So it was the Margrave’s grenadiers who had managed to occupy and hold Midanich’s wealthiest town and largest port, and now they would do so until the spring thaw, when Prince Viktor would aim to take Emden. Whoever controlled Emden controlled Midanich, and for Alec, at this moment in time, having troops loyal to the Margrave in control of Emden and overseeing the Customs House would play to his advantage in ensuring the safety of those he loved and needed to protect.
And that moment might come sooner than he had anticipated, as he took in the serpentine line of cold and weary passengers that stretched the length of the pier, under the arch and into the Customs House to a central processing depot. Crushed together and only able to move as fast as the person in front of them, the passengers were nonetheless prodded, poked, and shouted at by soldiers who had nothing better to do with their time than harass these glum civilians. No adult dared protest, and all conversation was kept to a minimum, the only sounds of complaint coming from cold and hungry children and babes in arms who were oblivious to the frightening situation in which their parents found themselves.
Joining this queue of harassed humanity were the English passengers from
The Caroline
, who remained, as Alec had counseled them aboard ship, quiet and as inconspicuous as possible. It being winter was to their advantage in one singular way. Cloaks and long coats concealed the luxurious cloth and embroidery detailing of their clothes, though nothing could hide the expensive tailoring and fit of their outerwear and boots, and the ladies’ leather and fabric shoes, protected from street grime by matching pattens.
It was a matter of proceeding to the front of the line without attracting the attention and ire of the military. People of wealth and status were particularly preyed upon in times of conflict because they had the most to offer and the most to lose. They could be stripped of their clothes and their possessions, and many would do and say anything not to be stripped of their dignity. With this town, indeed with the entire country, in upheaval, Alec warned that the normal rules of civility and status did not apply. Anything was possible. The military was in charge. Their loyalty was to no one but the Margrave and his family.
Just as Alec was reminding his party to not say or do anything that might bring them unwanted attention, a scuffle broke out a few feet ahead. A customs official singled out a passenger in an overlarge cloak who was acting suspiciously. The man was ordered to step forward to be searched. The wife would not let go of her husband’s arm. Two small children clinging to her skirts began to wail. More soldiers arrived on the scene. The woman was shoved violently aside. There were screams and shouts as she fell hard to the pavement, her sobbing children going down with her. The man in the over-large cloak pulled a knife and lunged for the closest soldier, only to be hit hard on the back of the head with a musket butt before being dragged away between two soldiers into the dark reaches of the depot.
Those around the fallen woman and her children helped her up, their protestations muted for fear of being dragged away, too. One of the men dared to stick his face in that of a soldier’s and for his insolence was hit across the face. As he staggered and was pulled back into line by his fellows, blood pouring from a cut to his brow, more soldiers arrived, bayonets at the ready. Just then a shot echoed deep within the depot and the line of passengers went quiet and still. One of the soldiers who had dragged away the man in the overlarge cloak returned, said a few words to his captain and was dismissed. The captain then turned on a heel and strolled down to the head of the line, not a word or a look at the man’s wife, who had just been made a widow. It was left to her friends to give her the heart wrenching news. Her howl of misery could be heard all along the pier.
“They shot the fellow,” Hadrian Jeffries said in wonderment, a look at Alec to see if he had understood correctly. “My lord…? They-they shot him for concealing a sack of coal.
A sack of coal
…”
“Yes,” Alec stated, the coldness in his voice masking his anger. He turned to his uncle and the Duchess, eyes troubled. “I know I apologized on the schooner, but I can’t tell you enough how sorry I am you are being put through this. I didn’t anticipate we’d be boarded by pirates, and in hindsight I should’ve insisted you both travel via Amsterdam. But this—” He waved a gloved hand in the general direction of the shuffling line of passengers and patrolling soldiers, “—is no surprise to me, and I am well equipped to deal with it. You are not. Nor should you need be. But once we pass through the Customs House, you will have a warm house where you will be safe until my return. That I promise you.”
“Think nothin’ of it,” Plantagenet Halsey said dismissively to mask his concern. “Her Grace and I would sleep in a barn if it’d help your cause to free Emily and Cosmo. Wouldn’t we, Your Grace, eh?”
“A barn, yes. But with you…?” quipped the Duchess with a snort of derision, which considerably lightened the mood. Before the old man could find a suitable retort, she leaned in to Alec to say seriously, “My boy, do not worry about us. This is as nothing to what my granddaughter and Cosmo must be suffering. When I think of them in that castle all alone, and look at these soldiers, these
brutes
—At least I—
we
—have you to protect us, while they—they—Oh damn!” she added, eyes filling with tears when Alec drew her to him and kissed her forehead. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, and I won’t! I won’t fall all to bits! Not here! Not ever. Not until you have them safely returned… Did I hear correctly?” she added, changing the subject; anything was better than allowing her thoughts to dwell on her granddaughter, particularly now she was in this wretchedly drab foreign town crawling with foreign soldiers, and none of them able to speak a civilized tongue. “Did I hear Jeffries say that fellow who was dragged away was killed for hiding a bag of coal?”
“And that surprises you?” Plantagenet Halsey scoffed. And to take the Duchess’s mind off her granddaughter and their present dire predicament, if only for a few minutes, he said to goad her, “Our justice system ain’t any better. We hang people for less!”
“But we don’t shoot them just like that!” she argued, her shoulders snapping back with indignation, swallowing the old man’s bait whole. “Not without a trial. We have due process of law—”
“Due process of law? Ha! A street urchin steals bread because he’s hungry, not because he’s a thief! And what does our due process of law do? Takes the child from his parents and transports it across the Atlantic. Or if he’s a pickpocket who absconds with some daydreamer’s pocket watch, it’s because he needs to pawn the thing for food, not because he wants to know the damn time of day! And what’s the outcome? He’s strung up! So don’t tell me about due process of law, Your Grace.”
“What utter drivel!” The Duchess seethed. “How can you compare a soldier shooting a man in cold blood to a court of law deliberating upon the actions of a thief!? Property must be secured, and thieves made an example of, or our country will descend into anarchy. You’ve made some idiotic remarks in the past, Plantagenet, but this is utter flimflam. It is beyond anything! All that salt water has addled your brain!”
“Now, Your Grace, let’s agree to disagree,” the old man replied soothingly, a lift of his brow with a look of apology at his nephew, realizing his ploy was far more successful than he had planned. “And even you have to admit, he drew a knife on the military. Only an Bedlamite would do such a thing.
And
he was concealin’ coal under his coat. And coal must be in high demand at this time of year, so worth a pretty penny, is my guess—”
“At least
we
give thieves a chance to explain their actions. This poor fellow was given none at all, and he has a wife and two small children and a-a family—Oh God…”
“Yes, he does. Most thieves do too…” Plantagenet Halsey muttered, and took the Duchess in a comforting embrace when she turned into his shoulder and fell against his coat, crying. “Anythin’ we can do for that widow and her brats?” he asked his nephew quietly.
“Already considered and will be dealt with,” Alec responded, and was distracted when a hand tapped his shoulder.
It was a customs official. At his shoulder were two soldiers. Everyone in Alec’s group breathed in and waited. Sir Gilbert, Hadrian Jeffries, and Plantagenet Halsey were the only ones not to be filled with dread. Sir Gilbert, because he had his nose in a sheaf of documents, and was thus preoccupied. The valet, because he understood most of what was being said, even if it was heavy with dialect. And Plantagenet Halsey, because during the course of the conversation there was an exchange of gestures, the last one, by his nephew, making the customs official laugh and shake his head. Not understanding Dutch, the soldiers took the laughter and smiles as a sign there was little for them to do, so they walked away, the customs official soon following. Alec’s party breathed easy.
Plantagenet Halsey might not understand what was being said, but some gestures were surprisingly universal; such as making a continual circular motion with a finger up to one ear.
“So you told ’em my brains were scrambled, eh?” the old man stated, shuffling forward with the rest of the group, when the line of humanity lurched forward several paces bringing them ever closer to the customs checkpoint. He wasn’t offended in the least. “If it helps get us through this ordeal the quicker and before a nice warm fire, I’ll act the Bedlamite.”
Alec waited until the line came to a halt once more before facing his uncle.
“Better to be thought a lunatic than a spy. You’ll at least be left alone, now—possibly given a wider berth.” He looked at the Duchess and added apologetically, “Both of you will. I let it be known that as my mad uncle’s wife you are the only one who has the power to control his—um—fits of distemper.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” the old man muttered, with a chuckle into his upturned collar.
The Duchess was too shocked to make a suitable retort. But it wasn’t Alec’s lie to the customs official which stopped her tongue, it was the sudden heat she felt in her face. She was blushing like a schoolroom miss, and at her age, and over an old republican rake. Sea sickness must have affected her brain too! It was not the old man who was the lunatic, it was she!
“Peeble! My fan! And salts!” she demanded of her lady’s maid.
“Don’t you worry,” Plantagenet Halsey said, not to the Duchess, but to Peeble, who was at their back. “Her Grace won’t be fallin’ any further than into my arms! Now I think the boy has somethin’ else that needs sayin’, so you, Madam wife, must be quiet.”
The Duchess shut her eyes on a shudder. “Good—God!”
Alec allowed himself to smile at the light comic relief his uncle and godmother’s dramatic interactions were providing in an otherwise tense situation. He knew his uncle’s behavior was calculating and that he had successfully diverted the Duchess and the rest of the group away from their predicament, if for the briefest of moments. His gaze swept over the group, faces pinched with cold, yet there were smiles, and they were a little less wary. Yet their anxiety returned when a group of soldiers marched past and were soon heard terrorizing newly-arrived passengers further down the line.
If his uncle could divert their attention with his silliness, then he could do likewise by boring them all with the petty details of what they could expect once they arrived at the Customs checkpoint. It was a ploy he had learned from the very man standing in front of him. Sir Gilbert was a master at spouting administrative balderdash, and on too many occasions to mention had bored Alec to stupefaction. He could but try…
“When we arrive at the checkpoint just up ahead, you’ll be asked if you have anything of value to declare. To which Sir Gilbert—”
“Eh? What?” Sir Gilbert muttered, bringing his nose out of a sheaf of documents he had taken from the
portefuille
he held close to his chest now that the rain had stopped. “What? Yes! Yes. Carry on! Good to see you are fulfilling your duties as my junior minister in explaining the procedures required to ensure we are able to complete the necessary formalities to successfully transition to the official point of egress. We must be prepared. Prepared for all contingencies. These are trying times. Trying times indeed!”
“To which,” Alec continued as if Parsons had not spoken, “Sir Gilbert will respond to the customs officials that we do not have anything to declare or—”
“—he’ll be taken away and shot!” Plantagenet Halsey interrupted gleefully. “Quite a responsibility for you, hey, Sir Gilbert, bein’ head of a legation.”
“I beg your pardon, sir! But I do not find your humor at all—”
“—humorous…?”
“Stop it!” the Duchess hissed. “Both of you!”
“Just actin’ the part I was given to play,” the old man muttered lightly. “As I see you are, too. Well done.”
“It has always been the usual practice amongst countries who have signed accords,” Alec explained with extreme patience, “to permit their diplomatic legations to enter and exit their respective countries with their luggage untouched and thus not inspected. It is also usual to allow members of a legation to be waved through customs without being searched—”
“So they could be carryin’ an entire Sevres dinner service under their frocks or petticoats and the officials will turn a blind eye to it all?”
“Precisely,” Alec replied to his uncle’s question. “And as often happens with all sorts of commodities, particularly textiles and lace, and spirits which are contraband. We have similar procedures at our ports. But what happens in peace time is often vastly different to what can be expected in times of war, when anything and everything is possible.”
“Just so,” Sir Gilbert agreed. “I’m surprised and annoyed that our Mr. Luytens has not seen fit to be here to greet us. It’s his job to get us through this tiresome business, and unharmed.”
“The British consul.” Alec explained to the others, “Yes. Jacob Luytens should be here. He may have been held up for any number of reasons, or perhaps his informants have yet to realize the English legation has arrived, and not sent him word. Though I’d have thought with
The Caroline
in port, that sufficient fanfare of our arrival…”