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Authors: Rob Griffith
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different. I wish to God she had not become involved but even her own parents could not control her so what am I meant to do, eh?”
Dominique blushed and glared at her uncle but said nothing. Instead of things becoming clearer, the more information I got the less idea I had as to what was going on.
“The Alien Office. What does it do?”
“You ask me that? You an Englishman?” Calvet laughed so much he spilt his brandy.
“I…”
“Calm down, my friend. I only joke with you. The best secret police is secret, is it not? The Alien Office was formed by your government to keep an eye on all the émigrés in London after the Revolution. Surveillance became assistance and then the Office began to correspond with Royalists still in France, and across Europe. They began to plot, to spy, even murder.” Calvet saw my incredulity. “Yes, some of your countrymen fight in red coats, some on the ships of your Navy, and some in the back alleys of Paris. It is all the same war, just different battles.”
“And Captain Wright?”
“He is a good man. He carries agents over from England and occasionally ventures ashore himself.”
I suppose I could have been more shocked but after having experienced a battlefield I had few notions left about the honour or nobility of war. If one dagger slipped between the right set of ribs in Paris saved a single British soldier’s life it would be worth it. Not that I had any intention of getting involved. Not then. I just wanted to get home. I was getting tired, even more confused and I needed a night’s sleep to digest what I had been told, so I yawned and stretched theatrically. Dominique took the hint and stood up.
“Come, uncle. Let us leave Monsieur Blackthorne to his rest.”
“Yes, of course. That is enough storytelling for one day. Sleep well, Monsieur Blackthorne. I think we have some busy days ahead of us. Tomorrow we will meet with some of our friends and plan your journey to the coast.” They exited and quietly closed the door behind them, unlocked this time, and I was left with just my thoughts and my fears.
I lay awake for a long time, trying to work out who or what to believe. However tempting it was to trust Dominique and her uncle I wasn’t naïve enough to think I had been so lucky as to fall in by chance with the very people who could help me escape. Neither could I credit that Captain John bloody Wright had lumbered me with the secrets of Bonaparte’s invasion plans while he escaped back to dear old England. I felt like a salmon; buffeted by forces I didn’t understand, swimming against the current to God knows where and all the while things smelt distinctly fishy around me.
I studied the papers and tried to memorise the lists of ports, the type of craft and the numbers of soldiers contained in the papers, just in case they were taken from me. I thought about destroying them but I didn’t trust my memory. As I read the lists I became more determined than ever to get back to England. Bonaparte planned to build thousands of invasion craft to ferry his armies across the Channel. Some were small gunboats, others large flat-bottomed barges for transporting horses and guns. Boulogne harbour was to be enlarged just to accommodate a fraction of the fleet.
If only half the craft reached their destination Bonaparte’s veterans would go through the Fencibles, Volunteers and Militia massed on the English coast like a hot knife through butter. I had to return home with the papers. However, when the Calvets and their friends came up with their preposterous plan the following day I seriously considered running to the nearest guillotine and putting my own head on the block. It would have been quicker and less painful.
CHAPTER SIX
The following morning I was properly allowed out of my room for the first time. As comfortable as it was I had become heartily sick of seeing the same four walls all the time. Dominique led me downstairs to a salon on the first
Dominique blushed and glared at her uncle but said nothing. Instead of things becoming clearer, the more information I got the less idea I had as to what was going on.
“The Alien Office. What does it do?”
“You ask me that? You an Englishman?” Calvet laughed so much he spilt his brandy.
“I…”
“Calm down, my friend. I only joke with you. The best secret police is secret, is it not? The Alien Office was formed by your government to keep an eye on all the émigrés in London after the Revolution. Surveillance became assistance and then the Office began to correspond with Royalists still in France, and across Europe. They began to plot, to spy, even murder.” Calvet saw my incredulity. “Yes, some of your countrymen fight in red coats, some on the ships of your Navy, and some in the back alleys of Paris. It is all the same war, just different battles.”
“And Captain Wright?”
“He is a good man. He carries agents over from England and occasionally ventures ashore himself.”
I suppose I could have been more shocked but after having experienced a battlefield I had few notions left about the honour or nobility of war. If one dagger slipped between the right set of ribs in Paris saved a single British soldier’s life it would be worth it. Not that I had any intention of getting involved. Not then. I just wanted to get home. I was getting tired, even more confused and I needed a night’s sleep to digest what I had been told, so I yawned and stretched theatrically. Dominique took the hint and stood up.
“Come, uncle. Let us leave Monsieur Blackthorne to his rest.”
“Yes, of course. That is enough storytelling for one day. Sleep well, Monsieur Blackthorne. I think we have some busy days ahead of us. Tomorrow we will meet with some of our friends and plan your journey to the coast.” They exited and quietly closed the door behind them, unlocked this time, and I was left with just my thoughts and my fears.
I lay awake for a long time, trying to work out who or what to believe. However tempting it was to trust Dominique and her uncle I wasn’t naïve enough to think I had been so lucky as to fall in by chance with the very people who could help me escape. Neither could I credit that Captain John bloody Wright had lumbered me with the secrets of Bonaparte’s invasion plans while he escaped back to dear old England. I felt like a salmon; buffeted by forces I didn’t understand, swimming against the current to God knows where and all the while things smelt distinctly fishy around me.
I studied the papers and tried to memorise the lists of ports, the type of craft and the numbers of soldiers contained in the papers, just in case they were taken from me. I thought about destroying them but I didn’t trust my memory. As I read the lists I became more determined than ever to get back to England. Bonaparte planned to build thousands of invasion craft to ferry his armies across the Channel. Some were small gunboats, others large flat-bottomed barges for transporting horses and guns. Boulogne harbour was to be enlarged just to accommodate a fraction of the fleet.
If only half the craft reached their destination Bonaparte’s veterans would go through the Fencibles, Volunteers and Militia massed on the English coast like a hot knife through butter. I had to return home with the papers. However, when the Calvets and their friends came up with their preposterous plan the following day I seriously considered running to the nearest guillotine and putting my own head on the block. It would have been quicker and less painful.
CHAPTER SIX
The following morning I was properly allowed out of my room for the first time. As comfortable as it was I had become heartily sick of seeing the same four walls all the time. Dominique led me downstairs to a salon on the first
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