Chapter 23
May 11, 1813
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
