She stared at him in amazement. “You expect me to go through with a charade like that?”
“I not only expect but I insist,” the thin old man said. “You must learn to be able to face situations with confidence. This is the only way.”
She took a deep breath. It sounded as mad to her as all the other business associated with him. Yet perhaps there was sense in this seeming insanity. It depended on one’s outlook.
She said, “I had no idea becoming a secret agent could be so complicated.”
“You’re only at the beginning,” he told her. “And by the way what are you feelings regarding young Walters now?”
Betsy hesitated. “Would you expect them to have changed?”
“You know him better.”
“I still do not know the truth of that day at Waterloo,” she said.
“So you do not trust him?”
“Not completely.”
“At least you are frank,” the old man said. “He thinks most highly of you.”
“I cannot help that.”
“I think you are doing him a wrong.”
“Perhaps.”
“However it does not matter as long as you can be civil to each other and work in harmony.”
“I have no fear of that,” she told him.
“You may go now,” the old man said, seating himself at his desk.
The next morning when George Frederick Kingston arrived, he sought her out at once. He was in a jubilant mood as he told her, “I found the lad, and he’s safe in my cousin’s care.”
“I thank you, Mr. Kingston,” she said. “I have not been able to get the lad off my mind.”
“He was inquiring for you,” the actor told her. “He is truly grateful for what you’ve done for him.”
“Without your help it would not have been possible.”
“I played only a small role,” Kingston said. “My cousin is of the opinion hell make an excellent apprentice.”
“I sincerely hope so,” she said. “And when I have finished with my work here, I shall look him up and give him encouragement.”
Felix Black had the three of them in his studio for a brief lecture. His first information was, “I have received word from my agent in Italy that the man presumed to be Napoleon was taken to somewhere near the French border.”
The dashing Eric Walters asked, “Does that mean Valmy is pushing ahead with his plan for an uprising sooner than you expected?”
“I think not,” the master spy said carefully. “My feeling is that he wishes to keep his man on the move. That could indicate this Napoleon is an impersonator and not the genuine thing.”
Walters nodded. “There is bound to be less chance of an impersonation being discovered if this Napoleon is kept on the go and out of reach of those who knew him well.”
“Exactly,” the master spy said. “And that is where Miss Chapman becomes so important. A short conversation with this man calling himself Napoleon should make it clear to her whether he is a fake or the real Napoleon.”
“We are also to check in Marseilles,” Walters said. “There is the question of whether the look-alike lies in the cemetery there.”
“Your first task will be to make that investigation,” Felix Black agreed. “At the same time my other agents will keep me informed of the movements of Valmy and his group.”
Betsy spoke up. “I suppose it is reasonable to assume this Valmy has his own secret agents.”
The man in black nodded grimly. “His forces outnumber ours by many. At the moment I think he is unaware of my plan, but once it becomes known, there is bound to be a battle between our forces.”
“Sounds exciting,” George Frederick Kingston enthused. “Rather like joining the army!”
Major Eric Walters gave the actor a look of scorn. “Not quite, my friend,” he said quietly. “In this kind of war someone comes up on you from behind to slit your throat and leave you to die in some dark alley.”
Felix Black said sharply, “No need to be melodramatic, Walters. You will discourage our recruits.”
The handsome young man said, “I think it only fair they know the hazards, sir.”
Kingston looked slightly upset. Glancing at Betsy, he asked, “Is this a proper field for a woman?”
“Do not concern yourself about me,” she told the actor. “I’m willing to take the risks.”
“And quite capable of taking them, especially when it comes to using a sword,” the handsome Walters said with a grim smile. “I can still feel the cold steel on my throat.”
“I wish to make the best use possible of your time before you embark for Marseilles,” Felix Black said. “I want you to have some experience playing your roles. Kingston is to pose as your wealthy father, Walters. And Miss Chapman is to play the part of your mistress. Your French mistress while you are still here in London.”
Betsy blushed. “Could I not be his sister?”
“No,” the master spy said. “It is better this way. I want you to pretend to be very much in love. And as the boy’s father Kingston will be caught between admiration for your beauty and disapproval at the idea of a French mistress having so much power over his son.”
“By Jove you have it all worked out to the last letter,” Kingston said with admiration. “The sort of role I can get my teeth into.”
“You will be playing it for a long while, so you must be as perfect as possible,” the master spy said. “You will need to whiten your hair, add a bit of paunch, and above all dress well but not with the flamboyancy of your normal dress.”
The actor looked chastened. “I assume you will pay the bills for my costumes, sir.”
“You may go to my tailor’s and see if he can fix you up with some sort of rack suits,” the man behind the desk said. “I want all three of you to make your first public appearance tonight.”
“Tonight!” she exclaimed. “That seems very soon.”
“I have a reason,” Felix Black said. “My good friend, Sir Humphrey Wood, is having a ball and gambling at his new home in Regent Street. As a favor to me he has included you three on his list of guests.”
Eric Walters looked slightly upset, “But look here. I know old Sir Humphrey. I have seen him often at my club.”
“He has never met your father?” the master spy asked.
“No,” Walters said. “My father chooses to bury himself in the country. He is a recluse. He never journeys to London.”
“So Kingston can play your parent without any risk,” the master spy said in his dry fashion as if it were all quite normal. “The fact you know Sir Humphrey makes it all the better. Most of London’s society will be there.”
Betsy said, “And I’m to wear my wig and play the French mistress? A rather unusual introduction to London society.”
The handsome Walters gave her a warm glance. “I’m sure the town will approve of my choice.”
Felix Black said, “Miss Chapman, I want you to allow Mademoiselle to dress you and make you up. When she finishes, you will look exactly like a French woman of easy virtue. A padded gown will enhance your curves, and you should be most convincing.”
“What about answering questions?” she said. “That might be awkward.”
The master spy said, “I think for this little escapade it would be best if you pretended not to know English.”
Betsy wanted to know, “Suppose some buck speaks to me in French?”
“Answer briefly and always vaguely,” Felix Black told her. “That is the style of kept women.”
“I’m fortunate in having the benefit of your experience,” she said with a rueful smile.
“You all know what you have to do,” the man at the desk said brusquely. “A carriage will be here at seven to take you to the party.”
After their dismissal George Frederick Kingston rushed off to the tailor to get some suitable clothes. Eric Walters lingered in the hallway to address her.
“Are you nervous?” he asked her.
“A little,�
� she admitted.
“I’m sure you’ll manage very well,” he said.
“It is different for you,” she told him. “You are playing yourself. My role is foreign to me.”
“If you follow Black’s instructions, you’ll be all right. He is a master at this sort of thing.”
“I’m beginning to realize that,” she agreed.
The handsome Walters smiled. “Though I think it a shame to take a lovely creature like yourself and make her up as a painted French woman of ill repute.”
“I do not mind at all,” she told him. And not wanting to hear any more compliments from him, or get too friendly, she turned and went upstairs.
Mademoiselle arrived late in the afternoon, and the process of changing her into the French woman began. Betsy had to patiently allow the excitable Mademoiselle make her up. It all had to be exact, even to the dress with the extravagantly low-cut bosom — more daring than anything she had ever worn before.
“It is too revealing. And low in the back as well!” she complained.
“Not for the woman you are supposed to be,” Mademoiselle laughed. “Those are the places you wish the men to focus their eyes on!”
By seven she was ready. And as she stood before the full-length mirror in her room, she was filled with admiration for the ability of Mademoiselle. She looked like quite a different person, while still retaining her own features.
Mademoiselle warned her, “You must walk so! Not like a little school girl but like a woman of experience!” And she moved slowly across the room showing her.
Betsy laughed and tried it and after a few minutes she was able to give a fair imitation of the mademoiselle. “Will I do?” she asked.
“But perfect!” Mademoiselle exclaimed. “Now we go down to Monsieur Black. He will have the final word.”
Felix Black was in the lower hallway in earnest conversation with a well-dressed young dandy, Walters, and his richly clad and earnest-looking father, Kingston. All three men turned to watch her come down the stairway accompanied by a beaming Mademoiselle.
“Gad!” Eric Walters exclaimed. “I don’t believe it! You’re tormentingly beautiful!”
Felix Black stepped forward and took her hand. She bowed to him and smiled in a flirtatious manner. The master spy, with his usual dry understatement, said merely, “You will do!”
Kingston filled in generously with, “I have never had a more scintillating leading lady.”
They left in the carriage which took them through the foggy cobblestoned streets. There was a somewhat embarrassed feeling among them that did not encourage conversation. So they sat in near silence.
After what seemed an interminable time to her, the carriage came to a halt by a mansion with torches burning on either side of its entrance. Pages in livery came running to open the carriage door and direct the driver where he was to take the vehicle.
Major Eric Walters, more handsome than usual in his evening jacket of blue, stepped down and took her hand to help her to the street. He smiled as he said, “The curtain is about to rise!”
Chapter Six
BETSY TENSELY clung to Major Eric Walters’s arm. She was as nervous as she could ever remember as they mounted the stone steps and entered the vestibule of the great mansion. George Frederick Kingston was close behind them, and at the door he caught up with them and gave her a smile of encouragement.
“You’ll be the hit of the party,” he predicted.
Their wraps were taken by servants stationed at the door, and then they joined the reception line presided over by Sir Humphrey Wood and his wife, Lady Estelle. Major Eric Walters bowed to their host and hostess, who knew him well, and gave her introduction, “My fiancée, Mademoiselle Gaudet!”
Sir Humphrey Wood, a huge man of more than six feet, towered above her as he did over everyone else. He had a craggy face with a large, hooked nose, but his eyes were friendly, and he took her hand and said, “You are charming, mademoiselle.”
She smiled graciously and moved on to Lady Estelle who commented on her dress. “You must have the best seamstress in London, my dear!” the thin gray-haired woman said.
Mademoiselle merely smiled again, since she was not supposed to be fluent in English. She moved on as Eric introduced Kingston as his father. The actor put on a good show, playing the part of the blustering country squire to the hilt. After they moved on, Eric procured drinks and some food for them, and they stood together in a group.
“The dancing is across the way in the ballroom,” Eric told her. “And the gambling is upstairs.”
Kingston gazed at the fashionably dressed guests around him and said, “I’ll leave the dancing to you young people while I go up and investigate the gaming tables.”
“Be cautious,” the young major told him with a smile. “The stakes are high here. He would never consent to cover any debts you might accumulate.”
The actor bowed. “You may depend on my discretion! I shall put out only a few pounds of my own money and no more.”
They left him to enter the brilliantly lighted ballroom. An orchestra played at one end of the big room with its shining hardwood floor. The floor was filled with dancing couples, and in chairs arranged along the sides of the room, there were a number of spectators.
“Do you enjoy dancing?” he asked her.
“When I’m in the mood.”
“What about now?”
“I’m terribly nervous,” she whispered. “I feel everyone knows I’m wearing a wig and makeup, and they’re staring at me.”
“If they are staring, it is because of your beauty,” he told her. “They don’t see such loveliness except on rare occasions.”
“I’m sure you’re flattering me,” she said.
“At any rate let us dance,” he replied, leading her out onto the floor. They took their places in a platoon of stately dancing couples.
Betsy thought it strange that she was attending this ball with a man she had been determined to hate. They danced well together, and he made a handsome figure in his evening dress. She knew that many girls would be at his feet if he showed the slightest interest in them. He was striking in his good looks, charming in his manner, and of a fine family. But there was still the shadow of her brother’s death spoiling things between them.
The dance ended, and then the orchestra began to play a lively mazurka. They danced one set of the brisk Polish dance, and then she begged off.
She confided to him, “I fear my wig will be askew if I do much of that!”
He laughed. “I doubt it. But I see Sir Humphrey Wood on his way over here to claim you as a dancing partner. If you wish to escape, we’d better go upstairs to the gambling.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the tall Sir Humphrey gradually coming toward them, halting now and then to speak with a guest.
“Let us hurry!” she urged Eric Walters. “I’m not equal to playing the silent French mademoiselle with him yet.”
“Felix Black wanted you to have this experience,” her escort reminded her. But at the same time he guided her out of the ballroom and to the winding stairway which led above.
It seemed that all fashionable London had descended on the great house. They passed couples coming down the stairway as they made their way up.
The large room set aside for gambling was at the head of the stairway. They entered it through wide double doors, and Betsy saw it was crowded, with more men than women there. A roulette wheel was drawing a lot of patrons, and there were many other tables which offered games of chance.
Major Eric Walters pointed out a thin dandy of a man talking animatedly with another foppish type. He told her, “The one in the yellow satin suit is Lord Lumley Skeffington, everyone calls him Skiffy!”
She said, “He is surely eccentric.”
“He writes plays, paints his face, and perfumes himself so thoroughly that it is a challenge to stand near him.”
“His friend is dressed in green,” she noticed. “All that he has on is green!�
�
Eric laughed. “That is Henry Cope of Brighton. He is famous as the green man. He only wears green clothing, and all the rooms in his house of green are painted in the same color. They say he’ll only eat green fruits and vegetables. He’s more than half dotty!”
“I wonder where George Frederick has gone,” she worried, still clinging to the young major’s arm.
“I think I see him at the other side of the roulette table,” her companion said. “There’s such a jam in here, it will take us a little time to reach him.”
“It is more crowded than below,” she agreed. And the bustle and noise of conversation filled the place. Men were arguing about their betting, the shape of their cravats, and where they’d had their new jacket tailored.
Betsy had led more of a country life and so knew little of the London regency style. The painted ladies and men were a group foreign to her as was their conversation. She was relieved that she was supposed to know no English and so was not required to engage in talk with anyone.
A wiry little man with graying hair passed them and nodded to Eric. “Back in London, my boy!” he commented in passing.
Eric made a brief reply to him, and after he’d passed on, he informed her, “That was Lord Petersham. He is said to own a snuffbox for every day in the year!”
She said, “I have never met such a collection of eccentric people.”
“London society breeds them,” the young man agreed. As he finished speaking, Kingston left the roulette table looking worried and came over to meet them.
“I hoped you’d be along soon,” the actor said. “In the role of your father I have accumulated a gaming debt of twenty-five pounds. I left my IOU. But if you will be so good as to let me have the cash, I’ll redeem the paper at once.”
Eric sighed. “I remember warning you.”
“I could not stand there and make no bet,” Kingston complained. “I have to make a good showing as your father.”
“Do not feel the compulsion again,” Eric said, taking his wallet out and counting the twenty-five pounds and handing them over to the actor.
“Thank you, my boy,” Kingston said with feeling. “I shall repay you from my salary.” And he went back to the roulette wheel to settle the IOU.
Vintage Love Page 10