"Quite sure. Oh, Guy, when is the yacht to sail? And where?"
"This, I do not know. Now, listen to me, chérie, you must not show my brother a tearful face. Claude, it shames me to say it, is a very bad man, but he have admiration for courage."
"Yes. I'll try, but… I am very afraid, you see."
He took up her hand and kissed it, but said nothing.
Charity asked hesitantly, "Does he—can he possibly still want Rachel?"
He frowned. "He want her. Not with love, assurement. But because she dared to—how do you say it?—to spurn all he offered. His hand, his wealth, his power—so much power, chérie. This, for the first time in his life, a lady rejects. He does not quite, I think, comprehend. For with love, you see, he has not the acquaintance. He wants control of Britain. He wants Rachel. And, you must know this, little one, he wants your fine brother-in-law, Leith, and his good friend Monsieur Devenish—he wants them very dead."
"I know," she whispered, wringing her hands. "Oh, I know!"
"He will use you in any way he can to win these things. So you must be brave and clever. And you must be patient, Charity, for I can help you only at just the right time, or—" He paused, raising one hand for quiet.
From outside came the sound of hurried footsteps. Guy stood and walked toward the door. "If things are very bad, send your Lion to me. Courage, mon pauvre."
He opened the door. Meg, accompanied by two tall footmen, stood beside a shrunken-looking woman. It was obviously the housekeeper, clad all in black, her grey hair pulled tightly back from angular features. She had eyes as cold as the ocean beyond the windows. She said in French, "This servant has displeased monsieur?"
"She has. She is an uncouth, ill-mannered, insolent peasant. And no fit companion for Miss Strand. How came you to hire such?"
A thin smile did little to warm the housekeeper's face.
"She was engaged by Monsieur Gerard, sir. No doubt"— a sly light crept into her eyes—"you would wish to discuss the matter with him.''
"I think not. I shall discuss it instead with my brother. Good day, Miss Strand." And he strode off, to return before the door closed and push it wide again. "You," he said to the startled Meg, "keep a civil tongue in your head, or I shall tell Monseigneur to move you to one of the other islands.''
Meg turned to the housekeeper as the door closed. "You wouldn't let him, would you, madame?" she asked agitatedly. " 'Course, that one and Monseigneur ain't whatcha might call bosom bows."
"If you refer to Monsieur Guy," said the housekeeper in flawless English, "he and his brother are not devoted. What they are is Sanguinets. It would be most unwise to forget that!"
How Charity contrived to set one foot beneath the other as she walked down the stairs, she did not know. Every inch of her fought to draw back, and she was shaking, only the knowledge that Meg watched from the landing forcing her to continue. Guy's threat of banishment to another island had evidently been a major one, for the formidable abigail had since been almost desperate in her eagerness to please. The housekeeper's parting remark had troubled Charity, however. She had known Guy for years and had always found him a perfect gentleman and a most delightful companion. That he was an honourable man also, she had no doubt, but he was a Sanguinet. Even though he did not admire his brother and was deeply fond of her, Claude's wrath could be a terrible thing. Guy might be willing to risk that wrath, but to assist her to escape must also spell his brother's doom and the end of the grandiose plans for which Claude had plotted and schemed through so many years. It scarcely seemed realistic to expect Guy to hazard so much for her sake. "But it is not for me alone," she thought. "It is for England!" A foolish thought, as she at once realized, because Guy was French—not English.
At the foot of the stairs, the housekeeper waited. She led the way to a large room, ushered Charity inside, and withdrew. Charity glanced around apprehensively. She stood in a warm and graceful salon furnished in the French style; all white and gold daintiness. At first, she fancied she was alone, but the smell of tobacco smoke hung on the air and served to warn her, so that she was able to school herelf to react with outward calm when Claude Sanguinet arose from a high-backed chair beside the fire.
He wore evening dress, as did she, and he looked, she decided, trying to quiet her leaping nerves, gentle and benign as he threw a cheroot into the fire."How charming that I may have the pleasure of your presence at dinner," he said suavely.
Usually, he preferred to speak French, but now he used English and Charity noticed that his command of the language had improved since last they met. "He has been preparing himself for his ascension to the throne," she thought cynically. She also thought his sentiment the epitome of mockery, but because she knew his reputation with women, could scarcely force her reluctant legs to carry her closer to him. "Am I to be the only female, then?" she asked. "I had thought to find you surrounded with the type of, er, lady you admire."
"Like a harem?" His brows rose. "Oh, very good. So our insipid little invalid has some spirit after all." He bowed her to a chair, snapped his fingers, and a footman, who must have silently followed Charity into the room, brought ratafia served in an exquisite crystal wineglass, offered on a gold tray.
Claude waved, and the man bowed and withdrew, closing the doors softly.
"Unfortunately, my dear Miss Strand," said Claude, returning to his chair, "the women who come here must remain. At least, until my plans are brought to fruition. For you will apprehend that no one having seen my fortress can be permitted to leave."
A sharp pang pierced her heart, but glancing at him over the rim of her glass, she saw the sly amusement in his eyes. He was deliberately frightening her. Anger brought a defiant recklessness. "How could anyone desire to do so?" she said sweetly. "If nothing else, the climate is so salubrious."
He stared at her. "Have I misjudged you, I wonder? Stand up."
She had never been commanded so contemptuously. Further irked, she set aside her glass and stood, looking down at him with her head held high.
Claude leaned back in his chair, wineglass held lazily in the air as he scanned her with insolent deliberation. "Turn around."
She murmured, "How nice it would be did you only say 'please.' " But she obeyed. Facing him again, she saw the speculative light in his eyes, and her heart almost failing her, enquired, "Are you deciding how much I will bring on the slave market?"
"Tiens!'' he exclaimed admiringly. "So you have guessed your fate."
Then it was truth. She was to be sold to some loathsome Eastern harem. Or worse. The room seemed to sway, and her knees began to buckle. Dimly, she knew that Claude would be delighted if she fainted, and as from a distance she heard Guy's words echoing, "… he have admiration for courage…" She dug her nails hard into her palms and fought away the dizziness.
Claude was speaking again, his voice amused. "…are not beautiful, as is your sister, but you have improved a good deal in looks since last I saw you. You have spirit, which I admire. You have the family background that is essential.Have you ambition also, I wonder? Some women do, you know."
Astounded, she said unevenly, "The ambition to—to rule as your consort?"
"Bravo!" He sprang to his feet. "Most women in your present position would be fainting at my feet, or in screaming hysterics. Not only do you succumb to neither revolting condition, but you stand here proudly and bandy words with me. You are times ten the woman I had supposed you to be. Ah— you are startled. Naturally so. Never mind. You will learn that part of my success derives from my ability to reach decisions with great rapidity. I have a clear mind, you see. Think on it, and upon all I offer you, and—"
Daring to interrupt this ridiculous speech, she said, "How may you offer what you do not possess?"
He laughed. "Must you see England at my feet before you agree? You do not know me very well. The prize is as good as mine, I assure you. And, in ten days or less…" He paused, eyeing her reflectively. "You had as well know. Either way, you are powerless
to interfere. Come."
He walked to the door and held it open. Not averse to seeing some of the rest of this mighty old castle, and consoling herself with the fact that she had carried off the interview quite well, Charity followed.
Claude bowed her from the room, then led the way along a high vaulted hall paved with gleaming stone, strewn with rich furs and rugs, lit by fine old ships' lamps hung from the massy walls, and peopled by innumerable elegant footmen and lackeys who stiffened to attention at their approach. Around a corner and along another hall, to a recessed door that a lackey sprang to open.
Three men waited inside a luxuriously equipped book room. Jean-Paul and Clem were unpleasantnesses that Charity was able to ignore, but with them was an individual she knew to be almost as dangerous as his master. It was all she could do not to shrink when his glittering black eyes turned to her. He smiled with thin mockery and bowed. "Gerard," Charity half whispered.
Claude looked with benevolence from one to the other.
"How pleasant it is," he purred, "when old friends are reunited. You two"—he snapped his fingers at Jean-Paul and Clem—"wait outside."
Jean-Paul's face did not change, but Clem scowled as they went out.
A sturdy little brass-bound wooden chest, dark with years, lay on the reference table, and Claude walked across to rest his hand on it for a moment almost caressingly. Glancing up at Gerard, he asked, "This not once has left your sight?"
"Not for one instant, monseigneur."
Claude nodded. He drew a small key ring from his pocket, fitted one of the keys into the lock, and opened the lid. It seemed to Charity that his face softened as he surveyed the contents. Certainly, when he looked up at her, his eyes were kinder than they had been since her arrival.
"You have an interest in history, as I recall," he murmured. "You will find this to be intriguing."
Curious, she trod across to him and peered into the box. Somehow, she had expected something ugly or evil; instead, she saw the interior of the little chest to be lined with purple velvet, and on a thickly cushioned base a thing of beauty: an exquisitely fashioned crown, clearly of great antiquity and richly bejewelled, the gleams of great sapphires, emeralds, rubies, and diamonds flashing even in the dimness of the chest.
Watching her rapt face with delight, Claude took a pair of cotton gloves from the table. He put them on and lifted the crown very carefully. "See," he said softly, holding it up to the light.
It resembled a small helmet, the top portion supplanted by two intricately carven golden hoops, and the sides consisting of eight plates, variously encrusted with jewels or adorned with enamelled paintings, the colours still clear and true despite the passage of the centuries.
"Oh," whispered Charity, overawed. "How very beautiful."
"Can you date it, do you think?"
Her brow wrinkled. She said hesitantly, "I would say it is Frankish. Tenth century, perhaps… or even earlier. It could, in fact, very well be—" Breath held in check, she looked up. "My heavens! Never say— It cannot be—"
Claude chuckled his triumph. "But it is, my clever little creature."
"Charlemagne… ?" gasped Charity. "But—but it must be priceless!"
''Just so. I hate to part with it. I really do. Although I shall get it back, of course. But to know this splendid work of art actually rested on the head of the mighty Charles… Such a fall from grace that it soon must adorn—however briefly— your poor foolish George.''
Charity met his innocent smile with a sharpening gaze. "You mean to present this to the Regent?"
"Oh yes." He sighed. "Such a pity that it was necessary to tamper with the pretty thing. But clever, very clever, I must admit. Here—let me show you." Very cautiously, he placed the crown on its side in the chest, then turned it until the great ruby in the centre front was face down on the velvet.
Gerard murmured, "Sir, Miss Strand can scarce be in sympathy with your plans. Do you think it wise to demonstrate—"
"Miss Strand is our guest," said Claude. "She will not leave us until our coup is fait accompli. If then. See, my dear…" He pointed to one of the round small discs that linked the main plates of the band, this disc alone being slightly out of alignment with its fellows. "A small substitution we have made. Watch…" He pressed his index fingers on the right side of the little golden disc, pushing it gently into line. And as it straightened, Charity thought to detect a faint flicker in the centre; nothing more, but gooseflesh started on her skin, and Claude, drawing back, looked up at her like a schoolboy who has just performed a brilliant feat.
"What—what is it?" she whispered.
"A little needle. So long as there is no pressure on the band, it is withdrawn, but I learnt the size of the so dear Prince's hats. When the crown is in place on his empty head it will fit very snug. The right side of the disc it will of necessity be pressed into its proper position. That small straightening is all that is required to cause the needle to spring forward. Scarcely a threat, eh? So tiny a thing. Ah, but you see, dear mademoiselle, it is death. The needle is coated with a poison many times more venomous than that of a cobra. The merest scratch will bring about all the symptoms of a seizure of the heart. Within a few minutes of donning the crown your fair Florizel will expire. And do you see the delicious touch of it? He will appear to have died from natural causes!" He beamed at her, eyes bright and triumphant.
"How horrible!'' Charity groped for the nearest chair and sank into it, her fascinated gaze fixed on his pleased face. "And for what earthly purpose?"
"What else but to be of aid to my fellow man," he answered piously. "To relieve the conditions so intolerable that now exist among Britain's poor. Consider the riots, the unrest among the masses. And who shall blame them? They fought an endless war. Their reward for all the death and suffering and privation is taxation of the most crashing. They are cursed with mounting unemployment and working conditions that are very bad."
"And do you say that you mean to correct all these injustices?"
"Let us say," he qualified with a grin, "that they must be brought to believe I shall. The time it is right for change. And so I help matters. My men are everywhere about, guiding and, ah, consoling your unfortunates."
"You mean stirring them up for trouble!''
Claude winked at Gerard like a crafty schoolboy. "The lady thinks me very naughty, eh mon ami? No, no, Miss Strand. My people merely educate your peasants. To a point. But you must not—what is it you say?—put the whole in my dish. I may be the natural leader, but you would be very surprised to know how many of your Prinny's most trusted advisers are loyal to me. To say nothing of certain high-ranking army and navy officers who will do whatsoever I tell them. Now—allow me to continue."
He righted the Charlemagne crown, locked the little chest, and, removing his gloves, restored them to the table. ''Within twenty-four hours of the Regent's death," he went on, "Liverpool, your admirable Prime Minister, Lord Palmerston, and Lord Castlereagh will have been assassinated, apparently by angry mobs." Smiling at Charity's horrified gasp, he picked up the chest and handed it to Gerard. "Be careful of it," he said. "Extreme careful, my dear friend."
Gerard took the box. "Be assured, monseigneur," he murmured and went out. The appalled Charity caught a glimpse of Clem and Jean-Paul and of several other men still waiting there, and then the door closed.
Claude settled himself on an adjacent sofa. "What," he enquired smugly, "do you know of such institutions as Child's and Hoare's, and Coutts', dear lady?"
Watching him with fascinated disbelief, Charity managed, "I—I know they are fine banks. My brother deals with Child's."
"And you know, of course, of this rising leviathan, the Bank of England?"
"Yes. A little."
"I wonder if this is possible—that you comprehend such intricacies as gold reserves? Ah, I know the minds of you gentle ladies are fashioned for simpler matters, so I shall be very brief. Your Bank of England holds in its vaults sufficient gold to enable it to suppl
y smaller banks, in the event they may suffer a setback.'' He drew a fine enamelled watch from his waistcoat pocket, glanced at it, wound it absently a few times, then restored it to his pocket. "On the day following the assassinations," he said, "there will be just such a setback. Throughout the world, large businesses in which I either hold a controlling interest, or with which I have, ah, connections, are heavy depositors with the establishments I have mentioned. On the day designated, every one of those concerns will demand immediate withdrawal of all their funds. Even so formidable an institution as your noble Bank of England will be forced to refuse aid." He smiled happily at Charity. "Simultaneously, into the major banks of every large city in your island, my dear, will come prominent men of business also demanding their funds. They will speak of a Panic—and alarm will become consternation, and consternation, in the event, a Panic. One after another, the banks will fall. Oh yes, I do assure you they will. The greatest banking houses, the mighty financiers will be helpless—this, it has been contrived. One man—at last—will intervene. One man will rescue the toppling economy of dear, damp England."
Her wide eyes fixed on his bland smile, Charity whispered, "You."
He bestowed a slight bow upon her. "Not alone, of course, although ostensibly so. I have my backers in Vienna, Paris, Berlin, in Switzerland, and Rome. But to all intents and purposes I will be the saviour. And I will be proclaimed as such. Did you know that our Prinny has arranged for me to become a legal citizen of Britain? So accommodating. My eager supporters who even now await the start of this train of events, will soon demand that I be named to some public office. Such as… Prime Minister." He gestured gracefully. "Do you see? It is just beginning, but—do you see?"
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown Page 16