4 Under Siege (21 page)

‘There are no splinters,’ he said. ‘I used a plane on it.’

‘Well,’ she observed, ‘I have to admit that it’s bigger than it looks. Let’s see what happens when I lie down.’

Welbeck supported her shoulders as she eased herself gently backward. Having guessed at her dimensions, he was pleased to see that he had overestimated them. There was ample room for Rachel. She’d be able to move her limbs quite freely. Before it was nailed down, the lid was put loosely in place so that she could move it away if she began to panic. Rachel found that the holes cut in the timber let in plenty of air. The cushions were soft and the whole interior had been sweetened with herbs. Wishing to get the experience over as quickly as possible, she moved the lid and sat up.

‘Nail me in and let’s be away,’ she ordered.

‘There’ll only be two proper nails,’ explained Welbeck, holding them up. ‘They’ll keep the lid in place. The others will be there for appearance only. They’re too short to penetrate the lid.’

‘That was Henry’s idea,’ said Daniel. ‘In a crisis – if anything should happen to us, for instance – you can prise the lid off by forcing it up with your hands. This is a very special coffin, Rachel. It’s the only one ever built with an escape hatch.’

Without a word, she lay down obediently so that the nails could be hammered into place. Being carried out of the house was rather unsettling because she was jiggled from side to side. Once the coffin was put on the cart, however, it was more stable. Rachel was grateful for the cushions. Without them, she’d have felt every cobblestone over which the wheels rumbled. Secure in her box, she could hear almost nothing and lost all sense of where she was.

While Daniel drove the cart, Welbeck adopted the posture of a grieving son. Both wore the rough apparel of tradesmen. Daniel’s neat moustache had now been subsumed into his full beard. A patch over one eye helped to transform his appearance.

‘Why did you choose St Andrew’s Gate?’ asked Welbeck.

‘It’s in the northern sector,’ replied Daniel, ‘and is therefore closer to our camp. It’s also the part of Lille that Prince Eugene is most likely to attack, I believe, so we must pray that he’s not yet ready to unleash the power of his siege guns.’

‘The signal for attack can’t be far away, Dan.’

‘That’s a chance we’ll have to take. Ideally, we’d have left days ago but there were too many search parties in action. They seem to have died away now.’

‘They must think we’ve already escaped.’

‘I doubt that, Henry. They’ll still be on the alert.’

‘What was her name?’

‘Who?’

‘My mother,’ said Welbeck. ‘If I’m bewailing her death, I’d like to know what she was called when she was alive.’

‘Invent a name,’ said Daniel, ‘as long as it’s not Rachel.’

‘I’ve got
her
just where I want her.’

‘Don’t be so heartless. I sympathise with her. It must be quite frightening to be in that coffin.’

Welbeck was unmoved. ‘At least it will keep her quiet for a bit.’

As the ring around Lille was tightened, very few people wanted to come in through its gates. There were still those, however, keen to escape before the bombardment began, anxious people going off to stay with family members or friends elsewhere until the issue was resolved one way or the other. The cart had to wait in the queue until its turn came. It was surrounded by four guards. One of them banged the side of the coffin with the butt of his musket.

‘Respect for the dead, please!’ admonished Daniel. ‘That’s his mother in there.’

‘What did she die of?’ asked the guard.

‘Old age.’

‘Where are you taking her?’

‘Back home to St Andrew. She was born in the village and her son promised to bury her there when the time came. It’s a vow that he has to keep.’

‘It is,’ said Welbeck, tearfully.

They were questioned at length by the four suspicious soldiers, each one trying to find an excuse to refuse them the right to leave. Daniel and Welbeck were made to remove their coats so that they could be searched. The soldiers even looked under the cart to see if anything was hidden there. One of them tapped the coffin.

‘Open it up!’ he said.

‘No!’ begged Welbeck. ‘Leave my mother in peace.’

‘Let’s show them, Henri,’ offered Daniel, climbing onto the back of the cart. ‘But you’ll need to stand well off, gentlemen. The lady has been dead for a week. When this lid is opened, you won’t like what you smell.’ He reached out a hand to one of the men. ‘Lend me your musket and I’ll open the lid with the bayonet.’

‘There’s no need,’ said the man.

‘Come, sir – we’ll show you we’ve nothing to hide.’

Daniel’s apparent readiness to cooperate convinced them that they would indeed find the corpse of an old woman inside the coffin. After a further bout of questioning, they waved the cart on. As they went through St Andrew’s Gate, Daniel hoped that he wouldn’t have to return to Lille a third time. He’d made some good friends there and was sad to leave Raymond and Bette Lizier. About Estelle, his feelings were more ambiguous. His one hope was that Guillaume Lizier would soon be returned to the bosom of his family.

The village of St Andrew was barely a mile north. After rattling along past ditches, ramparts and other defences, they were relieved to reach somewhere with a semblance of normality. It was a small community, with houses and shops clustered around the village square and with a church sitting on a hill and attesting its presence with a tall spire.

Driving round to the rear of the building, Daniel found a quiet spot beneath the boughs of a tree. Taking the lid off the coffin was the work of seconds. Rachel was lifted out of her tomb.

‘Where are we?’ she gasped, blinking in the daylight.

‘Next to the churchyard,’ said Welbeck, gesturing towards the headstones. ‘This is where we’re going to bury you.’

‘I wouldn’t get back in that coffin if you paid me.’

‘Put the lid back on, Henry,’ said Daniel as he took out the weapons. ‘It can’t be seen like that. You sit with me, Rachel. After all that time in there, I daresay you want some fresh air.’

‘All I want is to get far away from Lille,’ she said, grimly.

When the lid had been hammered back into place, they left St Andrew and followed a track that led them in the direction of the Allied camp. It was a fine day with a cool breeze fanning the leaves of the trees. After the hustle and bustle of Lille, it was wonderfully calm and peaceful. They let the sun play on their faces. The tranquillity did not hold. It was suddenly shattered by a series of loud explosions, and cannonballs went whistling over their heads. Their ears were soon deafened by the full thunder of an attack.

‘
Iesu Mawr!
’ shouted Rachel, lapsing into her native language. ‘Now that we’ve escaped the enemy, we’re going to be killed by our own bleeding cannon. Stop it!’ she yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth. ‘We’re on your side, you blind fools!’

The visit to Cirencester had been an unqualified success. They stayed at the home of a wealthy wool merchant and had been given unstinting hospitality. Since their host wanted to talk endlessly to Emanuel Janssen about weaving, Amalia was free to investigate the town with Beatrix. They discovered that it had many souvenirs of its time as an important regional centre during the Roman occupation. Amalia loved its magnificent church and its meandering streets, but Beatrix was drawn more to its thriving market. Poking happily about among the stalls, she felt that she was back in Amsterdam again, accompanying her mistress on one of their regular shopping expeditions. For her it was the best moment so far of the entire trip to England.

All three of them were sad to leave the town but they didn’t wish to outstay their welcome. When they finally got back to Woodstock, it was Janssen who received a gift from Sir John Rievers this time.

‘I couldn’t possibly accept it,’ said Janssen.

‘Don’t you like it?’

‘I adore it, Sir John.’

‘That’s what I realised when I saw you staring at it in Oxford. While you were away,’ said Sir John, ‘I sent someone back to that shop to purchase it.’

‘At the very least, let me give you the money.’

‘I’ll not hear of it, Mr Janssen. The painting is yours as, I hope, a treasured memento of a wonderful day we shared in Oxford. You did say that you revered Sir Christopher Wren and I remember how much you admired his Sheldonian Theatre when we stood before it. Now that you have this version of it,’ he said, pointing to the gift, ‘you may gaze upon it whenever you wish.’

‘You’re too kind, Sir John,’ said Janssen, transfixed.

‘We can’t thank you enough,’ added Amalia.

Sir John’s smile faded and he took her by the arm to guide her into the adjoining room. While her father was distracted, he took the opportunity to speak to her in private. His face was solemn, his voice tinged with sorrow. He reached out to take her hands in his.

‘I only wish I had a gift for you, Miss Janssen,’ he said, ‘but all that I can offer you is sad news. I refused to believe it at first but my source is very reliable. Captain Daniel Rawson has been commended for his bravery yet again but is unable to enjoy the praise.’ He swallowed hard. ‘It’s my duty to inform you that he was killed in action at the siege of Lille.’

Amalia felt as if something had just exploded inside her head. Daniel was dead? It was unthinkable. Her whole future crumbled before her eyes. How could she live without him? Unable to cope with the searing horror of the news, Amalia lost all control of her body. As her eyes closed and her legs collapsed under her, Sir John reached out quickly to catch her. He held her in his arms and pulled her close, inhaling her fragrance, then brushing her lips with a kiss. Gazing at her face as if it were on a pillow beside him, he savoured every second of his unlicensed intimacy. Amalia was warm, delicate and wholly defenceless. Only when she began to recover did he call for her father.

With nothing but bad tidings to report, Captain Aumonier approached the marshal’s quarters with some trepidation. A meeting had just taken place in the room and five senior officers hurried out through the door to implement their orders. Aumonier waited nervously, listening to the fierce bombardment by the enemy and to the booming replies of their own cannon. It was like hearing the approach of a thunderstorm. When the captain was finally summoned into the room, he found Boufflers seated at his desk with a series of maps and documents spread out before him on the table.

‘It’s started,’ he said, calmly.

‘I’d hoped we’d have more time to prepare, Your Grace.’

‘We must make the most of what we have.’

‘The appeal obviously fell on deaf ears.’

‘I knew that it would,’ said Boufflers, ‘but the people of Lille had the right to ask for mercy. They sought clemency from Prince Eugene, begging him to spare the town the full rigours of a siege. I have a copy of the prince’s response,’ he went on, picking up a piece of paper. ‘It’s fairly uncompromising.’

‘What does it say, Your Grace?’

Boufflers read it out. ‘A besieged town ought to be kept very close. But when he should be master of the place, the burghers might be assured of his protection, provided he should be satisfied that they had deserved it, by their impartial carriage during the siege.’

‘That’s a rather pointless proviso,’ said Aumonier. ‘Since the citizens are lawful subjects of the French crown, the prince must know that they could never show impartiality. We may have a large Flemish population but this is essentially a French town.’

‘I know that better than anyone – I was governor here.’

‘The local militia are fighting beside us at this very moment.’

‘I’m grateful for their help. We have few enough men, as it is.’

‘Is there no hope of relief, Your Grace?’

‘The Duke of Vendôme has been ordered to come to our rescue but he seems to be dragging his heels. The latest information I have is that he’s still encamped near Ghent.’

‘Is the Duke of Berwick any closer?’

‘His army has joined forces with Vendôme.’

‘Why do they delay when they’re needed here?’

‘If you would care to ask them,’ said Boufflers, dryly, ‘I’d be interested in their reply. There’s an army of thirty-five thousand men out there, bent on reducing Lille to ashes. We need assistance.’ He stood up and appraised his visitor. ‘But let’s forget the enemies outside the walls for a moment, shall we? Tell me about the enemies within.’

Aumonier cleared his throat. ‘They’re still at liberty.’

‘How can they be after all this time?’

‘They must have escaped, Your Grace.’

‘You assured me that that was impossible.’

‘I know,’ admitted Aumonier, ‘but I reckoned without Captain Rawson’s guile. It seems that he can find a way out of anywhere. Though how he contrived to take someone like Madame Borrel with him is beyond me. From the description on the posters, anyone would recognise her instantly.’

‘Perhaps the captain has left and she remains here.’

‘I incline to the view that both have fled. Our diligence cannot be faulted, Your Grace,’ he added, defensively. ‘We’ve knocked on almost every door in Lille. We searched high and low but we’ve never so much as had a sniff of either of them.’

‘Call off the search.’

‘I’ve already done so.’

‘Good – that’s the first bit of enterprise you’ve shown.’

‘The men are needed on the ramparts, Your Grace,’ said the other, pleased that his decision had been ratified. ‘We can’t have them wasting their time in a futile search.’

‘You’ve taken the words out of my mouth, Captain Aumonier. For the time being, we can forget all about this Daniel Rawson and his female companions. If – by the grace of God – Vendôme does manage to relieve us, I’ll make a point of discussing this infuriating British officer with him. He, too, has a score to settle with Captain Rawson.’

‘According to my brother, the fellow was the talk of the camp.’

‘He’s made a name for himself in Lille as well.’

‘There is one hope for us, Your Grace.’

‘Oh?’ asked Boufflers. ‘What’s that?’

‘Rawson and the others may have escaped this very day.’

‘That would be too great a blessing.’

‘Just imagine,’ said Aumonier, smirking. ‘The very moment they escape from Lille, the bombardment begins. It’s a perfect case of jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.’

Boufflers smiled. ‘What a pleasing thought,’ he said, waving a hand in the direction of the window. ‘Listen to those cannon firing at each other. It’s an inferno out there. If Rawson and the woman are caught in the middle of it, they won’t get a hundred yards before they’re blown to pieces.’ His smile broadened into a grin. ‘Even the gallant Captain Rawson won’t be able to escape from that.’

Daniel had been under fire many times but he’d never before been the target for his own artillery. Equally seasoned in battle, Welbeck had learnt how to cope with the noise, carnage and chaos of warfare. Like his friend, however, he was in a novel and hazardous situation, caught in the crossfire between the two sides. For Rachel Rees, it was the stuff of nightmares. While she’d seen the horrors of combat at close quarters, she’d never ventured onto a battlefield until the fighting was over and she could pick her way through the debris.

‘We’re going to need that coffin, after all,’ she cried.

‘Keep your head down,’ warned Daniel.

‘I’m sorry. I can’t hear a word you’re saying in this din.’

‘Stay down,’ said Welbeck, pulling her down beside him on the back of the cart. ‘Hold tight and pray hard.’

As they fled from St Andrew after the opening salvoes, they saw frightened villagers running to the church for sanctuary. Daniel was on the driving seat, crouching low and using all his strength to stop the terrified horse from bolting. The siege guns continued to pound the fortifications and French cannon gave an ear-shattering response. In the momentary pauses between firing, the fugitives could hear the piteous cries of wounded and dying men. The siege had claimed its first casualties. Holding to his belief that the object of the attack would be the gates on the northern side of Lille, Daniel tried to drive due west in the hope of finding uncontested terrain. It was a spine-tingling ride through a hail of cannonballs and round shot. Some of the Allied fire fell short of its target but much of it smashed into the defensive lines and sent chunks of masonry hurtling through the air.

The desperate dash to safety seemed likely to end in disaster any minute but Daniel never lost heart. Indeed, as the concerted attack began to ease off slightly, he even dared to hope that they were nearing the extremity of the Allied gun emplacements. Once out of their range, they could afford to laugh with relief at the jeopardy they’d been in. It was not to be. As they rattled across the plain, a massive cannonball landed directly ahead of them and gouged a hole in the ground. There was no way to avoid it. Though the horse missed the gaping cavity, one cartwheel went straight into it, causing the whole vehicle to tip over and shed its occupants. Strapped between the shafts, the horse was thrown violently sideways, snapping its hind leg in the process and rolling in agony on the ground.

Daniel was the first to recover. After checking to see that the others were not injured, he took pity on the animal that was now threshing wildly and neighing in agony. Taking the pistol from his belt, Daniel put a bullet through its brain.

Rachel was fuming. ‘What did you do that for?’

‘I had to put him out of his misery,’ said Daniel.

‘You told me I could have the horse and cart as compensation for my losses. What use are they now?’

‘The coffin is undamaged,’ noted Welbeck, brushing the dust off his breeches. ‘Take that instead.’

He ducked as another cannonball explored the ground nearby and sent up a shower of earth over them. Daniel remained sanguine.

‘It’s getting better,’ he claimed.

‘This is
better
?’ yelled Rachel, incredulously.

‘Follow me and stay low.’

‘Are you sure you know where you’re going, Dan?’ shouted Welbeck, trotting after his friend. ‘What if there’s another line of attack further west?’

‘That would mean an assault on the citadel,’ said Daniel, ‘and Prince Eugene needs to get much closer to Lille to do that. No, I fancy that the citadel will be the
last
target.’

‘How much farther must we go?’ asked Rachel, panting.

‘We don’t go any farther!’ replied Welbeck, throwing an arm around her as he dived to the ground to evade the cannonball he’d seen coming. ‘I’m sorry I had to do that,’ he said when the danger had passed. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘Who minds a few bruises when a man saves your life?’ she said with a grin. ‘Thank you, Henry. I knew that you cared.’

He released her immediately. Daniel had also flattened himself on the ground. Getting up again, he led them on, heading for a copse in the middle distance. It looked impossibly far away to Rachel but she struggled gamely on. Welbeck made a point of keeping ahead of her so that he wouldn’t be called upon to wrestle her to the ground again. When she began to lag behind, Daniel slowed down and offered her his arm. Rachel had no breath left with which to thank him.

The onslaught continued with undiminished fury but they were no longer at the centre of the action. The pandemonium slowly began to fade and there were no stray cannonballs to dodge. Instead of lurching along at speed, they were able to walk side by side. The trees ahead held promise of protection. It looked as if they might reach them, after all.

‘What will become of me?’ asked Rachel with a sigh.

‘There’s one thing I can promise,’ said Daniel. ‘I won’t be inviting you to go to Lille again. The same applies to you, Henry.’

‘Nothing would get me inside that place again,’ said Welbeck.

Rachel giggled. ‘What if I was held prisoner there?’

‘I’d cheer.’

‘That’s not very courteous,’ chided Daniel.

‘It’s an honest answer.’

‘He’s only teasing,’ said Rachel, patting Welbeck’s arm.

‘Let go of me, woman.’

She and the sergeant bickered away until they got within forty yards of the copse. Exhaustion then made Rachel stumble. As she was about to fall on the ground, Welbeck moved instinctively and grabbed her just in time. He helped her to stand upright. Realising what he’d done, he let go of her as if she was on fire.

‘I’m in your debt once again, Henry,’ she said.

‘You owe me nothing except the promise to keep away from me.’

‘But I feel that we’ve been drawn together.’

‘That wasn’t by choice,’ said Welbeck, grumpily.

‘Then why did you come to Lille to rescue me?’

‘I was only there to support Captain Rawson.’

Before Rachel could reply, a warning shot was fired above their heads and they came to an abrupt halt. Several muskets poked out from the trees and a Dutch voice issued the command.

‘Don’t move an inch or we’ll shoot!’

Amalia Janssen was still shaken by the enormity of the shock. As she sat in the chair, her mind was racing wildly as she tried to consider the implications of what she’d been told. Her father stood one side of her and Beatrix knelt solicitously on the other, holding Amalia’s hand. Sir John Rievers looked down at her with sympathy and attempted to take some of the sting out of his news.

‘It could well be a mistake,’ he said. ‘They do occur in reports.’

‘But what if it’s not?’ asked Amalia, lower lip trembling.

‘We must remain optimistic.’

‘How can we be optimistic in the face of such terrible tidings, Sir John?’ asked Janssen. ‘You told us that your sources were usually reliable. Is that not so?’

‘Yes,’ said Sir John, ‘they are reliable as a rule.’

‘Then we have no hope. Captain Rawson is dead.’

‘Don’t say that, Father!’ begged Amalia.

‘I’m sorry, my dear.’

‘I must have some hope to cling to or I’ll die.’

Beatrix tightened her grip. ‘I’ll not let that happen, Miss Amalia,’ she said with almost maternal concern. ‘Whatever’s happened, I’ll be here to help you through the pain.’

‘Thank you, Beatrix.’

‘I will promise no less,’ said Sir John, softly. ‘You’re in a house on my property and that gives me responsibilities. Be bold enough to lean on me. I’ll nurse you through this terrible time. The first thing I’ll do is to verify this information, of course.’

‘How soon can you do that?’ asked Janssen.

‘It may take a little time.’

‘The wait will be an agony.’

‘Try to stay brave, Mr Janssen.’

‘That’s asking too much, Sir John,’ said Amalia, sobbing. ‘How can we stay brave in the face of such a tragedy? If it’s true – and I pray to God that it’s not – then I’ve lost
everything
. My life would simply not be worth living.’

‘That’s a frightful thing to say, Miss Amalia,’ said Beatrix. ‘You’ll still have your father. You’ll still have me and Kees and all the others. Do we count for nothing?’

‘No, of course you don’t, Beatrix.’

‘We’re not going anywhere,’ affirmed Janssen, bending over to plant a kiss on the top of her head. ‘We
need
you, Amalia.’

She squeezed his arm. ‘I know, Father.’

Sir John watched the tender moment between them and smiled.

‘At the moment, I might suggest, it’s
you
who need your father, Miss Janssen. The best thing for you to do is to retire to bed. Rest is the only way to cope with these grim tidings,’ he said. ‘The news may seem a trifle less distressing after a few hours’ sleep.’

Amalia shook her head. ‘I couldn’t sleep a wink, Sir John.’

‘You may surprise yourself. Trust me – I’m something of an expert in these matters. When I see signs of stress in my wife, I put her to bed during the day and have done for years now. In fact, I daresay I’ll do the same this very afternoon. Yes,’ he added, ‘I know that Lady Rievers is ill, but then grief is a form of disease as well. It invades the brain and makes the body helpless. Sleep is the best remedy, Miss Janssen. It will ease the burden of your anguish.’