5 A Very Murdering Battle Read online

  ‘Oh, I fancy that he will,’ said Welbeck.

  ‘He hasn’t got the stomach for a fight anymore.’

  ‘It’s not Louis who does the fighting, Joel. It’s his soldiers. And no matter how many of them we kill, he somehow manages to recruit more.’

  ‘How can he afford to pay for them? Everyone says that France is bankrupt.’

  ‘So am I but that won’t stop me fighting.’

  Drew cackled again then stood back to admire his work. He put a hand under Welbeck’s chin so that he could tilt his head slightly to the left. As he snipped on, hair fell to the floor and was deftly flicked aside by the barber’s wooden leg. They were still chatting happily away when another customer arrived. Welbeck’s lip curled.

  ‘What do you want?’ he demanded.

  ‘I’m here for the same thing as you, Sergeant,’ said Ben Plummer, chirpily. ‘Just because we’re idle, it doesn’t mean we can’t be smart.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, you did.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that you actually listened to me for once.’

  ‘I always listen to you, Sergeant,’ said Plummer. ‘When I first enlisted, you drummed it into us that we had to have self-respect.’

  ‘That’s quite right,’ Drew put in. ‘Self-respect is everything.’

  ‘Having a haircut is part of it – like washing and shaving every day.’

  Plummer had changed. He was a tall, gangly man in his thirties with a jaunty air about him. He hadn’t volunteered for the army but saw it as the lesser of two evils. Instead of being imprisoned for living off the proceeds of prostitution, he’d accepted the alternative of joining the army. When he’d first met Welbeck, he’d made the mistake of answering back and had his two front teeth knocked out by the sergeant. Yet it hadn’t entirely cured him of impudence or wiped the smirk off his face. The change had come in his appearance. He’d joined the army with tousled hair and a tufted beard. Plummer was now clean-shaven and made periodic visits to Joel Drew for a haircut. He prided himself on his smartness.

  ‘Disappear!’ ordered Welbeck.

  ‘But I’m a customer,’ argued Plummer.

  ‘Come back when I’m gone. I’m not having you watching me.’

  Plummer grinned. ‘But I’m trying to pattern myself on you, Sergeant, and that means I have to study you.’ He scurried out of reach as Welbeck swung a fist at him. ‘You see? You taught me to move fast in the event of attack.’

  ‘If you don’t vanish, I’ll teach you what it’s like to have a boot wedged up your backside. Make yourself scarce, you mangy cur!’

  ‘To hear is to obey.’

  Plummer’s sarcasm got Welbeck off his chair but the kick he aimed at him was well wide of the mark. Sniggering aloud, Plummer had already jumped clear. With a wave of farewell to both men, he left the hut.

  ‘He’s a lively fellow, that one,’ opined Drew.

  ‘He’s far too lively for my taste, Joel.’

  ‘I like a man who’s got plenty to say for himself.’

  ‘That depends what he says.’ Welbeck sat down again.

  ‘Ben Plummer always has a smile and that goes a long way with me. Most of the people who sit in that chair are so gloomy. All I hear from them is a list of complaints about this, that and the other damned thing. Plummer is different,’ said Drew. ‘Nothing seems to bother him. And although he’s only a private soldier on low pay, he always gives me twice what he’s asked.’

  Welbeck was pensive. ‘Now why does he do that, I wonder?’

  ‘It’s because he’s pleased with his haircut, of course. Why else?’

  ‘You don’t know Plummer as well as I do,’ said Welbeck, grimly. ‘I’ve had trouble with him from the start. So when he takes care with his appearance and is generous with money, I’m bound to ask one simple question.’

  ‘And what’s that, Sergeant?’

  ‘What exactly is the cunning swine up to?’

  Daniel was given an enthusiastic welcome at the Janssen household. He collected a kiss and a loving embrace from Amalia, a warm handshake from her father, a friendly greeting from the three assistants in the workshop and a collective smile from the servants. Beatrix claimed a kiss of her own. Janssen used his arrival as an excuse to break off work an hour early and to send Pienaar and Geel home. Kees Dopff remained and joined the family for a celebratory meal, gazing at Daniel with undisguised admiration. Seated beside his assistant, Janssen knew better than to press their visitor about his movements since they’d last seen him. Prompted by a need for discretion, Daniel would say little about any secret assignment on which he’d been and – for fear of upsetting Amalia – he’d be careful never to reveal the true extent of any dangers he’d encountered. He was thrilled to be back in Amsterdam again, all the more so because he was enjoying a delicious meal in comfortable surroundings and because he was sitting close enough to Amalia to feel the brush of her arm against his.

  ‘I understand that the tapestry is now complete,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Janssen. ‘It’s ready for delivery.’

  ‘His Grace sent me to inspect it.’

  ‘And I thought you came to see me,’ said Amalia with mock annoyance. ‘Since when do I take second place to a tapestry?’

  ‘You’d never do so in my mind,’ Daniel assured her. ‘When the Battle of Ramillies is no longer sitting in the workshop, I’ll still keep coming here with the same urgency.’ Amalia was pacified. ‘But how have you all been in this cold weather?’

  Amalia and her father issued a whole stream of complaints, supplemented by Dopff’s graphic gestures. Evidently, they’d suffered great inconvenience and continued frustration. Daniel was sympathetic. He’d met with far worse conditions in Paris but chose to say nothing about them.

  ‘How long can you stay?’ asked Amalia.

  ‘I’ll be here for a few days at least,’ he said.

  Her face fell. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘His Grace will expect a report, Amalia.’

  ‘Then send him one by messenger.’

  ‘I am the messenger.’

  ‘You can tell him you were held up by impassable roads.’

  Daniel smiled. ‘I’d never lie to His Grace,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think he’d mind if I stayed here a week. He’s very much aware that Amsterdam holds a lot more for me than your father’s tapestry.’

  It was not only the chance of seeing Amalia that made him repair to the city with such alacrity. Daniel’s mother was Dutch. He’d still been a boy when his English father, Nathan Rawson, had joined the Monmouth Rebellion and fought against royal forces at the battle of Sedgemoor. In the wake of defeat, he’d been hanged along with many other rebels and his farm had been confiscated. Daniel and his mother had fled to Amsterdam and it was there that he’d grown to maturity. The city therefore occupied a special place in his heart and, whenever he was there, he made a point of visiting his mother’s grave. She’d died with an implacable hatred of the Duke of Marlborough because – as Major-General John, Lord Churchill – he’d been one of the commanders of the royal army at Sedgemoor. Juliana Rawson would never have been able to accept the fact that her son now served a man who’d been indirectly responsible for the death of her husband. It was as well that she’d passed away before Daniel joined the British army.

  ‘How was the journey here?’ asked Janssen.

  ‘Long and tiresome,’ replied Daniel.

  ‘The whole country seems to have ground to a halt.’

  ‘It’s just as bad in The Hague as here. There’s no sign of a thaw.’

  ‘We must count our blessings,’ said Amalia. ‘We have a roof over our heads and warm fires to sit beside. Some people lack both. There are tales of poor devils being found in shop doorways, frozen to death.’

  Daniel thought of the frozen soldier and his horse.

  ‘Let’s not dwell on such things,’ suggested Janssen. ‘Daniel is here at last and we should savour his visit. The t
apestry can wait until tomorrow when it can be seen properly in the daylight. This evening must be given over to merriment.’

  Dopff agreed heartily, thumping the table with a fist in approbation. He knew how much Daniel’s arrival would lift the whole household and he never forgot the way in which their visitor had risked life and limb to sneak them safely out of Paris when there was an extensive manhunt for them. They ate, drank and revelled in each other’s company for several hours. Dopff was the first to retire to bed and Janssen soon followed. Ordinarily, Beatrix would have come into the room to act as a chaperone but Daniel was trusted sufficiently to be left alone with Amalia. As they sat beside each other in the parlour, he held both her hands.

  ‘You look more beautiful than ever,’ he said, softly.

  ‘I thought you only came to see the Battle of Ramillies,’ she teased.

  ‘I saw far too much of it when it was actually raging, Amalia. I was at His Grace’s side for much of the time, so I had a perfect view of what was happening. I can tell you this,’ he added, squeezing her hands, ‘I’d much prefer to enjoy a perfect view of Amalia Janssen. It’s far less perilous.’

  She laughed. ‘Thank you, Daniel. Have you missed me?’

  ‘You’re never out of my thoughts.’

  ‘I’ve spent every day wondering where you are.’

  ‘That’s reassuring to hear.’

  ‘Surely, you don’t doubt me?’ she said.

  ‘Not for a second,’ he promised her, ‘and I hope you don’t doubt me.’

  ‘I just wish we could spend more time together.’

  ‘Only the needs of war keep us apart. One day, it will be different.’

  ‘One day – God willing!’ Looking into her eyes, he tightened his grip on her hands. She wanted to melt into his arms and gave him an inviting smile, moving closer to him as she did so. Daniel was about to embrace her when Beatrix came into the parlour.

  ‘It’s wonderful to have you here again, Captain Rawson,’ she said, effusively. ‘The whole house seems suddenly warmer as a result. It’s an omen. Winter is at last coming to an end.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, drawing back reluctantly from Amalia, ‘I believe that it is.’

  Dopff had been dumb from birth but there was nothing wrong with his hearing. If anything, it was more sensitive than that of the average person. He had a bedchamber at the back of the house and above the workshop. As a rule, he slept soundly but something brought him abruptly awake that night. Not knowing what it was, he sat bolt upright in bed and blinked his eyes. Telling himself that it must have been a dream, he lay down under the blankets again and was soon slumbering peacefully. Ten minutes later, he was awake again and this time he had an inkling of what had prompted him. There were noises from below, faint but discernible noises. They might, of course, be made by Janssen who could have had reason to retrieve something from the workshop. Dopff had known occasions when his master had actually worked through the night by the light of candles. He wouldn’t be doing so now. It was far too cold.

  There had to be some other explanation. Getting out of bed, Dopff went to the window but it was frosted on the outside and he could see nothing through it. He therefore wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and groped for the candle. Because his hands were shaking so much, it took a moment to ignite it. Shivering all over, he let himself out and crept along the landing. The house seemed eerily calm. He felt somehow threatened, as if a ghost had come to haunt them and was playing games with him. Timid by nature, Dopff was tempted to return to his room and bolt the door, but loyalty to Janssen drove him on. He’d been given work, a home and unstinting affection by his master and could never fully repay him. The least that he could do was to investigate strange noises in the night.

  Working his way through the various rooms, he came to the workshop and paused. No sounds came from within but he felt a draught from under the door. Surely, nobody had been foolish enough to leave a window open in there. It was inconceivable. He unlocked the door and let himself in. Almost immediately, a gust of wind blew out his candle and left him in darkness. He knew at once what had happened and it made his blood curdle. Dopff had discovered an appalling crime. Thieves had broken in and left the back door wide open.

  The precious tapestry of the Battle of Ramillies had been stolen.

  ‘Stolen!’ Marlborough looked at the letter in utter despair. ‘My tapestry has been stolen? Who could’ve done such a thing?’

  ‘We have many enemies, Your Grace,’ said Cardonnel.

  ‘Yes, but what malign impulse can be served by such a dreadful act?’

  ‘Someone wishes to stop you glorying in your victory.’

  ‘It was hard won, Adam. We’re entitled to take pleasure from it.’

  ‘Does the letter give any details?’

  ‘None at all – that’s what’s so maddening.’

  Daniel had written to Marlborough to apprise him of the crime and to assure him that he’d do everything in his power to solve it. Marlborough’s fears were not allayed. He believed that anyone determined to rob him of the delight of looking at a lasting memorial of his triumph would probably destroy the tapestry. It could be woven again but that would take an age and Marlborough was anxious to see it hanging in Blenheim Palace. His wife had seen the design for the tapestry when Janssen had shown it to her and she’d given it her approval. Marlborough knew just how difficult she was to please. As he realised that he’d now have to pass on the terrible news to her, his stomach lurched.

  Reading his mind, Cardonnel was quick to supply a suggestion.

  ‘There’s no reason why Her Grace should learn of this yet,’ he said.

  ‘It can’t be kept from her indefinitely.’

  ‘Why not wait until we know that it’s beyond recall?’

  ‘Instinct tells me that it already is, Adam,’ said Marlborough, disconsolately. ‘Whoever took it must have planned the crime with care. They’d know where to dispose of it and they’d do so quickly.’

  ‘You can’t be certain of that,’ argued Cardonnel.

  ‘I was so looking forward to taking it back to England with me.’

  ‘Have more faith in Daniel Rawson, Your Grace. If anyone can retrieve the tapestry, it’s the good captain. He knows Amsterdam well. He’ll look into every nook and cranny until he finds it.’

  Marlborough shook his head. ‘All that he’ll find are the charred remains.’

  ‘There’s something you’re not considering.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Well,’ said Cardonnel, thoughtfully, ‘this may be nothing whatsoever to do with enemy spite. Supposing that the tapestry was stolen by common thieves? In that event, what would they do?’

  ‘They’d have to sell it to make any profit from the crime.’

  ‘But who would possibly buy it? It’s worthless to anybody but you. I don’t believe it’s been destroyed at all. Why go to such trouble if there’s to be no pecuniary advantage?’

  Marlborough frowned. ‘I’m not sure that I understand you, Adam.’

  ‘It’s quite simple, Your Grace,’ said Cardonnel. ‘Since the one person who really wants it is you, the thieves will probably offer to sell it to you.’

  Marlborough was stunned. The notion implied a violent assault on his purse.

  ‘Sell me my own property?’ he yelled in outrage. ‘I’m not going to pay twice for the same thing. That would be insupportable. No thief is going to make money out of a battle in which so many of our brave soldiers gave their lives.’ Snapping his fingers, he pointed to the table. ‘Write to Captain Rawson at once. Tell him that it’s imperative he somehow retrieves the tapestry. He can act with my full authority. I want the Battle of Ramillies back in my possession and I want the rogues who dared to steal it dangling by the neck from a rope.’

  Daniel was as shaken as anyone at the disappearance of the tapestry. His immediate response had been to search for clues and possible witnesses. The tapestry was large and heavy. It would have taken at lea
st three men to carry it and a cart would have been needed to take it away. Daniel knocked on the doors of all the neighbouring houses and asked if anyone had heard or seen anything on the previous night. But his efforts were in vain. No help was forthcoming. Janssen was heartbroken. Nothing he’d ever created had given him more pride and pleasure. Endless months of work had gone into it. Yet it had vanished into thin air. He had large posters printed and put them up in strategic places. Janssen was ready to offer a substantial amount of his own money for information that led to the capture of the thieves and the return of his tapestry. He was mortified when nobody came forward. Amalia had never seen him look so despondent. The shock was making her father ill.

  After days of fruitless effort, Daniel reached a conclusion.

  ‘The thieves had an accomplice,’ he told Amalia. ‘They were helped by someone under this roof.’

  ‘That’s impossible,’ she said, hotly. ‘Nobody would dare to betray Father.’

  ‘I’m not saying he was a willing accomplice. It’s just that he unwittingly helped the villains. How did they know that such an important and valuable tapestry was here in the first place?’

  ‘They couldn’t have known, Daniel.’

  ‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘Apart from your father, only Kees, Aelbert and Nick knew what they’d been working on and when it would be finished. The thieves bided their time until they knew it was complete.’

  ‘Kees is dumb so we can exclude him at once.’

  ‘Then it has to be either Aelbert or Nick. One of them has a loose tongue.’

  ‘In that case, it must be Nick. Aelbert is laconic at the best of times. He prefers a quiet life. It’s Nick who visits a tavern from time to time.’

  ‘Doesn’t your father warn him not to talk about his work?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Amalia, ‘he insists on privacy and all who work for him have sworn to maintain it. Somehow, one of them – Nick, most likely – let it slip out. He’ll be cursing himself for doing that.’