Authors: Mary Nichols
`Perhaps one
day, you will. When this dreadful war is over. Do not lose heart.'
She smiled
wanly and handed back his handkerchief. It is the only thing that keeps me
sane. I think I would go mad otherwise.'
`Oh, you will
not go mad, mam'selle,' he said. 'You have too much courage for that.'
`Thank you.'
For a moment she had forgotten she was speaking to a French soldier and should
really have been more circumspect. He had managed to make her disregard that
and talk to him as a friend. And how badly she needed a friend! '
Could he do it? he asked himself. Could he obey his orders
and deliver Juliette to safety at the same time? How far had the British
advance come? How far behind him was Michel Clavier? He fingered the scar on
his cheek. It was fading a little each day, but the major would recognise his
own handiwork if they ever came face to face again and it was still too sore to
be easily disguised.
`Juliette...'
He turned and took her face in his hands and tilted it up so that he could look
into her eyes. He wanted her to trust him, but he also needed to know that he
could trust her. Had the time come to speak? `Juliette, I...'
`So that's what
the pair of you are up to, is it?' Henri's voice startled them. 'Watch over
her, we said, not ravish her.'
The captain had
heard the voice, Juliette knew that by the involuntary tightening of his
fingers, but he did not turn towards the sound, nor allow her to do so. She was
forced to continue looking into his face while all the time wondering what
Henri was doing behind them. Was there anyone else with him, creeping up, about
to pounce?
Without
warning, the captain laughed, enveloped her in a great bear hug of an embrace
and kissed her. It was not a gentle kiss. His lips bruised hers and his hands
roamed down her back and grasped her bottom. She struggled to free herself and
he threw back his head and bellowed with coarse laughter. `Henri, I am watching
over her, can't you see? I was about to watch a little more of her when you so
rudely interrupted. Go away, can't you?'
`No!' Juliette
screamed, realising how foolish she had been to relax her guard. 'Get him off
me!'
`Let her be,'
growled Henri. 'You are abusing our hospitality. If you want a woman, go into
Hautvigne, get yourself a whore.'
Philippe let
her go and she dashed from him and along the path back to the house. He watched
her go, cursing roundly in French. The moment for speaking had passed and she
would not allow herself to be alone with him again.
`I beg pardon, monsieur,'
he said. 'For a moment I forgot she was your kin, but you must admit she is a
tempting morsel. She has fire in plenty and I like that.' They turned to go
back, walking amiably side by side. `Have you found anything?'
`No. I doubt
there is anything to find, but Jean does not agree. For twenty years he has
been hoping, ever since he married my daughter...' He shrugged. 'Me, I gave up
long ago.'
`But the
arrival of the Englishman and the woman set you all off again. Do you believe
she is really Juliette Caronne?'
`If she isn't,
she is remarkably like her. You knew the family, don't you think so?'
`Yes, I do.
That delicate complexion and those huge expressive eyes and the shape of the
brows, like little wings, are all Caronne features.'
Henri laughed suddenly.
'So that is what you were studying so intently when I came upon you.'
Philippe
laughed. 'Touché, mon vieux.' He paused. `But what of the man? Do you think lie
is a spy?'
`Who knows? But
he does have that letter with the royal crest at its head and the Emperor's
signature at its foot. That cannot be easy to forge.'
They had just
emerged from the trees and could see the digging party, still busy on the
slopes. 'I should like a look at that letter,' Philippe said cautiously. 'Where
does he keep it?'
`On his person,
you can be sure.'
`Then I must
think of a way to relieve him of it.'
`Shouldn't be
difficult. He's more often drunk than sober. A little more wine than usual, a
little added laudanum and he'll sleep like a babe.'
Juliette was disgusted with them. They were all drunk,
even Anne-Marie, laughing and making lewd jests that sickened her. Dinner had
been over for hours and yet they still sat round the table, passing the wine
bottles round and then ordering her to fetch more. She hated them all, she told
herself, as she went down the cellar steps with a lantern in her hand, but most
of all she hated Captain Philippe Devereux, simply because she had allowed
herself to trust him, had melted under those probing eyes and confided in him.
He was worse than the others because they did nothing to hide their animosity,
but he had lulled her into thinking ...
What had she
thought? That he might rescue her, take her away? But where could he take her
except to the battlefield? How foolish she was being!
The cellar was
icy cold and she shivered as she reached the bottom stair and made her way
slowly between the racks to where the last of the wine was stored. There was
very little left now and she dreaded the day when James discovered it was all
gone. James. Why had the captain been questioning her so closely about him? Was
he suspicious? Ought she to warn James?
She reached the
end of the cellar where the last of the wine bottles were kept and pulled two
from the rack, only to discover they were not complete bottles, but the cut-off
tops, complete with corks. At first she assumed that one of the workers, in
that last year before The Terror, had been cheating the owners by stealing the
wine and leaving these half bottles in their place, but then bottles filled with
water would have done the same job.
However, when
she put them back and wriggled them, they went no further in than the full
bottles. She took them out again, reached into the back of the rack and her
fingers closed round a small box about nine inches square. She pulled it out.
Holding the candle above it, she brushed off the accumulation of years of dust
and noticed it was intricately carved and inlaid with gold and mother-of-pearl.
She put the
candle down so that she could open it, holding her breath in anticipation. If
this was what everyone had been seeking, she held the future of the Caronne
family in her hands.
The catch and
hinges were stiff, but it was not locked. Lifting the candle again she peered
inside, but all it contained was a scrap of parchment, a signet ring and a few
tiny pieces of broken metal, which she thought might be silver, and a small
blue stone. She knew, with sinking heart, that this was all that was left of
the Caronne wealth, this and the ruby she carried in the pocket under her petticoat.
It was a dangerous discovery. Quickly she pushed it all back and replaced the
half bottles before loading herself with full ones and returning upstairs.
Later she would have to retrieve it because when she told Henri the cellars
contained no more wine, he would come to down to see for himself and the hiding
place would be found.
`Where've you
been?' Jean grumbled.
`They were
difficult to find in the dark.'
`Frightened of
ghosts, are you? Afraid the spectres of the comte and comtesse might come to
haunt you?'
`Why should
they haunt the cellars?' she asked, her pulse quickening. She caught sight of
the captain looking at her and it seemed to her that he was nothing like as
drunk as the rest of them. James was the worst. He had already passed out with
his head on the table among the dirty plates.
Jean seized the
bottles from her and began opening them. She went to shake James, but he did
nothing but mumble incoherently.
`Let him be,'
Henri said. 'I've no time for men who can't hold a bottle or two of wine.'
The captain got
to his feet and ambled over to James. `He's past caring. Shall we take him to
bed, Countess?'
`You do what
you like,' she snapped. 'I am going to my own room.'
She left them
and, though aware that the captain had hauled James over his shoulder and was
climbing the stairs behind her, she ignored him. Once in her room, she locked
the door. The situation was getting worse and worse. James was useless and now
she was sure there were no hidden jewels, their plight was precarious. How much
did Captain Devereux know? His questions about James had been very probing, as
if he knew half the truth and needed to know it all. If only there was someone
she could confide in, someone to advise her. Her idea that the captain might be
a friend had turned out to be no more than fantasy.
She undressed
and went to bed, discarding one plan after another until, from sheer
exhaustion, she fell asleep. She did not hear the others rolling drunkenly to
their beds, or the cock crow, nor the sound of a horse leaving at dawn. She did
not know the captain had gone until she went down to breakfast at nine o'clock.
His departure left a void she would never have believed
possible. In spite of his rough ways and watchful eyes, he had been someone she
could talk to, someone who seemed to understand a little of what she felt, who
had acted as a kind of buffer between her and the others. And though he was a
French soldier, he had been, in some strange way, a link between her and all
she held dear in England, perhaps because he encouraged her to talk about it,
and James never did. And now there was no one but James and he was incoherent
because the captain had stolen that vital letter. Without it he was lost, an
enemy of the country, a spy. At the mercy of the Caronnes, he dare not move
from the chateau, not even as far as Hautvigne. 'We can't leave now,' he raged
at Juliette.
They were alone
in the kitchen; the others were sleeping off the excesses of the night before.
'We are stuck here for the rest of our lives. If I ever come face to face with
that thieving bastard again, he'll wish he had never been born.'
`Why would he
want it?'
`He's a
deserter, isn't he? It would help him to go wherever he wanted to go. And it
wasn't only the letter, he took other things...'
`What other things?'
Whatever else he was, she did not want to believe the captain was a common
thief.
`Papers,
important documents. In the wrong hands they could be the end of us both.' He
looked hard at her. 'You talked to him, did he tell you where he was going?'
`No. Why would
he say anything to me?' She got up to fetch more bread from the crock in the
bottom of the larder, bringing it back to the table to cut.
I wonder...' He
scratched the stubble which darkened his chin. 'Perhaps he found the jewels and
made off with them...'
`That's
nonsense and you know it. There is nothing to find.'
Something in
her voice made him look up at her. 'You do know something!' He stood up and
grabbed her arms. `He has taken the spoils along with my belongings and you are
going to meet him later and go off with him. That's it, isn't it?'
`Now, you are
being fanciful. What interest could I possibly have in a French deserter?'
`You had your
heads together often enough, even if he did pretend to treat you roughly. When
you were alone with him, it was different, wasn't it? God, what fools we have
all been!'
`You are gone
mad!' she said, realising suddenly that he was right; the captain had only
behaved badly when there were witnesses. He had been pretending, but not for
the reasons James imagined. Then why? What had he been going to say when Henri
interrupted them among the pine trees? 'I have no idea where Captain Devereux
has gone,' she said. 'But I do know where the jewels were hidden.'
He stood and
stared at her for a very long time, as if he dare not trust his ears. 'You do?
Where are they?'
`I do not know.
I said I knew where they were. They have gone.'
`Show me. Show
me at once.'
She led him
down to the cellar and pulled out the box. He grabbed it from her and opened
it. His disappointment was so profound, she thought he was going to have a
seizure. 'All for nothing,' he muttered, poking in the box with a finger that
shook visibly. 'I gambled and lost. Lost everything. My country, Hartlea, my
reputation, everything gone.'
She was
puzzled. 'I cannot see that anything is different. Finding jewels here was
always a long shot. You can still do whatever it was you came to France to do,
can't you?'
`What are you
talking about, woman?' he demanded.
'You work for
British Intelligence, don't you?'
`British
Intelligence?' he queried, then burst into raucous laughter.
`What is so
funny?'
`Nothing.' He
wiped the tears from his face. 'But how did you guess?'
She decided not
to say anything of her conversation with Captain Devereux on the subject.
'There was always something strange about the way you arrived on that fishing
boat, and meeting that man, Michel Clavier, in Richmond Park. I put two and two
together. It was why you could not take me straight back to England when we
landed, wasn't it? You had important work to do. `That's why you brought me
here, to be safe. Your search for jewels and your drunkenness were all part of
your play acting to convince my cousins. As soon as you had completed your
mission, we would return to England and a grateful government.'