Louisbourg Part Five

Louisbourg A novella by Thomas Hurtt

Part Five Bouchard swam slowly towards the dim light of wakefulness, not quite breaking the surface. The bed, not his own, was too comfortable for that. He drowsed for a while instead, sensing the warmth and the softness of the woman beside him, listening to her gentle and rhythmic breathing. Lise… But it wasn’t Lise. That, of course, was impossible. This was someone else, some willing tavern girl for downstairs. And her name was… It wouldn’t come, and he put her out of his mind for now. He had other things that required his attention, important things. He found, not surprisingly, that it was easier to ponder them here, rather than in his crowded barracks room. He could think more clearly in this place. There were several things that were known for certain, he should start with these. Louisbourg. Forget that it was a miserable excuse for a town. Put aside for the moment that no one in their right mind wanted to be here. No one except for Lise… Forget that everyone hates it here and cannot wait for a return to France. She came back here on purpose… This was not helping. Bouchard banished Madame Guyon with an effort and began again. Louisbourg. The stronghold was absolutely vital to the preservation of New France. This fortress town was the portcullis for the entire colony. Fate had favored the British colonies with ports all along their seaboards. France had just this one. It was her only base from which her privateers could harass British shipping. It was economically crucial to the cod fishery. It was also the best natural harbor on the continent. France could anchor an entire squadron here in complete safety, and thus keep the St. Lawrence clear of the enemy. And it was impressive and daunting too. Like Gibraltar at the mouth of the Mediterranean, or like Dunkirk, Frances’s threat to the English Channel. There was not another fortification like it in the New World. The harbor was defended by three mutually supporting batteries. These assured certain destruction to any hostile foolish enough to attempt an entry. Louisbourg was truly imposing and terrible. But if it were somehow to be lost… If lost - why then that would be the beginning of the end of France’s claim in North America. Such an event would be a double-shotted disaster. Not only would the British navy have an open, unobstructed thrust, straight into the heart of New France – no, not just that… It would mean that the colony could no longer receive aid, none whatsoever, from the homeland. It would be effectively be sealed off from resupply. Munitions, troops, trade goods, and food – these would dwindle to nothingness. She

would strangle and starve and die, regardless of whether the enemy captured another fortification or city. So much for what was known. So much for the enemy without. This was not the real the reason Bouchard was here. There were thousands of French troops stationed in Louisbourg to defend against capture by the British. He was in here because of the enemy within… . *** “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon,” murmured the cloaked man with the cane. His companion smiled broadly, beaming great pride in his work. They were quite alone inside the garrison church, Louisbourg’s only church. Most of those that still reeked traces of last night’s vice, be it drinking or gaming or whoring, were sleeping easy now, their consciences not burdened by petty sins. These indiscretions were the only legitimate pastimes on this desolate coast. And besides, God was merciful. For those whose crimes weighted more heavily on their souls, they would be wise to get themselves to the confessional. The two men that knelt now before the hard wooden cross were of this latter persuasion, yet penance and absolution were not first in their minds. “I think you will be most pleased to take a look at this.” Morjuet’s tone held a note of confidence that he didn’t fully possess. It was a bit of a bluff, a little gamble. He passed the folded dispatch to the cloaked man beside him. The seal was unbroken; he hadn’t troubled to open it. It would be pointless to do so, anywise. Arsène Morjuet had never been educated in the art of letters. His talents lay elsewhere. “How did you come by this?” In his own voice, the cloaked man caught a note of wariness. It was almost as if he was afraid of the answer he might be given. It was true that Morjuet could become - overenthusiastic - in his work. “Your Lt. Bouchard had given it to a certain naval officer for safe keeping. He intended for it to be taken on board that outgoing ship in the harbor.” Dare I ask?, the dark man winced. “And you obtained it precisely how?” “I persuaded him,” Morjuet answered obliquely, “that it would be better placed in my own care.” The cloaked man sighed and fingered his cane. It was like using a mallet to shell egg. But what, really, could he do about it? Everything in Louisbourg was in short supply. This mallet was the only tool he had at hand. Perhaps someday he would obtain a more refined instrument. That day had not yet come. “This officer - would he be able to identify you, do you think?” This brought a peal of hearty laughter from the rogue, one quite unbefitting for a house of worship. “Oh, my friend! Who is it that you think you are talking to, eh? I can assure you that it is I, Arsène Morjuet! And no. There is no connection to me. And - I rather think that this is foremost in your thoughts - no connection to you, either. You are completely safe.” “Very good. And what of Bouchard? No harm has come to him, I hope.”

“Alas, no,” Morjuet sighed regretfully. “But you will tell me when you are pleased that it should be so, n’est-ce pas?” The dark man decided not to pursue his questions any further. He was satisfied with the night’s work. To know more would be to know too much. He counted out several large coins and pressed them into Morjuet’s awaiting palm. “Continue to keep a watch on the good lieutenant. I will be in touch with you towards the end of the week. If you uncover something truly telling before then, you know how to contact me.” Morjuet nodded seriously as he tallied the money in his hand with a grimy index finger. “My friend, it is always a pleasure…” he began. But as he looked up from his counting, the dark man was already gone. *** Mariette Achard sensed that something was amiss and she determined to get to the heart of it. Her friend, her confidant, Lise Guyon, had been sent on an errand by Madame Vienneau, the head of the Governor’s Residence kitchens, where they both worked. When she had returned, Lise did not appear to be herself in the slightest. She looked pale and shaken, and after few sharp exchanged words with the head cook, she simply disappeared. When Mariette had the opportunity, she asked Madame Vienneau what was troubling Lise. The cook appeared quite irritated by the question and answered snappishly that Lise was feeling ill and would not be returning to the kitchens that day. “In that case, may I be permitted leave to check on her condition? I’ll be gone no more than twenty minutes, I assure you.” Her superior flatly refused. “I am already shorthanded because of Madame Guyon,” she declared tartly. “I can’t possibly have you skulk off as well.” Then she pitched her voice louder so that she could include the entire staff in her berating. “Is there no one who realizes that I am running this kitchen?!” Mariette returned chasten to her place before the hearth. But after brooding on it for a while, she decided that she was not satisfied that she should wait until the meal had been sent upstairs. When Madame Vienneau’s attention was directed elsewhere, she lighted upon Claudette, the very junior member of the staff that had been tasked with accompanying Lise upon her errand. “What happened when you and Madame Guyon went to the King’s Storehouse today? Was there some trouble?” Claudette cast a glance in the direction of Madame Vienneau, and then strangely and for a reason that Mariette could not fathom, she looked pointedly at Fantine Chaubert. “We can’t talk here,” she whispered. “Wait a little time and then meet me in the cold storage pantry.” “Why in heaven’s name…” Mariette began, but Claudette was already walking away from her and out of the main kitchen. Mariette returned to her work station, but

then excused herself to visit the privy, asking one of the other girls to keep an eye on her hearth pots. Down at the lowest level, Mariette wrinkling her nose at the loathsome stinks as she bypassed the privies. She slipped unseen into the small, low ceilinged room where the root vegetables were kept. Claudette was waiting inside, and swiftly closed the door behind her. A dim lantern gleamed from one of the shelves; it cast dancing shadows across their faces. “What is this?” Mariette grumbled peevishly, even before the door had latched its resounding click. “Why all the secrecy? I feel foolish meeting down here like this.” “I think it is better this way.” Claudette’s voice was level, but there was an off note at the very edge of it. “Don’t ask me how I know...” Her declaration was wane and it trailed off, getting lost in the chamber’s gloom. Mariette felt a little chill creep into her spine and she looked more closely at the girl. She had always considered Claudette to be a bit of a scatterbrain, too dreamy to be taken seriously. Looking at her now, she could see the young thing was truly frightened. Mariette could read this in her countenance, even in this odd lighting. But this was absurd… What was there to be afraid of? Mariette was suddenly tempted to shake her, to slap her even. Claudette’s fear was being transferred to herself by proximity, in the same way a pot of water will pick up heat by being near a fire. She took a breath and willed herself to be calm. It was an effort. “I want to know what happened at the King’s Storehouse today,” she said firmly. “Madame Vienneau told me that Lise is feeling ill, but I don’t think that’s true.” The more Mariette thought about it, the more it seemed that Lise was – well frightened. Not so very different from the young girl before her. And so Claudette began to tell what she knew. Her telling was sometimes broken and often disjointed. At more than one point she meandered off on a tangent and needed to be muscled back on track. Mariette was conscious of the need for brevity; they would both be missed eventually. But, bit by bit, she was able to piece together a coherent narrative. Claudette had accompanied Madame Guyon to the storehouse to arrange for the delivery of certain items to the kitchens. No, Claudette didn’t know what they were – she hadn’t seen the invoice and she couldn’t have read it if she had. Claudette wasn’t certain why she had been volunteered to go along. She only knew that she was glad of the opportunity to get out from under the watchful eye of Madame Vienneau for a while. She had asked, but Lise was not forthcoming. When they arrived, there was trouble right from the beginning. The clerk behind the desk at first refused to even look at their paperwork. He was much too busy, they must come back another time. Lise insisted. He then merely glanced at the parchment and declared that it did not have the proper stamps and seals. Lise felt sure the governor’s signature was adequate for an order of specialty foodstuffs. This, after all, was not a requisition for arms and cannon. She asked to speak to his superior. That was quite impossible. Lise insisted more firmly. The clerk then, wearily took up the papers, read them over carefully and informed them that the items were certainly not in any of the cargo offloaded from the Belle Fleur. Perhaps they were still aboard the ship? He

refused to open his tally books and verify what he had asserted – they were meant to rely upon his word only. He became indignant when Lise wouldn’t do so. “It was at this point that Monsieur Morin de Fonfay came out of his office and interceded. He seemed a well bred gentleman and he apologized for the trouble that we were having with his clerk. He kindly offered to help us himself…” Claudette’s voice broke off suddenly. “Did you hear something?” she hissed low with alarm. “Out in the passage?” They both stood dead silent for a long moment, straining hard to listen. Mariette saw a flicker of panic brighten in Claudette’s eyes, and then gradually fade as the stillness reassured her. “It was nothing - a rat, probably. Go on…” With some reluctance, she continued. “He took the tally book into his office and invited Madame Guyon to follow him. He said that they could straighten it all out between the two of them, that there really wasn’t any need for me at that moment. He even gave me a small coin so that I could purchase a sweet bun at the shop down the lane. Madame Guyon looked reluctant to let me go at first, but then relented, telling me to come right back, and not to dawdle.” “I was gone only about twenty minutes, I swear. I bought my treat, but stayed a little at the shop to hear the latest. They were talking about a body that had been found by some fishermen in the harbor this morning. Have you heard about that yet? Some drunk fell off the quay last night and drowned or broke his neck or something…” “Claudette! I am not interested in the local gossip! What happened when you returned to the storehouse?” It was at this moment that the door was flung open wide, washing the small chamber with the bright light. Madame Vienneau stood starkly before them, her ugly face mottled and contorted with distemper. “What goes on in here?!” she thundered. Mariette’s mouth fell open, but no words could issue forth. She felt blood drain from her face, the surprise was that complete. It was as if she were a child again and had been caught doing something very wicked indeed. Claudette seemed lost in her dread; she began to splutter excuses and apologies almost at the same instant. Madame Vienneau silenced her with a cracking slap that knocked her back across the room and hard into the shelving. She then grabbed the young girl by a fist full of hair and flung her bodily into the passageway. Claudette began to whimper and get shakily to her knees. “Go back upstairs, you wretched creature! I’ll deal with you later.” Claudette found her feet swiftly and bolted down the passage to the stone stairway beyond. Mariette was frozen in shock by the inexplicable violence. For some unfathomable reason, the sight of Claudette’s departure made her stomach icy with fear. Madame Vienneau’s complete attention was turned towards her now. Her imposing bulk was fully in the doorframe, effectively blocking Mariette’s means of escape. “Where are you going?” the head cook asked menacingly. “You have a lot to answer for...” As Madame Vienneau stepped into the room, Mariette caught a darting glimpse of someone in the corridor, just at the corner of her vision. It lasted but a second, before her

attention was torn away. It was enough, however. In it she recognized the self –righteous poise of Fantine Chaubert.

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