Vintage Love

by Clarissa Ross

  Enid looked out and saw people gathering in the street below. They shouted instructions up to her, all crying out together, so that they defeated their purpose. She could not hear what they were saying.

  She ran back through the blinding smoke in search of the cot. Then she dragged its coverlet off and groped her way toward the open window.

  Susie was still standing there, weeping. “What shall we do?” she sobbed.

  “I’ll show you,” Enid said, tying one end of the coverlet around her friend’s waist. “Out on the sill with you! Fast!” She shoved the whimpering, resistant girl onto the windowsill. “Now I’m going to lower you,” Enid went on, “and to keep yourself from swaying, I want you to touch the wall as I let you down.”

  Susie still held back while Enid tied the other end of the coverlet to a sturdy table leg. Then, as Susie continued to sob, Enid slowly lowered her into the waiting arms of the approving crowd. Flames were beginning to shoot up through cracks in the floor as she swung herself out of the window and clung to the makeshift rope.

  A man caught her in his arms and eased her down onto the cobblestones. “Anyone else in there?” he yelled, trying to make himself heard above the loud voices of the crowd and the roaring of the fire.

  “No,” she yelled back.

  “Best to get back! She’s going to collapse!” he shouted, and he dragged her away with him.

  As the crowd slowly retreated across the street, the old wooden building became racked with flames. The yellow tongues of disaster licked out of windows and through the roof, as if eager to consume the very air itself. Then there was a strange, rasping sound and the structure disintegrated before their eyes, falling in slow motion behind a screen of fire and smoke.

  The man took Enid a few steps farther along to where Susie stood. She saw Enid and ran to her, pressing herself against her. “What shall we do?” she sobbed.

  “There is nothing we can do,” Enid said quietly.

  The man stared at her. “You lost everything?”

  “All we have left are the nightdresses we stand in,” she replied.

  “I was coming by and I saw the flames,” he told her. “And I saw a man come running out of the front door and dash down the street in a flash.”

  “Did you get a good look at him?”

  “No. I didn’t see his face at all. I was about to try going in then, but your face appeared at the window.”

  “Whoever it was you saw coming from the house had to be the one who started the fire!” Her tone was drenched in bitterness.

  “You think so?” the man gasped, amazed. Then he turned to watch the flaming ruins again.

  “I told you someone was watching the house,” Susie said.

  “I have an idea who it was,” Enid mused.

  “Who?”

  “Andrew, or some agent he hired, I’m certain he promised to see me in Hell and that he threatened to set the house aflame.”

  “That sounds like him!” her friend whimpered.

  At this point a portly man came up to them and said, “I have a carriage down the street, ladies. Can I take you anywhere?”

  “Yes,” Enid replied, making a quick decision. “I’ll thank you if you’ll take us to a friend’s house.”

  “Wherever you like,” the stranger offered generously.

  “To the flat of the actor Kemble.” She gave him the address.

  He helped them move past the remaining onlookers, past the flames and the wreckage of the old building that had housed both happy and sad times. Within a few moments they were safely installed in his carriage and on the way to Kemble’s flat.

  “What will he think?” Susie fretted.

  “What does it matter?” Enid said. “We are in distress. He will be glad to help us.”

  And this proved to be true. Once they had managed to rouse the sleeping actor and Jenny, the two were quick to show their concern for the forlorn Susie and Enid. Jenny brought them brandy and prepared a sleeping place for them in the front room of the flat.

  When morning came, Jenny provided the women with clothes from her own wardrobe. They were a strangely subdued group as they sat down to breakfast together.

  “At least this solves the problem of housing,” Kemble said. “Susie must come here to live with Jenny while we are in France.”

  “But what about Gustav? Suppose he returns and is not able to find me?” Susie protested.

  “You can leave word with the people in the neighboring houses that you are living here,” Enid suggested.

  Kemble nodded his agreement. “That should take care of the matter satisfactorily.”

  Jenny, looking composed in a green robe the color of her eyes, moved about the table, pouring more tea. “Then you are determined to make this journey?” she asked.

  “Yes,” her lover said. “Enid and I have to pay a visit to someone in the government this morning and make our arrangements.”

  “Thank goodness I have something decent to wear, sweet Jenny.” Enid gave her a warm smile. “Directly after our appointment I must do some shopping.”

  “I have a good deal to do myself,” Susie lamented. “And all our household things went up in flames.”

  Jenny sat beside her and spoke in a sympathetic manner. “You mustn’t worry about it all at once. Give yourself a little time to get over the shock. You can build up your stock of household goods slowly, since you’ll be living here for a while.”

  “That is true,” Susie admitted. She turned to Kemble. “Thank you for your great kindness to us, John. I won’t be forgetting it quickly, you may be sure of that.”

  “It is nothing,” the actor told her with a hint of embarrassment at her gratitude. “All of us here are close friends. Almost like a family. It is only right that we should share.”

  “Are you certain that your husband set the torch to your building?” Jenny asked Enid.

  “He is the one whom I first suspect,” she replied.

  Kemble gave her a wise glance. “It could have been someone else, you know. Remember the night you rescued Armand? He and Gustav set the warehouse on fire. Couldn’t Louis Esmond or some of his agents have planned to even the score, even at this late date?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Enid confessed. “It is very much a possibility.”

  Susie sighed. “I expect we shall never know for certain. We can only be thankful we escaped with our lives. I was a problem for Enid. I lost my nerve completely. If she hadn’t taken over, I would have died up there in the flames.”

  “I was just as frightened, but I didn’t dare show it,” Enid admitted with a smile. But she knew that the crisis had proved at least one thing. She was not as shattered as she had feared she would be. In the face of danger her courage had returned to her. Now, having gone through that experience, she felt much better about the venture that lay ahead.

  An hour later she and Kemble took a carriage to the address Sir Harry had given them. Susie was going out on a shopping expedition for clothes, the funds for which were provided by Kemble, with Jenny planning to keep her company. Enid was glad to see the two young women getting along better than they had in the past.

  She told the actor, “I’m sure Jenny’s kindness to us after the fire has made Susie regard her more highly.”

  “Then at least something has been gained from the disaster,” he said grimly as the carriage moved through familiar streets.

  She glanced at him. “No last-minute regrets?”

  He stared at her in surprise. “About trying to save the life of the Dauphin?”

  “Yes.”

  “None whatsoever. His parents are doomed, and probably his sister as well. If we can save the boy, it will give me a great deal of satisfaction.”

  “I know Armand would approve.”

  Kemble smiled in his melancholy fashion. “He would be sure to approve in principle, but I’m not certain he would be anxious to see you taking such a risk.”

  “I feel we shall be successful.”

>   “So do I.” He paused. “There is one thing you ought to do.”

  “What?”

  “Work at your fencing. You may find your swordsmanship useful in France.”

  “Gustav is far away, so will you fence with me?”

  “You’re my superior.”

  “At least it will give me some practice.”

  “I shall make the sacrifice,” he said genially. “Also, I must select a suitable small pistol for you to carry at all times. And a dagger.”

  “A dagger?”

  “They are more easily concealed than a sword and are silent and generally useful. Yes, you must have a dagger!”

  She laughed softly. “Then I shall surely be a cloak-and-dagger person!”

  “That is what our profession will be for the next several weeks or months.”

  “I hope we are back sooner than that.”

  The imposing brick building that was their destination lay in a block of government offices. The guard first scrutinized them carefully and then turned them over to an amiable young fellow in a brown twill coat and breeches. His only consent to fashion was his neat, powdered wig.

  He greeted them with a smile. “So you are the two.”

  Kemble looked slightly impatient with the lad’s languid manner and told him somewhat sharply, “We have an appointment with Sir Harry.”

  The young man showed more amusement on his rather plain, narrow face. “I’m well aware of that, Mr. Kemble,” he replied. “Sir Harry has few visitors, and rarely any as illustrious as yourself. I have long admired you on the stage.”

  “Thank you,” Kemble said, somewhat mollified.

  “May I ask an impertinent question?” the young man went on, seeming in no hurry to lead them from the anteroom to Sir Harry’s office.

  Kemble stared at him coolly. “You may ask me anything.”

  “Is that fat oaf Stephen Kemble, who always has a small part in your plays, any relation to you?”

  Kemble glared. “He happens to be my brother!”

  “Sorry. No offense meant.”

  “And none taken,” the actor returned. “Despite the fact that he is my brother, I know him to be an oaf and a generally poor actor.”

  The young official looked pleased. “May I commend you on your frankness and honesty, sir!”

  “And may I ask when we are to be ushered in for our appointment?”

  “Law’, I clear forgot about it! Sir Harry will be angry as blazes. Follow me.”

  He marched them down a broad hallway with a shining hardwood floor to a huge oaken door that bore a brass plate embossed with Sir Harry’s name and nothing else. He knocked on the door and a rasping voice responded from within. The youth smiled at them, and opening the door, indicated they should enter.

  Enid led the way, with Kemble a step behind her. Sir Harry was seated at his desk, looking rather irritable.

  “I’m sorry we’re late,” she said, “but there were several obstructions along the way.”

  He rose and bowed. “The streets are more unpleasant all the time. Aside from the crowds on foot, there is a veritable forest of carriages, wagons, and the like.”

  “In addition,” Kemble put in, “Lady Blair was the victim of a great conflagration which destroyed the studio where she was living. She lost everything.”

  Sir Harry melted into sympathy. “My dear Lady Blair, what an awful business! Do sit down, and you also, Kemble.” He pulled chairs forward for them and they seated themselves.

  “I shall be wearing the latest styles, since now I must shop for a new wardrobe,” she said with an attempt at humor.

  Sir Harry went back to sit at his desk. “I wish you some enjoyment of that, at least.” He paused. “Well, what is your answer to be?”

  Kemble cleared his throat. “I’m speaking for Lady Blair as well as for myself. We are ready to undertake the mission.”

  “Commendable!” The beetle-browed man rubbed his huge hands together, his small eyes shining with delight. “I shall today make you representatives of our sovereign.”

  “France is a country in a state of martial law, if you can call what that rabble offers as law,” Enid said. “What are we to bring with us for identification?”

  “To protect us from the French authorities,” Kemble added.

  “Ah, yes.” Sir Harry nodded. “You need not worry about that. I shall have papers prepared at once. Yours will be false, of course, and Lady Blair’s will be genuine. I must falsify certain details in your credentials as her supposed father.”

  “It sounds as if you do this often,” Kemble remarked.

  “Often enough,” the immense Sir Harry chuckled. “I shall immediately set the wheels in motion for your journey to Paris. It is there you will attempt to contact Father Braun and the boy.”

  “Are they supposedly in Paris?” Enid asked.

  “That was our last word. Of course, there is constant change. They may have moved. It will be your duty to ferret out that information for us.”

  “Whom are we to contact?” Kemble inquired.

  “There will be agents directing you from the time you land in Calais,” Sir Harry replied. “A coach will be waiting there to drive you to Paris.”

  “And in Paris?” Enid wanted to know.

  “You will be turned over to another agent, who will put you in touch with Father Braun and the Dauphin.”

  “So we will be largely at the mercy of these underlings in your service,” Enid pointed out.

  Sir Harry showed his surprise. “But surely you realize that this is the standard procedure? We have these links already set up.”

  “Deception is the name of the game,” Kemble said wryly. “Can you give us descriptions of Father Braun and Louis Charles?”

  The master spy smiled. “I can do better than that. I can show you sketches of them. I ask you to study these drawings carefully and be sure to compare them with the actual people when you meet.”

  He opened a desk drawer and produced a large brown envelope. It was stuffed with a bundle of material from which he pulled out two ivory sheets of paper, each covered with a pen and ink drawing.

  He passed one to Enid and said, “That is Father Braun. He will be wearing the clothing of an ordinary layman. Priests are forbidden their robes and other clerical attire in this new France.”

  She studied the line sketch and saw a jolly, stoutish man with crinkles at the corners of his eyes and a crop of hair that seemed to be gray. “Is his hair gray?” she asked.

  “Prematurely so,” Sir Harry told her. “He is not an old man.”

  “He is rather plump.”

  “Yes.”

  “How tall is he? That is important.”

  The big man was pleased with her question. “He is slightly less than six feet tall. He has blue eyes, a ruddy complexion, and a starlike scar on the back of his left hand.”

  “That should be enough to know,” she said, memorizing all that Sir Harry had told her. She passed the sketch to Kemble, and he handed her the one he had been studying.

  “You can see the lad is a true Hapsburg,” Kemble pointed out. “He looks intelligent, despite his placid expression and his prominent nose, which is a replica of his father’s.”

  Enid studied the drawing of the earnest young prince and felt a pang of sympathy for him. She asked Sir Harry, “Didn’t you say Louis Charles is blond?”

  “Yes. His hair is a dark gold shade,” he replied. “He is about seven years old and slim of build, and has, or had, a pleasant disposition.”

  “I cannot imagine that knowing his father, mother, and sister are in prison and are likely to be hanged would improve his state of mind.”

  “I have no idea, of course.” Sir Harry shifted in his chair. “We would have had the boy here by now if our agents had not been killed.”

  “And you really believe that having the future ruler of France here in our country will be of great diplomatic value?” Kemble wanted to know.

  “Absolutely,” Sir Har
ry declared.

  “Suppose there is no future king?” Enid said. “What if the revolution changes the political structure of France for all time?”

  “That can never be,” the big man intoned sagely. “France, like most countries, has always had a monarchical system. It is clearly unthinkable that things would be different once this present trouble is settled. There can be no question that monarchy is the best form of government for all nations.”

  Kemble smiled grimly. “That sentiment would not go down well in Paris at this moment.”

  “I am in London, sir,” Sir Harry responded with dignity. “And I will stick by my prediction.”

  “When do you want us to leave?” Enid asked him.

  “A week from today,” was his reply.

  “I can manage that,” Kemble said.

  Sir Harry glanced at her. “What about you?”

  “Yes. It is all right.”

  Sir Harry nodded. “I like your ability to make decisions. That is also a virtue.”

  “There is one more important thing I wish to ask you.”

  “We shall have at least another short meeting before you leave,” the big man assured her.

  “I would like to ask this now.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “When will you tell me the location of the prison in which Count Armand Beaufaire is being held?”

  Sir Harry blinked several times before replying. “For obvious reasons, I must withhold that information until you have completed your mission.”

  “Why?”

  “I do not want your interest divided. It is urgent that you first put all your energies toward rescuing the Dauphin. After that I will give you the details about your friend. And, as I promised, I will do all I can to see that our network of agents effects his release.”

  Enid regarded him with resignation. “You drive a hard bargain,” she said glumly.

  “I have my duty,” the diplomatic officer replied pompously. “First things must come first. The main order of the day is to get that boy safely to England.”