Under false colours

If Drinkwater felt he had wrested the initiative from her he realized now he had made a misjudgement. She seemed suddenly to contract, not out of fear or weakness, but with the latent energy of a coiled spring.

'So, that is why ...!'

And then he saw that the hatred he had kindled was introspective, for when she spoke to him again her voice was flat, explicatory, rationalizing things to herself, but in English for his benefit.

'Then you also killed Hortense Santhonax, M'sieur Drinkwater, for my husband is numbered among criminals, a man disgraced in the service of the Emperor.'

'I can assure you,' he said quietly, 'your husband did his duty to the utmost. It was his death or mine; your widowhood or my own wife's.'

She sighed and shook off her abstraction. 'Since Edouard's disgrace I have received no pension, nor a sou of his due pay. I was abandoned by the Emperor, left destitute.'

'I believe the manner in which I harmed your husband was of very great importance to your Emperor,' Drinkwater said. He could not tell her the enormity of the secret he had brought home, that it was nothing less than the seduction of Tsar Alexander from his alliance with Great Britain and the intention of the two autocrats to partition Europe. Nor could he tell her it was that very alliance that his present mission sought to undermine. 'He was not alone in paying a price. I have not seen my wife since the event.'

She regained her composure and raised her glass. 'Do we drink to the misfortunes of war then?'

'It seems that we must, though I suspect your motives in doing so.'

'You thought I would denounce you to Davout and you do not trust me now?'

'I am not certain of anything, though in Hamburg you seemed to be under some constraint.'

'Le bon Dieudonne?'' she smiled beguilingly. 'He is a man, M'sieur Drinkwater, and like most men,' she went on, 'predictable. Perhaps now you understand why so loyal a servant of Napoleon Bonaparte as the Prince of Eckmühl wished to question me when my portrait was found on a British ship.'

'Then your presence in Hamburg ...'

'Was a coincidence as much as yours.' She seemed oddly relaxed. Could she so easily forgive the author of her downfall, or was she about to manipulate him as she intimated she had Dieudonne? Her next remark gave him no cause to think otherwise.

'Shall we sit down?'

Drinkwater's reply betrayed his unease. 'Where is our host?'

'Herr Liepmann?' she shrugged. 'I asked him to leave us alone for a few moments.' She had seated herself so that she was half turned towards him in the chair beside the fire. 'Pray sit. You have all the advantage standing, and that is unfair.'

'You forgive your enemies easily.'

She laughed. 'No. You are not my enemy, M'sieur Drinkwater, you are an agent of providence. Do you believe in providence?'

'Implicitly.' He sat himself opposite her. 'So why, when providence so neatly delivered me into your power, did you not denounce me in order to rehabilitate yourself with Davout and the Emperor? And why have you come here to Liepmann's house at Altona seeking this interview with me?'

'M'sieur Drinkwater, why have you come here? Or to Hamburg, eh? To sell boots to the French?' She laughed, a low chuckle that vibrated in her long throat. 'La, sir, it is common gossip in Hamburg, probably in Paris by now, that two British ships, cheated of a Russian market, sought their contemptible profit elsewhere.' She paused to sip her wine, then added, 'But that would not concern a naval officer, would it?'

'Quite so,' Drinkwater said, suppressing the satisfaction that the news gave him and ignoring the sarcasm in her voice.

'I will not press you for an explanation of your presence here,' she said after a pause, studying him. 'But you should know I did not make the attempt on Lord Dungarth's life. You must lay that at the feet of Fouche, or perhaps even the Emperor himself, who knows? But I have made his acquaintance, in France twice, and once in England.' She sighed. 'Edouard was my life; without him I would be an embittered emigrée living on charity in an English town. But he is dead and I must live; I have friends ...' She caught his eye and then looked quickly away. She was discomfitted and he recalled Dungarth alleging an intimacy with Talleyrand. 'They are powerful friends and I am here in Hamburg on their behalf...'

'Go on,' he prompted, for she seemed suddenly indecisive.

'Will you do a service for me?' she asked, looking him full in the face.

'If it does not compromise my honour.'

'Will you take a message to London, to Lord Dungarth?'

Drinkwater sat back in his chair. 'Is that the coincidence that brought you to Hamburg?'

'More, it is the coincidence that brought me here to Altona. Lord Dungarth informed me that the Jew Liepmann, a merchant of Hamburg, was in touch with the British agent on Helgoland.'

Drinkwater wanted to laugh. The tension in his belly seemed to unwind, tugging at his reactive responses.

'You are not laughing at me?'

'No, Madame,' said Drinkwater with an effort, leaning forward and holding out his glass. 'Is there a little more wine with which to toast this alliance of ours. 'Tis a pity too much lies between us to be friends.'

'You have a wife, M'sieur.' She had become serious again as she poured, paying him back in his own, barbed coin. He felt again the strong animal attraction of her. For a foolish moment he persuaded himself that it was, perhaps, not unrequited.

'Touché, Madame,' he murmured, dismissing the fancy as conceit. 'Yes, I will take your message, but after another matter has been attended to.'

'What is that?'

'The release of a British sea officer; he is badly wounded and has a lady awaiting news of him.'

'I know, Herr Liepmann has told me.'

'He was indiscreet ...'

'No, no, he knew I could help. He knows both you and I are dangerous; I think he would be pleased to see us both satisfied and gone.' She paused, adding, 'This is trés domestique, n'est-ce pas, M'sieur?'

Drinkwater looked at her across the fire, returning her conspiratorial smile.

'Very.'

'I think we should call the Jew now.'

She rose and he stood while she rang the bell-pull. Letting the braided cord fall she turned to him and took a step closer. Looking him full in the face she raised her hand and touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers.

'Providence, M'sieur Drinkwater, providence. Perhaps it has not yet finished with us.'

And reaching into the breast of her riding habit she drew out a scaled packet and handed it to him.

CHAPTER 16 The Burial Party

January-February 1810

Long after she had gone and Liepmann had shown him to a small bedroom beneath the attic, Drinkwater sat by the open window, the quilt from the bed about his shoulders. It was impossible to sleep, for his wounded shoulder ached and his head spun with an endless train of thought.

The mood of intimacy had been broken after Liepmann's arrival. He came with news of the church bells ringing a tocsin to alert the countryside to the breakout from the hospital. They stood in silence to listen as the Jewish merchant drew aside the heavy brocade curtains and opened the tall French windows a little. Muffled by