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‘It will do for the moment.’ He handed her into the carriage and climbed in beside her. ‘We may need more later.’
They settled in their seats for the short ride to Honfleur. ‘I have met two of the gaolers already,’ he told her. ‘They think I am a smuggler and buying brandy from the Comte to take out of the country. For a bribe, they will let me speak to him.’
‘The bribe being brandy?’
‘And money.’
‘How much money?’
He shrugged. ‘I have yet to discover their price.’
‘And then they will free Papa?’
‘Nothing was said of that. I am simply being allowed to speak to him.’
‘Oh.’ There was dejection in her voice. Why she had expected more of him, she did not know. To pay large sums simply to speak to him and leave him where he was did not sound like a good deal to her. ‘What happens after you have spoken to him?’
‘I have not yet decided. It all depends on what I discover.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Nothing for the moment. I do not want those gaolers to think we are in league with one another, it will make them suspicious. I suggest you do a little shopping after I have left you and then go home and wait to hear from me.’
‘Wait! Is that all? I am in such a ferment, waiting will be purgatory. Surely I can be of use?’
‘Later, perhaps. You will need money in England, so when you go home, collect up your most valuable items, gold and silver, all your jewellery, nothing too big, and pack it ready. And make sure the horses are fresh. We may need to move swiftly when we do.’
‘I will do that. We will not leave Hortense behind, will we?’ she asked anxiously.
‘Not if you do not overload the coach and she can be ready at a moment’s notice.’
‘We will both be ready.’
They had arrived at the end of the street where the prison stood and he called to Georges to stop the coach. ‘I will leave you here,’ he told Lisette. ‘Go and do your shopping, buy food as if you were going to be at home for the immediate future.’ He took the case of brandy from the boot and the carriage pulled away again, leaving a thoughtful Lisette to continue into the centre of the town.
Jay carried the brandy into the prison and deposited it on the desk in front of Bullard who was busy writing in a ledger. He looked up at the sound of the bottles clinking. ‘Ah, the Englishman.’
‘I said I would come. We made a bargain.’
‘Let us see the colour of your money first.’
Jay produced six louis d’or from his pocket and put them on the table where they gleamed golden in a shaft of sunlight coming through a dusty window. Before leaving London, he had obtained them from his bank, which had been taking them from émigrés in exchange for sovereigns. He guessed the banker was only too pleased to reverse the process. To these men, they represented undreamed-of wealth.
Bullard picked one up and bit into it, then he called Cartel and the other man on duty. ‘Seems he’s as good as his word,’ he told them, indicating Jay. ‘Do we let him have a few words with the prisoner?’
‘Can’t see it will do any harm,’ Cartel said, gazing hungrily at the money. ‘Philippe can take him through.’
‘I’ll have my share afore I do,’ the third man insisted, picking up two of the coins and stowing them in his waistcoat pocket. Then he beckoned Jay to follow him.
The prison was not large and contained only half-a-dozen cells. No doubt before the Revolution there was comparatively little crime in the town, but now it was full of political prisoners crammed together in squalor. Jay, who considered himself used to poor living conditions from his time in the navy, found himself wrinkling his nose at the smell.
The guard stopped outside one cell and shouted, ‘Citoyen Giradet, you are wanted.’
Nothing happened immediately and then there was a movement among the inmates who parted to allow a frail old man to make his way slowly to the bars. Jay was shocked by his appearance. He was filthy and in rags, his white hair a tangled mass. He had obviously not shaved since his arrest and his beard was lank. It was clear to Jay that he would be too frail to run, or even walk, and that getting him out and away was going to be more difficult than he had imagined.
‘Who are you?’ the old man croaked.
‘My name is James Smith. I am from England.’
‘Never heard of you. What do you want?’
‘I want to buy Calvados, but your daughter will not sell it to me without your consent.’
The old man’s tired eyes lit up. ‘You have spoken to my daughter?’
‘Yes.’
