The Caged Countess

by Joanna Fulford

  They strolled in silence for a while until at length he paused to break a red rose from off the trellis at the edge of the arbour. Then he turned and offered it to her.

  ‘One rose for another.’

  The quiet intensity of the accompanying look made her feel unwontedly self-conscious. Rather shyly she took it from him, feeling his fingers brush hers, feeling her skin tingle in response. To cover that momentary confusion she lifted the flower and breathed its perfume.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘So are you; the most beautiful lady of my acquaintance.’ He possessed himself of her free hand and raised it to his lips.

  The touch turned her blood to flame. Involuntarily she moved a little closer and, standing on tiptoe, kissed him gently on the lips. For a brief moment she drew back a little, then her arms stole around his neck and she kissed him again, a tender and warming embrace that offered a glimpse of something beyond his wildest imagination. It also set every sense alight. His arms closed about her waist and shoulders and the kiss was returned, gently at first, and, as her mouth yielded to his, with answering passion. And afterwards, she laid her head against his breast and he held her close while the scented dusk gathered around them.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A few days later Claudia returned from a visit to Sabrina’s house to find a note waiting for her. She took it and glanced at the direction, but the handwriting was unfamiliar. Curious now she unfolded the paper. It contained but one line: ‘I’ll be at the park gates at six this evening.’ It was signed, MF.

  Claudia’s heart leapt. Madeleine Fournier must have changed her mind. A swift glance at the clock showed a quarter to six. It wasn’t far to the park; if she hurried there would just be time. However, she wasn’t going unarmed or unescorted. Apart from anything else, she had given her word to Anthony, so she ran upstairs and retrieved the small pistol, slipping it into her reticule. She paused for a moment then, wondering if he might be angry. At the same time, this was important.

  Leaving a message to say that she had gone out again, she summoned Lucy and a footman. When they reached the door, she took a swift glance up and down the street. It revealed only a few pedestrians, certainly nothing to occasion any alarm, so they set off.

  Madeleine Fournier was waiting at the appointed place when they arrived. ‘I did not know if you would come,’

  she said.

  Claudia smiled at her. ‘I was glad to get your message.’

  Madeleine eyed the servants warily. ‘I would prefer us to speak alone.’

  Telling Lucy and the footman to stay where they were, Claudia drew the other woman aside a little way, though taking care to remain in clear view.

  ‘Now, tell me why you have come.’

  ‘I thought about what you said, about wanting to find out who betrayed Alain. Was that true?’

  ‘Yes. I was a colleague of his; but for good fortune I might have shared his fate. If you know anything, I beg you will tell me.’

  ‘I was not entirely truthful when I said that Alain did not speak about his work. Of course he never told me much, but enough for me to know that it was highly sensitive. Had it not been, Fouché’s men would not have shown such interest.’

  ‘You are right.’

  Madeleine nodded. ‘I can tell you very little and what I know probably won’t be of much use.’

  Claudia resisted the urge to prompt her and waited quietly instead.

  ‘One evening, about a week before Alain was arrested, we received a visitor, a man. He and Alain talked together for a few minutes out in the hallway. I could not hear the conversation for they spoke low, but I did see the man’s face for a few moments.’

  ‘Would you know it again?’

  ‘Assuredly. I have a good memory for faces.’

  ‘Can you recall anything else about him?’

  ‘He was a little above average height, of medium build, and he had light brown hair.’

  Claudia concealed disappointment. That description might fit half the male population of France.

  ‘I thought no more of it,’ Madeleine went on, ‘until, a few days later, I saw the same man again. I was on my way to the market when I saw him on the opposite corner of the street. He didn’t see me. He was talking to someone else, a man whom I recognised as a member of the Paris police.’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘He’d been among the officers who raided a gaming den where I used to work, before I met Alain.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I smelled a rat and warned Alain. He seemed much disturbed and told me he’d have to go away for a while. However, first he had to get a message to someone, to warn him. He asked me to take it.’

  ‘Who was the message for?’

  ‘A man called Antoine Duval.’

  Claudia’s stomach lurched. ‘I am glad you did.’

  ‘Was it important then?’

  ‘It saved two lives.’

  ‘That’s something at least,’ said Madeleine.

  ‘What happened after that?’

  ‘I was barely gone twenty minutes but by the time I returned the police were already at the house. I saw them take Alain away. For a while I was so scared I didn’t know what to do. I walked around the streets for hours until I was sure the coast was clear, and then went back. The place was a mess. It looked like there had been a thorough search.’

  ‘What did they hope to find?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Madeleine hesitated. ‘Maybe the papers that Alain burned before they arrived.’

  ‘Papers?’

  ‘The fire had been unlit when I left. When I returned there was a pile of ashes in the hearth. When I looked more closely I found this. It had fallen behind the firebox and the police must have missed it.’ She reached into the pocket of her skirt and drew out a small and grubby piece of paper, charred at the edges. ‘It doesn’t look like much but it may be significant.’

  Claudia took it, scrutinising it closely. One side was blank the other held a few words of handwriting, hurriedly written and hard to read. She made out él, then a squiggle for the middle of the word followed with looked like ir. The paper had been torn part way through what appeared to be a name: Willi. She frowned. At first sight it didn’t seem to make a lot of sense. On the other hand, it was all they had to go on.

  ‘Thank you for this, Mademoiselle Fournier.’

  ‘As I said, it may not be of any use.’

  ‘That remains to be seen.’

  ‘There was one more thing. The man who came to the house was wearing a ring. It was gold and square in shape like a signet ring, but it was set with a flat black stone.’ Madeleine sketched a vague, deprecating gesture. ‘It’s not a shining beacon of hope, is it?’

  ‘Better than nothing at all,’ replied Claudia. ‘You did a brave thing coming here. I’m grateful.’

  ‘I’d better go. I don’t know if I’m being watched or not, but, if you found me, then others might.’

  Thinking of recent events, Claudia knew that the concern was not misplaced. ‘You know where to come if you think of anything else, or if you need help.’ She handed over a handkerchief containing coin. ‘In the meantime, please take this for your trouble.’

  Her companion nodded and returned a wan smile before pocketing the money. Then she turned and hurried away. Claudia watched her go for a moment or two, then, summoning her attendants, retraced her steps to the house.

  * * *

  After dinner that evening, when they had retired to the salon, she told Anthony what had taken place. Although he had initially felt concerned when he discovered her earlier absence, it pleased him to discover that she was well-

  attended. Clearly, former lessons hadn’t been lost on her. Besides, as she rightly said, the matter was important. So he li
stened intently and without interruption until she had done.

  ‘I’m glad the Fournier girl decided to come forward,’ he said. ‘You must have made a very positive impression.’

  ‘I feel so sorry for her, Anthony. She seems so alone, so frightened.’

  ‘Independence has its disadvantages, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I’m beginning to think it does.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t suppose there’s much chance of finding the man Alain spoke to that night.’

  ‘No, probably not. That description could apply to thousands of Frenchmen.’

  It was an exact echo of her thought. ‘There is still the ring.’

  ‘Even so.’ Then he smiled. ‘Still, it’s more than we knew a few hours ago, isn’t it? You’ve done well.’

  The words and the accompanying expression created a glow of warmth deep inside.

  ‘May I take a look at the paper you spoke of?’ he went on.

  ‘Of course. I’ll go and get it.’

  She hurried off to her room and returned a few minutes later with the relevant scrap. He took it from her, studying it carefully.

  ‘The last word has to be part of a name,’ she said, ‘but what is the longer one before it?

  ‘Let’s see; él-im-inir. No, wait, I believe the last vowel is an e, though very ill written. That would make it éliminer.’

  She stared at him. ‘Eliminate Willi?’

  ‘Or eliminate William perhaps.’

  ‘Not much help there. There must be thousands of Williams in the world.’

  ‘In England, yes,’ he replied, ‘but not here. How many important Coalition figures can you think of with that name on this side of the Channel?’

  ‘Prince William of Orange?’

  ‘Just so.’

  Her gaze met his. ‘I don’t know, Anthony. It’s a long shot, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’re right. It is. On the other hand, consider the implications if he were to be assassinated and his death apparently implicated one or more parties in the Coalition.’

  ‘It would jeopardise Dutch support.’

  He nodded. ‘To the tune of 17,000 men, or thereabouts.’

  ‘Enough to sway the course of a battle.’

  ‘Enough to lose us a battle, a war, and most of Europe into the bargain.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.

  ‘Pass this information on. As I said, forewarned is forearmed. Security around the Prince can be tightened until we know more. On the other hand, if we’re wrong, no harm has been done.’

  ‘Will the threat be taken seriously?’

  ‘It has to be,’ he replied. ‘There’s too much at stake to ignore it.’

  * * *

  All of that was pushed into the background when, some days afterwards, Claudia realised that her courses were late. Ordinarily it wouldn’t have troubled her overmuch; a few days’ variation in her cycle wasn’t unusual. However, given the change in her relationship with Anthony, it now achieved a very different significance. At first she tried not to dwell on it telling herself it was probably nothing, that the tenderness in her breasts was coincidental. Then, one morning, as she was dressing, an unexpected bout of queasiness sent her rushing for the basin.

  When the spasm passed she lay down on the bed again, forced now to acknowledge the truth. The shock of that realisation created conflicting sensations: while dread of childbed was very much to the fore, it was underlain by the faint hope that she and the baby might come through it. And if they did...She tried to imagine what motherhood would be like, and experienced a moment of panic. How did one care for a baby? All the mothers she had ever met looked serene and confident, two qualities she most certainly didn’t share just then. Of course, they all employed nursemaids but, surely, there was more to it than that. Or ought to be...

  She swallowed hard. Her own upbringing was not what she would want for any child. Anthony’s had been no better, in fact it was arguably worse. That being so, how was he going to react to fatherhood? Any man might sire an heir, but it took a special kind of man to be a father. Would he take his cue from his own parent or would he rise above that? Would he be able to love a child? He had never actually said that he loved her. She had thought...hoped...that he might come to love her. If so, that might have been the point to consider a family. However, choice didn’t enter into it.

  When at last the queasiness abated she got up and dressed. The thought of breakfast was unappealing so she went into the salon and applied herself to the pile of correspondence waiting there. However, the gilt edged invitations held no allure that morning, not even the one to the Duchess of Richmond’s ball. Balls and parties were only a temporary distraction; they weren’t going to change anything. The Season would be over before her pregnancy began to show but all the time she would be aware of the child growing inside her. In the meantime, she was going to have to find the right moment to break the news to Anthony.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A round of social engagements in the next few evenings precluded the chance of private conversation and, during the day, when she was at home he was out. Since it wasn’t the kind of news that she wanted to impart in a brief, hurried conversation, she bided her time. Then, she was further distracted when, on returning from a visit to Lady Harrington, she was informed that a visitor had called in her absence.

  ‘A woman came to the house and asked for you, milady,’ said the butler. ‘A most impertinent creature, and of disreputable appearance. The presumptuous piece insisted that she knew you; said she had to speak with you. She was most persistent. In the end I had to take a message in order to get rid of her.’

  ‘What message?’

  ‘She said to tell you that she had discovered the truth. She mentioned a name; Alain Poiret.’

  Claudia’s heart lurched. ‘When was this?’

  ‘About two and a half hours ago.’

  ‘Send Lucy to me directly.’

  ‘You gave Lucy the afternoon off, milady.’

  ‘I had forgotten. Is my husband at home?’

  ‘No, milady.’

  Claudia bit her lip. This couldn’t wait. She had to speak to Madeleine now. Anthony would not approve of her visiting that area of town unescorted, but it couldn’t be helped. All the same, she would not go unarmed. Her fingers closed over her reticule and the comforting shape of the pistol within. These days she never left the house without it.

  A few minutes later she was climbing into the fiacre and giving instructions to the driver.

  ‘Rue Hermès, and hurry.’

  Then, under the bemused gaze of the footman, the vehicle pulled away.

  * * *

  When the Earl arrived home some twenty minutes later he inquired whether his wife had returned. On learning from the butler that she had gone out again, he frowned. They were due at the theatre in an hour and a half, a small enough margin in which to change and eat, and Claudia was invariably punctual.

  ‘Gone out where?’ he asked.

  ‘I do not know, milord.’

  The footman took a step forward and coughed discreetly. The Earl turned round.

  ‘Well? What is it, man?’

  ‘Milady has gone to the Rue Hermès, milord.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘I heard her give directions to the driver of the fiacre, milord.’

  ‘Who has gone with her?’

  ‘No-one, milord. She went alone.’

  ‘Alone!’

  For a moment the Earl was dumbfounded, trying to credit what he’d just heard. After all that happened it was madness to go off like that, and to an area of town that she knew to be unsafe. He’d thought she had more sense. Mingled with anger was a growing feeling of unease.

  ‘She seemed to be in a great hur
ry, milord.’

  ‘Did she give any reason for going there?’

  The butler swallowed hard. ‘I think it may have been concerned with the woman who was here earlier.’

  ‘What woman?’

  The man swiftly recounted what he knew. The Earl’s frown deepened.

  ‘Have Matthew saddle my horse, and one for himself as well.’

  With that he hurried off to change into his riding clothes. Having done that, he slid a pistol into his waistband and another into the pocket of his coat. Ten minutes later he was on his way.

  * * *

  When Claudia arrived the house was quiet. She paused in the hallway, listening, but could hear no sound from any of the apartments above. Slowly she climbed the stair and, locating the right door, knocked gently. The door gave a little. It was already open. Claudia knocked again. Receiving no answer she pushed it wide and went in.

  ‘Mademoiselle Fournier?’

  She stopped on the threshold, her gaze sweeping the sparsely furnished room beyond; a wooden washstand, a chair, a narrow bed and the woman lying there. Madeleine Fournier might have been sleeping, save that her eyes were open, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. The ligature round her neck testified to the manner of her death. Claudia froze, shocked to the core of her being. Then, taking a deep breath, she advanced toward the bed.

  A wooden board creaked behind her and the skin prickled on the back of her neck. She spun round to find herself staring at the muzzle of a pistol. Her startled gaze registered the man behind it and then alarm mingled with surprise.

  ‘Monsieur Viaud.’

  ‘Lady Claudia!’ For a moment or two the pistol remained levelled, then it was slowly lowered. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I thought perhaps the killer had returned. Did you meet anyone on the way in, my lady?’

  Relieved now and striving to regain her composure, Claudia took a deep breath. ‘No.’

  He glanced at the bed and then sighed. ‘If only I had got here sooner.’

  ‘Why did you come?’

  ‘I had hoped to speak to Mademoiselle Fournier.’