Sylvia Andrew (23 page)

‘I know. But I must get Madeleine Lachasse out of the place as soon as possible—before anyone else goes looking for her.’

‘I think you’d better explain.’

Marcus paused, then gave Mr Gardiner an edited version of his mission. Francesca’s name did not figure in it.

‘But damn it all, you cannot—you really cannot—be prepared to jeopardise all your work for the past year for the sake of this…this paramour! What is Richard Beaudon to you?’

‘His daughter and I are betrothed,’ said Marcus, stretching the truth a little.

‘All the same…Wait here!’

Marcus spent the next few minutes arranging his thoughts. He was determined to go out to
La Maison des Anges
as soon as he was free of the Embassy, but knew that he was about to
have a serious disagreement with people he had worked with in complete harmony over the last twelve months.

‘What’s this nonsense, Marcus? Don’t be a fool, man. Of course you can’t visit
La Maison
.’ Marcus got to his feet and bowed to the distinguished-looking gentleman who now came in. Percy had wasted no time in bringing up the heavy guns. His friend gave him an apologetic glance, then went out, shutting the door carefully behind him.

‘Good evening, Sir Henry.’

‘Oh, good evening, good evening! No! It won’t damn well be any sort of good evening if what young Percy tells me is true. Have you gone mad?’

Marcus gritted his teeth. ‘No, but I can’t see anything else to do. I have to get that woman out of
La Maison des Anges
as soon as possible.’

‘The devil take it! Can’t anyone else go instead?’

‘No, sir. The matter is one of some delicacy…’

‘To hell with that, Marcus! Look, if you are found anywhere near that hotbed of Napoleon supporters you’ll…
we’ll
lose all credibility with the French government—you know that! Of all of us, you’re the one man they really trust. An escapade like this would ruin months of work. I forbid you to go.’

Marcus grew pale. ‘You’ll have to forgive me, Sir Henry. I am not one of your staff. And I intend to go, as soon as I leave you, to fetch Madeleine Lachasse.’

‘But
why
?’

Marcus was in a dilemma. The last thing he wanted was to bring Francesca into the discussion. She was at present loose in Paris, searching for her old nurse, and his blood ran cold at what she might do if she found out where the woman was. He placed no reliance on her sense of self-preservation. Impulsive, headstrong Francesca would once more rush in where angels would never dare to tread, but this time the
consequences could be disastrous. For all its name,
La Maison des Anges
was no place for any kind of angel!

If that happened, then it would need all the discretion, all the skill at his command, to save Francesca from a catastrophic scandal. If it were once known that the Honourable Miss Beaudon had been found in one of the most notoriously wicked brothels in Paris, nothing—not a thing!—could save her from social extinction.

‘
Why
, Marcus?’

Marcus was not to be rushed into a reply. He had no illusions—Sir Henry was perfectly capable of restraining him by force from visiting
La Maison des Anges
. That would hardly benefit Francesca. He must persuade, not fight.

‘First, I should tell you, Sir Henry, that Lord Beaudon’s daughter has agreed to marry me…’

‘So London’s most eligible bachelor has been caught at last? My congratulations, Marcus. But we’ll give this news the attention it deserves later. At the moment…’

‘That is the point, sir. Why I have to reach Madeleine Lachasse—tonight, if possible.’ He took a breath. ‘Madeleine Lachasse was Miss Beaudon’s nurse, and Miss Beaudon herself is in Paris in order to take her back to England.’

‘Good, good. So why can’t we send one of the embassy staff to fetch the Lachasse woman and deliver her to yourself and Miss Beaudon? I’d like to meet her while she’s in Paris, by the way. She must be a real diamond to have trapped you, Marcus.’

‘I…I don’t know where she is, sir.’

‘What the devil do you mean?’

‘Miss Beaudon is devoted to her nurse, Sir Henry. She was in such haste to meet her again that she left London ahead of me. However, Madeleine Lachasse was not at the rue du Luxembourg house, so Miss Beaudon decided to seek elsewhere. My worst fear is that she will find out where the woman
actually is, and visit her there. That is why I wish to get to
La Maison
as soon as possible. Why I will not trust anyone else with the mission.’

‘But, good God, man! Surely no delicately nurtured female would go near such a place!’

‘Miss Beaudon can be a touch…impulsive, sir.’

Sir Henry frowned. ‘Are you sure she’s the right girl for you, Marcus? Travelling alone to Paris, visiting all sorts of queer places—she sounds like a bit of a hoyden.’

Marcus stiffened. ‘She is everything I could wish for, sir. She can be the soul of propriety. But where her loyalty is concerned, she simply doesn’t heed the cost. I consider it my duty—and my deepest pleasure—to protect her from her own impulsive generosity. But you are right—her reputation is in some danger, and if it is to survive, she needs my help tonight. I know I can rely on your discretion, but the story is too dangerous to be trusted to anyone else.’

Sir Henry sat in thought for a moment. Then he said, ‘I suppose most of the men who go to visit the “Angels” take care not to be recognised. It wouldn’t be too suspicious if you were to muffle yourself up a little. Very well! But…for God’s sake, don’t get caught! If you do, we’ll have to disown you, you know that. It will be the end of your work here.’

Marcus called again briefly at Francesca’s hotel, only to find no news of Francesca, and Madame Elisabeth in a state of great anxiety. He refused all pleas that she should accompany him on his quest, claiming that she should remain where she was in case Francesca should return by herself. He did not reveal where he feared she might be.

He hired a fiacre to take him to the rue Giboureau—a slow business, but necessary to preserve his anonymity. When he finally arrived at the house it was getting late, though still early in the evening for its normal clientele. Hassim received
him and asked him to wait in the hall till the Countess could be found. Marcus shook his head.

‘I wish to speak to Madeleine Lachasse,’ he said firmly. ‘Take me to her, if you please.’

‘
Madame Madeleine est malade
.’

‘I know. Where is her room? Has she a visitor?’

Hassim glanced up. It was enough. Marcus leapt up the stairs two at a time, ignoring nymphs, candelabras, bees and the rest. At the first side passage he hesitated, and Hassim caught up with him.

‘
Monsieur!
’ He took hold of Marcus, but was pushed away so violently that he lost his footing and fell. Ignoring him, Marcus strode on past the alcove to the second passage. He paused to listen, then found his way to the small flight of stairs which led to the servants’ quarters. At the top he could see a figure in a wine-red silk evening dress standing at an open door. She was speaking with emphasis to someone inside the room.

‘Miss Beaudon, I beg of you, come away now. You have stayed far longer than you should. The evening visitors will be arriving at any moment. You
must not
be discovered here. I shall send Maddy to your hotel as soon as she is well enough, I promise you. That cannot be more than a day or two. Meanwhile, you must wait in patience, and not visit her here again.’

Francesca’s back emerged from the room. For a moment Marcus could hardly breathe, he was so relieved to see her. Then he was overcome with sudden fury at her foolhardy, stupid, potentially catastrophic behaviour.

‘I shall see you soon, Maddy. Very soon, I hope.’ Francesca’s voice was tremulous. The meeting had obviously been an emotional one. She went on, ‘Then I shall take you back to England. Goodbye.’

‘Miss Beaudon! Come! Quickly!’ Exasperated, the Countess took Francesca’s arm and ushered her out of the
room, shutting the door behind her. She stopped suddenly at the sight of Marcus. He took a step towards her, but Hassim, who had just arrived, seized him from behind. With a roar Marcus turned on the Turk, glad to have an outlet for his rage.

‘Hassim! No!’

‘Marcus!’

The two voices spoke together. Hassim stepped back immediately and Marcus and Francesca faced one another.

‘You fool, Francesca! What the devil do you think you are doing now? You unutterable fool!’

‘Lord Carne!’ The Countess took a step forward, then turned to her servant. ‘Hassim, go back to the door. Don’t let anyone up here till I tell you. Keep them below. And, don’t say a word of this to anyone, you understand me?’

Hassim bowed and went in unruffled dignity downstairs.

‘Lord Carne—this is a most…unexpected pleasure. May I ask what you are doing here?’

‘Saving that…that…’ Marcus could not find a suitable word. ‘That idiot girl from her own folly.’

‘It is no folly to visit a sick friend in hospital, sir!’ said Francesca with spirit.

‘Hospital!’

‘That is what Miss Beaudon believes
La Maison des Anges
to be, Lord Carne.’

‘Oh, God!’ said Marcus.

‘Quite,’ said the Countess, her lips twitching in spite of her obvious concern. ‘We are in rare agreement. Miss Beaudon must be removed from here as soon as possible. And you must go with her. It would not enhance
your
reputation to be found here, either.’

‘I should have thought that would suit you very well, Countess Rehan. We have been enemies for long enough.’

‘I do not regard you as an enemy, Lord Carne. My partners in this enterprise are your enemies.’

‘I don’t understand. What are you talking about?’ Francesca looked from one to the other with a bewildered air.

‘We haven’t much time, Miss Beaudon. Lord Carne might explain—later when you are free of this house.’

‘Why are you doing this for me,
Comtesse
?’ asked Marcus abruptly.

‘I am not a political creature. I may owe some loyalty to my partners, but my older loyalty—to Maddy and those she loves—must take precedence.’

‘You have my thanks.’

The countess shook her head. ‘We are wasting time, and we have none to waste. You must go as soon as you can. There is another exit at the back of the house, but you cannot reach it from here. We shall have to go back to the main corridor. Pull the collar of your cloak up round your face. Miss Beaudon, put this veil over your head.’

When Francesca appeared to be ready to argue, Marcus took the heavy veil and threw it over her. Then he took her firmly by the arm and said, ‘Lead on,
Comtesse
.’

Sounds of conviviality could now be heard from some of the rooms, while others were silent. But the Countess hurried on, aiming for a small disguised door set into the wall at the top of the main stairs. They had almost reached it when she stopped short and uttered a cry of vexation.

Three men were slowly coming up the staircase. It was evident that they had dined—and wined—well. They held on to the baluster as they ascended, examining its decorations with exaggerated care and making bawdy comments on the nymphs. Though the Countess had cut off her cry as soon as she had uttered it, the men had heard her. They looked up.

She turned and pushed Francesca and Marcus back along the corridor. ‘That idiot Hassim!’ she whispered. ‘Go back to the alcove. You can hide there. I’ll see that they take the Harem passage.’ Francesca and Marcus ran, soft-footed, back to the
alcove, but just as Francesca was scrambling in behind the fountain, her veil caught in the statue’s upturned fingers. Marcus swore and laboured frantically to release it. Then he joined her, pushing her further back into the niche. They heard the Countess greeting her visitors at the top of the stairs. ‘Good evening, gentlemen. How may
La Maison des Anges
please you?’

‘She’s speaking English!’

Marcus whispered savagely, ‘For God’s sake hush, Francesca! Believe me, it’s essential you keep quiet.’

‘But—’

Marcus swore under his breath, then seized her and kissed her hard. Then he put his hand over her mouth and whispered, ‘There are more of those if I can’t keep you quiet any other way.’

‘How dar—’

Marcus kissed her again. Then he said angrily, but still softly, close to her ear, ‘This isn’t a hospital, Francesca. It’s a…a bawdy house!’ Francesca gazed at him in shock. He went on relentlessly, ‘One of the most notorious in Paris. Now do you understand why you mustn’t be found here?’

Francesca wanted to contradict him—wanted to reject the idea with horror, but she found that she couldn’t. In a flash, she realised how well everything fitted—the Countess’s anxiety to be rid of her, those nymphs, the rest of the exotic decor, even the name—a horrid irony. It was true! She hid her face in her hands in shame. No wonder Marcus was so angry. He put his arm round her.