The Merest Loss

by Steven Neil

  ***

  One morning, three weeks later, Harriet leaves her apartments, telling her maid that she is visiting her dressmaker and that she is not to be expected back until the evening. She wears a modest brown dress and a small, matching felt hat with a single feather, the like of which a milliner might wear on her day off. She turns left from the rue du Cirque onto the rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore. She passes the Hotel Saint James on her right. She gazes up at the windows. Perhaps Jem looks down at her from behind the curtains when he stays there. At the end of the road, she stops at the Eglise Saint-Philippe du Roule. She walks between the centre columns, flanking the entrance and adjusts her eyes to the semi-darkness. She looks up at the barrel-vaulted ceiling and moves to a corner of the church. She lights a candle. Back out into the sunlight, she tracks across to the rue de Courcelles. She passes the grand houses, then walks up through the southern entrance of the Parc Monceau, off the rue Rembrandt. Inside the park, there is a bench beneath a beech tree, behind the colonnade, looking across to the lake. This is where they agree to meet. Since their reconciliation at La Marche, messages have been exchanged. Tom Olliver is the go-between. Somehow it seems acceptable for Tom and Harriet to meet. Sometimes they will sit in one of the cafés, sometimes they will stroll in the squares. They are old friends and there is no suspicion that they might be romantically linked. Jem is a different matter. She knows there is talk. She knows she must be careful. It is only prudent to arrange to meet like this, away from prying eyes.

  She sits on the bench and, a few minutes later, Jem joins her.

  ‘I could not be sure you would come,’ she says.

  ‘I thought the same of you.’

  ‘I will always come when you call.’

  Harriet feels the tension rising up in her chest. She can hardly bear it. She has spent the last weeks thinking only of this day and what could go wrong. But he is here. They are talking. Something like the old flame is flickering again. He wants assurances she cannot give, but she senses a softening in tone.

  ‘I am risking everything for you,’ she says. ‘Please don’t press me.’

  A nod from him accepts that the time for talking is over for now. They rise together and move towards the northern gate. He, walking tall, marking his halting gait with his silver-topped cane and she, leaning in, gripping his free arm in a double clasp and gazing up at him. Two lovers, taking a morning stroll in the park, with the promise of the day ahead spreading out before them.

  Eighteen

  Power Behind the Throne

  Paris, France

  1851

  The opposition to Louis Napoleon in the National Assembly secures a law limiting the voting suffrage in France, aimed at reducing Louis’s appeal among the population. It does no more than irritate him. He is already elected president for four years until 1852, but he has ambition for something more. He is in no rush, but something will have to give. Harriet, though, feels the strain of her situation. She thinks she has more than delivered on her brief, as far as she can understand it. The requirement to provide regular updates for Lieutenant-Colonel Mountjoy-Martin has all but ceased. Louis seems preoccupied with matters of state and she has not spoken to him for several weeks. She and Jem meet when they can, but the need for secrecy weighs on them both.

  When Mountjoy-Martin does call on her, at the rue du Cirque, she presses him.

  ‘What more must I give? You have your man in place,’ she says.

  ‘I have asked Lord Normanby if you can be released from your duties. He says we are not quite there yet.’

  ‘Who is driving this? Normanby? Sly? You?’

  ‘As always, I am operating under instructions from Her Majesty’s Government. It is not always easy to see from whence the orders originate.’

  ‘And Sly?’

  ‘Sly is in hospital, as I understand it. He has been very unwell for some time.’

  ‘How unfortunate.’

  ‘It remains unclear whether he will return to service. In the meantime, Normanby is conveying my orders and I am providing my reports on request. I doubt even he is any more than a messenger in the matter.’

  ‘How mysterious.’

  ‘That is in the nature of the roles we are performing. You understand that very well, of course. Nothing has changed in that respect.’

  ***

  By the middle of the year, Harriet finds herself back in favour with Louis Napoleon. This either means that his other mistresses are failing to excite him or that he needs more money. In due course, it becomes evident that both are the case. Harriet is, as usual, able to accommodate him, but it feels as if she is acting out an old script. Nevertheless, the summer season is an enjoyable one. They attend Donizetti’s Nabucco and Verdi’s Dom Sébastien at the opera. New landscaping begins in the Bois de Boulogne, as Louis implements his plans to recreate an English garden in Paris and Harriet accompanies him on regular carriage tours to review progress. He is solicitous, but not demanding – save, of course, for the two hundred thousand francs routed into his account via Harriet.

  At about the same time, Lord Normanby and Mountjoy-Martin meet at the British Embassy to discuss progress.

  ‘Some sort of military coup seems inevitable,’ says Mountjoy-Martin.

  ‘This is very much in line with our thinking on the matter. Louis Napoleon’s term as president ends next year. If we are to maintain his position, then steps must be taken. We are encouraging him to take the initiative. The French do so love an Emperor. Although much good it does them.’

  ‘Will that not affect their thinking?’

  ‘Probably not. The French are optimists where their leaders are concerned. And Louis has the popular touch. Although you would not know it to meet him. I can’t think he would last five minutes at home.’

  ‘But he remains our preferred candidate?’

  ‘He does.’

  ***

  In October, Martin Harryet asks his mother about Louis Napoleon. Martin is nine. He has enjoyed, if that is the right word, a cloistered existence. Looked after by Harriet’s parents in his young life, briefly playing happy families under Mountjoy-Martin’s guardianship and hidden away at boarding school or with a private tutor, alongside Louis Napoleon’s two sons, in London and now Paris, Harriet contents herself that, despite the challenges of her own life, Martin is protected. Indeed, he is largely immune from the gossip and the headlines, but he can no longer be protected from his own inquisitiveness. He has reached an age when questions are forming and he wants answers. He wants to know if Louis is his father. Like his mother, when she was a child, he is wont to stamp his feet and scream when things don’t go his way, much to the astonishment of Louis Napoleon’s sons, who are quiet and softly spoken by comparison. Harriet appeases him, but she knows that the questions will come back.

  ***

  Nathaniel Strode visits Harriet again after a long absence. She is pleased to see him. He provides a steadying influence. He has news.

  ‘I am sorry it has taken me so long. The scent went cold for a long time. I wanted to check everything so that I was not merely peddling rumour. I am confident that what I have to tell you is true. It will not make for comfortable telling. Or for hearing. I have been surprised myself.’

  ‘I have my own suspicions. I don’t fear the truth.’

  ‘You were right about Lady Blessington. She was murdered. The murderer was the man found in the room. She was stabbed through the heart. The man in the room suffered multiple stab wounds.’

  ‘One of Sly’s henchmen, perhaps? I fear Margaret was treading on some toes.’

  ‘It is more complicated than that. Lady Blessington was in severe financial difficulty. She owed a lot of money. Count D’Orsay spent all of his money and then all of hers. Gore House is owned by the bank and the contents are to be auctioned to settle debts. Of course, her debtors will ac
hieve only a small proportion of what they are owed. Some of those people are not to be crossed. There is a long list of suspects.’

  ‘But the man in the room: was he dead? Has he been identified?’

  ‘That is the odd thing. A male body was recovered from the same room. Of that there seems no doubt. But no death certificate exists. No paperwork of any kind. The body seems to have disappeared.’

  ‘Do you have any more information?’

  ‘That is as much as I can find for the moment. I will carry on my enquiries, if you wish.’

  ‘Yes, please do. I will talk to Francis about what you have told me. He may know something more.’

  ‘Might I counsel against that course of action? I think it would be best.’

  ‘Why would you say that? I am sure Francis is as keen to discover Margaret’s murderer as I am. She was a great friend to us both.’

  ‘I warned you this would not be comfortable.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘The relationship between Lady Blessington and Francis was not as you understand it. They kept up appearances, but things had soured in recent years. He had been involved in litigation with D’Orsay over money for many years. Francis is one of the largest creditors of Lady Blessington’s estate.’

  ‘I cannot believe this.’

  ‘It is true, I am afraid. I wish it was not. I count Francis Mountjoy-Martin a friend, as you do. He has generally been a force for good where you are concerned. Be assured of that. But he has other pressures. He has had to restore his family fortunes and his wife has been an emotional and financial strain for him. And Sly would not be an easy man to work for. We should not blame him if he strays from the truth occasionally. Sometimes it is necessary for his line of work. Don’t judge him too harshly.’

  ‘Thank you for your advice. I appreciate it. But why would he not help us with establishing the identity of Margaret’s murderer?’

  ‘Shall we just say that he has to support the official line and leave it at that? I can say no more.’

  ‘Very well, Nathaniel. I think I understand. Can I talk to you on another subject?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Can I rely on Lord Normanby?’

  ‘I am not sure what you are asking.’

  ‘I will clarify. Can I trust him?’

  ‘Normanby plays a difficult game very well. He is a diplomat. He tries to keep everyone happy. With that in mind, I would say he sometimes does things he would prefer not to have to do. I know he likes you and he has tried to do his best for you.’

  ‘You have not answered my question.’

  ‘I am sorry. It is not my way to be evasive. As I have said, I think you can trust him to try to do his best for you. Beyond that, I would be cautious.’

  ‘I see. Is there anything more you can tell me?’

  ‘I will tell you this in confidence: Normanby will not be in his present role forever. It would be as well to consider how things might change if he was not there. When I know more, I will tell you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Is there anything else I can do?’

  ‘Yes. Sly. Do you know the truth?’

  ‘Honestly, I don’t know.’

  ‘Will you find out?’

  ‘I will do what I can.’

  ***

  In December, Louis Napoleon seizes power as dictator. The coup lasts between the second and fourth of the month. With the military firmly on Louis’s side, the outcome is inevitable. Opposition deputies are arrested and such rural rebellions as occur are ruthlessly put down. The newspapers, under Louis’s control, call it a bloodless coup, but hundreds of lives are lost and thousands detained without trial or transported to the colonies.

  Lord Normanby and Jean Mocquard meet for “a little chat”, as Normanby calls them. After a brief discussion of Louis Napoleon’s political ascendance, thoughts turn to other matters.

  ‘The web is a mite tangled if you understand my meaning,’ says Normanby.

  ‘Of course, I understand perfectly. Things change quickly. Louis needed some time away from Harriet and Mason was a suitable diversion. But now you need a husband for Harriet and Mason is an unsuitable diversion. And Louis will need an empress, of course. And an heir.’

  ‘You are a clever man, Jean. I should not have doubted you.’

  ‘Did you?’

  Mocquard has him on the back foot for a moment, but his poker face breaks into a smile and Normanby realises he is being mocked.

  ‘I must admit I am a little puzzled by Miss Howard’s apparent return to the fold. I understood Louis was making other arrangements,’ he says.

  ‘That is correct, but it is not easy for him to let her go. He has a real attachment to her. Nevertheless, I believe what we are seeing is in the nature of a swansong, as you say in England, I think. It is a matter of timing. And it does no harm to have the object of his attention kept on her toes.’

  ‘Are we speaking of the Spanish Countess?’

  ‘I cannot comment. I think all will be resolved in due course.’

  ‘I hope you are right. In the interest of certainty, we will continue with our own strategy for Miss Howard.’

  ‘As you wish, monsieur.’

  ***

  On Christmas Eve, Paris sees a light dusting of snow. A carriage sets Harriet down at the southern end of the five-arched Pont D’Austerlitz. Jem Mason arrives on foot at the quayside on the left bank of the Seine. They meet at the Jardin des Plantes; Jem entering by the top gate, between the Quai Saint-Bernard and rue Cuvier, and Harriet by the east gate on rue Buffon. Their circumspection is unnecessary today. Apart from them, the garden is empty.

  Harriet would like to tell him everything, but something holds her back. She tells the truth, but not the whole truth. That will have to wait for another time. They give each other small presents. Harriet tears at the wrapping on hers. It is a tiny diamond brooch in the shape of a horseshoe. Jem slips his present, a silk stock and silver stock pin, into his pocket for later. The conversation is animated, but Harriet detects a vague reticence in Jem – something is on his mind. Eventually, it comes out.

  ‘You are to be an empress?’ he says.

  ‘You must not believe what you read in the newspapers.’

  ‘Then what should I believe?’

  ‘Jem, I do believe you are jealous.’

  They both laugh. It is a mark of how things have changed for the better between them that this exchange can happen without rancour.

  ‘I don’t say enough about my feelings for you,’ he says.

  ‘Men never say enough. Women sometimes say too much.’

  ‘It is a strange thing. The words will hardly come out, even though I feel them so strongly.’

  ‘Everything will be alright,’ she says. She puts a finger to his lips.

  Despite the clandestine nature of their meetings and the pressure of the public relationship between Harriet and Louis, a more relaxed mood exists between them – an acceptance that each has another life. It is not as if Jem does not have other diversions. He has no expectation of monogamy – at least, that is what he tells himself.

  Nineteen

  The English Empress

  Paris, France

  1852

  2 Ferry Lane

  Norwich

  My dear Eliza

  I do wonder what is going on when I read the newspapers these days. You know I do so love to hear from you, but it seems I find more about what you are doing from gossip and rumour than I do from you. I don’t know what I should believe. Please do write and tell me the truth, as it worries your father and me to think about it all. Your dear father has enough to contend with, what with his gout playing up so.

  They say that you are not going to marry Francis at all
and that you will marry the French Prince. I suppose that is an achievement, even if he is a foreigner and perhaps you cannot wait forever for Francis, as his wife does hang on to life so, despite her illnesses.

  It seems we never see you now and if that isn’t enough we never see dear little Martin and I worry that he won’t even recognise us if we ever do see him. Are you so ashamed of your poor dear parents that we are never to see you both again? I am sorry if I speak plainly, but that is how it seems and I don’t think it is fair. I really don’t think we should be punished in this way.

  Please write as soon as you can.

  Send Martin my love.

  Mama

  ***

  Rue du Cirque

  Paris

  Dearest Mama

  I am so sorry I have not written before, but everything is so upside down here and I scarcely have a moment to myself. I was much grieved by your letter. I beg you not to feel cross with me and to berate me for my inattention. I cannot say how much I reproach myself for making you feel this way and I promise to make things right as soon as I can.

  I really must urge you to pay no attention to the scurrilous talk in the newspapers. As you know, I am attached to the embassy here in Paris and, as such, I am obliged to be in the company of Prince Louis Napoleon and his entourage from time to time. Lord and Lady Normanby have been most kind and adorable in looking after me and I am, of course, still under the guardianship of Francis, even though he has so many other duties here and in London. Please don’t concern yourself with my marriage prospects. I have no plans at present, but you will be the first to know if I do.

  Martin does very well and is uncommonly pleasing in his look and manner. He is taught alongside the Prince’s own sons, so you can be assured he is receiving the best possible education and is growing up quite the young gentleman.

  I think of you and Papa all the time and, much as Paris is all gaiety and animation, I pine for the simple life of old England and the sea air and the Norfolk skies. As soon as the weather improves, I will make arrangements for Martin and me to come and see you both.