Chapter 53
CHAPTER 53
T he man known in England as Huggins, more accurately known on the continent as Huguenin, led an enormous company of invaders across Eastbourne, advancing towards the castle. The rest of the men from the first and only ship to land attacked the town and its residents, distracting them from following the other company. Huguenin had planned this for months, the best route to get them to the castle without a great deal of resistance. The route they took was not perhaps the most direct, but it was the one that was more rural and isolated in nature.
After perhaps a half hour, the mob of French invaders reached the castle, which was entirely dark. There was no need to break in the door, it was standing open, and there were no candles to be found as perhaps twenty preselected men entered the house and began ransacking it without mercy. It was obvious that the residents of the house had escaped them, though Huguenin knew they had been in residence as recently as that morning.
The house was plundered thoroughly, though with the flight of the previous occupants, there was little point. Huguenin could hardly believe it had come to this. He had tracked the old woman for years. He knew she was here. Every bit of evidence pointed to the old woman as having fled with the artefact he had come to steal back to France for the Emperor. There would never be another opportunity like this. So much had been expended on this endeavour, because he had assured the Emperor that it would succeed.
The Emperor was not a forgiving man, but Huguenin’s chances were better in France than in England. If he remained, he would be caught. His only chance was to return to the coast and escape to the ships in the small boat he and his nephew had prepared. His next action was to abandon the men still tearing apart the castle, and the others outside, and to return to the shore. Again, he took a roundabout way to get there, skirting around the fighting.
The revellers at the Amesbury’s ball were disappointed. What had happened to prevent the promised fireworks display? Lord Amesbury and Colonel Allen looked troubled, promising to find out what had happened. The guests returned indoors, and the dancing resumed in the ballroom. Lord Amesbury and Colonel Allen retreated deep into the garden.
“What do you think has prevented the fireworks? Will they land?” hissed Amesbury.
“I have no idea what could have happened. There is no way to find out without going out to the cliffs,” answered Allen.
“Colonel! Reporting for duty, sir!” one of the privates who had been assigned the task of setting off the explosives exclaimed as he rushed to his senior officer in the garden, where they had been directed by the officers inside who were guests.
“What the hell happened to the damn display?” demanded the colonel.
The young private’s jaw dropped. “One of the guests from the ball, sir! He came to tell us that there was an emergency, and we were to report to you directly!”
Allen swore savagely. “What guest from the ball?”
“One of the ones from Bourne House we have been following, sir,” answered the other private. “The clergyman.”
“Return to camp!” Allen shouted at the two privates. Before they could obey him, they began to hear a bell ringing from far away. The Martello Tower bell.
Suddenly, one of his lieutenants rushed out into the garden. “Colonel! A local man has just run here to say that a great number of Frenchman have just come up from the shore and attacked the village! Hundreds of Frenchmen, sir!”
Allen had no choice but to fall into his usual role. Whatever failures had occurred, he could not be seen now to have done anything but his duty. He immediately reverted to his booming militant voice, entering the ballroom and loudly commanding his men to follow him. The militia had no weapons but their swords, but they marched into the village, and began fighting the French alongside the residents of the town.
The guests of the ball were in a panic; ladies screaming hysterically and swooning. None could leave to protect their homes, or even their children who were at home with their servants, else they would be murdered in the streets. The ladies were herded upstairs. All of the male servants who had accompanied their employers to the ball, grooms and footmen alike were stationed outside to protect the house, while the men stayed on the ground floor with whatever they could find for weapons, determined that no French would climb the stairs to harm their women. Strangely, it seemed that the Frenchmen were not attacking in this direction, though everyone could hear the loud, rough voices of the Frenchmen as they moved around the area.
After the bell had rung for some minutes, William Bennet shouted up to Tom Tyler. “Tom! Tom! Can you hear me?” The bell stopped ringing, and the boy’s face appeared. “Stay up there, Tom! Until someone comes to tell you it is safe! Keep ringing the bell!”
William heard Tom follow his direction by returning to the bell, as he turned and began to run towards the caves. When he neared the beaches, he saw Mr Darcy and Richard near the edge of the water, fighting for their lives, and to prevent as many invaders from leaving the beach. There were far fewer invaders left near the shore; most had already headed for the village, and were fighting in the streets with the locals.
William pondered how he could be of use before rushing in. He had no sword, and was no fighter. He continued on, and eventually came upon a villager, a workman that he had seen on the streets of Eastbourne before, he thought. The poor man was dead, having been run through by a sword. By his hand was a mace. William wondered where the man would have come by such a mediaeval weapon. Surely not the armoury? Perhaps it was a family heirloom?
He bent and lifted the mace in his hand. The weight felt right in his hands. He was a man of God. Could he harm or kill another? He looked down at the dead man before him. A proper hardworking Englishman. A man with a family. Murdered for protecting his home. Thinking of the people in the village coming to harm at the hands of these terrible invaders, he thought perhaps he could use a weapon against another, if he was protecting someone innocent from harm. He would not use it otherwise.
Shortly after, he met Darcy and Richard, fighting their way into the village. He did not engage with any men, but covered the other two men’s backs, protecting them from attacks from behind.
Suddenly, there was gunfire from the waters. The men turned back and looked, and saw flames shooting from cannons, as His Majesty’s finest warships engaged with the French ships in the waters.
Richard thrust his sword into the air and screamed, “ Wentworth! ” The call was taken up by all of the dragoons nearby as they cheered for their navy, taking heart in the knowledge that Eastbourne was not alone.
“Richard!” Darcy cried. “I must go to Elizabeth!”
Richard nodded his understanding, turned, and ran straight into the village, from where the screams of villagers and the crude shouts of the French could be heard.
Darcy and William turned and ran back to the beach and into the cave. “Elizabeth!” he screamed, as he made his way to the corridor. He had no choice but to leave her there before. He could hardly have taken her out onto a beach with him to fight three hundred or more invaders, but he could not go any farther without moving her to safety before the tide came in. He had been lucky that the cave was less likely to flood in the summer, but he would not risk Elizabeth’s safety any further.
“Elizabeth!” he shouted again, as he ripped the rags away from the opening of the small room in which she hid.
“Fitzwilliam!” she cried, throwing herself into his arms.
Elizabeth’s poor cousin had to witness her very enthusiastic first kiss uncomfortably, and after a moment, he shouted, “Oi! We’re in the middle of a battle here, Mr Darcy?”
Elizabeth could not help but to express a peal of laughter as they broke apart. “Apologies, Cousin!”
Darcy grasped Elizabeth’s hand and began to lead her out of the cave, picking up two muskets and checking that they were loaded, before handing them to Elizabeth, then handing a third to William. They came out onto the beach, picking their way around the bodies of the men who had fought and fallen there. The moon was very bright. The French had, of course, chosen to land on the full moon, the better to see what they were attacking.
As they left the beach and headed away from the village, Elizabeth pointed to a man heading to the shore, attempting to keep to the shadows. “Who do you suppose that is?” she asked.
Darcy instantly recognized the man known as Huggins, sneaking away to escape in the night. “Oh no, you do not,” he growled.
Huguenin had no idea what he should do. He was an intelligent man. He had the gift of languages, and could speak many dialects flawlessly without a hint of accent, or any trace of his roots. This had enabled him to come to the attention of important men, and eventually, the Emperor. He had spent years working for Napoleon and his army, assuming false identities, and gathering intelligence.
This mission was something he had been investigating for years, tracing the whereabouts of a priceless artefact that had been stolen by the British in the year 1801 in the Battle of Alexandria. Many priceless relics had been taken, but this one had in turn been stolen from the British, disappearing somehow on the journey home. He had tracked it, and the one who was supposed to be dead, but instead was hiding it, to this god forsaken place. The jewel was so priceless that the Emperor had been willing to send twelve hundred men on a suicide mission to retrieve it. The mission would have gone so much easier if all of the French had landed instead of just one frigate. It would not have made a difference in the outcome, however. The jewel, and the one who hid it, had eluded him. He had no idea if the Emperor would be merciful. But he had a better chance on French soil than in England. He might even escape to Belgium.
Except that escape now seemed impossible. Out on the water, guns fired, and men screamed. The British Navy was out there. How did they find out? Who could have warned them? The idiot agent that had been sent to Eastbourne by the war office could not possibly have worked it out, and if he had, the information would only have gone as far as Spaulding. There was no frigate out there to row to now. There was only carnage on the water. Now there truly was no choice, he would have to escape into the English countryside, and attempt to obtain passage back home later through a smuggler’s drop. He knew several men who would help him, though he would have to lay low somewhere remote for months before he even attempted it.
Suddenly, he heard a bugle. A damned British battle cry, heralding what appeared to be another damned company of dragoons, perhaps even two. He watched as scores of fresh men rode into the village, dismounting and leaving their horses nearby, then throwing themselves into the fighting.
Elizabeth hid in the shadows as Darcy and William went after Huggins. There was an incredible fight, for the man refused to go willingly. There were several times that Elizabeth had to fight not to cry out at the villain’s viciousness as he engaged Darcy with his own sword. Eventually Darcy forced the man back, where he tripped upon the legs of another man who lay dead, and struck his head on a stone going down, rendering him unconscious.
Mr Darcy and William Bennet made short work of tying the man’s hands and lifting him up by his arms and dragging him between them. Elizabeth came out to them, the fighting had moved deeper into the village, and they had not seen any other Frenchmen this close to the water in several minutes.
“This man is one of the ringleaders, and we must secure him, but I cannot see how we can do so without risking Elizabeth’s safety,” said Darcy. “As a matter of fact, I cannot see how to get her anywhere safe without encountering the French as we attempt to move about. The town is overrun.”
Suddenly, the door to a nearby cottage opened, and a woman hissed. “Madam! In ‘ere, madam!” The party rushed over to the door, where a poor woman in her thirties looked out. “Madam, if ye need shelter so’s the men can fight, ye can ‘ide in ‘ere.”
Elizabeth looked at the woman, “I have seen your face before.”
“Aye, I visit Bourne ‘ouse fer the launderin,” the lady said. “I heard o’ yer kindness to poor Bella Tyler, that be good of yer people ta do that. Ye kin all ‘ide ‘ere if’n ye want.”
“I cannot stay, I must fight with the men, but if Miss Bennet and Parson Bennet can stay here, I would be in your debt, madam,” Darcy said. “Bennet, will you take charge of the prisoner until an authority can decide what to do with him?”
“Of course, and I will give my protection to the ladies,” vowed William.
Darcy gave Elizabeth a soul searching look, then turned and vanished through the door. Elizabeth watched her cousin drag their prisoner inside the little cottage, where the woman had been hiding with her two children. William dumped the man in a corner, and proceeded to watch out the window.
“I thank you for the offer of shelter,” Elizabeth said to the lady. “What is your name?”
“I’m Mrs Hobley,” said the woman, drawing her youngest into her arms. “My John, ‘e’s out there fightin’ with the other men.”
“Let us pray for them,” Elizabeth said. From his post at the window, William led them in prayer for hours as they waited.