Ramage's Devil by Dudley Pope Read Free Book Online Page A

somewhere in the town by a patrol of
gendarmes.
”
    Ramage nodded and glanced at Sarah, a glance noticed by Gilbert. “Ah yes, when it comes to getting you to the fishing-boat, you dress as a French married couple going to market—or travelling to visit relatives or looking for work. You will have documents—”
    â€œWhat documents?” Ramage asked.
    â€œGenuine documents, I assure you, milord. You will have French names of course, and your French accent, of Paris, will need modifying. Thickening, to that of the Roussillon or Languedoc, for instance: you know both areas. We need to choose somewhere specific, a long way from here—where if the
préfet
in Brest wants to check, he knows it would take three or four weeks, so he is unlikely to bother. But if it was Paris”—he shrugged his shoulders expressively—”a courier leaves for there daily.”
    â€œYou have been giving it all careful thought!”
    â€œWhen we returned from England,” the valet admitted, “I did not share the Count’s optimism for the future in France. The Count thought we would have many years of peace. For myself, I thought the Treaty was like two prize fighters having a rest during a bout. I advised the Count not to leave England, but alas, the nostalgia for this château overcame the love he had developed for the house in Kent. Now I fear the Count will travel the road to Cayenne …”
    â€œAnd you—what will happen to you?” Sarah asked anxiously.
    â€œI took the precaution of supplying myself with papers—and of course, like Edouard and Louis and the rest of the Count’s staff, it is well known how deeply we hate the
aristos!
We work for them in order to eat!”
    â€œAnd your stay in England—how will you explain that?”
    â€œOh yes, the Count threatened me so I had to go with him. The
gendarmes
are always most sympathetic with those who have suffered at the hands of the
aristos
… They even congratulated me on persuading the Count to return to France at the peace … I think even then the
préfet
knew the Count (with many scores of other exiles) was walking into Bonaparte’s trap.”
    Gilbert then struck the palms of his hands together like a pastry-cook dusting off flour. “We must cheer ourselves. I think it is safe for you to return to your suite and I will serve you breakfast. It will be safer if you eat there—not all my plans have worked.”
    Intrigued, Ramage asked: “What went wrong?”
    â€œThe cavalry suddenly arriving. I had paid out a good deal of money to make sure we had enough warning to allow the Count to escape.”
    â€œI should think the
préfet
received the orders about the Count from Paris during the night,” Ramage said. “As soon as he read them he sent out the cavalry and at the same time hoped to pick us up.”
    Gilbert nodded slowly, considering the idea and finally agreed. “That would account for it. I do not like to think that I was cheated—or betrayed.”

CHAPTER THREE
    T HE MEALS, Sarah commented, were superbly cooked, and although the choice was limited, the food was plentiful; their suite was large and airy, even though the furniture was sparse. The view from the windows was spectacular, if you liked the Breton landscape, harsh to English eyes accustomed to rich greens and unused to the great jagged boulders scattered here and there like distorted hay ricks. Her only complaint was that they had not been able to leave the rooms for three days.
    Ramage pointed out that their plight hardly compared with that of Jean-Jacques: he would be in a cell at the château in Brest, a huge citadel both had agreed was cold and grim even when they saw it on a sunny afternoon only a few days ago (although it seemed a lifetime). Whereas Jean-Jacques at best could look forward to confinement for years in one of the unhealthiest places in the Tropics, the worst