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.
