The King's Falcon (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 3) (33 page)

I feared what Madame Fleury might do to me. As I do again now.
 
Goodbye.

Hindsight was a marvellous thing. It was a shame one didn’t get it in advance.

But
…
 

Yes - exactly.
 
But
.
 

She’d melted against him and responded to his mouth as if she had waited all her life for him.
 
She’d sighed his name and tangled her fingers in his hair and –
 

He hurriedly shut down that train of thought just as his body started to enjoy it.
 
Instead, he attempted to focus on the worst aspect of the whole debacle.
 
He was almost certain that what he felt for her, she – in part, at least – also felt for him. And even if, as yet, her feelings were confused and not quite recognised, she was still going to be hurt when he kept her at arms’ length.
 
As he clearly must.
 

So if she’s not to become as besotted with you as you are with her
, he told himself,
 
it would be a good idea if you stopped saving her from awkward situations and cuddling her afterwards.
 
Unless you
want
her to know what
real
pain feels like.

*
 
*
 
*

Since Francis had indeed left his one precious copy of
M
é
nage
with Froissart, Athenais was bereft of any distraction other than changing out of her damaged gown.
 
Then she returned to the parlour and sat by the window, waiting for Ashley to come home.
 
To her immense disappointment, he had still not re-appeared by the time she was due to leave for the theatre and so it was Major Langley who escorted both herself and Pauline through the streets.

If her mind hadn’t been awash with other, more interesting images, she might have been entertained by the dialogue between her two companions.

‘Having me play this part is a ridiculous idea,’ grumbled Pauline.

‘So you’ve said,’ sighed Francis. ‘Several times.’
 

‘I don’t know why I agreed to it.’

‘But you
did
agree – as has Froissart.’

‘And that’s another thing.
 
Was he drunk?’

‘No.
 
He just wants the play.’

 
‘Of course he wants the play,’ she snapped impatiently. ‘But he can have it without me.’

Francis sent her a smug, glancing smile but said nothing.

Pauline stopped dead and hauled him round to face her.

‘You devious
sod!
 
You made it a condition, didn’t you?
 
Just as you did with me.
 
Didn’t you?
’

‘Yes.
 
And before you start ranting at me, allow me to inform you that it’s a condition Froissart is extremely happy with.’

She eyed him explosively for a moment and then looked past his shoulder at Athenais.

‘I don’t know why
you’re
laughing.
 
This is a prime example of what I’ve always told you.
 
Never trust a man.
 
Cunning, conniving devils – every last one of them.’

‘But not stupid,’ grinned Athenais. And to Francis, ‘Congratulations.
 
Getting the great Fleury back on stage is quite an achievement.’

‘Thank you.’
 
He bowed slightly and started walking again.

‘I’m off for most of the third act.
 
If Froissart allows, can I read this play of yours?’

‘Willingly.’

‘Tell her she’s not playing the wife,’ said Pauline flatly.

‘You’re not playing the wife,’ he informed Athenais obligingly.
 
Then, to Pauline, ‘Aside from the fact that Mademoiselle here is always in demand for meatier roles and my little
oeuvre
lasts about twenty minutes, why can’t she play the wife?’

‘Because it’s perfect for Hortense Roget.’

Francis looked blank but Athenais said quickly, ‘Hortense?
 
But she’s only any good at … oh.
 
The wife’s a bitch?’

‘That’s one way of putting it.’
 
Pauline slanted a glance up at Francis.
 
‘Do you really
know
a woman like that?’

 
‘Intimately.’
 
The sapphire gaze hardened.
 
‘As it happens, I have the misfortune to be related to two of them.’

Athenais opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Pauline had no such scruples.
 
She said, ‘Your sister?
 
Lady Verney?’

‘Also my mother, the Dowager Viscountess Wroxton.’
 
He paused and then added, ‘You heard what d’Auxerre said, Athenais – and it was true.
 
My lady mother awards her favours frequently and entirely without discrimination. As for Celia … she isn’t married to Verney.
 
She’s married to a man who was once my closest friend – and who is still very much alive.’
 
This time the pause was accompanied by a small, crooked smile.
 
‘Every family has its skeletons, you see.
 
And mine, you will understand, cause me to view marriage with a very jaundiced eye.’

*
 
*
 
*

At around the time Francis was escorting Athenais and Pauline to the theatre, Colonel Peverell paid a visit to the tavern from which Jem was watching Lucy Walter’s house.

‘Anything?’ asked Ashley.

‘Nothing new.
 
The flash cove from Brussels was there till an hour ago – and the beau-trap with the yellow hair and the earring paid a call around noon.’
 
Jem yawned.
 
‘It’d help if we knew what we was looking for.’

‘That is indisputably true.
 
In the meantime, there was some trouble at our lodging earlier.’
 

Jem listened to a succinct version of the Marquis d’Auxerre’s intrusion, then said, ‘And you didn’t slit his gizzard?’

‘Not this time.’

Recognising what lay behind both eyes and voice, Jem nodded without any particular surprise.
 
He knew – as he suspected Major Langley still did not – that behind the façade of Colonel Ashley Peverell lay The Falcon.
 
And The Falcon was a different person altogether; a man extremely familiar with shadowy places and ruthless deeds.
 
He said, ‘Ah.
 
Well, if he ends up as pie-meat, it’ll be his own choice then.’

‘My view exactly.’
 
Ashley stood up.
 
‘Do you want me to take over for the evening?’

‘Nah.
 
It’s restful enough sitting here.
 
And the serving wench has promised me supper.
 
I reckon I’ll bide a few more hours yet.
 
And you needn’t fret, Cap – Colonel.
 
I ain’t cupshot – nor likely to be.
 
Not while I’m on watch.’

‘I’m delighted to hear it.’

Jem grunted and then said, ‘Don’t look now – but the lady’s at the open window on the left.
 
Could be wrong, of course – but I reckon she’s got her eye on you.’

‘One would hope not – but let’s see if you’re right.’ Replacing his hat, Ashley turned to leave, murmuring, ‘If she turns to watch, give me a nod when I reach the corner.’
 
And he strolled away.

At the end of the street, he paused as if deciding on his direction and glanced briefly over his shoulder.
 
Jem nodded.
 
He was also grinning, damn him.

Ashley turned left, out of sight of Lucy Walter’s window.
 
If she was indeed watching him watching her, either he’d been unforgivably careless or she was brighter than Charles had suggested.
 
Whichever it was, he had no alternative but to leave all future surveillance to Jem.

The sky was growing darker now and he wasn’t in any particular hurry as he zig-zagged his way through the narrow streets that led back to the Marais district.
 
Having dragged his thoughts away from Athenais, he focussed his mind on Lucy Walter and the problem of how he was going to proceed if the next couple of days continued to produce as little useful information as the last few had done.
 
He had no idea who he was looking for – an individual, a conspiracy or simply a thwarted lover.
 
He also suspected that neither Charles nor Hyde had told him everything.
 
The result was a time-consuming mess that he could well do without but which he couldn’t just wash his hands of.

He was somewhere near the head of the Rue Simon when he realised that he was being followed.
 
In one sense, this was mildly annoying.
 
In another, it offered the possibility of working off some of his frustrations.
 
He swung round a corner into the dim recesses of a gateway and retrieved the slim blade he kept in his boot. He was wearing his sword, of course … but, if it came to a fight, that wasn’t the kind he wanted.

He stepped out again into the road and the light of someone’s window. He walked on, silently now – and the footsteps followed him.
 
They were very light and belonged to only one person.
 
Ashley relaxed.
 
It was almost certainly a thief – but a very foolish one who thought to rob an armed man.
 
D’Auxerre couldn’t know where to find him now and, so far as he was aware, no one else had any reason to dog his footsteps.
 
He mentally rifled through the various lanes and alleyways between the Rue Simon and the Rue des Rosiers and, having chosen the one that would suit both himself and a potential footpad best, he strolled on.
 

The point he’d selected came and went while his shadow remained just that – far enough back to keep him in sight but never close enough to be recognised.

At the foot of the steps of number sixteen, Ashley paused and waited.

At the nearest corner, the shadow also paused and watched.

So.
 
Not a thief
, he thought.
 
Taking his time about it, he replaced the knife in his boot – sending a clear message to the shadow at the corner and causing it to melt away like smoke.
 
Nor an assassin, either.
 
Something else, then.
 
But what?

Inside the house, he found Archie sitting just inside the kitchen from a place where he could see the hall. A hefty billet lay on the table beside him.
 
As soon as Ashley appeared, he stood to attention and said, ‘All’s quiet, Colonel.
 
And the Major’s on escort duty.’

Ashley suppressed an involuntary grin.
 
Archie was plainly taking his new status very seriously.
 
All it needed was a salute.
 
He said, ‘Thank you, Sergeant.
 
The ladies aren’t back yet, then?’

‘No, sir.
 
Another hour it’ll be.’
 
He paused and then, a shade uncertainly, said, ‘Got some mutton stew on the hob – if you should happen to fancy a bite.’

Tossing his hat and gloves down on the table, Ashley said he’d be delighted and was about to take a seat when his glance strayed to the hall and he noticed something that hadn’t been there before.
 
A folded piece of paper which had apparently been slipped under the door.

He walked over, picked it up and opened it out.

Monsieur,

I believe we may have met.
 
If you would care to renew our acquaintance, you may call tomorrow at two in the afternoon.

Yrs.

Lucy Walter

Ashley was suddenly gripped with sardonic laughter.
 
He’d been followed home because the woman wanted to send him an invitation.
 
The only question was … an invitation to explain why he was watching her house or, given her reputation, to something very different indeed.

~
 
*
 
*
 
~
 
*
 
*
 
~

Any hopes Athenais had entertained about her future relationship with Colonel Peverell were soon dashed.
 
In the days leading to the final week of rehearsal for
Mariamne
, he retreated behind a wall of impenetrable courtesy.
 
He was perfectly pleasant and appeared utterly relaxed.
 
He didn’t openly avoid her but he made sure they were never alone. And when she tried to thank him for setting her father on the trail of long-lost sobriety, he merely replied that Archie was the one most deserving of congratulation. Within forty-eight hours, Athenais wanted to hit him.

Occasionally catching a certain gleam in her eyes, Ashley was perfectly well-aware that his love was both confused and irritated – and equally well-aware that there was nothing he could do about it.
 
As for his
billet-doux
from Lucy Walter, he decided that it would be stupid to visit her at a time of her choosing when he didn’t know what she wanted or who might be lying in wait.
 
Consequently, he let the matter lie for three days until Jem – who was finding the potential situation a lot funnier than Ashley thought necessary – assured him that the lady was free of other callers.

‘She’s after your body, you lucky bugger,’ grinned Jem.
 
‘But if you ain’t up for it, I’ll be ready and willing to help you out.’

‘Shut up,’ muttered Ashley.
 
‘I’m only doing this in case it becomes necessary to do a little house-breaking.
 
So keep your witticisms to yourself and your eyes peeled for other visitors.’

Luckily, the maidservant who admitted him wasn’t the one he’d bribed to tell him which rooms belonged to Mistress Walter.
 
And then the lady herself was rising from her chair to greet him with a mixture of flirtation and reproof.

‘Well, Monsieur.
 
I had quite given you up,’ she said in passable but not very fluent French.
 
‘Did I not invite you some days ago?’

‘A thousand pardons, Madame.’
 
Deciding to find out whether or not she knew his nationality, Ashley answered her in the same language.
 
‘I was desolate to disappoint you but, sadly, I was unavoidably detained on that day.’
 
With an elegant bow, he offered the small posy he’d bought from a street-seller.
 
‘I can only hope you’ll forgive me.’

Lucy accepted the flowers with a slight inclination of her head and a coquettish smile.
 
‘Perhaps I may do so, sir.
 
But first you must give me your name.
 
I am convinced that we have met before – but I am at a loss to recall when and where.’

Concluding that she wouldn’t be struggling on in French if she knew he was English, Ashley switched languages and said, ‘Colonel Ashley Peverell, Madame – and entirely at your service.
 
As for a previous meeting … I believe it was some time ago at the Louvre.
 
And to my everlasting sorrow, we were never formally introduced.’

‘Oh.’
 
For an instant, she looked completely nonplussed.
 
‘You’re English.
 
I – I hadn’t realised.
 
A member of the court-in-exile, I suppose?’

He shrugged.
 
‘A mere hanger-on to the fringes, I’m afraid.
 
Impoverished ex-soldiers are in plentiful supply and of no great use at present.’

Relief crossed her face.

‘So you aren’t closely-acquainted with the King?’

‘Barely at all,’ he lied.
 
And, summoning the kind of smile that usually softened even the stiffest female backbone, added, ‘Of course, I am aware that you have the inestimable distinction of being the mother of His Majesty’s son.
 
I hope young James is well?’

‘Perfectly well – and being cared for in Rotterdam.’
 
She took a chair by the hearth and indicated that Ashley should take the one facing it.
 
‘You must think me very forward, Colonel.
 
But I truly thought --’

‘Please!’ he said earnestly.
 
‘I am immeasurably honoured to be here and to be meeting you in person at last.
 
It isn’t an opportunity for which I’d ever dared hope.’

Her answering smile was a masterpiece of discreet invitation.

‘Then I shall ask my girl to bring wine so that we may become better acquainted.’

Rising, she opened the door and called to her maid.
 
Ashley used the time to conduct a swift appraisal of the room.
 
It might have been elegant had it not been for the plethora of assorted knick-knacks that littered every available surface – presumably gifts from besotted admirers.
 
However, the only item of furniture that interested him was a small table-top writing desk with the usual lockable cavity for correspondence.
 
One look at the key-hole was enough to tell him that opening it would be the work of less than two minutes.

Then Lucy was back and sinking gracefully into her chair.
 
Ashley reflected that you couldn’t really blame Charles.
 
She was an exceptionally beautiful woman. It was little wonder she had fellows tripping over themselves for a taste of her favours.
 
Long-lashed
 
eyes of vivid blue, clouds of glossy raven hair and a mouth that would tempt a saint. If his own heart hadn’t lain elsewhere, it might even have tempted him.
 
As it was, he sincerely hoped she wasn’t expecting him to do more than kiss her hand.

They drank wine and she asked him about himself – though he suspected she wasn’t especially interested which made it easy to keep his replies both vague and brief.
 
A little later, dabbing at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief, she revealed that she did not dare have her darling boy to live with her in Paris as she was convinced that the King would kidnap him.

‘Since our ways have parted,’ she finished sorrowfully, ‘Charles has not been kind, you know.
 
I truly believe that he would take our son from me if he could.’

Ashley thought that might well be true.
 
Lucy’s lovers and her habit of enacting embarrassing scenes didn’t exactly make her the ideal mother.
 
And though young James might have been born on the wrong side of the blanket, it was a
royal
blanket.

Ashley sympathised and flattered and gave every appearance of being wholly dazzled.
 
And when he rose to leave, found himself being offered her hands, her cheek and a further invitation to take supper with her one evening.
 
He did his duty by the first two and side-stepped the last by pleading business that would once again take him from Paris for an indeterminate length of time.

Lucy pouted a little, allowed herself to be restored to dimpled smiles and finally let him escape.
 
Ashley left the house with a feeling of relief, shot a baleful scowl across the road at Jem and, checking that he wasn’t being followed this time, strode off for the Louvre and a word or two with Sir Edward Hyde.

*
 
*
 
*

Four days later, he returned to the Rue des Rosiers after an hour’s fencing practice with the King to find Celia Maxwell ensconced in the parlour with Pauline and Athenais.
 
Celia was tapping an impatient foot; Athenais was turning a small cake into crumbs; and Pauline looked thunderous.
 
None of them showed any sign of indulging in conversation.

As soon as she spied Ashley, Celia stood up and said crossly in English, ‘At last.
 
I’ve been waiting here for an hour.
 
Perhaps
you
can tell me where Francis has got to?’

Like Pauline and Athenais, Ashley knew precisely where Francis had got to – and how long he was likely to stay there.
 
But since this information had so far plainly been withheld, he said blandly, ‘No. I’m afraid I can’t.’

‘But surely you must have
some
idea?’

‘Not the sort of idea that Francis would appreciate my passing on to his sister.’

Athenais stopped torturing her cake and gave him a look that said,
My. And aren’t
you
the clever one?
 
Then, because she was tired of being polite, she favoured Pauline with a low-voiced translation.
 
Madame Fleury hastily turned a snort of laughter into a cough.

Celia scowled at them but kept her guns trained on Ashley.

‘You needn’t hold back on my account. I assure you, my sensibilities are not so delicate.’

‘So we’ve ’eard,’ muttered Athenais.

‘I
beg
your pardon?’

‘Nuffin.’

Ashley had always known her English must be execrable but it was the first time he’d heard her use it.
 
Somehow managing to suppress a choke of laughter and stepping nobly into the breach, he said, ‘As Madame and Mademoiselle have doubtless already explained, there are any number of places your brother might be.’

‘I’m sure you could help me if you chose to do so.’

‘No.
 
Francis and I are not joined at the hip.’
 
His expression became somewhat less amicable. ‘Also, you must forgive me if I tell you that I dislike being called a liar.’
 

‘I didn’t do so!’

‘No?
 
I beg your pardon. I must have misunderstood.’

Celia flushed.

‘I can see that I am wasting my time here.
 
If it’s not
too
much to ask, perhaps you will tell Francis that I called and that I wish him to wait on me as soon as possible – preferably today.’

‘If and when I see him, I will be delighted to do so,’ agreed Ashley.
 
And then, ‘Allow me to see you to the door.
 
I’m sure the ladies will excuse you.’

It was Celia’s turn to mutter.
 
‘Ladies?
 
Ha!
’

By the time Ashley returned to the parlour, Athenais and Pauline were pink with laughter.

‘
Ha!
’ said Pauline cheerfully.
 
‘Pot calling kettle and other similar clichés.
 
She’s perfectly awful, isn’t she?
 
And Francis, bless his heart, has put it all into his play.’

‘Why didn’t you tell her he’s at the theatre?’ asked Ashley.

‘Partly,’ she replied, rising to remove the plate of uneaten cakes, ‘because the woman put my back up in the first two minutes; but mainly because he wouldn’t want me to.’

On her way to the door, she passed Ashley who took the opportunity to filch a pastry and then, grimacing, swallowed it wholesale.

‘Ugh!
 
Almond paste.
 
Disgusting!’

‘Serves you right,’ grinned Pauline.
 
She selected a tiny lemon tart and popped it into his mouth. ‘To take the taste away.
 
What does she want with Francis?’

He took his time with the tart.
 
Then, ‘Ask him. It’s not for me to say.’

‘Quite right,’ she approved.
 
And left the room, humming.

Ashley suddenly realised that he was alone with Athenais for the first time since he’d kissed her.
 
One look at her face told him that she was having exactly the same thought – and had no more idea of how to deal with it than he had himself.

In desperation, she said baldly, ‘Since Francis is at the theatre, shouldn’t you be there also?’

‘Yes.
 
I’m late.
 
I was fencing with the King and lost track of the time.
 
But this shirt – though no longer clean – is my only decent one so I didn’t want to risk Etienne slashing it by mistake.
 
His enthusiasm carries him away at times.’

She looked at him curiously and, ignoring the latter part of his speech, said, ‘Do you often fight with your King?’

‘Not often.
 
Just when he requires it.’

‘Is he any good?’

‘Moderately so.’
 
He paused, smiling faintly.
 
‘I gather the Marquis hasn’t visited the theatre recently?’

She shook her head.
 
‘He’s away – according to that effete friend of his, Henri de Vauvallon, on some business of the Cardinal’s.
 
That may or may not be true.
 
One never knows.’
 

‘No.
 
He doesn’t strike me as the type to be happy being used as an errand-boy – unless it served some purpose of his own,’ came the thoughtful reply.
 
Then, ‘I’d better change my shirt and go.
 
Francis will be tearing his hair out.’

‘Of course. He can’t
possibly
manage without you at his elbow, can he?’
 
she retorted acidly. ‘And it would be a shame if you and I were to exchange more than half a dozen commonplace remarks.’