CHAPTER 29
They floated, suspended between earth and heaven, heading for who knew where. The wind took them steadily southward over a landscape illuminated by the brightness of the moon. Sovay stared down, fascinated. This was the world as few had ever seen it. Shadowy patterns of fields lay scrolled out beneath them, defined by dark, knotted lines of hedges and black smudges of woodland. The moonlight turned lakes into mirrors and the Thames ran like a wide silver ribbon, winding towards the slumbering city. Here and there lay single homesteads, the buildings as tiny as a child’s farm. Hamlets and villages huddled in clusters or lay strung out along the winding white threads of the roads. All full of sleeping people, quite unaware that they were being overlooked. Sometimes, the balloon swooped low enough to see the dark shapes of animals, horses and cows, standing in fields like slate statues, or sheep spread out over a hillside like scattered silk cocoons. Then, Virgil ordered sand to be emptied over the side and they would rise away again, up into the sky.
‘Where are we going?’ Hugh asked.
‘Where the wind takes us,’ Virgil replied. ‘Let us hope it holds in this southerly direction. We will land before daybreak. Then we will make for the coast and from there to France.’
‘Look! Look there!’
Sovay pointed backwards in the direction that they had come. A horseman was galloping below them, apparently following their progress across the countryside.
‘I see him!’ Hugh yelled, leaning out as far as he dared. ‘It must be Greenwood.’
He waved his kerchief and the horseman waved his hat.
‘It is!’ Sovay joined him. ‘I’m sure of it!’
She held onto the side of the basket, willing it to be him. Perhaps all had not perished in the terrible collapse of that monstrous tower. If he was alive, so might the others be: Lydia, Gabriel, Oldfield, Toby and his friends. Innocents caught in the machinery of Dysart’s evil intent. She had been weighed down by the thought that so many might have been killed. Now her spirit soared as the fear spilled from her like so much sand.
‘Dawn is coming.’ Virgil pointed to a smear of saffron just tingeing the eastern horizon. ‘I’ll look for a good place to land. We don’t want to be up in this thing when day comes. It would draw too much attention. I’ll try to come down in plain sight of him.’
Virgil released the valve which allowed the gas to escape and the ground rushed up towards them as cows scattered in every direction. The landing was smoother than Sovay expected. A gentle bumping of the basket spilled them out over the short grass of the low hillside.
Greenwood arrived soon after, leading his exhausted horse behind him.
‘You led me a merry dance.’ He threw himself on to the grass beside them. ‘It’s a good thing Toby has sharp eyes.’
The boy slid from the horse, staggering slightly as he reached the ground. Sovay asked after Gabriel and Lydia, praying that he would say that they were safe and well.
‘They were, when last I seen ’em. And together.’ His frown made furrows in the pale particles that still covered his face. ‘It were like the world was ending. Great chunks of stone tumbling through the air, dust everywhere. I was lucky the Captain had his wits about him or I’d have been caught up in it, like the others. Jack’s safe – he were wi’ me. Captain saved the both of us. Ma Pierce weren’t so lucky. All that was left was her wig sitting atop a pile of rubble. Must have been dead underneath, that’s my belief. Never seen alive without it, that’s a certainty.’
Toby gave a bleak little laugh. He owed her nothing. She’d brought misery and degradation into his short life and he was not inclined to show false sentiment. The world was better off without her, as far as he was concerned.
‘And Mr Oldfield?’ Sovay asked.
‘He’s safe,’ Greenwood nodded. ‘Busy rounding up the conspirators when I last saw him.’
There had been no sign of Dysart. Greenwood and Toby were jubilant. They both assumed that he had perished in the explosion. No one could have survived if they had been in the tower.
‘We have no proof of it,’ Hugh said. ‘The place was a warren of secret passages. He could have left before the tower caught fire.’
‘Even if he did survive,’ Greenwood argued, ‘he will be thoroughly discredited!’
‘Let us hope that is so,’ Virgil frowned. ‘But it would not do to dismiss him too soon and too lightly. Meanwhile, do you have any idea where we might be?’
‘In Kent,’ Greenwood replied. ‘I know the country pretty well. One of the reasons I’ve been able to follow you. There’s a town not too distant. I’ll ride to get horses. I know an inn there and the landlord owes me a favour.’ He rose and stretched. ‘Then I’ll be off back to London. See how things are with Mr Oldfield. I don’t know how he regards men of my profession,’ he gave a wry smile, ‘but I am prepared to offer him my services. Are you coming with me, young Toby?’
Toby had never been outside the city before. This was his first country excursion. The great expanse of green was making him nervous. The cows had gone back to their grazing, but they kept looking in his direction.
‘Reckon I will,’ he nodded. ‘If you don’t mind, miss.’
‘I don’t mind in the least.’ Sovay smiled. ‘You look after things for me there.’
Greenwood returned with horses and money to buy what they needed, for they had left Thursley with nothing. He would not accept refusal and would take no thanks.
‘It is only what you would do for me, if our places were reversed. Besides, what is money?’ he said with a smile. ‘I can get more easily enough. Where will you go now? What will you do?’
‘We will go to France,’ Virgil said. ‘But first I must go to Dover, to arrange for the necessary papers and a passage.’
‘Will you sail from there?’
‘No.’ The American shook his head. ‘Too many eyes, too many spies. I will find a small town on the coast somewhere, and we will go from there.’
‘Very well.’ Greenwood mounted his horse. ‘May good fortune attend you. Go well,’ he said to Sovay as he held her stirrup. ‘I would counsel you not to go, to return to London with me, but I know that you would not listen and I do not like to waste my breath. I’ve never known a girl so wedded to risk and adventure, but be careful. Life is precious. You don’t want to learn that lesson too late.’
He smiled and winked at her and, before she could think of a suitable riposte, he was up on his own horse, with Toby behind him, and away.
He was not the only one to try to persuade her to go back to London. When they reached the next town, both Hugh and Virgil insisted that she took the next coach for the city. Both of them failed. Sovay refused to listen. If they were prepared to go to France, then so was she.
‘All foreigners are suspect now, including Americans,’ Virgil told her. ‘I cannot guarantee your safety. I may be able to trade on my special status, but I do not know how long that will hold.’
Sovay would not be swayed. ‘I don’t care. I’m prepared to take the risk. I will not sit at home being eaten away by doubts and fears while the two people who I hold most dear are in the severest jeopardy. I would rather share the danger. Hugh and Father are the world to me. What would life be without them?’
Virgil turned to her brother.
‘Don’t look at me!’ Hugh laughed. ‘I’ve never been able to make her do anything. I say let her come, if she has a mind to.’ He took Sovay’s hand. ‘At least we will be together.’
Virgil shrugged. Brother and sister were clearly as mad and wilful as each other. He had tried his best to dissuade both, being no means as certain as Hugh seemed to be about his status and safety. Hugh had his own papers. He was the Genovese nephew of his old tutor, now Citizen Fernand, member of the National Assembly. Fernand was a man of power and influence; he had been in a position to protect his young ‘relative’ before, but circumstances might have changed.
‘Very well,’ he acceded. ‘I’ll do what I can to get us over to Le
Havre and into the country. After that, I can make no promises.’
They bought what they needed and journeyed on to the coast and the ancient port of Rye. Virgil announced it to be ideal, being much neglected but well known to smugglers, with a perfectly usable harbour as long as the vessel was not too large.
He left them at the Ship Inn and promised to be back just as soon their passage could be arranged. Two days, three at the most, he said.
It was nearer a week before Virgil returned.
‘I have a ketch waiting in the harbour,’ he said as he joined them in their room at the Ship Inn. ‘We sail on the morning tide.’ He sat down and poured himself some wine. ‘I had to go to London to arrange for papers to be made for Sovay.’ He took a wallet from his pocket. ‘You will be travelling as Miss Sophie Weston, an American citizen, and –’ He paused and cleared his throat, as though there was a sudden frog caught in it. ‘And my fiancée. I know it is a shock,’ he saw the look on her face, ‘and not the most romantic of proposals, but I hope it is clear,’ he looked from Sovay to Hugh, ‘that I take no liberties here. It was the only way I could think of to keep her safe.’
Sovay did not know quite what to say, but Hugh grinned and clapped the American on the back.
‘Congratulations, my dear Barrett. You are a vast improvement on her last choice, I must say. I wish you both every happiness.’ He raised his glass, laughing at their discomfort. ‘To the affianced couple!’
Neither Sovay nor Barrett joined him in the toast.
‘I have other news,’ Barrett said, his tone serious. ‘I had to go to London to arrange the papers, and while I was there, I called on Oldfield. He gave me this.’ He handed over a letter. ‘Not good news, I’m afraid to say.’
Hugh opened it, placing the paper on the table for Sovay to see it. As he read, all the mirth drained from his face.
Oldfield & Oldfield,
Pilgrim Court
Off Carter Lane
London
6th June, 1794
My Dear Mr Hugh and Miss Sovay Middleton,
I thought it best to inform you of developments here without delay. Things have not gone quite according to plan.
I have been busy preparing the defence for Skidmore’s friends, some of whom face charges of sedition, others the much more serious charge of treason. I wish I were confident that no court will convict them, but this is by no means certain. I am sorry to say that your friend, Gabriel, has also been arrested and charged for his part in what is being termed the battle of Vine Street. He has also been implicated in a further conspiracy, partly on the evidence of Fitzwilliam.
The bulk of the charges, however, have been laid against you. In short, you are accused of being French spies, stealing government papers, causing explosions, destruction of property, attempting to assassinate various government personages, and I don’t know what else. Everything that has happened since the fateful interception of Dysart’s correspondence has been twisted and used against you.
Dysart, meanwhile, far from being discredited as we hoped, goes from strength to strength. All that happened at Thursley has been subverted and turned into a dastardly plot, by you and other persons, to begin a revolution on British soil.
He is clever, far cleverer than we credited, and he is exploiting the very real fear that the French Terror is engendering in the Government and in the people at large. I will continue to collect what evidence I can in the hope that my clients will be vindicated and that Dysart’s real intentions will be unmasked. If you are set on going to France, I encourage you to gather what evidence you can against him there, too. I suspect there will be much to find. I cannot prove it yet, but I suspect that he has been in touch all along with the Revolutionary forces through a web of double agents, but we must have proof of this to present as evidence. It is our only way to defeat him.
Your servant,
Graham Oldfield
Treason. Sovay and Hugh looked at each other. There could be no turning back now. A woman’s punishment for treason was to be burnt at the stake.
Sovay watched the coast grow smaller and then fade altogether as the half-light brightened to morning. She did not know what fate awaited her, or when, if ever, she would see her native land again. She was condemned to perpetual exile, unless she could clear her name.
The day was fair. The ketch Virgil Barrett had found for them was disguised as a fishing boat to fool the Naval patrols. It was fast and light in the water and they soon lost sight of land altogether. Out in the Channel the waves were edged with white, as if they brought with them the memory of distant storms. Hugh soon retired below, feeling unwell, but Sovay stayed on deck, undeterred by the occasional shower of drenching spray. Virgil was sailing the vessel himself, with the help of the men who had accompanied him from Dover and two local men from Rye who were smugglers by trade and were well used to the local channels and tides and had experience of running the Naval blockade.
Virgil came to join her once they were well out to sea. Sovay expressed her admiration for his skill with jib and sail.
‘I learnt as a boy. My uncle was a commander in the United States Navy. I saw action with him in the War of Independence.’ He gave an ironic grin. ‘Of course, to your Navy, we were all buccaneers.’
‘I did not know that you had been a buccaneer! You are full of surprises, Mr Barrett.’ Sovay smiled. ‘You don’t look the least like one.’
‘Good,’ Virgil smiled. ‘The key to safety is authentic disguise. Let us hope the principle applies here and the Navy take us as a fishing vessel.’
‘What are you really carrying?’ Sovay asked.
‘Weapons. Guns and shot for the people’s army. And food. Wheat, flour, butter, cheeses. The Republic is in dire need of these things. A few luxuries: soap, candles, cocoa, sugar and coffee . . .’
‘Sugar and coffee?’ Sovay was surprised that he would take such risks for what sounded like Mrs Crombie’s shopping list.
‘Oh, I have a very special customer,’ he smiled. ‘Someone I must keep sweet.’
Suddenly, Virgil was called by the lookout.
‘There’s a Naval vessel, on the horizon,’ he said when he came back. ‘Looks like a sixth-rate frigate. Small by their standards, but far overmatching us. We’ll have to make a run for the French coast. You better go below.’
Hugh was beyond caring what was happening, or what it could mean for him. Sovay lay in the bunk opposite and clung on to the rope above her head as she was flung about by the violent movement of the ship. Through the rush of water and groan of wood came the muffled boom of cannon fire. Sovay listened intently, trying to work out the distance. Each crash and splash seemed nearer. The hull shook with the vibration and water cascaded down through the hatch. Finally, Sovay closed her eyes, convinced that, at any second, she would be blown to pieces, or thrown violently into the water as the ship disintegrated about her.
At last the vessel slowed and righted itself. Sovay opened her eyes to find Virgil smiling down at her, his fair hair wet and tangled, his face flushed, his blue-grey eyes still alight with the excitement of the chase.
‘It was a bit of a close-run thing, but we lost them eventually. Come!’ He held out his hands to help her from the bunk. ‘Come up on deck.’
Sovay followed him for her first view of France. The coast sliding by them was not markedly different from the one that they had left behind them: the rise and fall of the low cliffs, fringed by pale beaches, broken by inlets; the green fields rolling away inland. But this was another country, with another language and a unique place in history.
The France that she could see was a republic, at war with half the nations of Europe, including her own. Sovay would be an alien, an enemy, but she had no choice. She had to go on. However hostile the country, her father was there, ill and perhaps in danger. She felt a hand over hers. Hugh was standing at her side, his pale face as set and determined as her own.
‘We will find him, Sovay,’ he said. ‘We will find hi
m and take him home. Dysart will not hound us from our own country. We will find the evidence against him and defeat him once and for all.’
CHAPTER 30
They sailed into the great port of Le Havre. The effects of the British Naval blockade were clear, with docks empty and ships lying idle, but where they tied up seemed busy enough with men moving barrels and sacks through the open doors of a large warehouse. They were not allowed to disembark but were met by a contingent of customs men, dressed in blue uniforms, who made a great show of examining everything and seemed increasingly suspicious, particularly about the passengers. Sovay had considerable misgivings that their adventure in France might be over before it had even started, particularly when a troop of National Guardsmen arrived in blue and white uniforms wearing red, white and blue sashes, the colours of the Republic. The soldiers took up position on the dock, while their Captain strode up the gangplank and swung himself on-board.
He was taller than Virgil, his long legs and wide shoulders accentuated by his uniform. He was a big man but he moved with easy grace. Sovay would not put him much above three and twenty, but his uniform was mended and faded, as though he had seen much action in it, and was decorated with marks of rank. Despite his youth, he was not a man to be taken lightly. He looked from one to another, his thick brows a straight bar over large intelligent eyes that were of a most unusual colour, somewhere between dark green and brown.
‘What have we here?’ he demanded.
The chief customs officer stepped forward to explain, but he was brushed aside.
‘I’ll deal with this, Citizen,’ he announced with a natural air of command. ‘I’m sure you have many other pressing duties to perform in the name of the Revolution. I would not want to detain you here.’