by Mary Nichols
The day’s news was still large in her mind when she went to bed, and she could not sleep. After tossing about for more than an hour, she rose, put a shawl round her shoulders and went to sit by the window. Down in the valley she could see the church spire and the uneven rooftops of the village. Beyond it, the lower slopes of the mountain had been terraced to make the vineyards, and above those the dark mass of pine trees stretched up to a boulder-strewn peak. A light here and there denoted a cottage or a farmhouse. From a distant kennel she could hear the bark of a dog and somewhere an owl hooted. Immediately below her she could see the roof of the stables and hear the soft whinny of a horse.
A light flickered in the distance. She stood up to see the better. There was another and then another. She ran down to the library and fetched an old telescope from one of the shelves. With that she followed the line of the road through the valley. It was full of vehicles, carts and gun carriages, and on both sides were horses and men, hundreds of them. It was their camp fires she had seen. She swept the glass round in an arc to left and right. The whole hillside was covered with soldiers and Les Cascades was right in the middle of them.
A movement caught her eye. A single horseman had detached himself from the main force and was riding along the road towards the house. She watched him for some minutes, now shrouded in darkness as he passed beneath trees, now plainly to be seen as he came out into the moonlight. She craned forward. It couldn’t be... He turned one of the many sharp bends which the road took on its way to the house and disappeared from view. She held her breath, hardly daring to hope, and then there he was, entering the gates, a tall, upright figure on a big horse. She ran across the room and tore downstairs, flinging open the front door as he dismounted.
‘Adam!’ She threw herself into his arms.
He kissed her hungrily, then picked her up and carried her back into the house and along the hall to the drawing-room, kicking the door shut behind them with his foot. Setting her down, he held her close to his chest and bent his head to find her lips with his own. She felt the familiar tightening in her stomach and limbs, which made her forget everything in the pleasure of his return.
‘You don’t know how glad I am you are back,’ she said at last. ‘I’ve been frightened and did not know what to do for the best...’ She stepped back to look at him properly for the first time. He was wearing a uniform of white breeches and a dark blue coat whose braid denoted the rank of captain. ‘Why are you dressed like that?’ she asked.
He grinned. ‘Don’t you like it? I thought it rather dashing...’
‘How can you joke about such a thing, Adam? You have enlisted again, haven’t you?’
‘I have no choice, Maryanne,’ he said gently. ‘I am needed.’
‘Don’t you think I need you? And Maman. What about us, your mother and me, and the servants? Have you no thought for your own people?’
‘Do you think I wanted the regiment to come here? Mon Dieu, what kind of man do you think I am?’
‘Then make them go away again. While you have been gone Maman has been so much better, would you throw her back into the pit of despair again?’
‘That is the last thing I want.’ His jaw was set.
‘Then change out of those clothes before she sees you.’
‘I cannot.’ He took her shoulders in his hands and looked down into her troubled face. ‘Maryanne, my love, you must take Maman and leave. I will give you funds to take you as far as Paris. Go to my bankers when you reach there and they will help you to go to England. I will come and find you.’ He paused and added softly, ‘Wherever you are, I will find you.’
‘I won’t go! I am not afraid of Napoleon Bonaparte.’
He smiled crookedly, put his finger under her chin and tipped it up so that he could kiss her lips. It was pleasure and pain in an overwhelming wave of emotion which left her breathless and crying. ‘Maryanne, think of Maman. Think of me. If you are here when the fighting starts, do you think I could do what I have to do with an easy mind? I need to know you are both safe.’
‘And while I travel the length of France,’ she sobbed, ‘you will be fighting and killing, perhaps being killed yourself...’
‘Maryanne, you do not understand.’
‘Oh, I understand all right,’ she retorted. ‘You love war. You love the thrill of battle. You have been brought up to fight and never mind who is killed and hurt by it.’
‘That is neither fair nor accurate. Don’t you see, I have my duty...’
‘You also have a duty to me, and to your mother,’ she told him. ‘You leave us for weeks on end without a word and when you come back it is not to stay with us and protect us, but to send us away. We have taken months to restore this house and the garden. Is it all to be trampled by men in boots, not to mention horses and gun carriages?’
He had to be angry with her; it was the only way he could make her obey him. ‘A beautiful speech, madame. But perhaps you should say it to the Emperor, not to me, for I have no time to listen. I have been sent to requisition this house for the regiment’s headquarters.’ He attempted a smile to cover his own bitterness, but all he managed was a quirk to his lips and a lifting of the scar over his eye. ‘The colonel has noticed that it has excellent views all round. He will be here soon to take over himself.’
She stared at him open-mouthed. ‘You can’t mean that?’
‘I am afraid I do.’ He wanted to take her in his arms again, but dare not. ‘I volunteered to come and see there would be no trouble over it.’
‘No trouble?’ Her voice was a squeak. ‘I will give you trouble. I shall refuse to budge.’
‘Maryanne, if you do not do as I say, others will come and it will be out of my hands. Go and pack, please.’
‘Now?’
‘Yes, now.’
‘But it is the middle of the night. How will we travel? Who will go with us?’
‘You can go in the landaulet; it is light enough for you to drive. The Count has decided not to serve again; he is taking the Countess to England and has agreed to escort you. They will be waiting for you at the church. If all goes well and Bonaparte is stopped before he reaches Paris, I will join you very soon. But do not wait; go to Robert and wait for me.’
‘That is all I ever do, wait,’ she cried. ‘And what happens when we arrive in England? Had you forgotten Mark and the fact that he has accused us both of murder?’
‘Had you forgotten,’ he retorted, ‘that you are my wife now? I have made you into a respectable woman. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it, to be able to face the world?’
‘My reluctance to leave has nothing to do with the scandal,’ she said, fighting back tears. ‘And you are cruel to bring that up again.’
He went to the window as the sound of horses could be heard approaching the house. ‘The colonel is coming and that means I must revert to being the soldier. And Maryanne...’ He paused. ‘I am not Adam Saint-Pierre. I am not your husband. Do you understand? We have never met before today.’
‘Oh,’ she said angrily, as she went to the door. ‘Who are you, then? Sir Peter Adams or Captain Choucas? What would they say if they knew...?’
‘Maryanne!’ He strode over to her and grabbed her arm. ‘If you value my life at all, you will say nothing of that, do you hear? Nothing.’
‘And what about Maman? How will you silence her? With a fist in her mouth? Would you like me to bind and gag her?’
‘Keep her out of the way until it is time to go,’ he said. ‘When you are ready, go to the stables. I will see you both there.’ He stood back from her as Henri admitted the colonel. ‘Madame understands the situation,’ Adam told him. ‘She is going to pack now.’ He gave Maryanne a meaningful look, and she ran from the room, up the stairs to her bedroom, where she flung herself face down on the bed and wept. She wished she didn’t love him quite so much; there were times when it was almost like a physical ache which could only be eased by quarrelling with him. And, having argued and shouted and almost come to b
lows, she was left with the heartache. And that was worse.
Why was their love so turbulent? Two or three months of peace, that was all they had had, and now this. How was she going to endure the parting, not knowing where he was or even if he was alive? And what devious game was he playing, pretending to be a stranger in his own house?
She could hear men’s voices now, as they moved about the house, deciding which rooms would best serve their purpose, and she supposed they would soon come to her bedroom because it had the best views. Her pride forced her to rise from the bed and make her reluctant preparations to leave.
When she summoned the servants to instruct them, she discovered they had already fled, every single one of them, except Henri and Anna, who were made of sterner stuff. Adam had contrived to let them know they must treat him as a stranger and they seemed to have entered into the spirit of the charade much more willingly than she had. She wondered if Adam had told them more than he had told her, and the thought annoyed her. Was she the only one to be kept in the dark? No, there was also Madame Saint-Pierre. Poor Eleanor! Just as she was beginning to improve, this had to happen; better to leave her sleeping until the very last minute.
She packed a few items of clothing for both of them, woke madame and called Henri to take the baggage out to the coach. Then she returned to the drawing-room where the colonel had made himself comfortably at home. He had spread a map of the area out on the table and was discussing some points of it with Adam and another officer.
‘Colonel,’ she began, ‘I beg you to reconsider.’
Before he could reply, Eleanor burst into the room behind her. Ignoring Adam, she hurled herself at the colonel, dragging her nails down his face.
Both Adam and Maryanne ran to haul her off, but not before the colonel had struck her across the face with the back of his hand with such force that she fell to the floor. He turned to Maryanne, wiping blood from his cheek. ‘Take her away,’ he ordered.
Maryanne bent to help Eleanor to her feet, then stood with her arm about her, facing him. ‘You did not need to be so brutal. Can’t you see she is afraid?’ She caught a glimpse of Adam out of the corner of her eye. He had turned away; every muscle in his face was rigid and his hands were clenched against his sides to stop himself moving or speaking. Whatever game he was playing, he was in deadly earnest, if he dared not go to the aid of his mother.
‘Afraid?’ the colonel queried. ‘I have done nothing to frighten her. Get her out of here, before I have her arrested.’ He turned to Adam. ‘Captain, we have work to do.’
Maryanne, in tears, put her arm round Eleanor’s shoulders and led her out to the stables, where Henri had harnessed two horses to the landaulet and loaded their baggage. She climbed in and took the reins from his hand, but made no move to go.
‘Madame, I beg you do not delay; you will make it difficult for him,’ he said.
Maryanne’s misery turned to anger, anger at the stupidity of a nation which had almost destroyed itself by war preparing to do exactly the same again; but most of all her anger was directed at her husband, who had condoned the seizure of their home. She jerked on the reins and the startled horses set off down the drive.
Adam arrived on the front step just in time to see the carriage disappearing out of sight. He turned and went back indoors and up the stairs three at a time to their bedroom, where he crossed to the window, grabbed up the discarded telescope and watched the vehicle until it had joined the Count’s coach at the crossroads by the church. ‘Goodbye, my darling,’ he whispered. ‘God go with you.’
He should have sent them away long before. He had known what was being planned; he had sent his reports to Vienna as he had been instructed, in the vain hope that Bonaparte could be prevented from leaving Elba or, failing that, stopped before he landed. Complacent fools! Sitting on their backsides in the Congress Hall waiting to see what would happen next. Well, he could tell them. Without support from the great Powers, the French alone could not, would not resist. He doubted the colonel’s capacity to stop him.
Why did it have to happen now, just when Maryanne was beginning to put the past behind her? Why here, where they had been so happy? Why, when Maman had suffered so much already, should she have to suffer more? Would Maryanne be able to manage her? If only they had not quarrelled, if only he could have explained, but the colonel’s arrival had stopped him. Perhaps it was just as well, for what could he have told her that it was safe for her to know?
Suddenly he was a child again, emerging from a cupboard to find all his happiness swept away and nothing left but emptiness. He sank down on the rumpled bed, still sweet with Maryanne’s perfume, put his head in his hands and groaned in agony.
The Comte de Challac was almost as reluctant a traveller as Maryanne. He insisted on driving slowly, and whenever they found themselves at the top of a rise he stopped the horses and climbed on to the roof of his coach to look back through his spyglass. Sometimes they met troops marching southwards and had to pull to one side to let them pass. ‘They will turn him back,’ the Count said. ‘Then we can go home.’
At Lyons, he called another halt, declaring his intention of staying in the town until he heard news one way or another. Maryanne was happy to agree; every mile was taking her further from Adam and if the Count was right the nearer they were to home when all was resolved, the sooner they could be back there. They found a small hotel, and while the ladies settled in for the evening the Count went out to discover what he could. He returned in great agitation.
‘Colonel de la Bédoyere has turned the whole of the Seventh Regiment over to the Emperor and they are all marching north.’
‘The Seventh?’ queried Maryanne. ‘Isn’t that the regiment Adam was with?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have they all gone over?’
‘Every last man. Your husband, madame, is riding with Napoleon.’
She did not want to believe it, but she was afraid he might be right; she had never been sure where Adam’s allegiance lay. ‘What are we going to do?’ she asked.
‘Go on,’ the Count said. ‘I do not relish the idea of being in the path of an army, especially one so hungry for victory as this one.’
They set off again at dawn. Maryanne, following the Count’s coach in her own lighter vehicle, found it difficult to keep up with him. They were approaching Chalon-sur-Saone when they heard that the King’s troop had changed sides at Lyons. It was all the more humiliating for the Royalists because they were being reviewed by the King’s brother at the time.
‘Is nothing being done?’ Maryanne asked, when they stopped at an inn for the night; because they were travelling in separate vehicles, it was the only opportunity they had for discussion and making decisions. ‘Surely the Allies will do something.’
‘My guess is that they are waiting to see if the French can solve their own problems,’ the Count said. ‘And they may do so yet. Marshal Ney has undertaken to arrest the Emperor and bring him to Paris in a cage.’
‘But Marshal Ney was one of the most able and loyal of the Emperor’s commanders,’ the Countess said. ‘They would be unwise to rely on him.’
She was right. By the time they entered Paris on the fifteenth of March, the news was everywhere; Marshal Ney had been won over by one of Bonaparte’s proclamations that he had come to save the French people, and now it seemed nothing could stop him. Maryanne, Madame Saint-Pierre and the Count and Countess found a small hotel and sat round the supper table discussing what they would do next.
‘The Countess and I have decided to go straight on to England,’ the Count said. ‘I advise you to do the same.’
‘I shall wait for Adam,’ Maryanne insisted.
‘But how can you be sure he will come?’
‘He is with the Emperor, is he not?’
‘Yes, but what about madame? Is it fair to subject her to more upheaval?’
‘It seems to me there has been no upheaval,’ Maryanne said tartly. ‘The advance has been entirely unopposed
. And I know Maman would rather be near Adam.’
He could not move her and they agreed to part. She watched them leave for Calais the following morning and then set off to see Adam’s bankers. He had made generous provision for her, but what was more surprising was that there was a letter for her. It was dated several weeks before and showed he had anticipated events.
‘If you are reading this, it means we are apart. And you must be my brave little duchess... If war comes, and I pray that it does not, then go to England at once. Robert Rudge will know what to do. Hold your head up, my darling wife, and know your husband, who adores you, is thinking of you and longing for you every hour of every day. If you should hear ill of me, do not judge me too harshly, and forgive me my secrets. One day, God willing, you will learn everything. Take care of Maman for me; next to you, she is the most precious thing I have.’
She looked up from reading it with tear-blurred eyes to find the kindly man who had given it to her regarding her in some concern.
‘Not bad news, I hope?’
She smiled. ‘No, not bad at all.’
‘You will be returning to England? I have instructions...’
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘I shall stay here.’
‘Very well, madame, but please do not leave it too late.’ Like everyone else, he expected the worst.
On the nineteenth, the King and his entourage fled to Belgium, and the next day Napoleon was carried shoulder-high into the Tuileries without a shot being fired to stop him. The timing of his coup had been immaculate.