Angel Heart

by Marie Laval

  Martin laughed out loud. ‘Liar! You weren’t sent there, you volunteered. We have only been at peace for four weeks and you’re already bored.’

  Saintclair smiled at his friend. ‘You may be right…At any rate, it’s a worthwhile mission for France.’

  ‘Stuff France! What you want is adventure, treasures to find, and maybe a belle dame with dark velvet eyes and silky smooth skin waiting for you in a camel-skin tent near an oasis. Admit it, you scoundrel!’ Martin laughed good-heartedly.

  Marie-Ange felt faint. She gripped Hugo’s arm to steady herself. So he had volunteered to go to North Africa, he would be there possibly for years to come. There was no point telling him about the baby now.

  ‘Are you not well?’ He leant towards her, frowning. ‘There is quite a swell today.’

  Commandant Janvier offered her his chair and Hugo helped her sit down. He stood behind her and left his hands on her shoulders a few moments. She breathed in deeply and closed her eyes.

  ‘Monsieur Duval and I will leave you for now, Colonel. Please call for us when you’re ready,’ Commandant Janvier declared. The two men bowed formally and left the cabin.

  Hugo sat behind the capitaine’s desk. ‘You heard, of course, that Fouché has wormed his way back in government,’ he started.

  She nodded.

  ‘Together with Talleyrand, they form the backbone of King Louis’s new cabinet. The man thinks he is untouchable.’ He darted his blue eyes at her. ‘However, you know something which will make his position untenable as a royalist minister.’

  ‘Are you talking about the attempt on Comte d’Artois’s life last March?’

  ‘That is it, exactly. In your letter to my sister, you wrote something for my attention. Am I right in believing that Norton confirmed what I suspected?’

  ‘Yes. He told me he had been ordered to carry out the assassination by ‘his employer’ as he calls Fouché,’ she stated matter-of-factly.

  Hugo sat back on his chair, a satisfied expression on his face. ‘So we’ve got him at last!’

  ‘My, my…’ Capitaine Martin broke his silence. He looked in turn at Hugo and Marie-Ange, an incredulous expression on his face. ‘You’ve known about that all along?’

  Hugo ignored Martin. ‘Will you write a statement? An affidavit will be his undoing. It will give us enough leverage to send him packing.’

  She looked at him. What he was asking her to do would put an end to Fouché’s days as a minister. It would also probably lead to Christopher’s arrest, maybe even his execution. Now that France and Britain were at peace, the British government wouldn’t hesitate to surrender him to the French authorities, should they ask. Although she didn’t care too much about her husband, there was Robert to think about. A stain on his family name might ruin his chances of a career in the Royal navy.

  ‘I’m not sure I can do this. I have to think about the implications,’ she said.

  Hugo shot a thunderous look at her. ‘I see…’ He toyed with a long wooden ruler, tapping it impatiently against the palm of his hand. ‘Obviously I was mistaken when I thought you wanted to help. I wasn’t taking into account your feelings for your husband. Feelings strong enough for you to want to save him from being punished for what he has done.’ His tone was scornful.

  She straightened in her chair and hissed. ‘Do not talk to me about my feelings, Colonel Saintclair. My feelings are none of your business.’

  He let the ruler drop on the desk.

  ‘Damn it, Marie-Ange!’ He put his hands flat on the desk. ‘Why did you write to me if you didn’t want me to do anything about the attempt on d’Artois’ life? Your husband admitted to the attempted murder of the King’s brother—and still you are prepared to cover up for him and save his neck?’

  She held up his gaze without flinching. Capitaine Martin shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  ‘Calm down, Saintclair. Madame Norton didn’t have to come on board, you know. She really doesn’t have to…’

  Marie-Ange turned to Martin and forced a smile.

  ‘That’s quite all right, Capitaine. I will do what Colonel Saintclair requests, but on one condition. I will write no names at all, neither Christopher’s nor mine. It will be an anonymous statement. Is that good enough for you, Colonel Saintclair?’

  ‘If it’s the best you can do.’ He sighed.

  ‘Then give me some paper and a quill.’

  Her voice might have been cool and composed, but her hand was shaking when she dipped the quill into the inkwell. She started writing, omitting Christopher’s name out as well as any details which might incriminate him directly. When she had finished, she put the quill down onto the desk.

  ‘May I?’ Hugo took the document from her and read aloud.

  ‘This is to testify that in April of this year 1815, I was told in confidence by a British agent working for Monsieur Joseph Fouché that he was instructed by the same Monsieur Fouché to carry out the assassination of Monsieur le Comte d’Artois. The attempt took place in Lyon in February outside the Lyon Opera House. Upon my honour, I believe this to be the truth.

  A witness who wishes to remain anonymous.’

  Hugo sighed. ‘That will have to do. It will be our trump card. There is something else Fouché’s enemies want to try first to encourage him to go.’

  Marie-Ange raised her head. ‘What is that?’

  ‘Fouché is a regicide,’ he explained. ‘He voted for the execution of Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette. The king, his brother, d’Artois, and his sister the Duchess d’Angoulême want to introduce a law banning from government all those who voted in favour of their brother’s beheading.’

  He stepped outside to ask Monsieur Deval and Commandant Janvier to come back into the cabin and witness and sign the statement which was then rolled up as a scroll and sealed with hot red wax. Marie-Ange stood up and demanded to be taken back to shore.

  ‘Let me offer you some tea or coffee, something to eat perhaps?’ Commandant Janvier offered kindly.

  ‘No, thank you. I have things to attend to at Norton Place.’ She arranged her cape around her shoulders. She wanted to make sure nobody could notice her slightly round belly. ‘I want to go now.’ She couldn’t help the slightly hysterical ring to her voice.

  She was possessed with a sudden, overwhelming need to be alone and far, far away from the man who gazed at her with such indifference. The man who had forgotten all about the night they shared; the man who had asked her to be his mistress; whose child she was carrying and who would never know about it. The man she loved more than ever but who had never loved her.

  Now he had proof of Fouché’s treason to the royalist camp, Hugo would sail to Algiers. She would try and forget all about him…if that was possible. She fought back her tears.

  ‘Very well. We’ll leave now,’ Hugo decreed.

  ‘There is really no need to trouble yourself, Colonel, I will be fine with the two sailors who brought us here.’

  Hugo tightened his lips and insisted, so Marie-Ange bid Janvier, Deval, and Martin farewell and walked out onto the top deck. The descent into the small craft was even more harrowing than the climb up. However she was determined not to show her fear. All she could think of was that she wanted to be back on the cliff top.

  When they were safely on board, the two sailors lifted the oars and rowed back to shore, singing in rhythm with their strokes. This time, Hugo sat next to Marie-Ange. His thigh touched hers. The heat from his body radiated into hers. He turned to her.

  ‘Did you know that you are now the wealthy heiress of Beauregard and Malleval?’

  ‘My great-aunt wrote to me about it. I intend to travel to Beauregard very soon,’ she said. There was no need to tell him she was leaving Christopher, and England, probably later that day or the next. No need to tell him she planned to settle at Beauregard permanently.

  ‘Whatever happened to that Cross you and your father were so concerned about? The one that was supposed to make people immortal, but which almost
got us all killed down in the crypt at Arginy.’ There was a humorous twinkle in his eyes.

  ‘I sent it to my great-aunt Hermine for safekeeping. She wrote back to say she didn’t want the responsibility of caring for it so she gave it to the abbey at Cluny.’

  ‘What about the angel? Do you think he’ll ever come?’ he asked softly.

  ‘He already came, that snowy morning at Malleval.’ She shivered, remembering the white arms lifting the relic…or was it just snowflakes swirling around? ‘I believe I saw him.’

  He raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment.

  ‘What did you do when you went after Uxeloup in the mountains? Did you kill him?’

  His face became sombre.

  ‘No. The man was already dead when I got to the cave on the hillside where Rochefort and the others were hiding. With his stab wounds and the freezing cold, he didn’t stand a chance.’

  There was sadness in his voice. ‘I killed Rochefort though, and others, when I could have spared them.’ He bent his head. ‘I didn’t behave the way I should have. I was angry, so angry.’

  She resisted the urge to put her hand on his face and caress his cheek. Instead, she folded her hands into her lap and concentrated on the sailors’ singing. They were getting nearer the cliffs. Soon they would reach the beach.

  ‘Why are you going to the Barbary States?’

  ‘Why not? There’s nothing for me in France.’

  ‘What about Lucie? And your parents?’

  What about me? She wanted to scream.

  ‘I have provided for them. They will not want for anything. I long for something else now, for freedom and new adventures. I may not stay in the army very long.’

  He shook his head. ‘Make no mistake. The army has been my whole life. It gave me more than I could ever have hoped for. Now I want to carve my own destiny. Algiers looks like a good starting point. And then, who knows, I might very well disappear into the Sahara, like Martin said.’ He looked towards the cliffs again.

  So he was following this obsession of his—be his own man and make his own fortune. He had always felt he wasn’t good enough, despite his glorious military record, his bravery, and the honours bestowed upon him. She wanted to tell him that if he didn’t learn to accept himself, his quest for freedom and wealth would be futile and would never bring him happiness.

  How could she tell him about the baby now? She bent her head and put her hands on her stomach, under the cape. Her child would have no father. Well, she would have to love him twice as much.

  They remained silent until the craft reached the shore. There was so much he wanted to ask her. How had she fared these past few months? Despite the brave face she put on, he felt it had not been easy for her at Norton Place. He clenched his fists. If that bastard so much as laid a finger on her, he would…He tightened his lips. He would do what? He was leaving her behind along with his old life.

  For weeks, months, he had tormented himself thinking about her, trying to picture her life with Norton, reliving the burning hot moments of passion he had shared with her. Every time he had to push away the memories. Every image of her was imprinted in his mind, in his soul. He would forever carry inside him every sensation she had awakened. He had thought of her clear blue eyes, her blond hair curling like a halo around her angelic face during the harrowing hell of Waterloo when his companions were falling under enemy artillery fire and he wished for death.

  Well, a new life awaited him now. First he would make sure Fouché was exiled. Then he would start all over again. She had made it plain on the frigate she didn’t want to expose her husband to any punishment for his role as Fouché’s agent. She was still very much Norton’s wife, and would always be.

  The sailors jumped into the shallow water and pushed the boat towards the beach. He let himself down into the sea and opened his arms.

  ‘I’ll carry you to the beach.’

  Marie-Ange nestled into his arms and clasped her fingers behind his neck as he strode in the water towards the shore. He put her down gently on the small beach, his hands brushing against her back almost like a caress when he released her.

  Looking up to the cliff top, he said thoughtfully. ‘You were on these cliffs when I first saw you, weren’t you? There were storm clouds and a mighty strong wind. For a few seconds, you stood in a ray of sunshine, and the sailors said you were an angel.’ He turned to her. ‘They were probably right,’ he whispered.

  Pointing to the cliff top he took her hand. ‘Come, I’ll see you safely to the top.’

  She shook her head. ‘I will be fine on my own. You should go now.’

  He combed his dark hair back with his fingers and sighed.

  ‘Very well. Thank you for your statement about Fouché, although I was hoping for more details and…’ He shook his head. ‘Never mind. We are sailing for France now. Martin will get off in Le Havre and ride to Paris where he will submit the document to Talleyrand and the King. And then, I hope, Fouché will have no other choice than go into exile.’

  ‘Will the King not insist on a trial—an execution even? Fouché did commission the murder of his brother.’

  ‘I don’t think the King will demand an execution. After Napoleon’s defeat, the thousands and thousands of dead and wounded, the country needs peace, not another scandal and public execution.’ He gave her a tight smile. ‘Knowing Fouché, he will bow to the King’s command and start scheming from abroad. However this time, he has run out of allies.’

  He stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders. He looked deep into her eyes.

  ‘Adieu, Marie-Ange. I wish I could…’

  He bent down so quickly she didn’t have time to step away. His arms encircled her waist and brought her close to him and he kissed her, softly at first, then with more hunger. She put her hands on his chest and he pulled her closer still, tilting her head back to kiss her more deeply. His fingers caressed her neck and roamed through her thick, curly hair. For a few moments, there was only heat and desire and passion between them.

  Then he let go of her and stepped back.

  ‘Adieu,’ he said again.

  Her heart felt at breaking point, yet her voice was steady when she spoke.

  ‘I hope you find what you’re seeking.’

  He looked surprised, then nodded. He gestured to the two sailors to push the boat back at sea, jumped into the craft, and took his jacket off. After loosening the top of his shirt and rolling his sleeves up on his forearms, he asked the sailors for a pair of oars. She watched him row towards the frigate before climbing up the path to the cliff top. When she reached the top, the frigate was getting ready to set sail. Hugo was already on board. The anchor was raised. Huge white sails were pulled up the three masts and billowed in the wind. The ship turned to the high seas.

  ‘Au revoir,’ she whispered. The breeze swirled around her, taking her words away towards the horizon.

  This wasn’t adieu. It couldn’t be. As tears fell on her cheeks and sobs threatened to choke her, a voice deep within her whispered that they would see each other again.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  May 1818

  ‘Is he asleep?’ The marine breeze blew Giulia’s brown hair around her face.

  Marie-Ange nodded. ‘Fast asleep.’

  She smiled, recalling how small Lucas looked, curled up in the bunk bed of the cabin. Tonight, like most evenings, she had sung lullabies and rocked him to sleep. Great-Aunt Hermine said she indulged him far too much and should leave him in the care of a nurse, to which she usually replied that Lucas was her joy, her life, and she intended to bring him up herself.

  ‘Sophie fell asleep, too,’ she added. ‘She can never resist my singing. By the way, your mother wants you to come down now. She said it wasn’t suitable for a young lady to stay out on deck in the evening. I suspect she wants company, she didn’t look very well.’

  ‘Mother hates sailing. It’s only because she wanted to meet you before the rest of the family that she agreed to sai
l to Catania.’

  Marie-Ange stepped back from the banister as sea spray splashed onto her face and the front of her dress. The ship was sailing fast, its white sails billowing in the evening breeze. The captain reported they would reach Valetta in the early hours of the morning.

  The figure of a man standing near the prow caught her attention. He seemed to be watching her. He pulled his hat down on his face and turned away when he noticed her looking at him. She narrowed her eyes. He was small and dark-haired and wore a cheap looking grey suit and a large black hat. She had seen him before, in Catania, as she strolled the boulevard with Giulia and Agata…and come to think of it, in the park where they walked in the evening. However, Catania wasn’t a big town, so it wouldn’t be unusual to bump into the same people over and over again.

  She turned to the sea again. ‘It is a beautiful evening.’

  Her eyes skimmed over the receding Sicilian coastline towards the high sea and the golden sunset that was lighting the sky and the sea with fire. ‘It looks as if we are sailing straight into the sun.’

  ‘It’s the corsairs’ favourite time for an attack,’ an elderly gentleman remarked next to them. ‘Vigils cannot see what’s coming at them with the blazing sunset.’

  ‘I thought the bombing of Algiers two years ago had put an end to the corsairs’ activities,’ Marie-Ange said. ‘Didn’t Lord Edmouxth force the Dey to surrender all hostages and sign a new peace treaty?’

  The elderly man snorted. ‘If you believe that, you are very foolish indeed. The ‘Corso’ brings too much revenue to the Barbary States for them to relinquish it so easily. Algiers, Tunis, and Tripoli merely pretended to agree with the English demands to put an end the blockade. They now choose their targets more carefully, that’s all. I heard that an Italian ship was captured just over a month ago.’

  He stared towards the horizon, a frown on his face, bid them good night, and limped away. As always when someone mentioned Algiers, Marie-Ange closed her eyes and conjured up an image of Hugo. Her chest tightened. She often wondered if the pain would ever ease with the passage of time. It hadn’t so far.