The Ruby Pendant

by Mary Nichols

  `I should keep that notion to yourself,' he said quietly, jerking his head towards the slope where Jean and Anne-Marie were helping James to dig. 'While they continue to search, you are safe. But if Henri, or more particularly Jean, were to conclude there is nothing to find, you would be in great danger.'

  She turned to look at him, wondering why she had told him what was in her mind. Had she been won over by a soft voice? How foolish of her! He could relay their conversation to the others whenever he felt like it. 'No doubt you are going to tell them?'

  `No, why should I? Your family squabbles are of no interest to me. I am a simple soldier.'

  `Then why risk a charge of desertion by staying here?'

  `You would like me to leave?' His steps had slowed and now he stopped and turned towards her.

  'I...' She stopped speaking, not knowing how to go on. She could hardly tell him that she wanted him to stay and protect her. The idea that he might do so was so absurd as to be laughable, but there was something about him, something she could not quite pinpoint, that told her she could trust him. Or was she simply grasping at straws? 'It is a matter of indifference to me what you do,' she said stiffly.

  `Is that so?' There was a hint of amusement in his voice. 'Now, do you know, I had thought you might wish to escape from here, that I might be of some service...'

  She stared at him. There was an expression on his face she could not fathom. And the message in his eyes was confusing too. There was softness there along with a steeliness that told her he did not easily bend, warmth with a cool appraisal, as if he would never let his feelings run away with him.

  'This is my home and the Caronnes are my family,' she said, trying not to let her agitation show. 'Jewels or no jewels, we have to learn to live together in peace.'

  `Peace,' he said, his voice so gentle, it was almost a caress. 'Now, there's a word to savour. It cannot come too soon for me.'

  He had surprised her once again and she did not bother to hide it. It was strange how his moods changed so quickly. One minute he was harsh, laughing at her discomfiture, making drunken jokes at her expense, the next he was behaving like a real gentleman. If he came from a good family, then perhaps it was soldiering that had coarsened him. `But you are a soldier,' she said. 'You are paid to fight. What will you do when the war ends?'

  `Go home, if I am spared.'

  `Are you married?'

  `No, mam'selle. I could not ask anyone to share the life I lead.'

  `But after the war is over?'

  `I prefer not to think too much about the future,' he said evasively. 'It is too precarious. I try to live each day as it comes.'

  `Yes,' she said. She had been striving to do that ever since she came to Hautvigne. 'It is the same for me.'

  They walked on in silence, broken only by the crunching sound of the pine needles that carpeted the ground under their feet.

  `Tell me about the man who brought you up,' he urged her, after several minutes had passed. If he could get her to relax and talk about her feelings, then that bleak look in her eyes would disappear and she might return to being the young innocent he had first met only a few short months ago. But no, he told himself, she would never be that again. Already she had matured beyond her years, but that only increased his awareness of her as a desirable woman, the woman he loved above life itself.

  `I led a very sheltered life as a child,' she said. 'Though I do not think I was spoiled.' She smiled ruefully. 'Well, perhaps a little. I wanted for nothing. And then...'

  `You discovered you were the daughter of a French nobleman and not of the man you had always thought of as your father?'

  Her cheeks flamed. She could not tell him the whole truth, she really could not. Her bastardy was too shameful to put into words. He watched her struggling with her emotions and longed to help her, to tell her the real truth. But that would mean revealing his identity, and until they were safely out of France, he could not do that. He had to make her trust him as he was.

  `He was everything a father should be, generous and caring. I remember how he sat with me when I had a fever, telling me I would soon be well, and of course I was. And when one of the horses was injured in a hunting accident and had to be put down, he explained that it had not suffered, and I believed him. I believed everything he said, so you see the real blow when it came, was doubly difficult to understand...'

  `Perhaps he had his reasons for withholding the truth from you,' he said. 'Did you ask him?'

  Already the resentment she had been harbouring against her father was melting away. What had been a furious rage at what he had done to her, now seemed a fit of childish pique because he had kept the truth from her. And it was this strange Frenchman who was such a mixture of uncouthness and gentle understanding who had wrought the change in her.

  `No. I never spoke to him after...' She stopped and the tears she had been valiantly holding in check, tumbled down her cheeks.

  He brought a surprisingly clean handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. 'It does not always do to keep things bottled up,' he said.. 'The English do it all the time, but we French are more volatile, n'est-ce pas?'

  She sniffed and mopped her face. `I'm sorry.'

  `Please don't apologise. There is no shame in having feelings.'

  `No, but when the feelings are of guilt, it is a different matter. I wish I could tell Papa how sorry I am.'

  `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, wa
lking 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.'