in Boston, not safe even here in my house. You are still in great danger and it seems that I alone cannot protect you. Fool that I am, I realise at last that you will remain in great danger wherever you are until this whole business is finished one way or the other. These people can reach across the Atlantic as if it was just the other side of some street in London or Paris.’
‘But if that is so where can we go? There must be somewhere, somewhere I can be safe.’
‘First you must tell me all you know. If I am to help you I must know what this is all about.’
‘You are right, my danger has become your danger. I will tell you and then we will decide what it is best to do. There is a plot as you know and, as Madame de Metz said, it originates in Paris from the office of Monsieur Fouché, who is head of their police. It is aimed, of course, at the British, to weaken them in their war against France. It is aimed at the British but it is to be carried out here in America. Fouché plans to make America into a kingdom, but a kingdom controlled from Paris.’
Macleod couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
‘That’s madness. How could anyone turn our Republic into a kingdom? It couldn’t be done.’
‘Oh, but it could. There are important people in America who have agreed to work with Fouché, people with money and people high in your Government. That his plan has gone so far should already show you how clever this Fouché is.’
‘You mean there are traitors, traitors even in our own Government?’
‘How else could it be done? St Clair was a part of the plan and wanted to tell people what a great man he was, but of course that was impossible. So he talked of it to my husband. He boasted how clever Fouché was and how stupid the Americans. De Valois laughed when St Clair laughed but did not comprehend, he was too stupid to understand. That I might hear did not bother them. I was a woman, a doll, nobody. I was invisible. But I understood, and I understood that what I heard was my chance of freedom, so I listened. It was as if I was in the schoolroom again, learning my lessons. I sat in a corner, sewing, listening and remembering. There is a natural antagonism in your country, the North and the South. The North has factories, the South has plantations. The North is for barbarians, the South is for gentlemen. The South must have slaves, the North opposes slavery. There are other things which I didn’t understand, things to do with your politics.
‘The plan is simple but very clever. Fouché’s agents are well placed to see that the North and the South can be brought to the point of civil war. When they are at each other’s throats and know they cannot draw back, a group of men will step forward. They will talk of the horror of civil war, the certain disaster that awaits all unless a solution can be found, they will propose the one plan that could avert such a calamity. They will put forward a man who can be trusted by both sides. A man who has served his country, a man who has held high positions, positions of trust, untouched by loyalty to North or South, whose loyalty is to America alone. They will ask him to form a government, a temporary government to find a way forward and avoid civil war.’
‘Which man?’
‘I do not know.’
‘But how will one man achieve what Fouché wants?’
‘Because that man will say that a Republic has been tried and has failed, the only way forward is to establish a monarchy, to put on the throne a king, a ruler in name only but one who will be above all politics. A government which served such a king could lead the country back from the abyss. It will be a temporary kingdom only, he will say. When the time is right the king will be invited to step down and the Republic restored. Of course this king will choose a government of Fouché’s agents and once in power they will keep power. They will establish an alliance with France and Fouché will have what he wanted, an ally across the Atlantic to threaten the British.’
Macleod thought for a moment then shook his head.
‘No. It couldn’t happen. America would never let things get to the point of civil war. To think so is sheer madness.’
‘I think Monsieur Fouché would disagree with you. The Governor of New Orleans answers to Paris and allows Fouché’s agents to provoke unrest. They stir up the slavery problem and do many other things. The plan is real, the plan is working and unless the British do something to stop it, the plan will succeed.’
‘The British! Why the British? If you know who these traitors are we must go to the American Government. Once they know what is happening and who is involved they will stop this treason. We must go to the Government. You must give them the names.’
‘I cannot.’
‘Yes you can. Forget the British, forget the money. For your own safety and mine, for the safety of America you must.’
‘I cannot.’
‘Damn it, Marie, I have risked my life for you. How can you now …’
‘But, Jean, you don’t understand. I know of the plot, what it is, how it works, but I do not have the names of your traitors. I saw names on letters in the satchel but only briefly. How could I remember them? I have no names to give to the American Government, I have no names to give anyone, only what I know about the plot.’
The full meaning of Marie’s words sank in.
‘My God. But don’t you understand, without names your information is useless to us.’
‘No, Jean, I know the plot, I can tell them all …’
‘Tell who? How would you know who to tell? If, as you say, Fouché has agents high up in Government, who could you trust?’
Suddenly it dawned on Macleod that what he was pointing out to Marie applied just as well to himself. Who could he trust? He had given his papers to Jeremiah Jones, and Bentley said they had been used to identify a murdered man as himself. If true what did that mean? Bentley said he worked for the Government, but which Government, the true one or the treasonable Government-in-waiting? As Macleod thought about it he became aware that there was now no one, literally no one, he could trust with Marie’s information, not even the General. He and Marie were completely isolated in a world of secrets, lies, intrigue and murder and, if he believed in Marie’s plot, helpless while his beloved Republic was being eaten away from within.
‘Marie, if what you say is true, then we are on our own. There is no one we can trust but each other.’
‘But the British, they will help us surely? If we go to Madame de Metz and Lord Melford they will listen and reward us. They will make us safe.’
‘What do you really know of Madame de Metz?’
‘She was accepted in New Orleans. I never thought to question who she was. I suppose it was the same with others.’
‘What if Madame de Metz really works for Fouché? What if she was sent to spy on St Clair? Maybe Fouché was worried he might become careless. We know that he had become careless. What if she decided that St Clair had become a risk? What if she even found out that he had been careless in talk in front of you?’
‘Well?’
‘She would silence him and then try to silence you. We were followed from New Orleans and an attempt was made on your life at Charleston. We arrive here and she is waiting for us, and tonight there is another attempt on your life. Would you still say we can trust what Madame de Metz chooses to tell us about herself?’
‘But this man Bentley, you say you know him. Can he help us?’
‘No, I find I don’t know Bentley at all.’
Marie sat silent for a moment, thinking.
‘Then it is as you say, Jean, we are alone.’
‘Alone unless we find the names and then we will know who we can go to. You are sure you have no names, not even one?’
‘No, none. Except,’ she paused, ‘except perhaps one.’
‘Thank God, what is it?’
‘It will be no good to us.’
‘Tell me anyway, anything is better than nothing.’
‘I only heard it once.’
‘And it was?’
‘Cardinal Henry Stuart, Bishop of Frascati.’
Chapter Fifty-four
Macleod 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
‘Two 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.
