The Prisoner in the Tower, page 19
part #3 of Drusilla Davanish Mystery Series
Mr. Pitt was in great form that evening, entertaining us all with amusing stories of events in his life, and the people he’d met. Consequently it wasn’t until I climbed into bed late that night that I was finally able to think about Morel. At first I began to seriously doubt myself. Was I really right about him? For, I had no proof whatsoever. Or was I doing what Jago did? Fitting it all together in the way I wanted it to go.
But, by going over everything I knew of Morel I became even more certain he was guilty. And that brought other thoughts rushing into my mind. Thoughts that made me shiver. For any Frenchman who learnt his whole family had starved to death, would want the aristocrats to pay with their lives. Such a man would support the French revolution with every breath in his body. And he would spy for France, not England.
I got out of bed, slipped on my dressing gown and began to pace up and down the room, as walking invariably helped me to think. Was Morel really a French spy? After all he was the man who told Mr. Wickham that the turncoat had betrayed all our Paris agents to the French. Proof, in all our minds, that Morel could not possibly be the traitor we were desperate to identify.
On the other hand, I could not imagine a more perfect alibi. As perfect as the one I believed he’d devised after killing the Comte. And that would have worked too, if Mr. Reevers and I had both gone to church that Sunday morning.
If he really was the turncoat, then he was the man who had recruited Toby East to set up the Fat Badger Society, and he must also have tried to kill me the evening I rode home after dining with the Tanfields.
As I began to count the reasons why I now believed he was the turncoat, a blood-curdling scream suddenly broke the silence.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I ran to the window and hurriedly drew back the curtains. A little moonlight showed through the clouds, but I couldn’t see anyone outside. At that moment there was a knock on the door, and I heard my uncle call out anxiously, ‘Are you all right, Drusilla?’
I quickly crossed the room and opened the door. In the light from the candle my uncle carried I saw how relieved he was at finding me unharmed. He asked, ‘Was it you who screamed?’
‘No. I think it came from outside.’
By then Aunt Thirza had joined us in the corridor and she blurted out, ‘Thank goodness you’re safe, Drusilla.’
My uncle said to her, ‘Drusilla thinks it was someone outside, my dear. Now, if you will both stay here, I’ll go out and take a look.’
‘Oh no, Charles. Not on your own. Please........’
At that point Mr. Pitt appeared, carrying an oil lamp, and the two gentlemen were about to investigate together, when we heard a woman sobbing. Mr. Pitt swung his lamp around the dark corridor and we soon saw the woman was Gisele. On seeing us, she gave a huge heartfelt sob and threw herself into Mr. Pitt's arms. My uncle quickly relieved him of his lamp, enabling Mr. Pitt to pat Gisele on the back in a rather embarrassed fashion. ‘There, there,’ he murmured awkwardly, gently removing her arms from his neck. As he put her a little distance from him, he begged her to tell him what was wrong.
‘It’s Louis,’ she whimpered, mopping her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘He – he went out just before midnight and----------’
‘Went out?’ Mr. Pitt repeated. ‘At that time of night?’
‘He thought I was asleep.’ And she began to twist her handkerchief in her hands. ‘You see, he’s been acting rather oddly lately, and I---’ Tears began to run down her cheeks again. ‘I thought he was seeing another woman. So I followed him.’
We all looked at each other, and my uncle asked quietly, ‘Was there another woman?’
She shook her head. ‘It was much worse than that.’ And another sob escaped her. ‘He went straight down to the beach. There were two men waiting for him and I heard them talking. They were French and looked like smugglers. Louis----' She stopped, took a deep breath and blurted out, ‘Louis gave them a letter and told them to get it to Paris as soon as possible.’ Not one of us spoke; we were all too shocked. In fact Mr. Pitt reached out and put a hand on a small side table, as if to steady himself.
‘What did you do, Gisele?’ I asked gently.
‘I didn’t know what to do, Drusilla. I went back into the grounds and walked about, trying to think. Then I saw Louis hurrying towards the castle. I called out to him, and he rushed over to me, demanding to know what the devil I was doing outside. I told him what I’d seen, and he said --- he said.....’ She put her hands over face and started sobbing again.
‘Go on,’ I urged.
When she removed her hands, I saw tears rolling down her cheeks as she told me, ‘He said he was spying for France. And that he’d killed that nice Mr. Fenton.’
My aunt gasped and Mr. Pitt exclaimed, with a discernible shake in his voice, ‘Louis said that?’
‘I couldn’t believe it either,’ Gisele whispered. ‘But it’s true. I was very angry with him for being so stupid, and I threatened to tell you, Drusilla.’ She gave a shudder. ‘That’s when he grabbed hold of me and said he’d see me dead first. He had a knife and-------’
‘A knife?’ I repeated. Words that I feared would only confirm Louis was the turncoat. And it filled me with utter despair, for I had hoped and prayed all along that it wasn’t him. The distress this was causing my aunt and uncle, and Mr. Pitt, left me feeling utterly helpless. For there was nothing I could say, or do, that would alleviate their feelings. And the horror of it all would stay with them for the rest of their lives.
But did that mean Louis had killed the Comte too? My mind was in a complete whirl and I no longer knew what to think. An hour ago I’d believed Morel was the turncoat. And now Gisele had shown me how very wrong I was.
‘I didn’t know Louis had a knife,’ she insisted, unable to keep the fear out of her voice. ‘I was so terrified I pushed him away from me as hard as I could, and he fell backwards down some stone steps. I didn’t even know the steps were there.’ She took a long deep breath. ‘He must have hit his head. There was blood everywhere.’ She began to cry again. ‘It was horrible.’
‘Where is he now?’ I asked.
‘He’s still there.’ And she wailed, ‘I think he’s dead.’
Still no-one spoke. The enormity of it all was too great. My uncle tried to comfort her by putting his arm round her, and she immediately turned towards him, weeping into his shoulder. It was then that Mr. Pitt took charge, saying to us, ‘If you will all kindly go into the drawing room, I will deal with this. Gisele, you must take me to Louis.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ my uncle insisted.
Distraught though she still was, Gisele did as she was bid. I wanted to go too, but I couldn’t leave my aunt alone, she was far too upset. Thus we went into the drawing room to wait for the gentlemen to return. ‘I do not believe Louis is a French spy,’ my aunt declared rather shakily, as we sat beside each other on a sofa. ‘His whole family detested everything those dreadful revolutionaries stood for. Louis is such a nice, kind, gentle man. It can’t be true, Drusilla. It can’t be.’
I found it as hard to believe as my aunt did, yet Gisele said he’d met French smugglers on the beach and given them a letter to take back to Paris. We were all aware that smugglers on both sides were used as messengers and spies, whether we were at war or not.
Thankfully it wasn’t too long before my uncle returned. ‘Louis is alive,’ he told us. ‘But he’s unconscious.’
Aunt Thirza closed her eyes in immense relief. ‘Thank goodness,’ she whispered. ‘Has the doctor been sent for?’
‘Yes, a groom rode off a few minutes ago, and Mr. Pitt had two strong servants carry Louis to his bedchamber. Gisele is making him as comfortable as possible, and her maid, Gussie, is with her in case she needs anything.’
‘Did he really have a knife?’ I asked quietly.
My uncle admitted reluctantly that it was true. ‘It was on the ground near him.’
I sighed. ‘I did so hope Gisele was wrong.’
There was nothing we could do until the doctor arrived, which he did very speedily. He spent a long time examining Louis before coming into the drawing room where we had all congregated. He looked so grave I feared the worst. Naturally he addressed his findings to Mr. Pitt, saying, ‘Well sir, incredibly there are no broken bones. He has suffered a severe blow to the head, which has left him deeply unconscious.’
‘Will he recover,’ Mr. Pitt asked anxiously.
‘Frankly the odds are against him, but he’s young and strong, so there is always a chance.’ He looked round at us all. ‘I have given Mrs. Gauvan instructions on how to nurse him and I’ll call again first thing in the morning. If there should be any change don’t hesitate to send for me.’ Mr. Pitt expressed his gratitude and walked outside with him, no doubt to quiz him further on Louis' chances.
My aunt, who was an excellent nurse, said she would offer to help Gisele. Now she had something definite to do she was more like her usual self, and when she’d left the room to go and speak to Gisele, Uncle Charles said to me, ‘If he does recover he’ll be tried for treason, and there can be only one outcome to that.’ He shook his head from side to side. ‘I still can’t believe it, Drusilla. I always thought Louis was as true a patriot as I am.’ I understood how he felt, but I prayed Louis would recover, for that was the only way we could ever be certain of the truth.
Aunt Thirza came back a few minutes later to tell us that she would be assisting Gisele overnight for, as she rightly said, ‘The next few hours will be the most critical time. Gisele's maid knows a lot about nursing, and has offered to help, so I’ve told her to come back in the morning. We will be in need of sleep by then, and it is essential that someone with experience of nursing is with Louis all the time.’
She advised us all to go to bed, as there was nothing more we could do to help. We took her advice, but I didn’t think I would be able to sleep, and I did lay awake for some time going over all that had happened. For I no longer knew what to think about Morel. It looked as if I had got it dreadfully wrong. Was Louis the real traitor? Or could they have worked together? They were such great friends I feared that might be the answer.
Eventually, I did fall asleep, but woke again just after seven. I rang for some hot water, as a wash always made me feel very much better. After my maid had seen to my hair I walked into the breakfast parlour just in time to hear Mr. Pitt ask Jago if he’d slept well last night. He had not joined us at any point during the night, and we soon discovered why, for he answered cheerfully, ‘I slept like a log.’
No-one else was there, not even the butler, at that moment, and Mr. Pitt inquired, ‘Did you hear anything at all?’
Jago shook his head. ‘No. Not a thing.’ Looking rather puzzled, he asked, ‘Why? Should I have done?’
As Mr. Pitt began to explain what had happened to Louis, I watched the colour drain from Jago's face. But when he heard Louis had admitted to Gisele that he was the turncoat, the normally calm and collected Jago uncharacteristically exploded, ‘Louis – a traitor?’ He shook his head vehemently from side to side. ‘Never. I worked with him in Paris for years. Gisele is wrong. It’s quite impossible.’ When Mr. Pitt finished relating all that Gisele had said, Jago burst out again, ‘That’s absolute nonsense. Louis is not the turncoat.’ He hurriedly swallowed the remains of his coffee, thrust his chair back, and announced, ‘I’m going to see him for myself. If you will excuse me.’
Once we were alone, Mr. Pitt said, ‘I find it hard to believe too, Lady Drusilla, but if he admitted it to Gisele ----------’ He shook his head, unable to go on and I could not speak either, for my feelings were totally in accord with his. That it just did not seem possible.
After breakfast I looked in on Louis too. Jago was still there, gazing at his friend, his brow deeply furrowed. Louis' face was as white as the bandage round his head, and I could see he was breathing, but that was the only sign of life. Gisele, who looked pale and weary, told me, ‘The doctor came an hour ago, but there’s nothing more he can do. He promised to call in again later.’
When I saw how tired Aunt Thirza looked too, my conscience forced me to say, ‘Would you like me to take over for a while?’
My aunt smiled in a mixture of gratitude and understanding of why I’d made such an offer. ‘That is kind of you, Drusilla, but we’ve already worked out a system. Gisele’s maid will arrive shortly, so there will always be two of us here. Gisele is going to get some rest now, and later I will.’ A statement I greeted with relief, and a little guilt, but my aunt knew full well that I had no aptitude for nursing, and that I hated it above all things. The little I’d been forced to do in the past had driven me mad with boredom, and left me feeling totally inadequate, for I never seemed to know what to do for the best in those circumstances. To my surprise Jago offered to stay with Louis while Gisele and my aunt had some much needed breakfast. An offer my aunt accepted, and of course, I said I would stay too until the maid, Gussie, arrived.
When they left the room, Jago looked at me, shock still evident in his eyes. ‘Drusilla, I’m absolutely certain Louis isn’t the turncoat.’
‘I understand why you say that, but why else would he admit such a thing to Gisele? Or give those smugglers a letter to take back to Paris?’
‘I don’t know,’ he blurted out in despair. ‘But there has to be some other explanation.’ He sat staring into space for a minute or two, before he quietly asked, ‘Tell me honestly, Drusilla. What do you think?’
That he should actually ask my opinion, something he had never done before, told me how desperate he was to prove Louis was innocent. I felt truly sorry for him, but there was nothing I could say to lessen his distress, for as I told him, my mind was reeling as much as his. It was entirely possibly for Louis to have murdered Mr. Fenton, and he could easily have killed the Comte too. He was also one of the very few people who knew exactly where all our Paris agents were lodging, and he could, therefore, have betrayed them.
Louis was French born, and he’d worked for Danton, the highly popular revolutionary leader, earlier in the year. Perhaps the charismatic Danton had won him over to the revolution.
Gussie, Gisele's maid, came in a few minutes later, and I thanked her for being so kind as to assist in looking after Mr. Gauvan. But Jago instantly demanded to know what experience she had of nursing, as if he doubted her ability to look after Louis. I said nothing, for I understood how very worried he was about Louis. Gussie seemed to understand that too and told him gently, ‘Sixteen years ago I started as a lady’s maid, sir. Nine months later my mistress became rather sickly, and as she slowly got worse over the years I learnt how to deal with all kinds of situations. I was very fond of her, but she died two months ago.’
Seeing tears in her eyes I said, ‘I am sorry to hear that, Gussie.’
She thanked me and said Mr. Gauvan has seen how upset she was when she first went to work for Mrs. Gauvan, and he had been very kind to her. ‘So I will do everything I can to help him, my lady.’
Before I could say anything, Jago asked rather sharply, ‘Why are you called by your Christian name?’ For surnames were normally used.
‘Well sir, my grandfather was Russian, and his name is very long and not easy to pronounce.’
‘What nonsense. Surely we would soon become used to it. Tell me what it is.’
She did so and it was very long, with five syllables, and not easy to say. Jago stared at her and finally admitted somewhat grudgingly, ‘Yes, very well, I see it would be difficult. Make sure you look after Mr. Gauvan properly,’ he ordered, as he rose to his feet and headed towards the door. As he opened it, he turned and warned her, ‘And don’t go to sleep.’
‘I won’t do that, sir,’ she said in a serene voice.
When my aunt returned I decided to go for a walk. The strong gusty winds had moderated overnight to a pleasant breeze, and I returned to my bedchamber first to put on a hat, and as I left my room, my uncle came out of his bedchamber. He was dressed for going outside and on seeing me, he asked, ‘Drusilla, my dear, are you going for a walk too? May I join you?’
‘Of course,’ I said, with a smile.
There was only one topic of conversation that morning as we walked through the grounds. After making a few desultory comments on the situation, my uncle pronounced in a firm voice, ‘Drusilla, I don’t believe Louis threatened to kill Gisele. He worships the very ground she walks on.’
‘I know, but why would she lie?’
He lifted his shoulders in a helpless fashion. ‘Maybe they had a terrible row and that’s how she came to push him down those steps. She thought he was dead, and your aunt is convinced she made up the story about his being a traitor so that she wouldn’t be arrested for murder.’
I shook my head at that. ‘Why would she concoct something that devious? I mean, if she needed an excuse, she could easily have said he’d tripped and fallen down the steps.’
‘Yes, you are quite right.’ And he sighed. ‘Do you really believe Louis is a traitor?’
‘I don’t know what to think, Uncle. I really don’t.’
If Louis was guilty, then I was wrong about Morel. But why would Louis kill the Comte? And if he really was the turncoat who planned to abduct Mr. Pitt, Louis could not do so now. Yet, as I thought it all over, that same instinct started nagging at me again – that I had still missed something vital.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
W hen my uncle and I returned to the castle, Mr. Pitt called us all together and quietly announced, ‘I’ve told the servants that Louis couldn’t sleep last night and he went outside for a breath of air. And in the darkness he tripped and fell down those old stone steps.’
‘Good idea, sir,’ Jago said. ‘That should keep them quiet. We don’t want any gossip, and you know what servants are like.’
‘Well, I trust it will do the trick. There’s nothing more we can do for Louis at present. He’s being well looked after, and I think we should all carry on as normal. In any case I must inspect the Volunteers today as arranged.’
