"Back to Elba?"
Guillaume snorted and shook his head again. "I doubt it. The English are in charge now. I imagine they will send Bonaparte as far as possible from France. They won't want another escape. Especially when it creates such carnage."
Suzanne had been so intent on questioning the old servant about the outcome of the battle that she had not been listening properly to anything else. "What do you mean, 'carnage'?" she managed, in a horrified whisper.
"They died by the thousands and tens of thousands, mistress. And thousands more lost legs, or arms, or eyes. The Allies were victorious, right enough, but the cost was enormous. On both sides." His voice cracked and he tossed down the rest of his wine. "So many families will be in mourning, royalists and Bonapartists alike. Poor stricken France. Every village will have lost sons."
And every village in England, too? Suzanne could not will away that terrible thought. Fear gripped her like red-hot pincers. Her heart began to beat very fast. What if Ben had gone to join Wellington's army? Might he be one of the fallen? Among those piles of battered, bloody corpses?
For a moment, she could not breathe. She was going to faint. She grabbed the kitchen table for support.
"Mistress? Are you unwell?" Guillaume helped her to a chair. He poured wine for her and forced her to drink a little.
His gruff concern brought her back to reality. She was panicking, allowing her fears for Ben to get the better of her reason. It was impossible for him to have reached England by the middle of June, far less Brussels. At best, he might have reached the Spanish coast and boarded a ship for England. He couldn't have been with Wellington's army. He couldn't. There had not been time.
Nevertheless, she offered up a fervent prayer for Ben's safety. And another that he would return for her soon.
She took another sip of wine. "Tell me what else you learned, Guillaume." She was forcing herself to sound stronger than she felt.
"The royalists here are cock-a-hoop, obviously," Guillaume said. "You'd be amazed how many more have emerged from the woodwork. Half of them turncoats, I can guarantee it," he added, in a voice full of scorn. "They kept their heads down before. Now they're planning revenge attacks on anyone who might be a Bonapartist. Or a republican. Cowards, and bullies, the lot of them. There will be fighting in the streets, you mark my words, mistress."
Now, when she had every reason to panic, she did not. Faced with the prospect of rampaging mobs in the city streets, she calmly laid out her plans and gave her orders. "We will have no part in such wickedness. We will close the business until order is restored. However long it takes. Make sure all the street doors are securely barred, Guillaume, and all the windows shuttered. We have plenty of provisions, and water from our own well, so no one needs to leave the house. Go now and see to it. Quickly. I will warn Berthe to keep Mama close."
Guillaume nodded eagerly. "I will turn the house into a fortress in no time, mistress. And I have your father's pistols. If anyone tries to attack us, I will shoot them."
Dover, England
It was nearly midnight when the mud-spattered chaise drew up outside the Duke of Calder's house near Dover's fortified harbour. Ben flung himself down on to the flagway before the postilions had even had time to dismount. "You've made much better time than I expected." He reached into his pocket for the extra guineas he had prepared. "And I did promise you'd be well rewarded for speed. Here."
The older postilion's eyes widened as he saw how much money he was to be given. "Thank you, sir. My lord, I mean." He touched his cap, but Ben was already up the steps and hammering the knocker.
It was Jack who opened the door. His jaw dropped. "Good Lord! Ben!"
Ben had been unable to believe his luck when he'd learned, at the last posting inn, that the famous Duke of Calder had changed horses there, little more than an hour earlier. His luck was holding, it seemed, for at least one Aikenhead brother was still on dry land. Ben might not have to make his own way to France, after all. Finding Jack reduced to the role of butler was an unexpected bonus, though. Ben couldn't help chuckling. "Can't afford servants any more, eh? The Aikenheads must really have fallen on hard times."
"What? Oh, very funny." Jack was not smiling. He pulled the door wide and stood back. "You'd better come in," he said tightly. "The others will be relieved to hear that our long-lost wanderer has returned."
"Wanderer?" Ben echoed.
Jack stooped to heft Ben's valise inside. When he stood up again, his face looked drawn. "I'd given you up for dead, you numbskull," he muttered, closing the door.
"But—" Before Ben could say another word, Jack enveloped him in a bear hug. Seconds later, they were grinning at each other like a pair of village idiots.
"Where the devil have you been all this time?" Jack began. "And how is it that—"
"You were supposed to answer the door, brat, not host a salon." The voice came from the gloom at the back of the hallway.
"Dominic!" Ben exclaimed. "You're back."
"As you see. Welcome to Dover." Dominic clapped Ben on the shoulder as they shook hands. "Leo is here, too. We're off to France in a few hours. Just waiting for the tide."
"Are you? That's another stroke of luck for me, then. May I—?"
"You may do many things, Ben, but not here in the hall. Come into the saloon and have a glass of wine. I dare say you could do with a bite to eat, too?"
"Well…yes. But if you have no servants here—"
Dominic's lips twitched. "The house has been shut up for months and we had no time to send for the servants. But my valet can turn his hand to most things. Jack, ask Cooper to see what he can rustle up by way of supper, will you?"
Jack charged off in the direction of the servants' quarters, while Dominic ushered Ben into the blue saloon. Some of the furniture was still under holland covers, but there were decanters and glasses on the table in front of the fireplace and a small fire in the grate. Leo turned from warming his hands and beamed a welcome at Ben. "Glad to see you've made it at last, wanderer."
"Blister it, Leo, not you as well? I'll have you know I haven't wandered anywhere. I followed Jack's orders and came back by the most direct route, through Spain. If there was any wandering done, it was by that blasted ship on the way to Southampton. The captain blamed it on contrary winds, but—"
"Never mind that," Dominic said curtly. "You're here now. What news have you from Lyons?"
Before Ben could respond, there was more hammering on the front door.
"Now what?" The duke sounded exasperated.
Leo quietly left the saloon.
Ben heard low voices in the hall. Then Leo returned with a packet in his hand. "One of the grooms from the Park. Sent by Mama with this. I've told him to wait, in case we need to send an answer."
Leo handed over the packet and Dominic ripped it open, just as Jack returned to the saloon and said, "Cooper promises to bring supper as soon as he's—" He stopped dead, staring at the letter in the duke's hand. "Now what?"
Ben laughed. Jack was most definitely Dominic's brother. They looked alike, of course. But the two of them even sounded alike, some of the time. It felt very good to be back among such friends and comrades.
Dominic was scanning the papers he held. "It's a note from Mama. Enclosing a letter that arrived for her by express from London. Mama says… Ah, yes. She does not know who the letter is from, because she cannot decipher a word of it, beyond the first few lines. But as it seemed to be urgent, she decided to send it on in hopes that her groom would reach us before we sailed. Her man must have galloped like the wind to get here so quickly." He looked up. "Where did you leave him, Leo? He'll be needing to get the dust out of his throat after a ride like that."
"Already done, Ace. Sent him to Cooper in the kitchen."
"Of course you did." Dominic nodded his thanks to his second in command. "And now to this urgent letter. Let's hope it is good news." With his brothers looking over his shoulders, he began to read it aloud. "Madam, I take the liberty
of writing to you, since I am unsure of where your sons may be at present. I would deem it a favour if you would—" He stopped, frowned and peered more closely at the paper. "I cannot make out another word of it, either. Mama was right. An appalling scrawl. Even the signature is indecipherable."
Ben was sure he must have turned as red as a beetroot. He opened his mouth to explain that the letter was his.
Jack was too quick for him. "I know that scribbled fist. It belongs to Ben here." Jack chortled and grinned mischievously at Ben. "Being left-handed makes things worse, obviously. And when he's in a rush, poor chap, his writing goes all over the place." Totally ignoring Ben's protests, Jack took the paper from Dominic and squinted at it.
"If you wish to know what my letter says, I suggest you let me read it to you." Ben was hoping to recover his dignity, but he was not at all sure that he was going to succeed. Not against Jack's wicked sense of humour.
He was right. Jack was holding the paper well out of Ben's reach. Leo was grinning. Even Dominic was not managing to keep a straight face.
"Hmm. Even I can't read it all, I'm afraid, but it definitely says that Suzanne and the marquise were both well, and safe, in Lyons. Apart from that, I'm not sure what…" Jack frowned and moved the paper closer to the candles. "Oh, now I see. That's why you scribbled this in such a hurry. You were dashing off to your grandfather's place. To get more blunt, I suppose?"
"Yes, I had to—"
"Wait a bit, though," Jack cut in again. "I do believe that this word here—" he waved the letter at Leo, pointing with his finger "—might be marauder. Did you have marauders in Lyons, Ben? Did you have to repel boarders with cold steel? Cutlasses and such?"
Ben finally managed to snatch the letter out of Jack's fingers. He drew himself up. "The word is not marauder, as you know perfectly well, Jack Aikenhead. The word is married."
"Is it really?" Jack made to reach for the letter, as if to check. His question sounded innocent, but his dancing eyes betrayed him. "Married, eh?"
"Yes, married, you muttonhead. Suzanne and I were married before I left for Spain. By Father Bertrand, as it happens. The good father who married you and Marguerite, too, I believe?"
"Oh, Lord." Jack's grin had disappeared in an instant. He now looked distinctly deflated. "Marguerite. She doesn't know. I need to—" He ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, Lord," he said again.
"Let that be a lesson to you, brat, on the perils of taking your jokes too far. May I suggest you write a note to your wife, giving her this excellent news? Make sure it's legible, though. We want no more misunderstandings. Mama's groom can take it back to the Park. And, in the meantime, Leo and I will give Ben your hearty congratulations, as well as our own."
Both Dominic and Leo shook Ben warmly by the hand. He accepted their good wishes but his impatience was clear. "If you're sailing for France, Dominic, will you take me along? I've been away for weeks now and heavens knows what's happening in Lyons since Bonaparte's defeat. I swore to Suzanne that I would return for her. But with no news from me, she is bound to be fretting. If you could land me on French soil, I should be able to make my own way from there. M'grandfather came up with plenty of blunt once he knew that I had another mission in France."
Leo chuckled but said nothing.
"I'm delighted to hear you are so plump in the pocket, Ben. And I will happily convey you to France."
"Thank you, Ace. You are a good friend."
"We might perhaps travel together?"
"Certainly. Has Wellington sent for you? Are you bound for Paris?"
"Not exactly. We thought, a little further… Perhaps Lyons?"
Jack, listening from the table where he was writing his letter, spoiled the duke's straight-faced jest with a gasp of laughter.
"Why, you…you devils. You are all roasting me. Do you tell me you were already bound for Lyons? To save Suzanne and her mother?"
"Of course we were, Ben. Suzanne is sister to Jack's wife, remember. So they are family. And since you have married Suzanne, I have to say that you are family now, too. Whether you will it or no, Ben Dexter, you are become one of the Aikenheads. And the Honours will always defend their own."
Ben let out a shaky breath. His shoulders relaxed. "Thank you, Ace. I have always felt myself as almost one of you. And now, truly, it seems that I am."
Jack finished sealing his letter and came across to shake Ben's hand. "Congratulations, brother. On all counts." He was grinning from ear to ear. "You couldn't have found a better way of joining the family."
The door opened to admit Cooper, carrying a laden tray.
"Splendid. Here is supper." The duke motioned to his valet to put the tray on the table and take Jack's note. "Give that to the groom, Cooper. He's to deliver it as soon as he gets back to the Park."
The valet bowed and left.
"And then, I think, we should all take what rest we can. We must be on board in good time for we dare not miss another tide. We have a long journey ahead of us." The duke paused a moment before adding, "And, God willing, a successful rescue at the end of it."
Chapter Nineteen
After well over a week of chaos on the streets, and precious little sleep, Guillaume was looking haggard. He seemed to have aged years since the news of France's defeat. "There were pockets of rioting all over Lyons last night," he reported, his face grim, when he returned from venturing outside. "The Bonapartists have nothing to lose now and they're fighting tooth and nail. The royalist factions have started fighting each other, too. All sorts of stupid allegations about who resisted Bonaparte and who did not." The old man shook his head in disgust.
Suzanne was trying very hard not to let her fears show. She was the head of this little household. Father Bertrand had long since returned to Rouen, so it was up to Suzanne to keep everyone safe until Ben arrived to take them to England. One day at a time. That was her motto and she had been repeating it to herself, over and over. With each passing day that House Grolier stayed safe from the rioters, they were one day closer to Ben's arrival.
"And now there's a new danger. Houses were set on fire last night. Some folk reckon it was deliberate. Enemies settling old scores."
Suzanne gasped. "But there were no fires in this part of town, surely?"
"No, mistress. They were all up on the hill. Even the hotheads are not stupid enough to start a fire down here in the old town. If a single house went up in flames here, we would all be doomed, crammed together as we are. Thousands could die."
Suzanne shivered. They had no defence against fire. Fire in the old town would be utterly devastating. "We must take what precautions we can, Guillaume. Fill all the available buckets with water and put them in the hallway by the main door. If someone sets a fire, it will start there."
Guillaume nodded. "And I'll bring a pallet down here and sleep in the hall. If I stay sleeping upstairs, I might be too late." He made a face and started for the back of the house, where the buckets were kept.
Guillaume was right. Someone had to be on hand to put out a fire, the moment it started. No matter how tired he was, he would fight to save the family. He was the only defence they had.
Oh Ben, please come soon. Please, my love. I feel so alone. And I am afraid of what the mob might do to us.
Suzanne swallowed hard and smoothed her hands over her apron. Time to get to work. She had to concentrate on the day-to-day business of survival. There were chores to be done if they were all to eat.
It was getting late when the knocking began. Suzanne was sitting with her mother, in order to give old Berthe a break and a chance to eat her supper. The marquise's eyelids were drooping, perhaps because she had taken more wine than usual with her meal. Soon, she would fall asleep, and Suzanne could steal away.
The knocking on the main door turned into heavy pounding.
The marquise shot upright and cried out, "The canaille. They are coming for us."
"No, Mama, no. You are safe here. No one can get in. The doors are stoutly barred and Guillaum
e is downstairs with his pistols. You are safe. I promise."
The hammer blows continued. Suzanne cursed under her breath. She needed to stay here to pacify her poor, frightened mama. But she also needed to be downstairs, taking charge of whatever was happening there. If the rioters were trying to break in, Guillaume could not defend the house all by himself.
Berthe rushed in, carrying a fire bucket in one hand and a cudgel in the other. "There's all sorts of ruffians in the street below," she gasped. "Right nasty looking fellows. A whole mob of 'em. Guillaume says you're to come down at once. Don't worry. I'll stay with madame."
The marquise was starting to shake.
Berthe sat down beside her charge and put a comforting arm round the marquise's shoulders. She waved Suzanne towards the door. "Go on now. Nothin' you can do here."
Suzanne gulped and ran for the door. Downstairs, the banging continued. The men outside were shouting, too, though she couldn't make out any of the words. At this rate, the mob would soon break down the door. But who were they? Why were they picking on the Grolier household? Why now, after weeks of being ignored?
Suzanne raced into Marguerite's room, the room that had been Ben's. It overlooked the main street. She should be able to squint through the gap in the shutters. She would at least discover how many of them there were.
What she saw made her stomach lurch and her heart race. A mob of men—a dozen at least—carrying sticks and burning flambeaux. A couple of empty wagons. Were they planning to break down the door and rob the house? Guillaume's pistols would be precious little use against so many.
Suzanne closed her eyes for a second and offered up a tiny prayer.
"Open the door!"
That shouted command was clear enough. But the man's French accent was not local.
Suzanne pushed the shutter open a fraction and peered down. The gang of men had spread out into a defensive half-circle round the wagons. By the door, there was a group of four more. She was looking down on three dark heads. And one fair.
His Silken Seduction: A brotherhood of spies in Napoleonic France (The Aikenhead Honours Book 4) Page 12