“Wherever you like, after you’ve put me ashore at Portsmouth.”
“What are you going to do at Portsmouth?” Milady asked.
“Execute Lord Winter’s orders,” Felton said, with a grim smile.
“What orders?”
“You don’t understand?”
“No,” Milady said. “Please explain what you mean.”
“Since he mistrusted me and decided to guard you himself, Lord Winter sent me in his place to get Buckingham’s signature on your order of transportation.”
“But if he mistrusted you, how could he confide such an order to you?”
“How would I know what I was carrying?”
“I suppose that’s true. So you’re going to Portsmouth?”
“I have no time to lose. Tomorrow is the 23rd, and tomorrow Buckingham sets sail with his fleet.”
“He sets sail tomorrow? For where?”
“For La Rochelle.”
“But he mustn’t sail!” cried Milady, forgetting herself in a momentary panic.
“Don’t worry,” Felton replied. “He will not sail.”
Milady started with joy. She could read to the depths of the young man’s heart, and there she saw written the death of Buckingham.
“Felton, you . . .” she said, “you are as great as Judas Maccabeus! If you die, I’ll die with you. That is all I can say.”
“Quiet!” said Felton. “We’ve arrived.”
In fact, the bow of the boat was touching the side of the ship. Felton climbed first onto the ladder, then gave his hand to Milady, while the sailors assisted her, as the sea was still quite rough.
A moment later they were on deck.
“Captain,” said Felton, “here is the person I spoke of, whom you must convey safe and sound to France.”
“For a thousand pistoles,” said the captain.
“I’ve already given you five hundred.”
“That’s right,” said the captain.
“And here are the other five hundred,” said Milady, resting her hand on the sack of gold.
“No,” said the captain. “I’ve already made a deal with this young man that the other five hundred pistoles aren’t due until we arrive at Boulogne.”
“And will we arrive there?”
“Safe and sound,” said the captain, “as sure as my name’s Jack Butler.”
“Well,” said Milady, “if you keep your word, I won’t give you five hundred pistoles, I’ll give you a thousand.”
“Hurrah for you then, my pretty lady,” said the captain, “and may God send me customers like Your Ladyship more often!”
“In the meantime,” said Felton, “take me to the small bay at Chichester, near Portsmouth, as we agreed.”
The captain responded by giving the necessary orders, and toward seven in the morning the little ship dropped anchor in the designated bay.
During this passage, Felton told Milady everything: how, instead of going to London, he had hired the small ship; how he’d climbed the wall by fixing marlinspikes in the gaps between the stones, to give him footholds as he climbed; and how, once he’d arrived at the bars of the window, he’d attached the ladder. Milady knew the rest.
For her part, Milady undertook to encourage Felton in his scheme, but soon saw that the young fanatic had more need of restraint than encouragement.
It was agreed that Milady would wait for Felton until ten o’clock. If he didn’t return by ten o’clock, she was to set sail.
Then, if he was still free, he was to rejoin her in France, at the Carmelite convent in Béthune.
LIX
What Happened at Portsmouth on 23 August 1628
Felton took his leave of Milady the way a brother about to go for a stroll says goodbye to his sister: he kissed her hand.
At first glance he seemed to be in his customary state of calm, but there was a strange light in his eyes, as if he had a fever. His brow was unusually pale, his jaw was clenched, and he seemed to bite off his words, all indications something dark was working within him.
As long as he was in the boat carrying him to shore, he kept his face turned toward Milady, who stood on the deck, following him with her eyes. Neither was worried about pursuit, as no one ever entered Milady’s chamber before nine, and it would take three hours to get from the castle to Portsmouth.
Felton set foot on shore, climbed the narrow trail that led to the top of the cliff, saluted Milady a final time, and took the path toward town.
The path sloped downward, and after a hundred paces he could see nothing of the sloop but its mast.
He hurried toward Portsmouth, which he could see less than half a league away, its houses and steeples emerging from the morning mist.
Beyond Portsmouth the sea was covered with vessels, whose masts, like a forest of poplars made leafless by winter, rocked with each breath of wind.
&nbs