"And then," he continues, "what is most damning, is that we learned that it was you who delivered the message to Murat that ordered him to charge the Prussian line ... the order that probably turned the battle in Napoléon's favor. Do you deny it?"
I don't say anything.
"Valdon," asks Jardineaux, "did you see her deliver the message?"
Jean-Paul flicks a piece of lint from his lapel, then he answers, "Yes, I saw her ride up with it, waving it about and making a great show of it." He returns to looking out the window.
I know I am done, and I can do nothing about it. I can only sit there, stunned. Oh, God, I was such a fool! To think I loved you, Jean-Paul!
"What do you have to say to that, girl?"
"Sod off," I say, revertin' to me Cockney ways, as I always do in cases like this.
"Watch your mouth, girl."
"Watch my mouth? Why, when what you're gonna do is take me off somewheres and murder me 'cause I didn't kill Boney when I had the chance? 'Cause I delivered that message to Murat 'cause I didn't want t'see me mates killed? Why the hell should I watch my mouth when I'm gonna be dead in a few minutes?"
He don't say nothin' to that. He pulls out a pistol and points it between my eyes and smiles. "You really are a piece of gutter trash, when all is said and done, no matter what the people in England think of you. And don't even consider using that sword strapped to your back. Your brains would be splattered before you could get it even halfway out. Understand?"
My chest starts in to heavin' and my eyes would start streamin' but I don't think I've got any more tears in 'em. All dried up, now.
"What I understand is that you're done with me now, right? And now you're gonna kill me 'cause I didn't do what you wanted me to do, but I don't care, you hear me? You can all go to Hell, you and him and all your sorry lot!"
"Shut up, girl."
"And you, Jean-Paul," I say, turning to him, "to think I loved you. Jacky Faber always thought she was clever, smart, but she was neither of those when it came to you. No. She was nothin' but a foolish, gullible girl. So stupid to be taken in that way..." I look down at my hands and think about putting my face in them and bawling for the rest of the journey to my killing ground. But I shall not. I will not give them that satisfaction. I have faced death too many times in the last weeks to tremble now. Let them do to me what they will. "Betrayal ... such an awful word..." is the last thing I say. "...and the worst betrayal of all is to be done in by someone you loved."
I face straight ahead and close my eyes, and I remain that way for the rest of the journey.
Once again I'm sayin g'bye to you, Jaimy, and this time I think it's for real 'cause I don't see no way out o' this one. I hope you'll be able to put me out of your mind and find another girl and raise a fine family and all. I know you won't be able to name one of the kids after me, 'cause your wife'd raise a fuss and I don't blame her, 'cause I'd raise a ruckus, too ... Maybe one of the dogs ... or one of the horses ... that's it—one of the horses, a nice little mare. See what you can do for the kids at the Home for Little Wanderers and the people who work for me at Faber Shipping ... Higgins and Jim Tanner and Clementine and Solomon and Daniel and John Thomas and Smasher and all ... Funny, ain't it, Jaimy, how that little dream of mine almost happened?
Armand pulls the coach to a stop. We are at the edge of a body of water—is it the ocean? The mouth of the Seine? I don't know ... all I know is that I am about to die. I am yanked out of the carriage and taken to the shore and shoved down to the water's edge. It is a deserted shore—there is an old wharf, rotting away, but nothing else— nothing ... no boats, no fishermen, no people, no nothing ... there is no sound, nothing but the squawk of seagulls wheeling overhead.
So this is where it all ends—at the end of some muddy dock in France. A deserted beach, with no one to hear the pop of the pistol that will send a bullet into my brain and so end my life, with no one but the wild birds to see and no one but them to mourn.
I fall to my knees, sobbing. "I don't care, I don't care, just do it," I say, and I feel the barrel of his gun against the back of my head. I don't care, I just wanna go home. Now the tears do come, for my lost life, for my lost future, for my lost everything.
"Look out there, girl, and tell me what you see," says Jardineaux. I sense Jean-Paul standing behind him, but I don't care. I lift my head.
I lift my eyes and look out over the water. Through the tears I see ... what? A ship? Could it be? I wipe my eyes to clear them. Oh, dear Lord, it is the Nancy B! Yes it is, her sails slacked, and her American colors snapping in the breeze! I see a boat being lowered and...
Jardineaux grabs my hair and pulls my head back. "You see that? You know who that is?"
I gasp out, "How could you be so cruel? How could you—"
"There are telescopes trained on us right now, you know that, don't you?"
I don't have to reply, 'cause I know it's true.
"They came here to rescue you, and we knew about that, yes we did, and we were prepared to let you go, but then you did what you did, and now they shall see what happens to turncoats. They came for you, but they shall not have you—what they shall get will be your dead body, and I want them to see it happen!"
He shoves the barrel at the back of my head, and I wait for the sound of the hammer being brought to full cock. Dear God...
But I don't hear it.
What I do hear is a sharp intake of breath, a groan, and then Jardineaux pitches forward, his face slammed in the mud next to me. I look up and see my shiv sticking out of his back, the rooster on the blade's handle starin' directly into my crazed eye.
I am stunned beyond any attempt at speech.
"I knew what he was going to do to you. I could not let that happen," says Jean-Paul, standing above Jardineaux's still form.
I get to my feet.
"Jean-Paul ... but what about Armand?" I look over to see the man approach.
He shakes his head and looks at me. "I told you before that Armand is from my village. He is my man and will not say anything ... Armand!"
Armand bounds over.
"M'sieur?"
"Get his identification," says Jean-Paul. "We will let the ocean take care of him."
"Oui, M'sieur," says Armand. He pulls out my shiv and runs it through the wet sand to clean it, then hands it to Jean-Paul, who, in turn, gives it back to me. Without thinking, I shove it up my sleeve into its sheath. Armand rolls Jardineaux onto his back and strips him of his wallet and anything else he might have had on him. The tide is coming in and seawater is already washing about the dead man's face.
"He was a cruel man with much hatred in his heart," says Jean-Paul, looking down at the body. "I, too, once had a heart full of nothing but hate ... then I met you." He lifts his head and looks out over the water. "Your friends are out there, Jacqui, and you must go to them."
"Jean-Paul...," I say, putting my hand on his arm, "I..."
"No, Jacqui, you did not want to come here, and this is not where you belong. I know that." He pauses, takes a breath, and then goes on. "I am quitting this game. Armand and I will go back to our village. Without Jardineaux, his organization will fall apart. Someone will eventually bring Bonaparte down, but it will not be him ... or me."
"Jean-Paul..."
He puts his hands on my shoulders and looks down into my eyes and says, "My family's estate, what is left of it, is not far from Paris. I will go back and tend to it now. My father grows old and needs my help." Another pause, as he puts his fingertips under my chin and looks deep into my eyes, a slight smile on his lips. "I may meet a girl, and I may marry, for there is room in my heart for that now, because of you. But I tell you this, Jacqui. Every time I come to Paris, I shall go to the Café des Deux Chats and I will order a glass of wine and I will sit there quietly, and whether it is tomorrow, or next month, or years and years from now, I will lift the glass and think of you, Jacqui, and the short time we had together in Paris. And now, you must go."
"One more kiss, Jean-Paul, one more..." I lift my tear-streaked face to his and our lips come together and when they part, I say, "Jean-Paul, I do hope you will meet that girl and that she will make you ever so happy and that you and she will have many fine children and ... oh, I just wish the very best for you!"
"Adieu, Jacqui."
"Good-bye, Jean-Paul."
I turn to the water, and, though I see the boat approaching the shore, I begin wading out toward it, my eyes streaming, my arms open wide.
As it grows close, I see that it is Jim Tanner who holds the tiller and that it is John Thomas and Smasher McGee who man the oars, but it is Jaimy Fletcher who leans over the side of the boat and lifts me aboard and hugs me to him, and he holds my wet, dripping, sobbing self to him all the way back to the Nancy B.
I have come home.