Chapter 23
Saint-Omer, France
Dear Princess Danielle,
I’m writing you from Western France. I’ve made good time from Dover in fair weather. French battalions patrol Calais at all
hours, but I made landfall down the coast and entered the city from the south. There are troops marshaled in the countryside,
but they are exhausted and under-provisioned, and I move through checkpoints easily with bribes and forged papers from Bavaria.
Before Saint-Omer, I passed three days in Calais. I bought a horse and other supplies. I’ve paid a smuggling associate to
hire mercenaries on my behalf. No inquiries yet, but the search has begun. After years of sailing with the same men, it feels
very odd to recruit strangers. I know their loyalty will align with how much I pay them, but I’ve no other option.
By the time you read this, you’ll be occupied with restoring Eastwell Park; luring men from the sand pits of Maidstone to
do it. Loyalty will be no issue there. It was only a matter of time before you established yourself as the leader you were
so clearly meant to be.
Although travel is demanding and the plans to recover my friend are complicated, no day goes by that I do not think of you. Will an apology, I wonder, only upset you? Has this letter already been dropped, unread, into the fire?
It’s impossible to know, but if you’re still reading, I cannot close without saying this: I deeply regret every mismanaged,
under-thought, and insensitive act I’ve imposed upon you, Danielle—from the information I withheld on our first walk, to the
ramblings of this letter. The recovery of Linus Welty, however necessary, cannot be blamed for how deeply I’ve mangled all
of it.
I am so very sorry.
With love, your husband,
Lucas Bannock
May 13, 1813
Lumbres, France
Dear Princess Danielle,
I’ve arrived in Lumbres, some ten miles from the castle of Vincent Surcouf. If you’re so inclined, you may write to me here;
it’s the address I left. I will make no assumptions on that score.
I’ve let a room above the local public house and introduce myself as a Bavarian historian who is visiting the area to study
Gallic ruins. Hopefully this identity will allow me to move freely. Bavaria is allied to the French, and historians, as professions
go, are unthreatening. There are ancient ruins in the area, and my casual questions about Surcouf’s castle, although built
some 500 years after the Gauls, have not been met with suspicion. My beginner French is offensive to everyone, but any self-respecting
Bavarian would speak German. Unhelpfully, I speak less German than I do French. Mostly, I keep to myself.
Cultivating trusted informants takes time, but I’m chatting up three locals who might, with the right incentive, be willing to bring me news from Surcouf’s castle.
The property is called Chateau d’Oiron, and I’ve learned that Surcouf is in residence at the moment.
If he’d been in Paris, or Spain, or at sea, this recovery mission would be far less complicated, but it would rob me the satisfaction of killing him.
I’ve managed to enlist two mercenaries so far, although we’ve not met face-to-face. If they prove trustworthy and capable,
I’ll want three more at least.
There is more I could say . . . France in summer is annoyingly pretty and bucolic, etcetera, etcetera; but I appreciate the
wildflowers and cobblestones only to wonder how you might like them. With no letter from England, I’ll keep these speculations
to myself. Needless to say, you are never far from my mind.
I hope you are well and that Eastwell Park is being gloriously reborn. I have letters from Fernsby that suggest as much. I
am, in no way, surprised at your progress.
With love, your husband,
Lucas Bannock
May 25, 1813
Eastwell Park, Kent
Bannock,
A summer storm has damaged the roof of the east wing of the house, causing a leak to the attic and revealing intermittent
rot. Further investigation demonstrates the urgent need for an entirely new roof. The timber and labor will be expensive but,
I believe, necessary. You’ve said resources are available to maintain the property, so I have moved forward with the repairs,
but I thought you should know.
Sincerely,
Danielle Bannock
June 4, 1813
Lumbres, France
Dear Danielle Bannock,
I received your letter about the storm damage to the roof. No injuries were suffered in the storm, I hope? By the time you
receive this, the new roof should be underway. I know very little of roofs, except that houses are more comfortable when they’re
intact. Thank you for, quite literally, keeping a roof over everyone’s head. Given the choice, I should be there with you,
staring at the sky through the hole in the ceiling. A letter from Fernsby has confirmed that you’ve chosen a steward from
the candidates I sent. I hope this man has been a useful advisor in these situations, but I know it’s not the same as navigating
storms and roofs with a husband at your side.
If you’ll indulge news from France, I can report that I’ve made friends with a local boy whose older sister takes occasional
work inside Chateau d’Oiron. This girl has confirmed that there are currently three or four prisoners occupying the castle
dungeon, among them an old man who fits the description of Linus Welty. This has been an incredible relief to me, and I’m
trying to devise a way to get a coded message to him.
The two soldiers-for-hire I mentioned have reported to Lumbres, and we’ve come to an agreement. I’ve dispatched them to study
the defenses of the castle and together we’re working on a plan.
Although the locals view me as a Bavarian academic, Surcouf knows me on sight.
We fought bitterly the night of the attack; and, in my early attempts to recover Welty, I ambushed him on the highway three times.
Failed attempts, all—especially as they left no doubt as to how desperately I want to recover his captive.
I believe he remains in France purely to lie in wait.
When the time comes, we’ll have only one go at this, so the plan must be flawless.
If you’re still reading, I should like to say that I was gratified to receive your letter. I happen to be fond of spare, flat
writing; actually I prefer it. I admire a correspondent who’s over and done in a single paragraph. I reread that lone paragraph
nightly; the bit about the rotting attic is particularly endearing.
A second endearing feature is the salutation, which invokes your married name. It did not go unnoticed.
With love, your husband,
Luke
June 15, 1813
Eastwell Park, Kent
Dear Bannock,
The new roof is underway (thank you) and so far, there have been no other structural issues beyond paint and carpentry. The
manor house operates more like a home than a haunted pile, and the kitchen garden is established. Now my attention has turned
to the pastureland. With your permission, I should like to travel to market and purchase sheep. If you will agree—also, cattle.
I hired a foreman from among the candidates you arranged; the old man called Gaskins was my first choice. He is very knowledgeable
and, more importantly, understands that the families of Ivy Hill should have a role in every aspect of our wool and mutton
trade.
Unrelated to sheep and their expenses, you might as well know that my sister, Elise, her husband, Killian, and their girls are living here as my guests, with plans to remain through the summer.
The proximity allows us to become better acquainted, and Elise and Killian are a great help in almost every aspect of reviving the estate.
Also, my brother, Gabriel, and his wife, Ryan, are due to arrive any day.
The reunion of our family does come with some awkwardness; Miriam and Whittle must reckon with sharing me.
But on the whole, it’s been remarkable—truly.
I have such great love for all of them; the very best part of learning my past history is having them in my life.
I think of hope you continue to draw breath in France. I also pray you hope your friend may be recovered.
Sincerely,
Danielle
June 30, 1813
Lumbres, France
Dear Danielle,
By the time you receive this, Eastwell Park should proliferate with sheep and cattle. Thank you for keeping me apprised of
your progress. I’m pleased you’ve gotten on with Mr. Gaskins and that your dream of tenant farming is being realized.
Although we are making progress here, my frustration escalates daily. A date has been set for our rescue mission, but it’s
more than two months away. Given the choice, I’d do the thing tomorrow, but Surcouf will host an event in mid-September. It’s
a days-long affair meant to mark the end of summer, with guests arriving from Paris and beyond. There will be no better opportunity
to successfully breach the castle and abscond with an old man than during a crowded, drunken bacchanal.
So now, we wait. We are going over and over the plan; in particular, we’ll need some specific diversion beyond the generalized revelry of a party.
My efforts to send a coded message to Linus have, so far, elicited no response, but I cautiously try again and again.
Things will go more smoothly if he expects us.
Mostly, I spend my days reading, pretending to be Bavarian, and wondering what you are doing. I’ve ridden to the lands that
are attached to your dowry. It’s nearly 1,000 acres bordering Surcouf’s estate. The land is verdant French countryside with
a fast-moving river, deep enough for boat traffic, and I can see why Surcouf wants it. Ultimately you’ll decide how you wish
to manage this property. A topic for another time, perhaps; I know your hands are full with Eastwell Park.
I hope it goes without saying: please buy what you need for the sheep and cattle. Buy swine and chickens and geese. We discussed
the potential of your parents residing at Eastwell Park, so I assume you have plenty of cats.