Caribbee(82)

He couldn’t meet her gaze.

‘No, sir, I will not do it. I cannot abide dissimulation and deceit. You will find another.’

There was one last throw – one that had been used successfully before. By spymaster d’Auvergne on himself.

‘I’m grieved to hear it, Madame,’ he said softly. ‘Especially since it is impossible another will be found in time …’

She said nothing.

‘And therefore I have to beg you will consider the future.’

A candle guttered in the stillness.

‘When you must be obliged to recall that a grave duty to your country was presented that only you may perform – and you chose to turn your back.’

He raised his eyes to meet hers.

‘These are not words to use to a woman, sir,’ she said levelly. ‘If by them you seek to shame me into complying with your scheme, you have failed.’

‘Then for me, for the sake of Tom Kydd, who saved you from the revolutionaries?’

‘Not even for him – or you.’

Nothing could be read from her expression. She sat rigid and unyielding.

‘Then …’

Unexpectedly she smiled. ‘Nicholas, I have the strangest feeling.’

He blinked.

‘I cannot believe you are a spy at all. You are too gentle – you care about the old things. And … and you’re an honourable man.’

‘In truth, I am not, ma chère.’

‘It must have cost you much to come to me with what was in your heart.’

A lump rose in his throat.

‘It will have been a great matter that weighs so much on you.’

He nodded dumbly.

‘Very well, I will save you. From yourself, that is to say.’

‘Er …’

‘Yes. I will not do this thing for you – that you must accept.’

‘I do, Madame Louise.’

Paradoxically he felt relief that now she would not know the terror and degradation that was the lot of the spy.

‘Then you will understand when I say that it is for la belle France that I will do it.’

Renzi realised she was sparing him the pain of having her on his conscience. He reached across, took both her hands and kissed them. ‘Madame,’ he said quietly, ‘do believe me when I say I am truly humbled.’

The moment hung until she withdrew her fingers and rose, turning away for a space before she came back brightly, ‘Then, mon brave, we should be started.’

An Argand lamp was lit and brought to the table while the maid was summoned to remove the dishes and dismissed for the evening.

‘No brandy until we have completed our business,’ Louise said firmly. ‘Now, what is it we have to do?’

The essentials were simple: to discover by any means if there was unusual activity inside blockaded Guadeloupe consistent with Renzi’s theory.

He took pains to detail to her what might most betray its existence but emphasised it was only the vital secret of its being that was necessary; the rest was out of her hands.

That settled, there was the conceiving of a story to account for her presence there, one that could stand against any question and would be credible to all as she moved about, observed and listened.

It was all progressing much faster than Renzi had expected, and it was Louise who came up with her story.

‘A sad tale. I ran from the war, fearful of my fate. I was taken to St John’s by a kind naval officer’ – Renzi bowed politely – ‘who took me into keeping. He tired of me and turned me out for a younger woman. Cast down and yearning for the sound of le français about me and craving food that was civilised, I paid a fisherman to return me to Guadeloupe, where all I care for now is a quiet life.’

‘Bravo!’ Renzi exclaimed in admiration. ‘Worthy of Manon Lescaut!’

It was certainly credible and her dignity of bearing would deter all but the most determined enquiries.

She would take a bundle of what treasured possessions she could carry and, understandably, have her small means in English currency.

Now all that was needed was for the landing and rendezvous to be made.

‘There’s a quiet little village, Petit-Bourg, on the left of the bay before Pointe-à-Pitre. Leave me there, and I’ll make my way into town.’

‘You must be so careful,’ Renzi implored.

‘Why? I’ve nothing to hide. They may search me, question me – I’m a ruined woman and all I wish is to end my days on the soil of France, M’sieur.’

There were other details. How long would she need? There would have to be devised a plan of signals for when she was ready to to be picked up, a thorough understanding of the tides and moon by date …

And would L’Aurore be available to them for the vital landing?