"Then… you do not mean to invade England with an army?"
Claude put back his head and laughed merrily.'' How jolly that would be. And with myself astride a white charger twice as mighty, and one hopes better behaved, than Copenhagen. Alas, no, my dear. However, there will be an invasion of a sort. You have seen my men—very few, but you have seen some, yes?"
She nodded.
"The reason there are so few now here, is that most are already in place. I have, shall we say, shock troops, strategically placed throughout England. They have gathered near military barracks, armouries, naval installations, even around my so dear friends, the Runners of Bow Street. They poise-ready. Awaiting the word only, not to strike necessarily, but to, ah, dissuade any attempt at interference with my manoeuvrings.''
"I cannot believe it," Charity said breathlessly. "I cannot credit that you really could expect to succeed! You—you say it is only the beginning. What, dare I ask, is the ending? King Claude the First?"
He pushed back a perfect cuticle. "Who shall say?"
"I shall say!" Leaning forward in her chair, bold with rage, Charity cried hotly, "And I say—stuff. I know little about banking, as you said, but even I have heard of the Rothschilds. What of them?"
He smiled. "How you do impress me, dear and quite uninsipid creature. Did I not say I have contrived?"
"I don't believe you! My brother told me that Nathan Rothschild kept Wellington supplied with bullion all through the war; that he managed somehow to transport it right across France. I cannot believe he would fail now!"
Claude spread his hands. "Then you must doubt me, poor child. Until I prove you mistaken."
He sighed, but his smile was full of mischief, and she was shaken.
"And—and what of Princess Charlotte? Or the royal Dukes? Do you mean to assassinate them also?"
"There is not the need. So many in this land have never admired the House of Hanover. So many of your oppressed citizenry are eager to embrace a truly democratic state. To be done with all the pomp and nonsense of royalty. You will not deny that many of your aristocrats live in dread lest the yokels follow France's lead and launch a revolution?" He saw her whiten, and murmured slyly, "Thousands of malcontents; the victimized, the starving; the once-proud weavers now herded like animals into stifling factories; the country families no longer allowed their small holdings. All waiting. All ready to burst into flame. Needing only the spark I shall provide." He chuckled. "Liberte… ? Egalite… ? Fraternité… ?"
"Never!" Charity denied stoutly, her voice rather hoarse despite her efforts. "England's pomp and nonsense, as you call it, is dear to the hearts of us all, because it is an inherent and vital part of the history that binds us together. Our people may grumble at times, and heaven knows there are social reforms that are decades overdue, but we try! Our leaders try to improve matters. And our people have only to leave these isles to see how much better we are served than are the citizenry of most other nations. Not for one moment would the average Briton stand for a Frenchman on our throne! Do you not know what happened only seventy or so years ago when a Scot—a gentleman with a thousand times more right than you—attempted to seize power? No, I tell you! No Frenchman will rule my country!"
Gently laughing, he applauded. "Well said, my valiant one. Mon Dieu, but I admire you more with each moment that passes. But be reasonable, I beg. A Frenchman ruled you after the Battle of Hastings—no? Your people have endured a stupid, extravagant, Germanic hand for many years. Why not a brilliant one of royal birth from Brittany? Have I not pointed out that I do not seek the throne? Not until the time is right… By then, with an English lady at my side, with the admiration and gratitude of all, I shall be quite acceptable to the populace. And I assure you I know how to deal with dissent. Thus, sooner or later, shall I assume my rightful place in the history of the world
Had any other man uttered so grandiose a statement, Charity would have laughed outright. But here, in this great fortress, surrounded by the evidence of his wealth and power, she did not laugh. Staring at his poised confidence, she thought, "He believes it all! How utterly ridiculous that he really believes he will succeed!"
And on the heels of that thought, came another: "It is ridiculous… isn't it?"
Chapter 11
Charity slept poorly that night. Guy had not returned to join them, and she had dined alone with Claude, managing somehow to maintain a calm demeanour, constantly astounded that this egomaniac could address with affability a lady he had wrenched away from home and family; that he could profess concern for her welfare despite the ghastly fate he planned for her; that he could seem so relaxed even as he plotted a disaster that would shake the world, and evince no trace of regret for the callous murders his plans necessitated.
Tossing restlessly on her bed, her fears for her own welfare became secondary to the nightmare that might all too soon engulf her country. Any thought that Claude would realize his ambitions, she dismissed as nonsensical. Her greatest dread was that his scheming might bring about a public revolt. England had known the bitter tragedy that is civil war; she was still recovering from a long and horribly costly conflict with Bonaparte. That she should be plunged into another bloodbath was too terrible to contemplate. That wretched, smiling little savage must be stopped. But how? How?
There must, she thought, be someone in Whitehall who had not dismissed Diccon's warnings as valueless. When they had escaped from Dinan and Tristram had reported to General Smollet, he had been ridiculed and only reprieved from a court-martial by resigning his commission. Yet surely the General would believe this time? If the word could reach him! It was terribly evident that there was very little time. That deadly crown might— She sat up, appalled. Had Claude given the wooden chest to Gerard not for safe-keeping, but to be conveyed at once to the Regent? "Oh… my God!" she moaned.
A very small companion, who had watched drowsily, roused at these sounds of distress and made her little pilgrimage with high-held tail and grating purrs to render what solace she might. Charity gathered the kitten close, lay down again, and resumed her worrying until, quite exhausted, she dropped off to sleep.
She did not awaken until Meg brought in her breakfast tray at eleven o'clock. An investigation of her wardrobe revealed many charming gowns, cloaks, and shoes. She regarded them without enthusiasm, but her long rest had restored her fighting spirit. However bleak the prospect, she would die sooner than allow Claude to know how deep was her despair. She selected a morning dress of white muslin with pale pink buttons fastening to a high squared neckline. Meg threaded a pink velvet ribbon through her curls and brought forth a lacy white shawl embroidered with tiny pink flowerets. Charity pinched some colour into her pale cheeks and went into the hall.
Lion was lounging on a bench, engaged in desultory conversation with a lackey. He looked at her with cold dislike, his eyes warning her not to betray their friendship. She was so intent upon him that she did not close the door fast enough, and Little Patches dashed out.
Guy came along the hall. "Pray, what is this great brute of a creature?" he said, amused, and bent to appropriate the kitten and hold her up for inspection.
Charity had prayed to see him. She explained Little Patches' presence hurriedly. Lion stood and began to saunter off. Glancing back over his shoulder, his lips formed one word. It seemed to Charity that the word was "Careful." He must be warning her against Guy. Certainly, he could not know that this particular Sanguinet was her very good friend.
Guy was captivated with the kitten, and he carried her as he conducted Charity through the vast halls to a quiet central garden, shielded from the bitter northeast wind. The air was cold enough to cause Charity to pull her shawl closer about her shoulders, but the sunlight and fresh air were invigorating. Glad to be out of doors at last, Little Patches raced madly about, attacking waving blooms and, much to Guy's amusement, throwing up both front paws at a gardener who toiled inoffensively at a nearby flowerbed.
Wandering to a safe distance
from the kneeling man, Charity murmured urgently, "Guy, have you seen the Charlemagne crown? Do you know what Claude intends?"
His hazel eyes slanted to her. "To my sorrow. He has told you of his foolish ambitions, then?"
She nodded and, placing one hand on his arm, murmured beseechingly, "He must be stopped! I know it is dreadful to ask your help, but—"
"And useless, chérie. If such a one as Colonel Leith could not convince the wooden-heads in Whitehall, what chance has a Sanguinet? Ah, do not look so despairing. My brother has large dreams, but they cannot succeed, you know."
"They could succeed in the murder of the Regent and the setting off of an uprising. We British are fighting people, Guy. And when Claude told me of all his meddling with the banks, at a time when England is—"
"Banks?" he intervened sharply. "How is this? I know nothing of banks.''
"He means to cause a—"
"Pardon, monsieur. Mademoiselle Strand, Monseigneur desires your immediate presence in the book room. You will please to follow…?"
The lackey's quiet voice had sounded almost in Charity's ear. Her heart jumping into her throat, she reached for the kitten.
"May I keep her for a little time? She is a pretty creature.'' Guy spoke calmly, but his eyes and his smile said, "Be brave."
Following the lackey, however, Charity did not feel brave. When she had been trapped at Claude's chateau in Dinan, she had been with Rachel and Agatha, and very soon had come Tristram and Dev, with Raoul adding his dauntless support. Now she was all alone. She forced her drooping chin higher.
No, she was not alone. She had Guy and the boy Lion! She walked into the book room proudly, only to stop, stunned.
Two men stood laughing softly at some private joke. Claude was one, his hand resting in a friendly way on the shoulder of the other. A tall, dark, and much disliked Englishman…
Claude looked up and saw Charity. "Ah, so here you are, dear lady," he said, all joviality. "Come and meet a countryman."
Mitchell Redmond turned, still smiling. Abruptly the amusement was wiped from his face. His lips parted, and for an instant he looked dumbfounded.
With scathing contempt, Charity said, "That any Englishman could be so low, so treacherous, is beyond belief !"
Recovering his wits, Redmond groaned, "Oh, egad! I am judged and found wanting." And as Charity's small head tossed higher, he went on with a bored smile, "Do pray present me, Monsieur Sanguinet. Who is this, ah, patriotic lady?"
Who was she? The conniving traitor knew perfectly well who she was! Her mouth opening to scourge him, Charity saw the swift gleam of warning in the grey eyes, and she was again shocked. What on earth…?
Glancing curiously from one to the other, Claude murmured, "You were about to say, my dear…?"
Her mind reeling, Charity managed a chill, "That I have no wish to meet this turncoat."
"Ah, but I must insist. Mr. Rivers has rendered me so great a service, the least I may do is reward him with an introduction to so charming a lady. Rivers, this fiery creature is Miss Charity Strand."
Redmond bowed, but made no move to take Charity's hand, nor she to extend it. Claude was saying something about her relationship to Tristram, and she was vaguely aware of Redmond making a sneering response, but she scarcely heard, her every effort bent upon concealing her emotions. It was obvious that Redmond played a part, in which case he had either come here to attempt a rescue or to spy upon Sanguinet. Numbly, she thought, "Redmond!" The last man in the world she would have expected to take up the challenge.
But he certainly had not come alone. Tristram must be close by, and Dev—and perhaps her brother. A rush of joy and weakness threatened her with tears. As from a distance, Claude's voice penetrated her introspection.
"Miss Strand? Are you still amongst us?"
She forced her eyes to meet his. "Unwillingly, sir."
He chuckled. "Is she not a delight? So sharp a tongue, in despite her unhappy situation."
"Do you admire such in a lady, monsieur?" drawled Redmond, very obviously bored.
Claude turned his head slowly. There was no amusement in his eyes now. "I admire courage," he said, "especially in a female. I do not permit impertinence. Especially in an Englishman of whom I know but little."
Frowning, Redmond pointed out, "You know that I come from Admiral Deal."
"So you tell me."
"Jupiter! You are hard to convince, monsieur! I put Diccon to rest for you. I brought you his journal. If that does not win your confidence—"
Claude made an impatient gesture. "Oh, enough! Enough! Have I not admitted that I stand indebted to you?" He stepped closer to Charity and led her to a chair. "You are upset, my dear. Is it because this turncoat has murdered your old friend?"
Redmond had not killed Diccon, that was certain, but he had evidently managed to convince Claude he'd done so. Lord, but he trod a dangerous path, this man she had judged so contemptuously! She answered, "I had not thought one so brave as Diccon would be slain by such as your friend."
"But he is not my friend, you know." Claude darted an amused smile at Redmond. "A valuable tool, merely."
"Alas," mourned Redmond. "I lose on every suit. However, ma'am, console yourself. I was not alone in ridding the world of the pest that called itself Diccon. Merely the lucky one."
Charity raised a hand to her eyes and had no need to feign a trembling. "Monseigneur," she whispered, "must I re-main in the same room with this creature?"
Claude bent over her and with a hand on each arm of her chair, asked, "Do you truly find him so repulsive? He is very fair to look upon—no?"
Redmond looked smug, and Charity had to struggle to conceal her admiration. "He is an abomination," she exclaimed, her lip curling. "Pray excuse me from breathing the same air!''
"Oho!" Laughing, Claude stepped back, "Run along then. Now do you see how well I am mastering your strange English sayings? But friend Diccon's writing I cannot unravel, so Rivers must stay to help me. I shall send for Gerard, to—"
Two hearts missed a beat. With his hand on the bell-pull, Claude paused. "No, he is gone, of course—what am I thinking of? Ah, I have it! My so dear kinsman shall be pressed into service." He eyed Charity mockingly. "You will not object to that, I fancy?"
When Charity was shown into the central courtyard, however, Guy was nowhere to be seen. She could have wept with chagrin. She must discover what Claude meant when he said that Gerard was gone. Was the infamous crown really on its southward journey? Her desperate anxieties were eased slightly when Lion came to take her for a drive around the island. As he escorted her upstairs in order that she might put on a warm cloak and hood, she said, low-voiced, "I must speak with Monsieur Guy. Can you get word to him?"
He stared at her, and she was obliged to caution him lest his surprise attract attention."What fer?" he hissed, striding along the corridor beside her. "He's dog's meat. The same rotten breed as the other.''
"No. He is a good friend, but you must not let any other person know of this. Oh, Lion, I am trusting you. I beg you will be true to me."
"Don't need to," he muttered, then, opening the door, added a surly, "Hurry up, miss. I got more important things to do." And he gave Meg a disgusted look which pleased and amused that sour handmaiden.
How Lion managed it, Charity could not tell, but when they drove out, Guy Sanguinet rode escort. The closed carriage proceeded around the island in bright, pale sunshine and bitter cold. Charity saw several ships in the landlocked harbour: a fine schooner, probably the vessel that had brought Mr. Redmond here; three ocean-going barges, and a yacht that she recognized at once as Claude's luxurious La Hautemant. She breathed a sigh of relief. If Gerard had sailed for England, he almost certainly would have travelled on that vessel. Her optimism was soon shattered, however. When Guy ordered the coachman to pull up and invited her to walk along the cliffs, he pointed out La Hautemant, and asked if she remembered the yacht. "Claude bought a new and more modern vessel last spring. He calls her S
e Rallumer. She's very fast."
"To… rekindle…" whispered Charity.
"Oui, to rekindle the flame," he said sardonically, and as Charity lifted scared eyes to his, he shrugged. "We are from an old and royal house, you know. Our ancestors once ruled Brittany. Claude thinks that he will relight the fire of our destiny." He shook his head and muttered in disgust, "La folie plus profonde!''
Very frightened now, she cried, "He has gone, hasn't he? Gerard has taken the Charlemagne crown to England?"
Guy stared at her, then looked fixedly out to sea.
"He's scared to open his budget, 'count of me being here," Lion said scornfully. "I won't blab, guvnor."
Guy looked at the boy steadily, then turned to Charity and said in French, "My dear lady, I do swear to ensure that no harm will befall you."
"Never mind about me! Help me get word to England. Guy, I implore you! My God, what we have all suffered in these endless years of war! Do you want it to start again? Oh, Guy, it must not! It must not!"
He walked away and with his back to her muttered, "If it was you and your own Justin, would you betray him to his death?"
"Justin is an honourable gentleman," she cried. "And always he has been kind and good to me. Claude is cruel and vicious—a murderer many times over, and he treats you—" She bit her lip and was silent.
"Yes. As if I were beneath contempt." His fists clenched. With his eyes on the horizon, he said, "Perhaps I am."
Not understanding their words but alarmed by their intensity, Lion asked, "What's up, missus? Is that there Frenchy—"
Charity reverted to English. "He plans to kill Prince George."
The boy gave a yelp of shock. "Whaffor? He might have maggots in his head, but that ain't no reason to scrag the poor perisher! And we don't need no Frenchy a-doing it!"
"A philosopher," murmured Guy dryly.
Charity said, "Lion, this is very, very important. A friend of my brother has come to try and help. He was at my home when I was kidnapped and must have discovered I was brought here. You may have had him pointed out to you in London, for he is quite a noted duellist. If you recognize him, you must be careful not to show it. Will you promise me this?"
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown Page 17