5 A Very Murdering Battle Read online

  Amalia shook her head. ‘No, Father,’ she said, sadly, ‘I’m afraid that I don’t. The army has gone into winter quarters but the war continues in other ways. Daniel could be anywhere.’

  Ronan Flynn’s working day started much earlier than that of most Parisians but it finished sooner as a result. There was still a glimmer of light in the sky when he left the bakery with Daniel and drove back home. Having stayed another night with his friend, Daniel had worked hard baking bread in gratitude for the help that the Irishman was about to give him. There were limits to what he could ask Flynn to do and, at all costs, he had to keep his intentions hidden from Charlotte. She was a patriotic Frenchwoman and would not knowingly assist an enemy soldier. As far as she was concerned, he was simply an old comrade of her husband’s and, as such, would always be welcome. Also, she was very fond of Daniel because he’d been so kind and obliging during his previous stay with them. When she agreed to go on a visit to a relative that evening, therefore, Charlotte had no idea that she’d be simultaneously aiding the escape of a British spy.

  ‘What’s it like out there, Ronan?’ she asked.

  ‘You won’t notice the cold if you wrap up warmly enough,’ said her husband. ‘It will do you and Louise good to get out of the house for a while. You’ve been cooped up here far too long.’

  ‘Is Daniel coming with us?’

  ‘We’ll take him as far as the city gate, my love. Delightful as your aunt is, I don’t think that Dan would want to meet her. It’s a family occasion. He’d only feel in the way.’

  ‘What happened to his horse?’

  ‘It went lame,’ Flynn told her. ‘He had to part with it. Dan will buy another.’

  ‘Louise will miss him. He played with her for hours.’

  ‘Yes, he’ll make a splendid father, if ever he has the sense to get married.’

  Her interest quickened. ‘You told me that he and Amalia are very close.’

  ‘It’s true – Dan Rawson is more or less spoken for.’

  ‘I hope he brings her with him on his next visit.’

  ‘That may not be possible for a while,’ said Flynn, tactfully. He heard a door open. ‘That sounds like him now. Are you ready?’

  Lifting up her daughter, Charlotte wrapped a cloak around both of them and nodded. Daniel put his head into the room. He’d been out in the stable, loading something onto the back of the cart. It was time to leave. As they set off into the twilight, Charlotte and Louise sat beside Flynn. Daniel, meanwhile, was seated in the back of the cart beside a large bundle tied up in an old tarpaulin. Hidden beneath the bundle was a coil of rope. All that he’d asked his friend to do was to take him to one of the city gates. From that point on, Daniel would be left to his own devices. The cart rumbled on through the gathering gloom. It seemed to be colder than ever. When they passed an inn, someone opened a door to go in and they had a tantalising glimpse of a cheering blaze in the fireplace, but it soon vanished.

  If it were not for the fact that Charlotte’s aunt was fairly decrepit, they wouldn’t have considered turning out at that time of day in such hostile weather but they tried to visit her at least once a week and to take a supply of bread with them. For the sake of the old lady, they were prepared to make the effort. In Flynn’s mind, the main advantage of the outing was that it would rid them of Daniel. Pleased to see him at first, he was uneasy at the thought that his guest had probably killed two men and made himself a fugitive. The thought was unsettling. Flynn would only be happy when Daniel had quit Paris altogether.

  It was a tiresome drive but the city gate eventually came into sight, rising out of the darkness. There were four sentries on duty and they were questioning anyone who wanted to leave. Coals glowed in a brazier and they tried to stay close to it. When the cart reached the gate, Charlotte looked over her shoulder to bid farewell to Daniel but he’d already disappeared and so had the bundle inside the tarpaulin.

  ‘Where has he gone, Ronan?’ she asked in bewilderment.

  ‘Forget him, Charlotte. Think about your aunt instead.’

  ‘I didn’t hear him get off the cart.’

  ‘Dan Rawson moves in mysterious ways,’ said Flynn, wryly. ‘The important thing is that he’s no longer our problem.’

  She was puzzled. ‘But he wasn’t a problem before, was he?’

  Flynn watched the cart ahead of them being let through the gates. ‘It’s our turn next,’ he warned. ‘Let me do the talking.’

  Though they couldn’t see Daniel, he was keeping a close eye on them from his hiding place nearby. Having slipped quietly off the back of the cart, he’d taken the rope and the bundle with him. He was now standing at a corner that gave him a clear view of the gates. Careful not to implicate his friends, he waited until they’d been allowed out of the city before he went to work. Untying the tarpaulin, he let its contents spill onto the ground in a position where they could in time be seen from the gates. Straw, twigs and the accumulated debris from Flynn’s stable formed a combustible pile. Daniel could pick out the sentries by the glow of their brazier and by the flaming torches either side of the gates. At the moment, however, he was invisible to them. He needed several attempts with his tinderbox before he at last ignited his little bonfire. When the twigs began to crackle, he picked up the rope and padded off into the darkness.

  Having created a diversion, he crouched in readiness in the shadow of the city wall. At first the sentries paid no heed but, when the fire really took hold and blazed into life, they couldn’t ignore it. Two of them strolled towards the fire while their colleagues watched them. With four pairs of eyes staring in one direction, Daniel had his opportunity. He didn’t waste it. Having already tied a loop in the rope, he tossed it up at the battlements. Working in the dark, he found it difficult to judge the distance at first but he persisted and experience was his helpmate. Since he’d grown up on a farm, Daniel was used to catching recalcitrant livestock with a rope and he’d not lost his skill. As he tossed it up once more, he felt the rope lodge around solid stone and tighten as it did so. Confident that it was secure, he began to shin up the rope towards the top of the high wall.

  Meanwhile, the two soldiers who’d gone to investigate the fire saw that it posed no danger to the nearby houses. Turning round to walk back, they were just in time to see a figure mount the city wall. Silhouetted against the sky, Daniel presented a fleeting target. Both men took aim with their weapons and fired but their musket balls simply explored thin air. Daniel had already jumped out of harm’s way. Now outside the city wall, he still had to contend with danger. Alerted by the shooting, the two sentries still on duty opened the gate and went in pursuit of the fugitive. When they heard someone running at full pelt down a nearby street, they went in the same direction. Though they couldn’t actually see him, they could track his movements by the clatter of his footsteps.

  By the same token, Daniel was able to gauge the speed of the chase. He was fit enough to outrun the men but feared that mounted soldiers might eventually join in the hunt. In that event, he was bound to be cornered. His safety lay in getting rid of those in pursuit and that entailed separating them. After haring through a maze of streets, therefore, he stopped to listen to the running feet behind him. They’d picked up his scent and were closing in on him. Daniel stooped down until he found a loose stone then he stepped into a doorway and flattened his back against the door. Aware that their quarry had come to a halt somewhere, the soldiers slowed down to walking pace, using their bayonets to prod into any dark corners. When they turned into the street where Daniel was hiding, he took out his dagger and braced himself. Footsteps got nearer and nearer. He could soon hear the men panting for breath.

  Just before they reached him, he tossed the stone down the street and it rolled noisily for several yards. Fooled by the trick, one of the soldiers broke into a run and went past the doorway. As the man’s companion drew level with him, Daniel stepped out to clap a hand over his mouth while sinking the dagger into his heart. His victim sagged to
the ground and let go of his musket. After sheathing his dagger, Daniel snatched up the weapon and used it to fend off the other soldier as he came hurtling at him. Bayonets clashed in the darkness. When he realised that his friend had been killed, the Frenchman went berserk, firing his musket and sending the ball inches past Daniel’s ear before it ricocheted off a wall. Because the man was yelling obscenities at him, Daniel could hear how short of breath he was. There was no time for delay. The shot would soon bring inquisitive faces and act as a guide to any other soldiers who’d joined the search. A swift dispatch of his adversary was vital.

  Daniel was no stranger to a musket. During his time in the ranks, he’d learnt to handle it with speed and precision. When the soldier made another lunge at him, therefore, Daniel parried the bayonet then used his own to thrust it deep into the man’s stomach. All the fight was instantly drained out of his opponent and he slumped to the ground in a heap, groaning piteously. Doors and windows were opening. Curious heads popped out. Daniel didn’t pause to answer any questions. Dropping the musket on the ground, he took to his heels again and zigzagged through the streets of suburban Paris until he felt he was completely safe. It was only when he slowed to a walk that he realised how cold it was. The temperature appeared to have plunged dramatically since he’d left Flynn’s house. Warmed by his headlong flight and by the exertion of the duel with the soldier, he now felt the wind whipping at his face like a cat-o’-nine-tails. The first flakes of snow began to fall.

  A shock awaited him. Pulling his cloak around him, he went in search of an inn where he could stay before acquiring a horse the next day. Eventually, he came to a short stretch of open country. When he reached a copse, he plunged into the trees for safety, looking over his shoulder as he walked along. It was a bad mistake. The next moment, he collided with something large and unyielding, forcing him to bounce backwards and blink in astonishment. He looked up and saw that he was confronted by a mounted soldier. In spite of all the effort he’d made to escape, Daniel had been caught. His initial impulse was to turn tail and flee but there was something odd about the man. He made no attempt to arrest or attack Daniel. In fact, he didn’t move an inch and neither did his horse. Both remained motionless. When Daniel reached out to touch the animal’s frosted muzzle, there was no response. He was overwhelmed with relief. Daniel hadn’t been caught, after all.

  Soldier and horse were two more casualties of a winter that had already claimed untold victims. They had, literally, frozen to death and were now no more than ghostly statues among the trees. In all probability, they’d been there for days before being discovered. If he stayed indefinitely, Daniel feared that he was likely to join them as a grotesque winter sculpture. He needed shelter. Brushing past the two corpses, he hurried on as he sought a warm place to lay his head for the night.

  Amalia Janssen had never been short of admirers. Her striking beauty and her shapely figure aroused a great deal of interest and a number of suitors came forward. She would not simply make an ideal wife for the man fortunate enough to marry her, she was given additional lustre by her father’s renown. Emanuel Janssen was famous throughout Europe for his tapestries. Such was his pre-eminence that his skills had been sought by no less a person than Louis XIV, King of France. To have Janssen as a father-in-law was a distinct bonus. Amalia, however, was deaf to all entreaties. When gifts arrived at the house for her, she always made sure that they were returned with a polite rejection. Blandishments of all kinds were showered upon her but in vain. She’d already made her choice and it was a sacred commitment. In her opinion, every potential husband faded into nothingness beside Daniel Rawson. He’d saved her life, won her heart and enriched her horizons in every way.

  Since they spent so much time apart, they kept in touch by correspondence. During the campaign season, Daniel’s letters were few and far between, saying nothing about his whereabouts or about the conduct of the war. Though they tended to be short and written in haste, they were always couched in love. For that reason, Amalia had kept every letter and – whenever she had time on her hands – she read them in sequence, watching their friendship evolve over the years into something that was indissoluble. Seated in the parlour of her home, she was enjoying the correspondence yet again when Beatrix knocked and came into the room. She was a chubby woman approaching forty, with plain features and a lack of charm that had kept any serious male interest at bay. Putting her own disappointments aside, she took a sincere delight in Amalia’s good fortune and had a deep admiration for Daniel Rawson. She was as much a friend as a servant and Amalia always confided in her.

  Beatrix observed the piles of letters tied up with blue ribbon.

  ‘There’s no need to ask what you’re reading,’ she said with a chortle.

  Amalia smiled. ‘Daniel’s letters bring me such joy.’

  ‘And so they should. I just wish that there were more of them.’

  ‘It’s difficult to write when he’s on the move, Beatrix, and he’s very careful not to give away too much information in case they fall into the wrong hands.’ Amalia grimaced. ‘I can’t bear the thought of that happening. These letters were meant for my eyes alone.’

  ‘You’ve read bits of them out to me,’ recalled Beatrix.

  ‘I don’t look upon you as a stranger. Besides, you were there when Daniel first came into my life. You’ve witnessed everything that’s happened between us.’

  The servant beamed. ‘It’s been a privilege to do so, Miss Amalia.’ Her face darkened. ‘Anyway, I didn’t come to disturb you. I simply came to tell you that I think I saw that man again.’

  ‘You think you saw him or you did see him?’

  ‘I’m fairly sure that it was him.’

  ‘And I’m equally sure that you’re mistaken,’ said Amalia, easily. ‘I look out of the window just as much as you and I’ve never seen this phantom gentleman.’

  ‘He’s not a phantom,’ protested Beatrix. ‘He’s as real as you or me.’

  ‘And what was he doing?’

  ‘Looking at the house, that’s all.’

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  ‘Well,’ said Beatrix, uncertainly, ‘not really. He’s never there long enough.’

  ‘I fancy that you’re imagining the whole thing.’

  ‘I’m not, I swear it!’

  ‘Then why has nobody else in the house spotted this man?’

  Beatrix shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘How many sightings have there been?’

  ‘I’d say it was three or four – all in the last few days.’

  ‘Well,’ said Amalia, ‘I’m sure you believe that you saw this man but I find it hard to conceive that anyone would be foolhardy enough to stand in the road when it’s freezing out there. What possible reason could anyone have for doing it?’

  ‘Who knows, Miss Amalia? I just find it so upsetting.’

  Amalia put a consoling hand on her arm. For all her apparent solidity, Beatrix was a nervous woman who was upset too readily. There’d been occasions before when her lively imagination had conjured up threats that never really existed, leaving her needlessly perplexed. As a result of those experiences, Amalia always took the servant’s dire warnings with a degree of scepticism. They rarely had any real substance. In this case, there was a crucial factor to take into account. Like Amalia and her father, Beatrix had hardly been able to leave the house for weeks on end. Being trapped indoors for so long could be playing on her mind. The few people who passed the house did tend to glance at it. Amalia concluded that Beatrix had read far too much into someone’s casual interest. The fact that the servant couldn’t even describe the man properly suggested that there could have been more than one person showing an interest in the house, and that they’d blended together in Beatrix’s imagination into a single entity. At all events, Amalia saw no cause for alarm.

  ‘Stop fretting,’ she said. ‘There’s nobody out there, Beatrix. When we lived in Paris and our house was being watched, we were all very much aware
of it. But I don’t have that sense of being under surveillance here. You’re worrying when you don’t need to. Besides, you’re perfectly safe in here. Including father, we have four men in the house. Doesn’t that reassure you?’ Amalia gave her an affectionate pat. ‘Your problem is that you spend too much time looking out of the window. There’s nobody out there, I promise you. If there had been a man watching the house, one of us would have seen him as well. Yet we didn’t, did we?’

  Beatrix shook her head and accepted defeat. She must have been mistaken. Amalia had convinced her. Nobody was keeping the house under observation. Why on earth should they? She could sleep soundly again.

  * * *

  The man waited until night before he crept up to the rear of the house. Moving stealthily to the workshop, he rubbed frost from a window so that he could peer in. All that he could make out in the gloom was the shape of the various looms. Even in the punitive cold, he managed a quiet smile.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Daniel Rawson didn’t even know the name of the place. When he stumbled upon the inn, it was pitch-dark and the sign swinging creakily above the door was covered in snow. It was an old building with irregular walls, beams that had subsided in the course of time and oak settles polished to a high sheen by the impress of a century of backsides. There was a smell of damp and several indications of decay. All of the doors let in a draught. The flagstones on the floor undulated dangerously. Yet none of it bothered Daniel. Because he’d found shelter from the snowstorm outside, he was ready to forgive the inn its many shortcomings.

  When he held his hands to the fire, he began slowly to thaw out. A glass of brandy helped the process and encouraged him to remove his hat and take off his wet cloak. Since the place was fairly empty, the landlord was glad of his custom. He was a big, bearded man of middle years with a gloomy outlook on life.