At first light today she had gazed into the eastern sky half hoping to see nothing but a cliff of fog, for then her plan would have been unequivocally dead, which would have been altogether simpler and easier. Instead she had seen the disk of the sun, as crisp, and about as bright, as a copper coin resting on a bed of ashes.
She closed her eyes; invoked the Devil and the Heavenly Father in the same sentence, in case either of them was listening; and closed the shutters on three of the cabin windows, while leaving the others open. As Météore swung round on the morning tide, and exposed her gilded backside to the town, this signal would become visible to those who had been watching for it.
She began to pack some goods into a bag: first, five Bills of Exchange, which she wrapped up in a wallet of skins, oiled to baffle moisture. Then a rolled blanket. Scarves. A comb and some pins, clips, and ribbons for suppressing her hair. Some silver coins, mostly Pieces of Eight chopped into wedge-shaped bits, certain to astonish the English.
The rooves of Cherbourg were glowing, seemingly not with the reflected light of the sun, but rather from within, like hot irons pulled from the forge. A boom sounded from far off, then another, then a ripple of them.
Then someone knocked on her door and her skeleton practically jumped free of her skin; for she phant’sied somehow it was a handful of wayward grapeshot striking Météore. She dropped her bag on the floor and kicked it under her bed, then went to the door and unlatched it. It was Brigitte, her lady-in-waiting.
“It is Monsieur d’Ascot to call on you, my lady.”
“Bit early.”
“Nevertheless, he is here.”
“A few minutes while I make myself presentable.”
“Shall I help you?”
“No, for I am not really going to make myself presentable. I make him wait because I can, and because it is expected, and because he deserves to be punished for coming so early.”
“PARDON ME, MADAME, for having disturbed your morning,” said William, Viscount Ascot, in French that sounded as if he’d practiced it while he’d been waiting. Eliza thought of asking him to speak English; but he’d probably take it as an insult. “I was asked to keep you apprised of any news concerning the invasion.”
This meant several things. First of all, in spite of the fact that James Stuart had showed up, there must be someone competent still in charge and making information wash up and down the chain of command. Second, this man, Ascot, must be one of the agents who were supposed to carry the Bills of Exchange to London. Third, nothing was going to happen; for if Ascot and the other four agents were going to do it today, all five would have showed up at dawn, and they’d already be fanning out across the Channel in separate boats, each with a Bill of Exchange in his breast pocket.
“Time is drawing very short,” Eliza remarked. “The Bills must be presented in London three days from now. They must be sent on their way this morning, or else I might as well tear them up.”
“Yes, madame,” said Ascot. “The King and Council are aware of it.” He meant James Stuart and his claque. As if to emphasize this, he gazed out the window into Cherbourg. Somewhere in the town, on some church-steeple, there must be signalmen poised to raise flags as messages came in from the headquarters at La Hougue. “The fog is lifting!” he exclaimed. “When I was strolling on the upperdeck just now, madame, I was able to see one or two miles out into the Channel.”
“And what did you observe, monsieur?”
“Boats coming in, madame.”
“Under sail or—”
“No, for the wind is only just coming up. They are longboats, with sailors pulling lustily at the oars. Some of them are towing a damaged ship—a big one.”
“Do you think it might be the Soleil Royal?”
“Quite possibly, madame. Or”—Ascot smiled—”perhaps what is left of Britannia.”
This made Eliza dislike Ascot somehow; for he was after all an Englishman. He was straining visibly to say things he guessed she would like to hear; and his guesses were not very interesting. She was silent for a moment, out of sheer hopelessness. Into that silence Ascot put the words “On those longboats will be information, madame; the information that the King of England shall require to make his decision.”
Eliza nodded as if she accepted this; but what she was thinking was, first, How could even a syphilitic be so insane as to phant’sy that the invasion might still happen and, second, If he doesn’t cancel it soon I shall have a grave problem on my hands. She glanced involuntarily at the cabin windows, and the three closed shutters. They’d been visible from Cherbourg for at least half an hour now. Things were in motion that she could no longer control.
For a minute or two it had been possible to hear shouting abovedecks, which aboard ship was a wholly usual thing; more so when longboats were coming in from the Channel bearing news. Eliza had paid no attention to it. Now, though, they heard a thunking splash. A man, or something as big as a man, going overboard.
“Madame, I beg your leave to investigate—” began Ascot.