Drums of War

Chapter Six

Kees Dopff was a small, thin, shy, sinewy man in his late twenties with a mobile face under a thatch of red hair. Mute since birth, he conversed by gesticulating with his hands or by rearranging his features into any one of a whole range of expressions. After serving Emanuel Janssen as an apprentice, Dopff had eventually become his trusted assistant but his talents were not confined to the loom. He was a gifted cook who prepared all the meals in the house, sparing them the trouble of hiring an outsider. When they had first moved to Paris, they had inherited a French servant but Janssen felt that she was there to watch him and dispensed with her services. The four of them had learnt to manage on their own.

Every time that Amalia Janssen left the house, she'd been followed and that unsettled her greatly. Beatrix was too frightened to venture out on her own so Dopff had taken over all the errands. He liked going to market because he could choose the ingredients for the various dishes in his repertoire. When he was not in the kitchen, he was following Janssen's orders and continuing to work on the tapestry that was now so close to completion. He was busy at the loom when Amalia came through the door. Dopff broke off immediately.

'I'm sorry to interrupt you, Kees,' she said, getting a quiet smile in return. 'I was upstairs when I heard you come back. Did you see the man again today?' Dopff nodded. 'Did he follow you?' There was a shake of the head. 'Was it the same man as yesterday?' Dopff nodded again, using his hands to describe the man's height and girth. 'Did he threaten you in any way?'

The weaver shook his head again but Amalia knew that he was lying. Dopff was capable, conscientious and extremely loyal but he lacked courage. The person watching the house intimidated him as much as the two women. Nevertheless, he wouldn't hesitate to protect them if they were in danger even though he could only put up a token defence. He was more than just an assistant to Emanuel Janssen. Dopff had become a member of the family, an adopted son whose disability was at once accepted and ignored. He was made to feel that he had no handicap at all.

When she looked at the tapestry yet again, Amalia had serious misgivings. It was as resplendent and detailed as all of her father's work. It would be much admired when it graced a wall at Versailles. She was, however, disturbed by its subject. It was a depiction of a battle fought almost forty years ago when the French invaded the Spanish Netherlands during the War of Devolution. Under the command of the brilliant Marshal Turenne, the invading army had captured Douai, Tournai, Lille and other cities, annexing Artois and Hainault in the process. It dismayed Amalia that her father was celebrating a French victory on the battlefield. Janssen had argued that it was an honour to have his work hanging in the most celebrated palace in Europe and that it did not matter what it portrayed. He claimed that he was serving his art rather than anything else.

As she viewed it once more, Amalia was struck anew by its subtle blend of colours and by the way the scene came dramatically to life. It was an extraordinary piece of work. She just wished that it did not glorify a nation still fighting against her own. Before she could make that point to Dopff, there was a loud knock at the front door. Tensing at once, she traded a nervous glance with him. A moment later, Beatrix bustled into the room in a state of apprehension.

'What shall I do, Miss Amalia?' she asked.

'Answer the door.'

'It may be that man who's been watching us.'

'Then we must show we're not afraid — go on, Beatrix.'

The servant ran a tongue over her dry lips and breathed in deeply. Dopff, meanwhile, opened a drawer and took out a dagger, hoping that he would never have to use it. Amalia's heart was beating rapidly. She sensed bad news on the other side of the front door.

Daniel had reached Paris without further trouble and entered one of the city gates after showing his forged passport. Because of its noise, filth, stench and crowded streets, he had always disliked the French capital, preferring Amsterdam in every way. It was a relief to find that the address he was after was in a quarter reserved for the rich and powerful. Emanuel Janssen had clearly been treated well since his arrival. When nobody responded to his knock, Daniel banged on the door again. He heard a bolt being drawn then the door opened wide enough for him to see the fretful countenance of Beatrix.

'Is this the home of Emanuel Janssen?' he asked in Dutch.

'The master is not here at the moment, sir.'

'You must be Beatrix.'

'That's right, sir,' she said, eyeing him uneasily.

'I'd like to speak to Miss Janssen, if I may.'

'What's your business with her?'

'I can't divulge that,' said Daniel. 'It's a private matter and I don't propose to discuss it on the doorstep. Tell the young lady that I bring news from home. I've ridden a long way to deliver it.'

Beatrix was unsure what to do. The visitor was very personable and had no resemblance to the man watching the house. At the same time, he was a complete stranger and she therefore distrusted him. She was spared the agony of making a decision.

'Invite the gentleman in,' Amalia called out.

'Yes, Miss Amalia,' replied Beatrix, opening the door wide.

'Thank you,' said Daniel.

Sweeping off his hat, he stepped into the house. Beatrix closed the door behind them and thrust home the bolt before she led him to the parlour. He went into the room to meet Amalia Janssen for the first time. Reports of her beauty had not been exaggerated. Even though she was under obvious stress, she was still arresting. He was taken aback at the sight of her.

'It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Janssen,' he said, smiling.

'May I know your name, sir?'

'Of course,' said Daniel, 'when I'm certain that it's safe to tell it to you.' He glanced around. 'How many of you are there?'

'Apart from me, only Beatrix and my father's assistant are here.'

'That would be Kees Dopff.'

She was cautious. 'How do you know so much about us?'

'Because I've been sent to help you,' he explained. 'Your father is missing and you wrote to ask for assistance.' Smiling again, he spread his arms. 'Here I am.'

'Yet still you have no name, sir.'

'I travelled here as a French citizen by the name of Marcel Daron and I have papers to that effect. My real name is Daniel Rawson, Captain of the 24 ^th Regiment of Foot, and I'm attached to the Duke of Marlborough's personal staff.'

Amalia was bewildered. 'What has the Duke got to do with this?'

'It was he who showed me your letter, Miss Janssen.'

'You read it?'

'I did indeed. You have a graceful hand.'

'However did it reach someone as eminent as a Duke?'

'The person to whom you gave it here passed it on to a courier. It was taken to Flanders at once. His Grace chose me to look into the problem.'

Daniel could see that she was both mystified and suspicious. In order to put her mind at rest, he invited her to interrogate him so that he could prove he was not deceiving her. Amalia offered him a seat then perched on a chair nearby. She fired a series of searching questions at him and he answered them with patent honesty. Very slowly, she began to trust him. However, she was still baffled by the involvement of the Duke of Marlborough. She'd heard her father speak in glowing terms of the British commander without realising that there might be a connection between the two men. Daniel sought to enlighten her.

'This may come as a shock to you, Miss Janssen,' he said, gently, 'but your father did not come to Paris solely to work for His Majesty, King Louis.'

She frowned innocently. 'Why else should he come?'

'He was helping to glean intelligence. Yes,' he went on, seeing her wonderment, 'I know that he was not trained in such work but he agreed to do it and he accepted the dangers that went with it.'

'Why didn't Father tell me?' she cried.

'The less you knew, the safer it was for you.'

'What about my father's safety, Captain Rawson? Did nobody consider that when he was asked to be a spy?'

'He was warned. To his credit, he was not frightened off.'

'Well, I certainly would have been.'

'That's one of the reasons you were kept in the dark.'

'If we'd stayed in Amsterdam where we belonged,' she said, hands clasped tight in her lap, 'none of this would have happened.'

'That's true,' he admitted. 'By the same token, if you hadn't come to Paris, we wouldn't have had such a stream of invaluable information, collected at Versailles by your father.'

'Is that what lies behind all this?' wondered Amalia, trying to work it out in her head. 'Father was welcomed when we first came here and everyone approved of his design for the tapestry. Like me, they didn't know that he had another purpose for being here.' Her eyes filled with tears. 'They must have found him out. My father is far too honest to dissemble for long. He must have given himself away.'

'That's one possibility we must consider.'

'What other is there, Captain Rawson?'

'He might have been attacked by robbers in the street or he might have been kidnapped by someone wanting a ransom.'

'We've received no demand.'

'It would not come here, Miss Jansson. It would go to Versailles and a large amount of money would be involved. Have you had any official word from the King?'

'None at all,' she said, using a delicate finger to wipe a tear from her cheek. 'We informed the authorities that Father was missing and they showed no interest. Since then, nobody has been in touch with us. It's unnerving.'

'Do you have any idea at all where your father might be?'

'No, Captain Rawson. At least, I didn't until you told me what he was really doing here. My fear is that Father's been arrested and put to death.' Amalia stemmed more tears with a handkerchief. 'Why ever did he take such a terrible risk?'

'It may yet prove to be worthwhile, Miss Janssen,' said Daniel, controlling the urge to put a consoling arm around her. "There are ways of finding out the truth. Until we do that, there's no need to vex yourself unnecessarily.' He waited until she'd dried her eyes. 'The first thing I'll do is to speak to Pierre Lefeaux, the person who gave your letter to a courier. What manner of man is he?'

'I never met him. Kees delivered my letter.'

'What did he say about the fellow?'

'Nothing at all,' said Amalia with a wan smile. 'Kees is dumb, Captain Rawson. He talks with his hands.'

'I'll call on Monsieur Lefeaux this very afternoon.'

'Take great care. The house is being watched. A man has been standing near the corner all week. Whenever I leave the house, he follows me and it's very alarming.'

'Do you know who he is and what he's doing there?'

'No, Captain Rawson — I tried to speak to him once and he simply laughed. Since then, I haven't stirred from the house.'

'I can see why you and the others are so upset now,' he said, looking towards the window. 'Has this man made any attempt to get in here?'

'Not so far, but we thought it might be him when you knocked.'

Daniel was purposeful. 'This won't continue, Miss Janssen, I promise you. I'll soon find out what he's doing there. Before that, however, I must seek out Monsieur Lefeaux. He may have found out what happened to your father.'

'Then why hasn't he told us?' she demanded. 'It can only be that Father is dead and Monsieur Lefeaux doesn't have the heart to tell us.'

'There's a simpler explanation than that,' suggested Daniel. 'As far as Pierre Lefeaux is concerned, you know nothing at all about your father's other activities here in Paris. He'll certainly have been ordered to keep you ignorant of them.' He rose to his feet. 'I have his address. I'll go there at once.'

Amalia got up as well. 'What should we do, Captain Rawson?'

'Be ready to quit the house at short notice.'

'Leave here? she said, becoming agitated. 'Is the situation that desperate?'

'It might be, Miss Janssen, which is why you need to be warned. With luck, you'll be able to stay here. In the event that you have to go, you'll have to travel light.'

'Would we leave Paris?'

'Not without your father,' he assured her. 'I know somewhere for us all to stay in the meanwhile and there'll be nobody at all watching that particular house.'

'How long will you be gone?' she asked, putting a hand on his arm as he tried to move to the door. 'Don't leave us too long.'

'I'll be back as soon as I can, Miss Janssen. Urgency is my watchword. When I've spoken to Pierre Lefeaux, I'll call on an old friend just in case we do require accommodation.' He chuckled. 'I fancy that he'll be surprised to see me again.'

'Why is that?'

'The last time we met we were on different sides in a battle.'

Henry Welbeck was not fond of officers. He had buried far too many men as a result of the incompetence of lieutenants or the misplaced bravado of captains. Having taken great pains to train those under his command, he liked to keep as many of them alive as possible. Taking stock of battlefield casualties was something that always darkened his melancholy. The social divide between officers and men was deep and wide. In his own idiosyncratic way, Welbeck was proud of the side on which he stood. The only person of his acquaintance who had bridged that gap was Daniel Rawson, allowing him to move from one world to the other without the slightest difficulty.

If his friend was an exception to the rule, Simon Cracknell embodied it. The major had, in Welbeck's opinion, all the defects of his breed. He was arrogant, disdainful and vindictive, treating those in the ranks as no more than cannon fodder. Among his colleagues, he was reckoned to be a good officer and had shown conspicuous gallantry on the field of battle. Welbeck was ready to acknowledge that. What he disliked most about Cracknell was his constant denigration of Daniel Rawson. It was spiteful and unjust.

Welbeck had just finished drilling his men when he saw that the major had been watching him. Cracknell beckoned him over with a lordly crook of his finger. The sergeant did not hurry.

'Good afternoon, Major,' he said.

'Your men were looking a bit ragged today, Sergeant. It's high time you taught them how to march in a straight line.'

'They were as straight as can be.'

'Not from where I'm standing,' said Cracknell. 'They were like the hind leg of a donkey.'

Welbeck knew that it was untrue and that Cracknell was trying to provoke him. It was pointless to argue with an officer, especially one as powerful as a major. Welbeck opted for gruff politeness.

'It won't happen again, Major.'

'I hope not,' said the other. 'I've got higher standards than Captain Rawson. Now that he's no longer here to protect you, there'll be more scrutiny of your work.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Rawson was far too lax.'

'I disagree, Major.'

'He let friendship interfere with duty and that's a fault in any officer. While he's away, you'll drill your men properly.'

'Yes, sir,' said Welbeck, hurt by the unfair criticism.

'Our regiment must be second to none. We have to set an example to the Dutch. If they were trained as they should be, they might even be prepared to fight a battle with us.'

'You're right, Major.'

'The Prussians know how to fight and so do the Austrians when they put their minds to it. Prince Eugene of Savoy is a true soldier, who leads his men from the front. Only the Dutch let us down and they will keep jabbering in that ridiculous language of theirs.' He gave a cold smile. 'When Captain Rawson talks in Dutch, he sounds like a goose having its neck wrung.'

'The captain is fluent in four languages, Major,' said Welbeck. 'How many do you speak?'

'The only one that matters,' retorted the other, stung by the question. 'Besides, I'm a soldier and everyone speaks the same language on the battlefield with swords and guns.' He tried to make his enquiry seem casual. 'When will we be seeing Rawson again?'

'You're more likely to know that, Major.'

'Didn't he tell you where he was going?'

'When we last spoke, Captain Rawson didn't know himself.'

'But he would surely have told you, if he had.'

'No, Major. He's very discreet.'

'Wouldn't he confide in a close friend?'

'The captain has never discussed any of his assignments beforehand,' said Welbeck. 'He's as close as the grave. I should imagine it's one of the reasons that the Duke entrusts him with such missions. A more boastful officer would be unable to keep secrets.'

Welbeck was delighted to see Cracknell wince slightly. The sergeant's thrust had gone home. Daniel had told him how conceited the major was and how quick to brag about his achievements. Any reminder of Daniel's closeness to their commander-in-chief annoyed Cracknell, who thought himself the better man and more deserving of Marlborough's attention. The major quickly retaliated.

'I understand you have a nephew in the regiment,' he said.

'Yes, Major.'

'I can't say that I approve. One Welbeck is more than enough.'

'The lad's name is Hillier, sir.'

'I know, sergeant. I made it my business to find out. Tom Hillier is a drummer. I shall be interested to see how he develops.'

Welbeck was worried. There was no reason why a major should take the slightest notice of the new recruit unless it was to use him as a means of wounding his uncle. It was the sort of thing that someone like Cracknell would do. In persecuting Hillier, the major would be hurting Welbeck and in doing that he would be assuaging his hatred of a fellow officer. Helpless to defend his nephew, the sergeant wished that Daniel Rawson was still there to come to his aid.

'Where the hell are you, Dan?' he said to himself.

Pierre Lefeaux was a cobbler in the city. While pursuing his trade, he also acted as a British spy, receiving and passing on intelligence to others. Because people came in and out of his shop all day, there was never any suspicion of him. Vital secrets had been concealed in shoes that needed to be repaired. Lefeaux had duly passed them on by all manner of devious means. His shop was in one of the more salubrious districts of Paris though Daniel had to ride through the teeming streets of the poorer quarters in order to find it. Even though it was afternoon, the place was closed. After tethering his horse, Daniel spoke to one of the neighbours and learnt that the cobbler's shop had not been open all week.

The news was disturbing. According to Daniel's information, Lefeaux was an important part of an intelligence system that had been developed in the French capital. He was unlikely to desert his post unless he had fled out of fear of discovery. The neighbour had told him that the cobbler lived above the shop with his wife but that nothing had been seen of either of them. Daniel studied the building. He could not leave without finding out what had happened to the couple. If one of his spies had gone astray, Marlborough would expect a full report. Daniel needed to get inside the premises to search for clues that indicated the fate of Pierre Lefeaux.

Making sure that he was not seen, Daniel went swiftly around to the rear of the house. The shutters were all locked and the little stable was empty, its door wide open. He moved to a ground floor window that was not overlooked by any of the neighbours and took out a dagger. Inserting it between the shutters, he tried to lift the catch but it was securely locked in place. He went back into the stable and looked for an implement that he could use as a lever. He found nothing suitable until his eye alighted on a pair of rusty horseshoes, lying in a corner as if tossed there. Seizing both of them, Daniel went back to the shutter. He used his dagger to saw away at the wood, making the slit wide enough to admit something thicker. Then he worked a horseshoe between the shutters and slowly applied pressure.

The catch held firm at first. As he put more effort into levering the timber apart, the shutters opened enough for him to push the other horseshoe into the gap further up. He now had two levers in play and the wood began to groan under the strain. All at once, with a loud bang, the lock snapped and the shutters flew open. Daniel had to leap back out of the way. He put the horseshoes aside and waited to see if the noise had been heard by anyone else. Nobody came. He flew into action. Removing his hat, he took hold of the window frame and pulled himself through it with speed and agility. He was in the kitchen and could see food left out on the table. The morsels of meat on the two platters were encircled by flies. Almost all of the butter had been eaten. When he felt the loaf of bread, it was dry and stale.

Daniel went through to the parlour but was unable to see much in the half-dark and did not want to open any other shutters in case he attracted attention. When he went through to the shop itself, he could smell the leather. A boot was affixed to a last and a hammer lay beside it. Shoes and boots in need of repair lined the shelves. Daniel had the feeling that many customers were going to be disappointed. As his eyes became more accustomed to the gloom, he went back into the parlour and up the staircase. A noisome smell soon hit his nostrils and it was all too familiar.

It was the unmistakable stink of death. Opening the door to the front bedroom, he blenched.

Pierre Lefeaux and his wife had been hanged from the main beam, their hands tied behind their backs. Their faces were badly bruised and dried blood stained their clothing. He surmised that they'd been tortured before execution. Flies buzzed noisily all around them. Maggots were dining on their rotting flesh. The reek of decomposition was overpowering. Daniel estimated that they'd been dead for several days. Hand over his mouth, he rushed down the stairs and climbed through the window so that he could breathe in fresh air again. His mind was racing and his stomach churning. It was a frightening development. The cobbler had obviously been punished for providing intelligence to the British army. As he rode away from the shop, Daniel was bound to wonder if Emanuel Janssen had met a similarly gruesome fate.

The news that they might have to flee from the house very soon had caused a commotion. Beatrix was close to hysteria and Kees Dopff flailed his arms like a windmill, pleading with Amalia Janssen not to abandon the tapestry on which her father had worked so sedulously and so long. It took some time to subdue them. Amalia sat them down in the parlour and tried to reason with them.

'It may be that we're able to stay right here,' she said.

"Then why this talk of running away?' asked Beatrix.

'That's only a last resort.'

'Who says so?'

'Captain Rawson.'

And do you believe everything he tells you?'

'Yes, I do.'

'You hardly know him, Miss Amalia.'

'I know him well enough to trust him.'

'Well, I'm not sure that I do,' said Beatrix. 'After the things that have been going on here, I don't trust anyone.' She turned to Dopff. 'Do you?' He shook his head violently. 'There you are.'

Amalia was patient. 'Captain Rawson has been sent to help us,' she explained. 'There's no call for you to know why. Suffice it to say that his arrival has been the one thing to lift my spirits since my father went missing. I'm as reluctant as either of you to quit this house but, if it's essential, then we must do as we're told.'

'What about your father?'

'Captain Rawson is making enquiries about him.'

'Oh, I wish I knew what was going on,' Beatrix wailed. 'I never wanted to come here in the first place.' Dopff's expression showed that he agreed with her. 'But at least we had a fine house.'

'It may have served its purpose, Beatrix,' said Amalia. 'Now why don't you and Kees gather together the few belongings you'll be able to take if we're forced out of here.' She saw the anguish on Dopff's face. 'There's no call for alarm, Kees,' she went on, softly. 'I promise you that we won't leave the tapestry behind.' He brightened immediately. 'You'd better be ready to take it down from the loom.'

Dopff nodded and left the room. Amalia sent the servant off to pack her bags. About to go to her own bedroom, she saw a horse pull up outside the front window and recognised the rider. She ran to the door to admit Daniel then brought him into the parlour.

'Well?' she asked. 'Did you see Monsieur Lefeaux?'

'He was not able to help us,' replied Daniel, sadly.

'Didn't he know where Father was?'

'I'm afraid not, Miss Janssen.'

'What exactly did he say?'

'That doesn't matter,' said Daniel, keeping the awful truth from her. 'What has become clear is that you must leave here tonight. I called on my friend and he's willing to look after us for a while. He has a horse and cart.'

'How far must we go?'

'The house is on the other side of the city.'

'Who is this friend?'

'His name is Ronan Flynn and he has a warm Irish heart. He and his wife will look after us until we're ready to leave Paris.'

'And when will that be, Captain Rawson?'

'When we've discovered where your father is.'

'Someone must know,' she said with an edge of desperation.

'Yes, Miss Janssen, and I think he's standing outside in the street. That man who's been watching the house is still there. If anyone knows what's going on, he does.'

'What are you going to do?'

'I'm going to have a friendly word with him,' said Daniel.