Jacob's ladder
Second part: Bifurcation. Chapter 7: Brussels

The rooms taken by Lady Borland in a hotel in Brussels were rather more sumptuous that her home in Lisbon. The town was in fashion, full of English people. Every day she must go to some party, so Luis scarcely saw her, even though he was lodged with his patroness. In the first four days after their arrival they had never met, and he came to the conclusion that the lady had forgotten him, lost in the joys of social life in Vanity Fair.

He found this way of life boring and humdrum. Fearing to meet Blatsov, he dared not go out alone, while the hotel did not boast of a library, as the house in Lisbon. Fortunately, the servants spoke French. Most of them, except milady’s maid, were natives of the country. Fraternizing with them, Luis was shocked at how they used to speak about the higher class English people who had invaded their town, not even excluding their lady. As the ward of a French exile, whose rank he had not known while they were living together, he had never considered himself high class. Charles had educated him neutrally, without prejudices in favor or against those with privileges. However, he felt deep gratitude toward Lady Borland, so it was not easy to tolerate the open criticisms of her servants. On the other hand, he did not wish to make enemies of the only people with whom he could speak, therefore he tried to ignore their comments and hide his disapproval.

On the morning of Friday April 21st, when he least expected it, Lady Borland called him to her presence. When he entered the morning-room, he found her on one of the soft couches furnishing the room, and was surprised to see her with two men, obviously of lower rank, for otherwise she would have invited them to seat down. She pointed with her eyes at a chair and he obeyed the sign and sat: she obviously wanted him in a higher position than her visitors, but he could not understand why he had been called. It was not long before he knew.

“On Wednesday, I had an interesting conversation with Wellington’s aide-de-camp,” said Lady Borland, conversationally. “We were speaking about you.”

Luis writhed, but his mind was blank and he didn’t know what to say.

“I told him about you and Blatsov’s persecution. Brussels is full of English soldiers. His Excellency assured me that the man will be arrested immediately, if he dares to come here.

“You said the same in Lisbon,” thought Luis. However, his face was transparent for Lady Borland and she continued:

“This time it will be different: Blatsov would confront my countrymen, but he won’t come, bad luck for us!”

Luis shuddered. He did not consider “luck” the most appropriate word to describe the possibility that Blatsov would come to Brussels.

“You must be wondering who these men are, and what they are doing here,” continued Lady Borland. “Even if Blatsov doesn’t come, he may send someone else. You shouldn’t always stay in the hotel, young people must breath fresh air. I have asked His Excellency to recommend two men who will be your bodyguards. Both are experienced in the Duke’s secret service. Starting today, one of them will always be in your company. Let me introduce them.”

Lady Borland pointed first at a short, dark, bushy-browed man, then at the other, as dark as the first, but taller and handsomer.

“This is your fellow countryman, that’s why he was chosen. His name is Gonzalo. He entered Lord Wellington’s service during the Spanish war. The other was born here, in Belgium, but can pass for French and has been useful as a spy. His name is Maurice.”

Luis bowed slightly at the two men. He did not like having to be in their company everywhere, but submitted to the lady’s decision. On the other hand, when he needed solitude and privacy, he could always stay in the hotel.

Whenever he decided to go out, either Gonzalo or Maurice would jump up and follow him. He soon discovered that they were very different, not only in appearance but also in character and behavior. Gonzalo was reserved, and did not insist on deciding where to go or the best way to get there. Walking with him, Luis had to depend on his own resources. Maurice was talkative, and full of jokes, he liked dares, bets and running risks, his knowledge of Brussels was overwhelming and he was always trying to extract the fullest joy of life.

The next month, nothing special happened. When he went out with Gonzalo, Luis visited the town, which he found beautiful but dirty. He liked the old town best, the buildings older than the eighteenth century. He spent lots of time in the Grand Place, in the hostelry of the Cerf Volant, leaving his gaze wander at the house of the Dukes of Brabant, the scales supported by two little angels, and the houses of the bakers, carpenters, coopers, tanners, bow-makers and other guilds. Sometimes he walked up the Hill and the Mountain to the Gothic cathedral of Saint Michel, where he passed many hours looking at the windows, the chair of truth or the tomb of the Dukes of Brabant. Sometimes he thought that Gonzalo must be extremely bored with him, but his face never disclosed his feelings.

He went with Maurice to very different places, in the lowest parts of the town. Luis sometimes wondered whether Lady Borland would approve the mean taverns and the gambling dens, if she knew that he was being taken there, but she never asked and gave him freedom and a well provided purse, which Maurice emptied with prodigality. Luis almost never bet, but amused himself by watching his companion cursing at losing money, when he was out of luck with the dice or the cards.

On Monday May 22nd, something happened. It was Maurice’s turn and, as usual, they had ended in a gambling house. Half an hour after their arrival, the door opened and a man came in, clad in clothes smarter than those worn by the usual customers of the place. Everybody stopped what they were doing to look at him. The owner of the house came forward and took him to the table where Maurice and Luis were sitting. The Belgian considered the new arrival as a possible source to recover his losses, but Luis stared at his face so long that the man noticed and pursed his brow, showing that he was angry. When he was about to protest, Luis stood up and walked out of the den without waiting for Maurice, who had to follow him reluctantly, for the arrival of the man had been his lucky turn. When he overtook Luis, two blocks beyond the gambling house, Maurice spoke angrily:

“Why are we leaving? I was winning and the night is young!”

“That man...”

“What about him?”

“I know him. He is major Gérard, and he belongs to Bonaparte’s army.”

Maurice pursed his lips in a sly grin.

“He has not recognized you. At least, he hasn’t shown it.”

“He only saw me once, long ago, at night, near the roman bridge in Salamanca.”

“Are you sure that you’re not mistaken?”

“Yes, because I saw him again and again without his seeing me.”

In a few words, Luis told the part of his story where Gérard had played an important role. Maurice listened attentively and asked:

“What is he doing here? Is he a spy for Napoleon in Brussels?”

“Perhaps. It would be good to know. We could have him arrested”

“I’ll take care of that. Let’s go to the hotel; I’ll leave you there and get back. It won’t be difficult to pump him out, with the wine and the gambling.”

“And you’ll take care of emptying his purse,” thought Luis.

Two days later he saw Maurice again. As soon as they were alone, he asked what he had found out.

“The Englishmen know that he is here, he’s not a spy. He has come in a diplomatic mission, as escort to Napoleon’s ambassador. In his free time, he spends his money on wine, women and gambling houses. He must be very rich: he loses money without turning a hair.”

“I’d like to know what happened to my tutor, Charles Houy, Count of Philippe. When I saw him last, he was Gérard’s prisoner. But I don’t want to meet him again.”

“I’ll find out. You’d better remain at home today, so I’ll have time to approach Gérard without you.”

Luis had to wait for further news till Friday, the next day he met Maurice. They did not speak until they were sitting in the Cerf Volant, far from indiscreet ears, when Maurice told him what he had discovered.

“Le Comte de Philippe is a prisoner in France, chateau de Montsegur, in the Roussillon,” he said without beating the bush.

“Does Gérard know that I’m here?”

“He didn’t say anything about that and I dared not ask him.”

“He must not hear about me. I escaped him once; I don’t want to fall into his hands again.”

“He remembers.”

“How do you know?”

“He has mentioned your name.”

“Then he must suspect!”

“No, he was drunk when I sounded him.”

“Has he mentioned Blatsov?”

“The man in black? Not a word.”

“Yet they were together. Are you sure that Blatsov is not in Brussels?”

“Nobody in the retinue of the ambassador resembles him. Don’t worry, he won’t dare to come. The English have his description.”

On Sunday, Maurice could not add anything new to his previous discoveries about Gérard, but promised to get more information from the Frenchman. On the next day, May 29th in the afternoon, when he went out with Gonzalo for a walk, Luis felt no premonitory warning: it was like any other day. His companion, however, appeared nervous. Walking toward the Grand Place, as usual, he coughed several times and finally opened his mouth:

“I know that you enjoy visiting old churches and monuments. Would you like to go to Anderlecht? There is a crypt there, a monastery of the Middle Ages and a very old churchyard. It isn’t far. We can take a coach and come back on the evening.”

Luis was astonished: in these few words, Gonzalo had spoken more than in the preceding month. However, he liked the proposal and felt easier thinking that Gonzalo enjoyed those visits as much as he did. Once in the Grand Place, Gonzalo talked to one of the drivers who were waiting for customers near the Golden Head Street and invited Luis to get in the vehicle. The driver climbed the box, shook his whip and the horses trotted away.

In three quarters of an hour, they got out of Brussels by secondary roads and went through a few villages, until they came to the outskirts of a forest. Luis leaned at the window to look at the landscape and saw that the sun was high in the sky, a little to their right. He turned to his companion and asked:

“Isn’t Anderlecht to the West of Brussels?”

“Yes,” answered Gonzalo, who had recovered his usual laconic manner.

“Then the driver must have mistaken your instructions. We are traveling to the South.”

Gonzalo grimaced but did not speak. By then, the road was bordered by trees on both sides: they were deep in the forest. Luis struck several times on the trapdoor to the box, to call the driver’s attention, but only silence answered his efforts. In fact, the horses increased their speed. Alarmed, he turned to Gonzalo and said:

“We have been tricked. Let’s jump.”

He tried to open the door, but stopped at a slight pressure against his ribs. Turning around, he saw that Gonzalo had drawn forth a pistol which was pointing directly at his heart.

Sᴇarch the FindNovel.net website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.