Baker's Dozen Page 6

  The school bell rang. The kids appeared, only a few at first, then a group. Stan scanned them feverishly. What if today Darren and his cronies didn’t come? The he saw them, the ones they were waiting for. He hit the speed dial button.

  “Bingo,” he shouted when Fred answered.

  “Darren’s on the way and he’s got Wayne and Jason with him,” he reported.

  Fred’s grin was positively evil as he replied, “Good. The more the merrier. Let’s get the lot of them in one fell swoop.” He raised one of his hands high in the air.

  Stan stood up at the relay post and repeated the signal for the others to see. Larry waved to show he was ready and so did Gladys.

  “They’re coming down the road, fast. Looks like they’re coming our way,” reported Annie from the main road.

  “Roger. Action stations!” Fred raised both hands in the air and Stan passed it on, making sure Gladys had waved her acknowledgement.

  “Ready?” Reg asked.

  “Ooh! I’m all of a dither!” Gladys replied, shaking a little as she got to her feet.

  “You’ll be just fine,” Reg said comfortingly, “Think of the mess you’re going to make of the little creeps. You can do it!”

  Gladys carefully took her position, right in the middle of the pathway, temptingly near the big muddy puddle and on the far side of the bushes.

  “Action alert!” Dot shouted into her phone from the corner. Fred waved his hands high above his head. That was it. No time now for second thoughts. They were coming, just as he’d hoped and planned. Fred moved hurriedly out of the gate and stood where he wouldn’t be seen. Seconds later he heard the swoosh of cycle tyres ridden hard and the mountain bikes flashed through the narrow gateway, a swirl of crimson and silver and black, the dreaded Darren in the lead.

  As soon as they saw Fred wave, Larry and Ted pulled the rope tight across the path and fastened it to the trees at breast height to a cyclist. The height had been carefully measured because they didn’t want to kill anyone. Sid had been to a lot of trouble to get just the right colour of grey so the rope blended into the shadows. When Larry had checked earlier, you couldn’t see a sign of it until you were up close and by then it would be far too late for them to avoid.

  The mountain bikes sped on. Gladys walked forward slowly, limping a bit for good measure and hoping she wasn’t overdoing it, her bright coat shimmering in the sunshine. She heard the yell of triumph, as they spotted her, and this became her moment of blind faith, her finest hour. She pretended she had heard nothing and walked on.

  The trio of mountain bikes swept into the bushes, faster than ever. They were getting closer and closer to their quarry and this time, with three of them, she had absolutely no chance of escape. Darren whooped. Gladys turned now, knowing she was looking sufficiently terrified, because that was exactly how she felt.

  Everything happened at once. The rope twanged and the scream of metal and the thumps of the bodies hitting the ground hard were music to the listening ears. Neither Larry nor Ted looked to see what havoc they had wrought. Ted released the slip knot while Larry coiled frantically. The rope slithered across the path like a writhing snake. As soon as he had it all, Larry hurried down the slope to where Florrie was waiting. A second later he had plunged it deep among her parcels and out of sight. Florrie stood up slowly and began to shuffle off in the direction of the home, pushing her shopping bag in front of her. She was even slower than usual, because it was hard to keep walking when she was giggling so much.

  Gladys surveyed the chaos of bikes and legs which confronted her. All three lads lay sprawled on the path, fighting for breath and nursing the different parts of their bodies that had encountered the ground at the very moment of their triumph. Gladys turned away, a big evil grin on her face. When she had her fall, Darren had certainly not stopped to help her. So she walked away and left him to it in return. Revenge is very sweet.

  One by one, the residents of Meadowside left the park and returned home.

  “Well done everybody!” Fred said as he lifted his teacup and saluted his team. “I told you we could do it and didn’t we do well? I’d like to thank everybody, the reconnaissance team, supply, relay, getaway and, of course, our action team, Ted, Larry and our fabulous Gladys!”

  “There’s not a spot on my coat, just as you promised me, Fred. I think we should raise three cheers for our leader, Fred, and his fabulous plan.”

  The cheers almost lifted the roof and brought the staff hurrying to see what was going on. It took some time to get rid of them and they left with puzzled looks on their faces.

  “The lads on the estate aren’t the only ones who treat us like dirt,” Ted said when they were alone again. “We’ve righted one wrong, but there’re others.”

  “Oh?” Fred asked.

  “Once you get in a place like this, everyone thinks you’re finished so they can do what they like to you.”

  “For example?”

  “Well, there’s that bus driver who won’t let me on with my shopping basket. He says it’s too big but I can’t walk properly without it,” Florrie told him.

  “And what about the woman at the corner shop who ignores us and serves everyone else first?”

  “What about it folks? Shall we get them too?”

  “We’ll teach them not to mess with Meadowside!”

  The Emperor’s Concubine

  “I will not crown the Emperor’s concubine!” The Pope was striding up and down the room, his white robes frothing round his legs.

  “What do you mean, Holiness?” Cardinal Fesch asked faintly and then immediately wished that he hadn’t. Pope Pius VII was an elderly, usually mild-mannered, man but now his face was flushed with rage as he rounded on the small rotund cardinal.

  “Mean?” The Pope roared. “What do I mean? They were never married; that’s what I mean! The woman is his concubine. Napoleon has dragged me all the way from Rome, in the depths of winter, to crown his whore!”

  Fesch blinked. For a moment his mind went blank and he couldn’t think. But it wasn’t true. He had been at their wedding. He blurted out “Holiness, they were married. I saw it myself. I was there.”

  “A civil marriage made in front of a civilian registrar! How can you, a cardinal of the holy Catholic Church, accept it as a lawful marriage in the sight of God?”

  That part was true of course. During the Revolution, there were few churches open and even fewer priests. For safety, he had even renounced his own priesthood to earn a meagre living as a merchant. Many other priests had done the same. When things changed, few couples had bothered to marry again in church. Certainly the imperial couple had not, as far as he knew. For a moment, Fesch wondered just how the Pope had found out this fact on the very eve of their Coronation.

  “Forgive me, Holiness. I never thought about it in that way.”

  “What other way is there to think about it?”

  Fesch did not attempt to answer. The question was rhetorical.

  “The Emperor says he is a true son of the church,” Pius continued, spitting out his words, “but his marriage is not legitimate and therefore his so called Empress cannot be crowned. You will go to him and tell him so.”

  Fesch trembled. No one would want to give this kind of a message to Napoleon. Even though he was a member of the family, he had always taken care to avoid the frequent quarrels which broke out whenever his relations gathered together. But he would not be able to avoid this quarrel. He had just been given a direct order by the only man who could do so. For a moment, his frightened mind pictured the Emperor’s displeasure.

  “Immediately!” Fesch jumped. Lost in his thoughts, he had forgotten he was still in the Pope’s presence.

  “At once, Holiness.” He scurried out of the room, thinking desperately. He could not go to the Emperor without also having some sort of a solution to offer him. Danger had always sharpened his wits. That was how he had managed to survive for so long. He hurried to his rooms and took out his book on Canon Law. He
flipped through the pages, reading feverishly. Then he stopped. The answer seemed to leap out of the page at him. He had remembered correctly. This answer would certainly appeal to Napoleon. The fact it would not appeal to either of the others involved was not important; there were ways round that too. He made his way to the Emperor’s chambers.

  “Of course I married Josephine in a civil ceremony!” Napoleon shouted, banging his fist on the untidy desk. They would be able to hear him in the next room if he didn’t keep his voice down, Fesch thought, wincing. Napoleon must have had the same idea, because suddenly his voice became quieter.

  “What does he expect? There wasn’t much choice in those days. Remember? If you were able to find a priest at all, they were usually drunk or afraid of their own shadow. Thousands of people were married that way.”

  “But only one of those thousands will be crowned Emperor tomorrow.” Fesch rarely flattered his nephew and only did so now to divert his anger.

  “True,” Napoleon sighed and sat down again. “How very tiresome. This coronation is becoming almost more trouble than it’s worth.”

  “They have solved one problem at least,” Fesch tried again to break up the tension, “they have found the pure virgins needed for the ceremony.”

  Napoleon reacted as he had hoped. His frown vanished and he laughed.

  “A monumental task in France. Tell whoever made the discovery ‘well done’. Perhaps I will have him transferred to the Police to look for stolen property. It should prove an easier task.”

  He tapped his fingers, looking down at the desk, deep in thought. When he looked up, his gaze was more quizzical than angry.

  “Well, Uncle, you have brought me this news, what do you think I should do about it?”

  Fesch relaxed. The worst was over. He had accepted the unacceptable and he was starting to plan his response. He was always less dangerous when he was considering a course of action. Now Fesch outlined the only two real possibilities that existed.

  “As I see it, you have two choices. You can cancel that part of the ceremony which concerns the Empress, or...” he hesitated. The relationship between the imperial couple had always been volatile, to say the least.

  “Or?” Napoleon prompted.

  “You can marry her in church before the Coronation. Then everything can go forward as planned.”

  Napoleon looked at him thoughtfully. “You are aware that if I cancel Josephine’s crowning at this late date, the whole world will know there is a problem and it will take a very short time for the reason to emerge?”

  Fesch nodded. Gossip was one of the most efficient things in any court. This was true even in the Vatican, among people who should know better.

  “It will make me look like a fool and I cannot afford to look like a fool, especially now.”

  Fesch agreed. France was still a revolutionary society. Barely five years ago, the people had made a practice of cutting off the heads of their rulers. Some of them had been fools. This man was definitely not.

  “You will marry her then?” He could not think of another alternative, although he had tried hard. Persuading the Pope to change his mind was not, he knew, an option likely to succeed.

  “Josephine has not always been faithful to me and I am beginning to think she cannot give me children.”

  “I thought you still hoped?”

  “I do, in a way. It would solve many problems. But she shows no sign and it is becoming less likely as the years go on. She is getting old. I may have to divorce her so I can have a child to succeed me, now I know the fault is not mine. Leon’s birth finally proved that fact.”

  “What about...” Fesch started but Napoleon would not let him finish.

  “He’s illegitimate. The whole point of tomorrow is to legitimise my rule. Even you must see that I cannot be crowned and then suddenly produce a bastard as my heir. Only a child of my wife can succeed me, can become Napoleon II.” There was longing in his voice as he said the name.

  A strained silence fell. Napoleon gazed out of the window, his face blank. Fesch waited, trying to guess the thoughts behind the mask which Napoleon was assuming more and more, even in private. As usual, he did not succeed.

  “I loved her passionately when we first married,” Napoleon said softly, “but her affair with Hippolyte Charles changed everything. You know the family do not want her to be crowned? How they would rejoice if they knew about this situation.”

  Fesch nodded. The bitter feud between Josephine and Napoleon’s sisters was common knowledge and neither side made any serious attempt to hide their feelings.

  “I do not need to please the family, but it is a pity this was not thought of earlier. Humiliating Josephine will make both of us laughing stocks, here in France and among our enemies abroad. But neither do I want to be tied to her by a bond I cannot dissolve. It is a dilemma and, at the moment, I cannot see a way out.”

  Fesch let out the breath he did not know he had been holding. He had been waiting for this. “But I can. It is possible for you to marry her in such a way that the marriage could be annulled at a later date, if you wish to do so.” He had chosen his words carefully.

  For a moment, Napoleon’s blank face lightened with interest. “You surprise me, Uncle. What way? How difficult would it be?”

  He was eager, almost too eager, Fesch thought. The solution was elegant. He wondered how the Emperor would reward him. Napoleon was always very generous if he got what he wanted.

  “To be legally binding, such an important marriage must have several witnesses, specifically more than one clerical witness. If I marry you and you choose your own witness carefully, a witness who can be trusted to testify for you in future...”

  Napoleon smiled. “I know just the man.”

  “The marriage would therefore appear valid in the eyes of the church, but would contain grounds for any future annulment.” he concluded.

  “And that interesting fact need not be known to either the Pope or to Josephine?”

  Fesch nodded.

  “Devious, Uncle.” Napoleon jumped to his feet and gripped Fesch by his arm. He was smiling. “An admirable strategy, almost worthy of me. Very well. Arrange it for tonight and tell that interfering old man he will have no reason not to put the crown on my wife’s head tomorrow.”

  When Fesch left her, the future Empress of the French was also smiling. She felt as if the constant shadow, which had hung over her for so long, had retreated at last. A marriage in church was for life. She felt like dancing round the room, but she did not. Her attendants would question the reason for such a display and this second wedding must be kept secret. The Emperor said so and she agreed with him. It was not in either of their interests for others to know how the Pope had forced Napoleon’s hand at such an important moment in their lives. But she was longing to tell someone. Anyone! Naturally, she thought first of her children. Impulsively, she picked up the bell to ring for an attendant to summon them, and then she stopped. Hortense was too young to have developed the ability to “hide her thoughts in words”, as Tallyrand once so accurately described it. Subtle minds in this court would pounce on a young girl’s first mistake. Josephine had lived too long and far too dangerously ever to choose affection over her own security. Better not. Hortense would be told when she was older and had more understanding of the world around her.

  Eugene? She smiled as she thought of her son. He was a quiet boy, well liked by most of the people who knew him, even here in his stepfather’s spiteful court. In some ways he reminded her of his own father. He had the same charm, but without the recklessness which had led to the guillotine. Eugene was dependable. Yes. He could be told and act as her witness, she decided. Satisfied with her decision, she sent for him to share the good news.

  Later that night, mother and son quietly made their way to the palace chapel. Their footsteps echoed through the halls. Josephine had retired as usual, as if she was going to bed. When her attendants left, she rose and dressed hurriedly but carefully in one of her
favourite white gowns.

  “How appropriate for this occasion,” she murmured, as she buttoned her long sleeves. “White is the bridal colour.” Then she shivered as she thought, “It is also the colour of innocence and youth.” She had not been either for a very long time. Napoleon had been the more innocent when they first married and he had been very much in love with her then. He declared he preferred older, more experienced women and she had certainly been that! To protect her from malicious tongues, he had added years to his age on the marriage documents and subtracted several from hers, so the difference between them did not seem so great. Tonight, she thought, he was making another gallant gesture. So she had judged him correctly. She had known he would not throw her to the wolves, even if some of them were members of his immediate family. The gamble had paid off as she had thought it would. He must still love her. Certainly, they belonged together. She was his luck. Since she had married him, his repeated triumphs had been truly amazing. Who ever would have believed it? Certainly she had not, or she would never have had such a foolish affair. She had been paying the price ever since.

  “Forget the past,” she told herself resolutely, “think only of the future.”

  In the dark corridors, she clung to Eugene’s arm, as she remembered a moonless night at home in Martinique, when the old soothsayer had told her she would be a queen one day. She had not believed it, of course, but it was coming true tomorrow and the second part of the prediction could no longer happen. “For a while” the old woman had added. Josephine’s heart began to beat rapidly. That part of the prediction had always scared her. Lately, she had believed it meant disgrace and divorce. Whatever it meant, it could not be that and she would find a way to deal with it, whatever it was, she always had.

  Josephine and Eugene entered the chapel, to find Napoleon waiting with Fesch and Duroc, his long time friend. She smiled at her husband coquettishly, but he barely responded to her presence. When they had last stood together to be married, he had almost devoured her with his eyes. Now he just looked at her briefly and nodded to the priest to begin. Once again, Josephine regretted she had been so stupid. She shivered.