Page 43 of Lord Ramsey's Red-Headed Ruin
Two mornings later,sitting in a different café closer to the citadel, Ram and Amber were about to leave when he motioned that he wished to remain. Two guards from the citadel had had hard night duty. They grumbled about new shipments that had arrived at two o’clock in the morning. The soldiers had stacked crates of muskets all night long. They were weary and resentful, because the muskets would have to be reloaded into wagon trains soon.
“Sending them off to Baden and Wurttemberg, my captain told me,” said one.
“Krauts,” added another Frenchman. “Can’t trust them.”
“I’d not give the bastards one, let alone five hundred,” put in the first. “Plus two new cannon.”
“Five hundred new muskets and two new cannon,” Ram said later, after he had closed the door to their rooms, a grin on his face.
Amber shivered at the mere idea of so many. “Many more than we expected.”
Ram took her in his arms. The information had come to them easily.
*
That night, ona veranda facing the flowing Meuse, they dined leisurely on good white wine, veal, potatoes, and sauerkraut. Amber ate, preoccupied with issues that had clouded her mind since they’d begun to get such vital information about weapons in Charleville. She may have come to terms with the fact that her own network was ruined by her departure from Paris, but she knew what they learned now about weapons was very important. Furthermore, such news was crucially vital to Ram and his network. His responsibility to his friend and colleague Lord Ashley remained strong. After all, Ram was doing the work assigned him by protecting her, wasn’t he?
She knew it bothered Ram that he had no way to inform Ashley of what they knew about increased manufacture and distribution of muskets. He would not bring up the topic. Yet raising it to him was necessary. She would not shy from it. But she would carefully choose her words.
Amber initiated the topic of the need to leave Verdun. Her past reluctance to travel with him had gone long ago. She would go anywhere with him now. She could even go someplace dangerous…like Paris.
“Talk to me, Amber. You are too silent, and I worry,” he said with compassion in his gaze.
“You and I cannot stay here,” she said to him, and put down her fork and knife. “I know it. So do you, Ram. We have more information than we ever dreamed. And we must report it.” All he did was shake his head, and she had to lead him to the topic. “Do you not have any friends posted elsewhere here in the east? Perhaps in Strasbourg?” That was the next largest city south of them.
“My original duty before I was assigned to find you and protect you was to come here and learn if two British men who were reputedly prisoners here in the citadel were still alive.”
She sat back, shocked. “You never told me that.”
“You did not need to know.”
“Why not? I could help you. My French, darling man, is much better than yours. And I know the lie of the land.”
“You do, sweetheart. But I have asked around. I hear nothing of any of our men detained in that monstrosity of a building.” He nodded toward the tower of dark green and black stones.
She smiled at him. “Well, I am glad of that. One good thing done.”
He reached over to pour more white wine into her glass, and she smiled.
Then she froze in her chair. Four men who had just arrived took a table closer to the café’s entrance. Three were dressed in well-cut street clothes, and the fourth was attired in military garb. By his insignia, he was a captain in artillery blues.
“Ram, we must leave. Quickly. Please.” She fished in her reticule for a handkerchief and wished to heavens it were larger.
“Of course.” He got to his feet, a hand to her elbow. “You’re pale.”
“Please. Pay for our meal. I am ill.” She put the handkerchief to her mouth and slumped, pretending illness.
The proprietor expressed his sorrow that madame had taken a poor turn. Might he do anything to help?
Ram assured him his lady needed to rest. With an arm around her shoulders, he led her down the lane to their auberge.
Within minutes, they were back in the safety of their rooms.
“Tell me what happened there,” Ram urged her.
Amber paced the floor. “I had to leave. I know those four men who came to sit at the other table. The three in street clothes are Vaillancourt’s men. I have often seen them with the fourth one, the captain. He is Armand Galhard, an aide-de-camp who brags he is an expert in muskets and cannon manufacture. He is young, ambitious, and the son of an influential Paris banker. His duty is to inspect factories when they finish making certain armaments, then to visit depots when they are to receive supplies. He must count the deliveries and report back to Paris that they have arrived in the right numbers and on time.”
Ram was wide eyed with the thrill of her news. “Bonaparte keeps his military plans very secret. Only he and his generals, usually engineers and artillery, know real plans. For the Italian campaigns and later, we know that Bonaparte was always careful and never revealed his tactics by supplying a city or town with too much of any item all at once.”
