Chapter Ten #2
Vivienne had discovered her sister’s treachery from Vaillancourt himself.
When she arrived in England with her new husband, Tate Cantrell, the Earl of Appleby, Viv had confronted Charmaine with her betrayal.
Charmaine had planned nothing less than setting up Viv to take the blame for all her double dealing.
When Viv vowed never to see her sister again, Charmaine—who was dying—hoped to resurrect any fondness from her youngest sister.
So she revealed the names of her friends and double agents to Viv.
It was that valuable list of names that aided Scarlett Hawthorne’s network here in Britain to capture Bonaparte’s spies.
Giselle glanced at Amber and Gus. “I had hoped to be finished with my drawings of Brighton before now. Because I was unsure about my guard, I confess that I have not done as much research as I usually do. To complete them, I need a few more days.”
“You have it,” Amber assured her.
“Go out about town now with the added security of our new man,” Ramsey said.
“I will.” Giselle picked up her tea once more. “But I worry. Summer is the best season for Bonaparte to sail toward us. I wonder if our time grows short to make an impression on the shipbuilders for the dimensions of those flat-bottom boats.”
Ashley came round to sit in a chair and lean toward Giselle. “We’ve learned from our agent in Boulogne that the French draftsmen of their navy have changed the shore elevations for their amphibious landing craft.”
“How have they changed them? When?” she asked, frightened all her work was for naught.
Everyone on this project knew that the French designers of naval ships were not qualified shipwrights.
Their practices were never uniform, and one ship might be seaworthy, another not.
Many were so poorly designed that they were potentially deadly to the crew.
Many a ship’s crew had to pump water from the hull to keep it from sinking. Many fell apart after one voyage.
The worrisome news more than a year ago, that the French shipbuilders questioned the depth of English shore elevation, had been the impetus for Giselle’s drawings. That and her own desire to foil the French and gain freedom for herself in a land other than the one of her birth had become her goals.
Ashley folded his hands. “We’ve learned that their amphibious landing ships have flaps that drop into rock and sand.”
“How deeply?” Giselle envisioned the challenges of the French. “They must want their soldiers to wade ashore easily from those boats.”
“Exactly,” said Ashley.
“Fully armed, too,” added Ramsey.
“So…how deeply do those flaps drop into rock and sand?” She held her breath.
“Sadly, we do not know the dimensions of the new flaps,” Ashley said. “Our agent there tells us she knows only that they’ve changed them as per new intelligence.”
She? A woman was their agent in Boulogne? Giselle knew they had an agent in the encampment in Boulogne. But she had never imagined that person might be a woman.
“And that whatever the dimensions of the flaps,” Ramsey added, “all are the same.”
Giselle did not know whether to laugh or cry at her next conclusion. “So they will use the same amphibious ships for all coastal cities?”
“You drew Dover, Margate, and Eastbourne with approximately the same elevations. Those are likely invasion points. Do draw Brighton with a different sea elevation,” Ramsey urged her.
“Higher or lower, it matters not. The French must think the elevations of the least likely ports of call are of a different dimension. In variety there is believable viability.”
“We can pray,” said Ashley, “that their landing flaps are for deeper water than necessary.”
“So that when their soldiers do try to wade ashore from those boats,” she said with satisfaction, “they drown.”
The horror of thousands of soldiers in their armor and with weapons drawn floating dead in the English Channel paralyzed her. However, only for a moment. Defeat of Bonaparte’s plan was a victory. Success was a magical freedom.
Might she soon be finished with her work? Then she could concentrate on other things, cooking and flowers and perhaps even a bit of fun. Might she go so far as to allow herself the enchantment of having an affair?
“We need to finish the job,” Ashley said.
“So our line of sketches look complete,” she added. “And they have no fear they have been duped.”
“Until they realize it occurred at the hand of their own misinformed French agent.” Ashley grinned.
Ramsey showed his own pleasure with a wry half-smile. “Meanwhile, our agent in Boulogne says Boney harasses his admirals to stop whining about the winds and tides—and make a plan to invade.”
Amber frowned. “We need to get them off the coast. People here are beside themselves with worry. Their shouts as they drill scare everyone.”
Ramsey looked at his wife with misery in his dark gaze. “They have benefited from their stay.”
Ashley winced. “Two years now.”
Ramsey stared at his friend. “Boney has organized each corps into its own small army. They have in their corps structure not just infantry, cavalry, and artillery, but intelligence, medical, engineering, and transport.”
Amber sniffed. “Their army is better than their navy. They could build fast ships better than we, but now if they attempt to land here, they will strike with this defective flotilla. Better to stay home in Normandy, don’t you think?”
“Parade around and yell at us from the coast, yes!” said Ashley.
“Still,” Giselle said, her mind on her own responsibility, “this works best if the drawings in the Hastings book shop are picked up. Brighton, too.”
Ramsey shook his head. “Nothing we can do about Hastings or here. We can only expect that their agent will show up in both places because Bonaparte demands his armada sail, and sail soon.”
Amber took Giselle’s hand. “Don’t you worry about that.”
“I want this to work, Amber. I want them all defeated.”
“With what you have done, Giselle,” Ashley assured her, “we will succeed.”