The Prisoner in the Tower, page 14
part #3 of Drusilla Davanish Mystery Series
‘Well, Wickham wanted an agent to mix with professional French people who supported the revolution, and I was happy to do that. People talk a great deal when sitting for a portrait and the information I learnt proved to be most useful. Besides, there wouldn’t have been any point in my wearing filthy clothing,’ Jago protested. ‘I mean – just look at my hands.’
‘Soft and white,’ Giles said, with a chuckle. ‘The French would instantly have guessed you were an aristocrat, and carted you off to the guillotine in one of those appallingly grubby tumbrils.’
‘My dear fellow,’ Jago informed him in measured tones, ‘I should have insisted on riding in one that was spotlessly clean. One must have standards, you know.’
That brought fresh shouts of merriment, and Tom Morel remarked, with slightly twitching lips, ‘Louis could have persuaded his friend, Danton, to fix that for you.’ Georges Danton had been a highly popular revolutionary leader.
Surprised though I was to discover that Jago had a sense of humour after all, I was even more astonished by what Mr. Morel had said about Louis. So was Richard, who instantly demanded, ‘Good God, Louis. Did you really know Danton?’
‘I did. Only for a few weeks though. I ran messages for him.’
‘Yes,’ Jago said. ‘But he didn’t know you could read, did he?’
Louis grinned. ‘Just as well, or I would have been for the chop too.’ Danton had been guillotined in April after Robespierre accused him of trying to overthrow the government. ‘Those messages gave us some amazing information.’
‘Very true,’ Jago agreed. ‘Think how much more we might have learnt if you hadn’t fallen off your horse and injured your knee.’
‘Don’t be cruel, Jago,’ Gisele protested. ‘At least Louis is home for good, safe and sound.’
It was at this point that I finally got the chance to interrupt, but before I showed them the newspaper I said to Louis, ‘You didn’t tell me you knew Danton.’
‘Well, it’s not the sort of thing one boasts about in England.’
‘What was he like?’ I asked, out of curiosity.
‘Ugly and lazy, but very witty. The people worshipped him and he was kind to me.’
Richard asked, ‘How did you meet him, Louis?’.
‘Oh, it was simple enough. I had a friend who knew him and he introduced me. I said all the right things about the revolution, and Danton gave me a job as a messenger. He wanted to put an end to The Terror, so there were lots of messages, but I was only with him about a month before I had my accident. Then I had to come home.’
‘Just as well,’ Giles said, ‘or you might have been arrested and guillotined with him.’
‘Louis lives a charmed life,’ Jago commented. ‘Always falls on his feet.’ And he teased, ‘He also managed to marry the most beautiful woman in London.’
Gisele blushed and made a modest, but not altogether convincing, protest that brought about a tiny break in conversation. That break finally enabled me to dramatically slam the newspaper down on the table, and announce with considerable glee, ‘The Times has the most wonderful news. Robespierre is dead! He was guillotined!’
The shock on their faces quickly gave way to sheer delight. Giles grabbed the newspaper first and read out the report. The others listened intently, making the odd comment, and sat grinning happily as the list of Robespierre’s associates, who were guillotined at the same time, made it clear that his reign had finally come to an end.
Everyone was ecstatic that this monster, responsible for the Terror in France, in which thousands of innocent people were guillotined, had perished in the same way as most of his victims. Terror had been the order of the day for the best part of a year. In that time anyone could be denounced for criticising the government, complaining about the lack of bread in the shops, or for failing to address their friends as “citizen.” These and many other trivial things sent so many innocent people to the guillotine. But as we soon learnt, The Terror was over at last.
The meal was long and leisurely, the news putting everyone in a happy and cheerful mood. We were speculating on who would run France now when Luffe came to inform me two visitors had arrived, who wished to speak to Mr. Reevers. That gentleman immediately asked who the visitors were, but before my butler could answer, the two men appeared on the terrace and walked the few yards across to us. Mr. Reevers drew his brows together and immediately demanded in a tone of barely disguised contempt, ‘Knight? What the deuce are you doing here?’
Giles broke in, ‘Just a minute, Radleigh.’ Giles turned to me, ‘Drusilla allow me to do the honours. Mr. Knight is one of our colleagues from the Alien Office. I’m afraid I’m not acquainted with the other gentleman.’
Mr. Knight bowed briefly and introduced his companion as Walter Brown. They were also introduced to Gisele, and then to Richard, and I was about to offer them some refreshment, when Mr. Knight looked directly at Mr. Reevers and asked if he might speak to him in private.
‘Why?’ was the bristling response. ‘We’re all friends here, Knight.’ And I knew from his expression and from that of the other secret agents, that this was a man none of them liked.
The newcomer’s eyes were full of malice as he said, ‘Not in front of the ladies, surely?’
‘Why not,’ Mr. Reevers retorted. ‘Best to have whatever it is out in the open, don’t you think?’
‘Very well.’ A faint smirk of satisfaction hovered on Knight’s lips. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘Oh I won’t. Come on then, out with it man.’
As the uninvited visitor took a letter from an inside pocket, Gisele whispered to me, ‘Perhaps we should leave the gentlemen and go into the house, Drusilla.’
‘You go if you want,’ I said. ‘I’m staying here.’
In the end she remained too and watched Mr. Knight hand the letter to Mr. Reevers. ‘It’s signed by Mr. Wickham,’ he said, ‘and confirms what I am about to say. We have been ordered to escort you back to London to face a charge of treason.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘T
reason?’ Tom Morel exploded. ‘Radleigh?’ And he leapt to his feet so quickly, he accidentally jolted the table, causing the plates to jump and the one leftover melting jelly to wobble alarmingly. ‘You must be out of your mind, Knight.’
‘It was Mr. Wickham's decision, not mine,’ Knight informed him.
‘But you would have had your say,’ pronounced Giles, angrier than I had ever seen him, for he never lost his temper.
Mr. Morel sat down again and I finally managed to find my voice. ‘This is totally absurd. Mr. Reevers is working on a secret assignment of vital importance to our country.’
Knight turned his head slightly and looked at me as if I, as a woman, had no right to enter the conversation. ‘I am aware of that,’ he informed me in a dismissive manner.
Conscious I must keep calm, I inquired, ‘Are you aware of what that assignment is?’
He was clearly annoyed at my making a second intervention, and pursing his lips, he answered brusquely, ‘No, but Mr. Wickham is.’
It was then that Mr. Reevers got to his feet and towering over our exceedingly unwelcome visitor, addressed him in arctic tones. ‘If you wish to leave Westfleet in one piece, Knight, you will treat Lady Drusilla with the greatest of respect. She is more intelligent than any man here and the country already owes her a greater debt than you could possibly imagine.’ Knight did not answer and Mr. Reevers demanded, ‘Do I make myself clear?’ Knight glared at him, but gave a curt nod. ‘Very well. Now, treason covers a multitude of things. What, in particular, am I supposed to have done?’
I admired his coolness in dealing with that awful man, for I was still far from calm, and itched to wipe the smirk off Knight’s face when he asked Mr Reevers, ‘Surely you don’t wish me to explain the nature of the charge in front of your friends?’
‘Certainly I do. I want them to hear what I’m accused of --- I have nothing to hide.’ And that brought a chorus of unqualified support from his friends.
Knight glanced at his companion, who had not spoken yet, and looking round at us all in turn, he announced, ‘I’m only doing my duty as ordered by Mr. Wickham.’
‘And revelling in it, by God,’ Mr. Morel declared, not hiding his revulsion. This brought even more fierce condemnation down on Knight, until Jago put a stop to it by urging us to let the man speak.
‘Why?’ Richard spluttered, his face red with fury. ‘There’s no greater patriot here than Radleigh. I say we tear up this letter and send these two men back to London empty-handed.’
At which Louis jumped out of his seat and clapped a hand on Mr. Reevers' shoulder. ‘I’ll stand with you on that. Who will join us?’
My uncle, who had sat white-faced, quietly listening, declared in a clear voice, ‘No. You cannot do that, Louis. We all know this is a stupid mistake, and that Mr. Reevers is innocent, but he must go to London and answer the charge. There is no other way. If he doesn’t go willingly, it will be taken as an admission of guilt.’
We all listened to what he’d said, but none of us uttered a single word in response, for as we quickly realised, my uncle was right. But being right didn’t make it any easier. My uncle looked up at Knight, who was still standing, and suggested that he told Mr. Reevers exactly what he was accused of.
The sun was at its hottest by then, and the two visitors, who had stood with the rays shining straight onto their faces for a good ten minutes, were perspiring freely. Mr. Brown had mopped his brow several times with his handkerchief, and at last, Mr. Knight followed his example.
We sat in the shade provided by the trees, but it failed to reach the two men. I did not offer them a seat out of the sun, nor did anyone else. Sheer outrage at the reason they were here made us ignore their discomfort in a manner we would not have done with any normal visitor.
Knight returned his handkerchief to his pocket before pronouncing, ‘Recently, Mr. Wickham was given proof that Mr. Reevers was a double agent.’
This statement sparked off such a furore of protests that Mr. Reevers was unable to speak for several minutes. When everyone had finally quietened down, he asked in a dignified manner, ‘What was this evidence? And who provided it?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ Knight retorted.
Immediately, Richard jumped to his feet and grabbed Knight by the scruff of his neck. ‘We’ll see about that, you little pipsqueak. I’ve met your kind before. You don’t have an ounce of guts in your entire body. You’re the type who enjoys hiding behind your orders.’
Clearly petrified, Knight blurted out in a high-pitched whine, ‘Let me go at once, do you hear?’ And begged his companion, Mr. Brown, to help him. But Brown was busily mopping his face again and I had the impression that he, too, detested Knight.
Before the situation got out of hand, Mr. Reevers intervened. ‘I appreciate the thought,’ he told Richard, with an understanding smile. ‘But it won’t answer. Mr. Frère is right. I must go to London.’
Knight managed to regain control of his voice and said he was pleased that Mr. Reevers had seen sense. ‘I have orders to keep you under lock and key until we leave in the morning.’
A statement that finally made Mr. Reevers lose his calmness. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve said I’ll come with you. Do you doubt my word?’
‘My instructions are to------’
‘Your instructions may go to the devil! I need time to put my affairs in order.’
Knight then took a pistol from inside his jacket, and before Richard could intervene again, Mr. Morel said wearily, ‘Look, it so happens I’m staying with Mr. Reevers. Surely that will suffice?’ Knight hesitated, and Mr. Morel looked him straight in the eye. ‘Or do you doubt my word too?’
Knight lowered his gaze and said, ‘No, sir. Of course not.’
Mr. Reevers' face lightened a little and I saw a devilish glint in his eyes as he said, ‘There’s an inn a mile or so down the road from my house. I have to go past it to get anywhere. You can put up there overnight.’
Giles tightened his lips slightly, for as everyone in this part of the Island knew, this was a disreputable low class inn that no gentleman would dream of entering. Frankly, I could think of nowhere better for Knight to stay.
With so little time to put his affairs in order, Mr. Reevers left at once, declining all offers of assistance, assuring us all that Tom Morel would do whatever was needed. As he said goodbye to everyone I saw him exchange a meaningful glance with Giles, who immediately engaged Knight in conversation. Whereupon, Mr. Reevers turned to me, took my hand and raised it to his lips, but instead of taking his leave of me, he murmured, ‘The turncoat must be behind this. Find him Drusilla, or I’m a dead man.’
Before I could answer he abruptly turned away from me, and shortly afterwards I watched him ride off with Mr. Morel, accompanied by Knight and Brown. The rest of us sat around in a state of shock, and Gisele was so upset she kept dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. We talked over all that had happened, our voices filled with disbelief. As we did not know what evidence they had against him, or how Mr. Wickham had come by it, no-one was able to suggest a way of helping Mr. Reevers.
Eventually Richard and Giles went home, and soon after that my aunt returned. I left the others to explain to her what had happened, while I walked in the garden. I needed time on my own to think. Mr. Wickham was an honourable man and would not have ordered the arrest unless he was convinced there was a case to answer. And I decided the turncoat must have provided the so-called evidence for the arrest, intending to see that Mr. Reevers paid the ultimate price.
I walked through the orchard with Mr. Reevers’ final words ringing in my ears. But how was I to identify this traitor? And find proof of his guilt? We had already spent more than three weeks trying to pin him down, and failed miserably. Yet, somehow, I had to get to the truth on my own.
Frankly I did not know which way to turn. But if I didn’t find out who he was, I would never see Mr. Reevers again. For, he could do nothing to prove his innocence while he was in prison. If I identified the turncoat, Mr. Reevers would live. If I failed, he would die, and I would have to live with that for the rest of my life.
Slipping quietly into my workroom, I added today’s events to the information on the sheets on the wall. I carefully studied the facts already there, but saw nothing odd. Over dinner we talked of little else but Mr. Reevers, although my uncle did his utmost to assure me that all would be well by saying, ‘He’ll soon be back on the Island, Drusilla. It’s utter nonsense to suggest he’s a double agent.’
When we finally ran out of things to say, my aunt gave an account of the very pleasant day she had spent at Ledstone. But I only half listened, as I could not get my fears for Mr. Reevers out of my mind. I believed in English justice, but for the first time in my life I saw how skilfully faked evidence could result in an innocent man being convicted and executed.
The turncoat must be responsible for Mr. Fenton’s murder and perhaps the Comte’s too. I was absolutely convinced he’d fixed Mr. Reevers' arrest to keep him out of action while he seized Mr. Pitt and took him to Paris. That night I decided that the first thing I must do was find out what evidence had led to the arrest. And who had provided it. I considered asking Mr. Wickham, but as we’d only met once he might refuse to tell me, and I could not afford to waste time. Better by far to write to Mr. Pitt. He’d told me to contact him if I ever needed assistance, and I had never needed it as badly as I did now. With that decision made I finally fell into a dreamless sleep.
I woke a little later than usual in the morning and my first thought was that Mr Reevers would already be on his way to London. I saw too that the hot sunny days we had enjoyed for a week or more, had given way to much cooler, windier weather. Once I was dressed I walked down to the stables and sent Mudd to Norton House to ask the messenger Wickham had assigned to us, to call on me as soon as possible.
When I went into the breakfast parlour, Luffe told me Jago and the Gauvans had already eaten, and as my aunt and uncle had not yet appeared, I breakfasted alone. As soon as I’d finished I headed for my workroom and wrote to Mr. Pitt. Then I went in search of Jago and found him sitting at a desk in the library going through some papers. I explained I had an urgent letter to be taken to London and asked if my messenger could be conveyed to Portsmouth in his yacht, which was lying idle in Yarmouth.
‘I have no objection,’ Jago said. He clearly misunderstood who the letter was for, as he went on, ‘I’m sure it will be a comfort to Mr. Reevers to receive a letter from you, but he may not be allowed to reply you know.’ I considered telling him I was writing to Mr. Pitt, but decided not to, as I still did not know the identity of the turncoat. I found it hard to believe it could be Jago, but then I had not thought Toby East was a traitor either. And Mr. Pitt had decreed that no agent who had been in Paris when Toby East went over to the French was to be considered above suspicion, no matter how high his position in the secret service. And Jago's position was very high.
When I didn’t answer at once he said, ‘Drusilla, I must talk to you about what happened yesterday and-----’ He stopped and pulled out a chair for me. ‘It would be best if you sat down.’
Exasperated, I burst out, ‘For heaven’s sake, Jago. Stop treating me like a helpless invalid.’
He pursed his lips in annoyance. ‘I beg your pardon, but I believe you should prepare yourself for the worst.’
I glared at him. ‘Do you really? Well, I won’t. No matter what you say.’
The expression on his face reminded me of an occasion years ago, when Mudd came to tell me my favourite horse at that time had broken his leg and had to be put down. I could take sympathy from Mudd, but not from Jago. In this mood he was insufferable, but as I turned to leave the room, he urged, ‘Drusilla, I beg of you to listen to me.’ He picked up a letter from his desk and in his gravest voice declared, ‘You will want to see this. It lists the names of our agents who were guillotined.’
