Vintage Love

by Clarissa Ross

  “The count may be put to death in the meanwhile!”

  “I think not. You may take my word for it that while he is presently imprisoned, his life is in no immediate danger.”

  Then Kemble spoke up. “There is also a point, Sir Harry, which I fear you have not considered thoroughly.”

  The big man fixed his shrewd eyes on the actor. “And that is?”

  “Lady Blair has mentioned that she is known to Esmond. And so am I, for that matter, though I will have the advantage of a changed appearance.”

  “Esmond, ‘tis true, is at the top of their spy system,” Sir Harry acknowledged, “but he takes little active part in the daily goings-on in France. When he is here in London, it is different. Over there he is bound by desk work and seldom ventures into the field. That is why I have minimized the possibility of your meeting him.”

  “But if I do come face to face with him, then what?” Enid implored.

  “You will be a British national traveling under the full protection of your government. Your papers will attest to that. You can tell him you are searching for your missing friend. He dare not touch you.”

  She smiled wanly, “That sounds all very well and good. But should I meet him, don’t be surprised to hear that I’ve been eliminated in some strange and unexpected accident.”

  “Now I believe you are overtaxing your imagination, my dear.”

  “In any event,” Kemble said, “we have made our decision and will take our chances.”

  The big man looked pleased. “I shall call on you at your flat the night before your departure. Then I shall give you your first instructions.”

  Enid and Kemble left the office of Sir Harry Standish shortly afterward. When they were on the street, she asked the actor, “Well what do you think of him?”

  Kemble nodded. “I know you expect me to defend him. I won’t. I’ll simply say he is clever enough to deal with you and me, either separately or together.”

  “I’m irked by his refusal to tell me where Armand is.”

  “But you must respect his reason for doing so. He cannot afford to have our attention diverted. It is that simple.”

  19

  Two days later they began to practice fencing. They were using the empty hall next to Drury Lane where Kemble sometimes held rehearsals. Enid darted back and forth, her keen blade a powerful, sure weapon. Their swords met and twisted, flashed and clanged. Kemble fought hard to match her, but it was useless. She was by far the better fencer.

  At last he cried out, “Enough!” and tossed his sword to the floor.

  Gasping for breath, she went up to him and asked, “Did I discourage you too much?”

  “You defeat me so easily that there is no point in our going on,” he panted, taking out a handkerchief to mop his brow.

  “Then are you satisfied?”

  “You’re as good as ever. And if we find ourselves in a tight spot, you must somehow make sure you wield a blade.”

  She smiled. “I’ll remember that. What about the pistol? You promised me one.”

  “I have it here.” He reached into his pocket and drew out an extremely tiny pistol with a mother-of-pearl handle. “It is a beauty, so see that you take care of it.”

  She accepted the weapon and fingered it with awe. “Are you sure it’s not a toy?”

  “The man who gets a bullet in his hide from it won’t think so,” he assured her.

  She balanced it and held it at the ready. “Remarkable.”

  “Crafted in Prussia,” he said grudgingly. “Those people have a gift for such work.”

  “Thank you, John. You are a dear, good man!”

  He clasped her to him in a tight embrace. “Not good enough to share your bed with you, I fear!”

  “We made a promise! Let us keep it!” she entreated.

  Kemble brushed his lips over hers. “I shall. I won’t enjoy it, but I shall keep it.” Then he released her reluctantly.

  • • •

  On the night before they were to leave, they had an elaborate meal at Kemble’s flat. The only thing marring the eating and drinking was the mood that Susie and Jenny had fallen into. Neither young woman was in a good frame of mind.

  Kemble leaned over to Jenny as they sat side by side at the table, and he kissed her. “Come! Don’t look so mournful! It’s not my funeral I’m going to!”

  Jenny seemed about to burst into tears. “Susie says it well could be!”

  Kemble glanced over at Susie. “Now, I ask you, what kind of remark is that to make?”

  Susie looked down at her plate. “I cannot pretend to be happy if I’m not.”

  “Think of the good possibilities in store,” Enid urged. “We may even meet Gustav and work with him!”

  “Gustav is like the two of you, drawn to the bright glow of adventure as a moth is drawn toward a flame—with probably the same result.”

  “You were never the melancholy one, Susie,” Kemble chided her. “That was my title.”

  At that moment the bell over the front door jangled wildly, and Kemble jumped up from the table. “That will be Sir Harry with our final instructions. Susie and Jenny, go into the bedroom and close the door and be silent. Our visitor will want to see us alone.”

  “So much for him!” Susie said indignantly as she and Jenny did as they were told.

  Kemble opened the door to admit Sir Harry, carrying an umbrella in his hand. The huge man nodded, came into the room, and seeing the table heaped with food and wine, showed a look of mirth on his face.

  “A feast has been in progress!” he cried, beaming at Kemble from under his heavy brows. “By this time tomorrow you will be in France and on your way to Paris.”

  “When are we to leave?” Enid asked.

  Sir Harry went over to the table and picked up one of the bottles of red wine. After filling a goblet to the brim, he quaffed half the ruby liquid in a great gulp. Then he smiled and answered her question. “Tomorrow at dawn. A carriage will be here to pick you up and take you to the Lady Miller at the docks.”

  “Will you have some food?” Kemble offered.

  “No,” he replied. “The wine will do nicely.” Then he gave the actor a sharp glance. “You have done nothing about your appearance!”

  “I shall work on it tonight,” Kemble promised. “I have been leaving it until the last moment. The delightful girl who at the present holds my heart has begged me to put off donning my disguise.”

  Sir Harry filled the wine glass again and downed another healthy swig. He said, “I trust she is aware that this is serious business. That your neck might depend on the quality of your disguise.”

  “Don’t worry, I shall take care of it,” the actor assured him.

  Sir Harry turned to Enid. “And you, my lady, are you well versed in your role?”

  “I am going to France in search of Lucinda, the Duchess d’Orsay,” she said. “Word has been sent to me that she is alive and in hiding.”

  “That is correct.” Sir Harry nodded approvingly. “Just stick to that!”

  “What is our first move when we land in Calais?” Kemble inquired.

  “A carriage will be waiting there, driven by a trusted French agent. You will go with him and do everything he says.”

  “What will he look like?” Enid asked.

  Sir Harry glared at his nearly empty goblet of wine. “I cannot tell you that. He will be there and will make himself known to you. As will the French authorities. You must be calm when they question you.”

  “Will they be difficult to manage?” Kemble wondered.

  “No,” Sir Harry replied. “In a small town like Calais they have little authority and less intelligence. You two will easily outsmart them.” He groped under his voluminous cloak and produced two small, leather-bound booklets. “These contain your papers.”

  “How do we identify ourselves to our fellow agents?” Kemble prodded.

  “Show them the same papers I have given you for the authorities. Among them is a page whi
ch reveals a message under heat. But always be sure the booklets are returned to you.”

  Enid studied hers. “It would seem we now have everything.”

  Sir Harry looked grimly amused. “Not yet,” he said. And again he fumbled beneath his cloak and produced two very small blue envelopes, only about three inches square, and filled with some kind of powder. He gave one to each of them.

  “Keep these packets with you at all times,” he cautioned. “You, Kemble, might hide yours in the back of your gold pocket watch, and you, Lady Blair, could perhaps place yours in a locket which you will wear continually around your neck.”

  “What is the purpose of this powder?” she asked.

  “Transportation,” Sir Harry told her with an odd gleam in his eyes.

  “I do not follow you.”

  He chuckled. “Simple! Swallow the powder as it is, or in a little water, and it will transport you to another world. It is a deadly poison.”

  “Why do we need it?” Kemble had suddenly turned pale.

  “In the event of capture and torture, you may find taking it preferable to giving away state secrets. As I said, keep it handy just in case.”

  Enid gasped. “Are you telling us to commit suicide in the event that we are captured?”

  “It is a way of escape with honor,” Sir Harry replied with his usual dignity. “I so equip all my agents, but certainly in the hope that the powder may never have to be used.”

  “I surely hope not,” Kemble said with a shudder, grimly studying the square blue envelope.

  “My prayers for your victory,” Sir Harry intoned piously. “May you return with the Dauphin!”

  “We’ll certainly make a good try at it,” Kemble promised.

  At the door the big man turned and addressed Enid soberly. “And good luck to you, Lady Blair. I trust your unusual beauty will be granted an unusual amount of good luck.”

  “Thank you, Sir Harry,” she said.

  Then Kemble saw him out. When the two men had gone, Susie and Jenny emerged from the adjoining room.

  “So that is the general of the cloak-and-dagger army!” Susie remarked. “He is a strange fellow indeed!”

  Enid smiled. “I grant you that.”

  “We could not make out clearly everything that was said,” Jenny complained.

  “It’s just as well,” Enid told her. And she meant it. This last interview with Sir Harry had been a sobering one. Not only had it seemed to bear out her contention that he regarded his agents as expendable pawns, but he had actually provided them with a poison that he urged them to take so that they wouldn’t reveal any secrets under torture. Enid wondered whether she had been in her right mind when she had agreed to undertake this mission. After all, she had accepted it only because she hoped it would lead her to Armand. Well, she thought to herself, I must keep my wits about me at all costs.

  Kemble returned, and they spent the rest of the evening transforming him into an aristocratic older gentleman. First Jenny prepared a rinse for his hair that changed its chestnut color to one of silver. Then he painted a long-lasting stain on his face that gave him a more weathered, aged appearance. His eyebrows were also bleached gray, and as a final touch he added some purplish tints to his cheeks and etched light lines about his eyes and mouth to indicate age.

  At last he turned from his mirror to ask them, “Am I not impressive?”

  “You look like an old man! I hate it!” Jenny cried.

  The actor laughed. “That is precisely what I’m supposed to be. And I shall continue the role until we return to England.”

  “I’m thankful I can be myself,” Enid said.

  “You might regret it if we come upon Louis Esmond,” he worried. “I doubt that he’d recognize me, but you are a dead giveaway. Why don’t you at least change the color of your hair?”

  “Would it make that much of a difference?” she asked doubtfully.

  Kemble, looking like an elderly stranger, came close and examined her. “I shall have Jenny make you up a good dye of coal-black tint. A black that glistens. We shall do your hair and eyebrows. And I shall change the contours of your brows to give them an Oriental appearance. That will help to alter your entire face.”

  Enid was skeptical of his suggestions, but felt they might be better than if she did nothing at all to disguise herself. So with much laughter, which helped allay the tensions of the night, she allowed Jenny and Susie to assist her in dying her long blonde tresses. She sat before the blazing coal fire until her hair was dry. Then Kemble artfully reconstructed her eyebrows to his satisfaction. And when she looked at herself in the mirror, she was astonished.

  “Well, what do you think?” Kemble asked.

  “At a glance I would not know it was I,” she admitted.

  “That is exactly what I wanted,” he said. “You look quite different.”

  Jenny studied her. “I would say you are not as striking as when you were a blonde, but you look more intriguing.”

  Susie grimaced. “She looks like a Spanish or French type.”

  “Operation successful,” Kemble proclaimed. “Now it is time for bed. We must rise before dawn.”

  Susie and Enid went back into the front room, which they had used as their sleeping quarters ever since the night of the fire. Susie would remain there until Kemble returned, and happily, both she and Jenny had been given parts in the forthcoming drama over which Mrs. Siddons would preside.

  Susie expressed her concerns about the undertaking and finaly fell asleep. Enid lay there wide awake, thinking of Armand and wishing she had more hope of being able to aid him. But Sir Harry was a harsh master, and she knew that in order to achieve her goal, the search for Louis Charles had to be put ahead of everything else.

  20

  Enid and Kemble stood by the railing of the Lady Miller and gazed out glumly at the rough waves. The English Channel had been in a malicious mood all day, first thick with fog and then foaming with fierce insistence. They had awakened in the gray dawn to snatch a bite of food and bid hasty goodbyes. Then they had been picked up by a carriage and taken to the docks. Now, an eternity later, they were supposedly drawing near the coast of France and the docks of Calais.

  There were more than two dozen people on board. Some included French representatives of the new revolution and their wives, returning from a shopping visit in England. Others were tight-faced English merchants who were still trying to maintain ties with a market that had gone quite mad.

  One of these latter was a pompous, middle-aged banker named Edward Burley, a man who could have stepped out of a drawing of John Bull. Squat, overweight, and with a broad, florid face under his three-cornered hat, he was the most talkative person on the ship. From the start he had bothered Kemble and Enid, and now he approached them once again.

  Kemble groaned. “Here he comes. I thought we had rid ourselves of him for the rest of the voyage.”

  “Be glad this is not an Atlantic crossing,” she sighed. “I do not think we could bear it.”

  “There’s always the powder in the blue packet,” Kemble reminded her with a laugh.

  “Please!” she begged him. “That is not funny!”

  “Good afternoon, friends!” The bumptious banker greeted them with hearty cheer.

  “To be properly truthful, sir,” Kemble said, “it is a most unpleasant afternoon and a damnable voyage!”

  The banker looked slightly taken aback for a moment, and then he laughed and poked the unhappy Kemble in the ribs. “By George, you are right! Hit the nail exactly on the head! What do you say to that, miss? Your father is a card, is he not?”

  Enid played demure. “I fear he is given to rather strong statements.”

  “Hearts of oak and opinions of the same quality! That’s we English! I think Lord Henson—that is the proper name, isn’t it?”

  “That is my name,” Kemble allowed, in his role as her father.

  “I think that is what Lord Henson means. Whatever you might say, we English have character.
And character is what makes a nation!” He glanced down the deck in disgust at the group of French people who had gathered in a group. “The Frenchies never had it. Frogs, I call them! And now these ‘frogs’ have overturned all law and order in their country.”

  “It is truly that bad?” Enid asked, pretending innocence.

  “Worse!” Edward Burley boomed. “I have a number of clients with large deposits in Paris banks, and they haven’t been able to get out a single sou. That is why I’m making this trip. A day or two in Paris, and I hope to get some satisfaction. My clients simply can’t afford to have the mob over here take their investments!” He had become so worked up on the subject that he was perspiring, and now he mopped his brow.

  “My father never believed in placing any money in France,” Enid remarked.

  Kemble took his cue from her, saying stuffily, “I prefer to keep my assets within the shadow of the Bank of England.”

  “Sound thinking!” the banker exclaimed emphatically. “I only wish my rather stupid clients had been smart enough to follow that line.”

  “I expect they hoped to make their fortunes in France,” Enid suggested.

  “And now they’ll likely lose everything,” Burley worried. “If you have no financial interests to protect, may I inquire why you are visiting this country which, it seems, the Almighty has long ago abandoned?”

  Enid raised her newly shaped eyebrows. “Didn’t Father tell you?”

  “No,” the banker said.

  Kemble pretended indignation. “My dear, must you tell everyone? Every stranger whom we meet?”

  “But I am not a stranger,” Burley protested. “I am a fellow Englishman.”

  “Of course you are,” Enid agreed, enjoying the whole charade. She was beginning to understand the attraction that acting out parts held for many performers. She continued with, “I shall tell you all. We are here in search of a friend of mine, an English girl who was married to a French noble.”

  “That could be unpleasant for her,” the Englishman observed.