The Redemption of Sir Edward Denham - A Return to Sanditon Novella

Seven

Dunkerque, France

Edward looked around the tavern casually, although inside he felt very far from calm. Carlisle was sat opposite him staring morosely into his glass of brandy, a cap pulled low over his eyes. They had positioned themselves in a corner booth that was cloaked in shadow yet close enough to the main door to monitor who came and who departed. This was, in fact, the seventh night in a row that they had made the pilgrimage from their lodgings to this dockside inn. Each evening they had been hopeful of spotting their quarry and every time they had returned to their rooms having failed to detect a single Englishman.

Edward sensed the change in his companion. Carlisle stiffened and raised his gaze slightly to a group of newly arrived dockworkers. Except, now that Edward had the chance to follow his gaze, he realised there was something off about them. Their clothing, although shabby and worn, was scrupulously clean, and they each lacked the cragginess of face one recognised as belonging to men who worked outside in all elements.

Sam motioned to Denham to remain silent and rose from his seat. He moved the few steps towards the bar and caught the eye of the innkeeper. "Excusez-Moi, monsieur," he motioned with his head slightly, "Those men. Have you seen them here before? I thought I recognised one from my days aboard Napoleon's fleet." Sliding enough coin across the counter to purchase three bottles of the local brandy, rather than the one he had requested, making the innkeeper smiled widely.

"Ah, a military man, non?" The innkeeper winked. "You are mistaken, mon ami, you would not have encountered those particular men. Ils sont Anglais, though they try hard to disguise the fact." Handing over a bottle of the amber spirit, he was about to move away when Sam tried once more.

"Vous en êtes sûr, monsieur? English? Have they been here long? Do you know where they are staying?" he asked in a low voice.

"Alors, you ask a lot of questions, mon ami. What business do you have with these men?" The innkeeper's smile thinned as he regarded Sam shrewdly. "I will have no trouble, monsieur."

Sam slipped a note across the counter to join the coins and smiled affably. "Trouble? No, there will be no trouble. I would appreciate a few details, is all. As I said, I believe I may be acquainted with one of those men."

"Bien, good." Slipping the money into his apron pocket, he leaned over the bar and whispered, "They 'ave been in and out for three weeks. Each time they come together. I heard one of them say that they were staying at the auberge down by the Bureau du port. They come; they go. They talk, they scribble notes and then they are gone. C'est tout." Moving back, he turned and strolled to the other end of the bar and Sam allowed him to go.

As he reached the booth where he had left Denham, he was alarmed to find him gone. "Bloody, blazing hell." Looking around, he noticed that Sir Edward had wandered closer to the group of Englishmen and was chatting amiably with one of their numbers. Growling under his breath, Sam regarded him for a moment before sitting. If the blasted idiot gave them away now, they would either end up with throats cut or an entirely compromised mission. Sam was not sure which would be preferable at this moment. "Bloody amateurs."

Edward was well aware of his scowling companion. He smirked as he could almost make out the curses Carlisle was muttering under his breath. He had taken the initiative, in what had become an exceptionally tedious endeavour. Who knew there was so much waiting and watching involved in espionage?

Catching the eye of one of the men, he waved a hand in greeting. "Fred? Is that you, Fred? What in blazes are you doing here in France? " Edward grinned jovially.

"Pardon, me sir, but you have mistaken me for someone else." The man, slightly built but tall, sputtered. His eyes darted to his friends who wore expressions of alarm.