Drums of War

Though he'd washed his hands before they left, Flynn's face and hair were still flecked with white flour. The cart was now loaded with bread and loaves were delivered to various customers.

Dozens were dropped off at the market. Flynn didn't only deal in large deliveries. Daniel was touched to see him hand over two loaves to an elderly couple, too infirm to walk all the way to the shop. It was towards the end of the round that Daniel finally caught sight of the Bastille. While Flynn was delivering bread to a tavern in an adjacent boulevard, Daniel slipped around the corner into the Rue Saint-Antoine.

He stared up at the forbidding exterior of the Bastille. It was an enormous structure. Built as a gate during the Hundred Years' War, it had been considerably extended to create a looming fortress. The irregular rectangle had eight towers that seemed to climb up into the sky. What made it particularly daunting was that the walls and the towers were the same height and connected by a broad terrace. It meant that soldiers inside the stronghold could move quickly to the point of attack without having to go up and down the circular staircases in the towers. A wide moat completed its defences.

Somewhere inside the prison was Emanuel Janssen. Finding a means of rescuing him seemed an impossible task. Yet it had to be attempted. On the ride back to the bakery, Daniel heard very little of Flynn's hearty monologue because his mind was fettered to the Bastille.

Charlotte Flynn had been uneasy at the threat of having her home invaded by strangers. Now that they were actually there, however, she found them less intrusive than she feared. Dopff helped to make and serve breakfast while Beatrix seized a broom and started to clean the house. All of Amalia's maternal instincts were aroused when she set eyes on Louise and she couldn't stop smiling as she cuddled the baby. When she was alone with Charlotte in the parlour, she was reluctant to yield up the child to its mother.

As Daniel had advised, Amalia did not reveal how much of the French language she'd mastered. Instead, she spoke haltingly and deliberately groped for words so that conversation with Charlotte was laboured. There was one thing that she wished to make clear.

'While we here,' she said, 'we help, yes?'

'Thank you,' replied Charlotte, gratefully. 'Until last week, we had a servant but Ronan caught her stealing and got rid of her. We are looking for someone else.'

'With baby, the help you need.'

'We know that.'

Sensing that Amalia was in some kind of trouble, Charlotte warmed to her. The two of them went off to market together. While Charlotte chose the food, Amalia insisted on paying for it. As a reward for her generosity, she was allowed to carry the baby on the journey home. When they got back to the house, it was visibly tidier. Beatrix felt much happier in her role as a servant and knew how to keep out of the way. Seeing the food bought at the market, Dopff's face became more expressive than ever. It was clear that he was volunteering to prepare the next meal.

Daniel and Flynn eventually returned and walked in on a quiet domestic scene. Amalia was rocking the baby in its wooden crib while Charlotte was mending a dress. At the sight of needle and thread, Daniel recalled the repair made to his coat and wondered if Charlotte had been responsible. Since he'd been away from his wife and child for so long, it was evident that Flynn would appreciate some time alone with them. Daniel therefore invited Amalia to join him in a walk. They stepped out into the sunshine.

'What have you been doing?' she asked.

'I watched Ronan make bread then helped to deliver it.'

'Why did you do that, Captain Rawson?'

'His delivery round took him close to the prison where your lather is being held,' explained Daniel. 'I wanted to take a look at it.'

Amalia came to a halt. 'Where is it?'

He'd deliberately not told her before because he knew that she'd be distressed. Amalia had been in Paris for several months. In that time, she'd surely have heard of the Bastille and been aware of its reputation. It was a place where political prisoners were kept in chains and where those who'd offended the King in some way were routinely dispatched. Many who entered the grim portals never came out alive again. Emanuel Janssen could not be in a worse place.

'Well,' she pressed, 'which prison is it?'

She had to be told. 'The Bastille,' he said. 'Oh!'

Amalia almost swooned and he had to support her with both hands for a moment. Thanking him for his help, she eased him away and made an effort to compose herself. They continued their walk.

'I can see why you didn't tell me earlier,' she said.

'You've had enough distress in the last twenty-four hours, Miss Janssen. I had no wish to add to it.'

'That was considerate of you.' She turned to him in despair. 'I've heard the most terrible stories about the Bastille. We drove past it in a coach once and the very sight of it frightened me. I'm horrified to think that Father is locked up in there.'

'It shows that he's still alive,' said Daniel, trying to strike an optimistic note. 'That's a sign of clemency.'

'Should I make an appeal for mercy to the King?'

'Oh, no, Miss Janssen. It would certainly be rejected and you would give your whereabouts away. After what happened to the man who watched your house, the police will be looking for you and the others. That's why I brought you to a part of the city where they'd be unlikely to search. I want them to think that you've left Paris.'

'I could never do that while Father is still here.'

'You may not have to,' he said.

'Is there any chance at all that he can be rescued?'

'I think so, Miss Janssen.'

'How will you go about it?'

'I'm not sure yet but, thanks to Ronan, an idea is forming in my brain. It may require me to leave you alone at the house for a while.'

'Where will you be, Captain Rawson?'

'Perhaps you ought to stop calling me that,' he suggested. 'It's not wise to keep reminding me that I'm a British soldier. If that name slips out in front of Charlotte, she'll become too curious. It might be safer if you called me "Daniel" from now on.'

'In that case, I will — Daniel. And in view of what you've already done for us in the short time you've been here, I think you're entitled to call me by my Christian name.'

'Thank you, Amalia. I regard that as a privilege.'

Their eyes locked for a moment. Daniel's smile was broad and Amalia's more cautious but both acknowledged that they had just crossed a little boundary. Their friendship had deepened and they were drawn insensibly closer. It was a very pleasant feeling and Daniel luxuriated in it until he remembered the repair to his coat.

'There's something else I must thank you for, Amalia.'

'Is there?'

'During the night, you brushed and mended my coat.'

'But I didn't. Had you asked, I'd have been happy to do so. I may not aspire to the heights of making a tapestry but my father taught me a long time ago how to use a needle.'

Daniel was puzzled. 'If it wasn't you,' he said, 'who was it?'

'Well, it was certainly not Beatrix,' she replied. 'She lay snoring beside me all night. That leaves only one person.'

'It has to be someone capable of moving silently in the dark.'

'Kees can do that. He's the one you have to thank, Daniel.'

Seeing his uncle walking towards him, Tom Hillier quailed. It was one thing to be ignored by Henry Welbeck but he sensed that it would be even worse to be berated by him. The sergeant was known for his ability to harangue recruits. Judging by his dour expression, he was about to turn his venom on his nephew. Hillier swallowed hard.