Love and Adventure Collection - Part 1 (Love and Adventure Boxed Sets)

by Jennifer Blake

  “Indeed,” Ma said, for want of anything better.

  “Yes. I myself had heard so much of the man I was eager to come face to face with him at last, to speak with him. But, alas!”

  “Alas?”

  “I have not set eyes on him in all the weary months of my office here. We exchange messages, no more. I watch for him with my telescope, as do we all, the commissioners of France, Austria, Prussia; Sir Hudson Lowe, the soldiers of the Fifty-third Regiment posted as sentries. And, from the flashes at his windows, I often think he watches us with his glass. But this is what we see of him, a flash, a movement, a shadow. I sometimes think that the man has become a mirage that we pretend to watch, and tell each other we see, because the alternative is unthinkable.”

  “I see,” Julia answered. Her words fell into a pool of silence. Turning her head, she found that she and the count were the focus of attention for everyone in the room. Sir Hudson Lowe appeared stunned with disbelief that the despised French language was actually being spoken in his drawing room.

  Vacant surprise gave Lady Lowe all the charm of a gaffed fish. Embarrassment held Captain Asbury ramrod stiff, while his lady wore an expression of distress. Rud smiled, though there was an ominous tightness about his eyes. It was her husband who broke the silence.

  “So, you found someone to talk with in your native tongue, my dear? Now, you can be happy.” He turned from Julia to the governor. “You understand, your excellency, that my wife is an American Creole from the city of New Orleans. Her father’s family, though resident for several generations in the new world, was from France. My wife is bilingual, and she also has an understanding of Spanish and a smattering of Latin and Greek.”

  “Ah,” Sir Hudson Lowe commented with a slow nod, though his choleric color did not abate.

  “I beg your pardon if I have offended,” Julia said with as remorseful a smile as she could muster. “So thoughtless of me to go chattering away in a foreign tongue.”

  “No, no, the fault is mine, if fault there is,” the count objected. “It was I who spoke first. Madame Thorpe was merely being polite by answering in kind.”

  “I do wish I could speak more fluently,” the captain’s wife said, her voice shaded with defiance. “One was taught the rudiments, of course, as a child, but there has been so little chance to use it, with the Continent in an uproar these two decades and more.”

  The count leaned forward. “It seems, then, that the emperor, who would have enjoyed seeing the English become a French-speaking people, is to blame that you are all not proficient in the language!”

  Acknowledging chuckles and trills of feminine laughter ran through the room, easing the tension. Sir Hudson Lowe did not so much as smile. In the face of his silent displeasure, it was not long before the gathering began to break up and the guests to take their leave.

  The governor’s own personal carriage, one of the few on the island, transported Julia and Rud, with the captain and his wife, back to the ship. The presence of the coachman on the box above the open barouche inhibited conversation until they were safely aboard the David. Once there, the ladies enjoyed a pleasant half hour of rending the evening apart over a final glass of superior wine. At last, Rud rose to his feet. Julia followed his example, though her legs felt like lead. The time had come when she must be alone with her husband.

  In the cabin, Rud began to undress, stripping off his coat and untying his cravat. Julia put down her reticule of black net and her gloves, and reached up to take the headpiece of black velvet and upstanding ribbons from her hair. They proceeded in silence, each aiding the other. Rud helped with her buttons, and Julia put his coat and shirt studs away so that he would not have to squeeze past her to reach the trunk or the washstand in the small space.

  His broad back was to her when he finally spoke. “Was the count so fascinating that you lost your head this evening, or did you deliberately set out to make the governor suspicious?”

  Julia was not certain she liked the phrasing of the question, but she tried to answer as honestly as possible. “Neither. When the count spoke to me, I had the feeling it was in the nature of a challenge. Anyone who takes the time to listen to me can tell that French is my mother tongue. It seemed to me that it would be just as incriminating to pretend ignorance as to speak it. I had no idea the Russian commissioner intended to make a public display — not that it would have made any difference, for I did not realize Sir Hudson Lowe was so sensitive.”

  “He is not only sensitive, he is almost insanely prejudiced. In addition, he has little liking for the aristocratic Count de Balmain. Please strive to keep that in mind next time, and confine your conversation to the ladies of the company.”

  Julia drew a deep breath. “Very well,” she said distinctly. “I will undertake to do that, if you will accept a word of advice from me. You will be better employed if you would turn your attention to the gentlemen. No man, least of all one bordering on insanity, likes to see another paying particular attention to his wife under his very nose. Of course,” she went on sweetly, “the flirtation might have a certain value if the purpose is to draw the governor’s notice away from your interest in Napoleon. Otherwise, it seems to me that you are unnecessarily endangering the emperor’s chances of escape.”

  “That is ridiculous,” he said, swinging around sharply.

  “No more ridiculous than what you had to say of the Count de Balmain!”

  “The cases are entirely different!”

  “Are they? I fail to see it!”

  “You will find out when Sir Hudson Lowe refuses to issue the permits necessary to get us past the squadron of men and the sentries guarding Napoleon,” Rud grated. Stepping out of his breeches, he slung them in the direction of the trunk and climbed into the extra-wide bunk.

  If she had been more certain of her ground, Julia would have retaliated. Instead, she preferred to affect disdain for his opinion. Following his actions almost exactly, she flung off her under dress and got into bed.

  The bunk was not wide enough for them to share it without touching. They lay in angry discomfort side by side. The boat rocked gently on the tide. Somewhere in the room a fly buzzed, blundering into the walls, aimless and clumsy.

  “You forgot to snuff out the candle,” Rud said after a moment.

  “You always do that,” Julia replied, refusing to look at the taper in its holder on the washstand.

  “That’s because I always get into bed last.”

  “And that,” she answered, “is because you sleep on the outside.”

  With elaborate calm he said, “This time, I am on the inside.”

  “In my place,” Julia agreed in the patient tone one used with the simpleminded.

  Rud came up on one elbow. “Are you going to snuff the candle or not?”

  “It will burn itself out eventually.”

  “This may come as a surprise to you, but this ship does not carry an inexhaustible supply,” Rud said, shifting as his forearm came in contact with the softness of her breast.

  A corner of Julia’s mouth twitched. “Then, when they are all gone, you can sleep in the dark as you please.”

  The wavering candlelight gave a soft sheen to her skin, highlighting the curves of her naked form, while leaving the hollows in mysterious shadow. A reluctant smile rose in his eyes as he let his gaze travel over her. “It’s possible sleeping wasn’t all I had in mind.”

  Their glances met. Somewhere inside her Julia was aware of a sense of unfurling, of the release of tightly held distress. “I can’t think of anything else,” she answered, her eyes wide with shining innocence, “that can’t be done just as well by the light of a candle.”

  11

  There was no need to worry after all. The precious permits were granted on the day before the David was due to sail. There were three of them, one for Rud, one for Julia, and one for M’sieu Robeaud. Since Lady Lowe had ordered the governor’s carriage for a round of afternoon visits and no other was available, they proposed to m
ake the three-and-a-half-mile journey to Longwood by supply wagon. The consignment of food and drink provided by Lord and Lady Holland had been thoroughly gone over by the governor and his minions to be certain it contained no concealed messages. It could now be delivered to the emperor. With a wagon on hand to transport it, it was felt that to demand the use of some other vehicle would call unnecessary attention to their trip.

  Julia knew a qualm or two at the thought of having to tell Napoleon Bonaparte, a man who had ridden in golden carriages of state, that he must escape on the hard board seat of a dray wagon, but it could not be helped, and might even be to the good. Such conveyances were a common sight on the island, and were less likely to attract notice than a carriage bowling along in a cloud of dust.

  In the launch, which took them from the ship anchored in the roadstead to the quay, Julia held her hands tightly clasped in her lap, a lawn handkerchief pressed between her damp palms. At last. At last, the day had arrived, the hour, the moment when Napoleon would be freed. So intense was her excitement that she could scarcely contain it. The effort to do so left her unnaturally stiff and straight in her seat. Once she exchanged a glance with M’sieu Robeaud. He smiled and gave her a slight nod, as if to say that everything was going to be all right. In truth, it did appear to be so. He sat composedly on the seat in a full beard and mustache, wearing the latest thing in fashions for men — a frock coat, a pair of pantaloons which fastened beneath his boots, and a wide-brimmed felt hat. In that garb, he had scant resemblance to the famous figure portrayed in so many paintings in a cocked hat, tailed coat, breeches and boots, and ankle-length cloak. If only the same miracle could be made to take place when they started out on the return journey to the ship!

  The road rose as it left the port of Jamestown, twisting past the governor’s mansion, Plantation House. It turned to skirt the edge of the property overgrown with tamarind, banyan, oak, and willow, known as The Briars, where William Balcombe had lived with his daughter, Betsy. From there, it climbed up to the treeless, barren plateau crowned by the renovated farmhouse called Longwood.

  The building had been chosen for its inaccessibility and for the lack of cover around it. Its isolation was thought to be extremely suitable. Of a single story only, it was built in the shape of a truncated letter T with two small rooms in each wing. Behind it were a few outbuildings which had been adapted for a kitchen, servants’ quarters, and housing for the other members of the emperor’s entourage. A sentry in a gray uniform, looped back with gold lace to show red revers, stood at the end of the drive, while another was stationed at the entrance doors.

  Rud presented their permits to the first sentry. After a careful examination, and a reminder that the time limit of an hour had been set on their visit, they were allowed to pass. The second sentry ignored them, permitting them to step unannounced into the small antechamber at the front of the house.

  Inside, Longwood was no more prepossessing than outside. The walls were covered with tarred canvas, and the carpet on the floor had been tracked over by muddied feet so many times the pattern had been obliterated, worn down to the backing. The draperies at the windows were sun-faded and musty with mildew. The few chairs sitting about the room were crude, obviously handmade on the island. A desk of the same general style held pride of place in the center of the room; an inkstand and a single pewter candlestick occupied its blank surface.

  As they stood undecided just inside the door, a man hurried into the room. “My apologies for keeping you waiting,” he said. “I am the grand marshal of the emperor Napoleon, Count Henri-Gratien Bertrand. May I be of service?”

  The count was not an excitable man. He appraised M’sieu Robeaud, a man he had known well in better days, without the flicker of an eyelid. As Julia raised her hand in a deliberate gesture to the gold bee at her throat, he observed the movement closely, but gave no visible sign that it had significance for him. Outside the door, open to the chance of a breeze stirring in the August heat, the sentry shifted his position with a rasping noise on the grit-covered steps.

  Rud greeted the count with ceremony and gave their names. “We assume that Sir Hudson Lowe’s secretary informed you of our request to see the emperor? We would be greatly honored if he would agree to grant us a brief audience.”

  “Yes, we have been apprised of your coming,” Count Bertrand said, his gaze sliding past them to the broad gray back beyond the doorway, well within earshot. “I must inform you, however, that the emperor has been indisposed for several days. I will inquire if he will receive you, but I can promise nothing. I am sure that, should he consent, you will keep his indisposition in mind and cut short your visit at the least sign of fatigue on his part?”

  “Naturally,” Rud agreed.

  “Very good. If you will pass into the salon and be seated, I will endeavor to see that your wait is a short one.”

  Penetrating deeper into the house, Julia was assailed by the distinct odor of mice. Beneath the settee, on which she gingerly seated herself, was a scattering of what had the look of stuffing material from the piece of Directoire-style furniture, torn from it, no doubt, by rodents. As the footsteps of the count died away and the room grew quiet, they could hear plainly the gnawing of what could only be a large rat in the ceiling above them.

  In this room, some effort had been made toward a civilized manner of living. The chairs and tables had the polished finish and styling of a fine cabinetmaker, the carpet looked to have been added at the time of Napoleon’s occupation of the house, and the walls were papered. And yet, all, including the window hangings, appeared to have been chosen at random without the least attempt to correlate either color or design. Since Napoleon had brought little with him in the way of household goods, Julia could only assume the English were responsible for the resulting hodgepodge. The fact that the wallpaper was peeling and the draperies as mildewed as those in the antechamber only emphasized the appalling conditions the former emperor of the French was forced to endure.

  Julia thought with amazed contempt of the splendors of Plantation House, of the thick, jewel-hued carpets, the beautiful draperies embellished with braid and fringe, cord and tassels, the brilliant chandeliers and polished mirrors, and the exquisite bibelots scattered about. Her mind ran on to the grandeur of Versailles and Malmaison, famous for their marble Boors, gilded furnishings, gold plate, and vaulted ceilings painted with representations of gods and goddesses and emblems of fruitfulness and love.

  There was the possibility that Napoleon might, in the first years of his confinement, have preferred this rat-infested squalor in the hope that reports of it in England would cause a public outcry, forcing the allied commissioners to change his place of exile. At Elba, close enough to Europe to permit frequent visits from his family, he might have been content to await a summons to him from the French nation instead of plotting escape. There was every reason to suppose that the countries which held him prisoner here in such a manner had brought the prospect of more war upon themselves by their harsh attitudes and treatment.

  Count Bertrand permitted himself a smile as he entered the salon once more. With a polite bow, he said, “The emperor will receive you in his study. Follow me, if you please.”

  They came to their feet, galvanized by a sudden, breathtaking rush of expectancy. After all the planning, the expenditure, the weary months of travel and of waiting, they were at last to enter into the presence of the emperor, and to close ranks with him in this great endeavor.

  The grand marshal, Count Bertrand, drew himself up in military precision outside the door of the study. Head high, he turned the knob and pushed into the room. “Captain Rudyard Thorpe, Madame Thorpe née Dupré, and Eugéne François Robeaud!” he intoned.

  The light was dim inside the study, a condition caused by the blankets covering the windows. There was little furniture in the room, only a large table with a fairly comfortable chair behind it. A brace of candles stood on the makeshift desk, posing a constant threat to the papers piled around it an
d the books stacked higher than a man’s head on all sides. Books filled the corners of the room and, without benefit of shelving, lined the walls in terraced rows. Mathematics, geometry, history, law, poetry, novels, Latin classics, Greek plays, books in French and Italian and English, and in the ancient languages; all were well thumbed, and some were ragged and dog-eared like the veterans of military campaigns.

  The Emperor Napoleon stood beside the desk with his feet firmly planted and his hands clasped behind his back. He was dressed in his uniform tunic of dark green, with orders, and white breeches tucked into black knee boots. Of average height for a European male, perhaps five inches under Rud’s imposing six feet, he looked fit and hale, not at all like an invalid. His torso was the muscular one of a horseman and a soldier, with none of the corpulence attributed to him by the English press. His chestnut hair, though receding slightly from his high forehead, was carefully brushed, with a single lock falling forward on his brow. His features were strong, with a classic Roman nose and firmly molded mouth, though the latter was almost concealed by a growth of beard, doubtless the reason for his close confinement of the last few weeks. But it was his eyes, gray-blue and piercing under heavy brows, which drew attention. They burned with the strength of his will and the impatient and consuming fire of his intelligence.

  The two gentlemen bowed, Julia sank into a deep curtsy, and then Napoleon, breaking his regal pose, came toward them.

  “Delighted, madame,” the emperor said, and taking her hand, carried it to his lips. “Captain Thorpe, a pleasure! Ah, and my friend Robeaud!”

  Turning to the Frenchman, he opened his arms wide and clasped Robeaud to him like a brother. Stepping back, he surveyed the other man. A grimace crossed his face as he noted the loose-fitting coat, the pantaloons. “Is this what you have brought me to wear? Ma foi, the sacrifices of dignity one must make!”