Seen together, the men were astonishingly alike, and yet unlike. Robeaud, some ten years younger than the emperor, had the more unlined face. It was even possible that, feature by feature, he was the more handsome of the two, though his teeth were not nearly so good, so white or even, as the emperor’s, and his was the shorter, fuller figure. Still, it was in matters of the spirit that they differed most. Robeaud had the quiescent, but willing air of the soldier awaiting orders, combined with an impression of melancholy, while the man facing him exuded purpose and certainty coupled with the indefinable air of command. There was one other difference. The emperor’s eyes were gray-blue; Robeaud’s were hazel-brown.
With unsteady fingers, Julia reached up to unfasten the gold bee. When the emperor’s attention was free once more, she stepped forward, extending the small piece of jewelry on the palm of her hand.
Napoleon Bonaparte picked it up, glancing at her with a smile in his eyes before he held the bee to the light to examine it. His lips also curved upward as with ceremony he returned the bee to Julia. “There was never any doubt of your identity from the moment I saw my good Robeaud. I am amazed to find him so little changed in these four long years since last we met. Nonetheless, I am happy to see this small token you bring. It is a symbol of supreme loyalty, something of which I stand in great need at this time. I understand your father died on the voyage from America. Accept if you will my most sincere condolences. It is a thousand pities. When I asked him to come, I had great hopes. I could have used such a one at my side in the days ahead.”
Julia murmured some few words of gratitude before the emperor continued, his soft tone becoming brisk once more.
“As you have complied with my request in this small matter of the bee, may I hope that the remainder of my instructions have been carried out as faithfully?”
“They have,” Julia replied, her chest filled with pride that she could make such an affirmation. “The East Indiaman, the David, rests in the harbor, as you must have seen with your glass, waiting to transport you to Rio de Janeiro. There, my husband’s ship, the Sea Jade, stands ready to carry you to Malta.”
“Ah,” the emperor exclaimed, turning to Rud. “You are the American sea captain I specified, then?”
“British-American,” Rud answered, inclining his head.
“British?” Napoleon drew himself up, stiff with displeasure. “I requested a ship of American registry.”
“The Sea Jade is so registered, your majesty,” Rud replied.
Julia, recognizing an undercurrent of hardness in his tone, slanted a quick glance at him.
“It is an armed vessel?” the emperor demanded.
“Yes, your majesty.”
“And you, yourself, do you stand ready to resist boarding by a British vessel?”
“If it should prove necessary, your majesty.”
“Very well, then. I do not like it, but it cannot be helped. One must always be flexible.”
They were interrupted at that moment by a footman in green-and-gold livery who entered with two chairs. Robeaud at once turned his back to the man, moving with an air of intense interest to inspect a volume in the pile of books on his right. It was a sensible precaution, especially for the man whose safety depended on his impersonation of the emperor going undetected. Only a chosen few must know of the exchange. It would not do for the entire household, comprising above thirty serving people, to be privy to the secret. If that were the case, the whole island would soon know.
“Now we may be comfortable,” Count Bertrand said as he pointed out where the chairs were to be placed. “Or, as comfortable as it is possible to be among so many volumes. You must forgive the confusion. The roof of the library gave way the other day, and we could not let the books be spoiled by rain.”
The idle chatter ceased the instant the door closed behind the footman. The grand marshal cleared his throat. “I do not like to rush you, your majesty, but it seems to me the sooner this business is done, the better.”
“You are right, my dear Bertrand. Come, Robeaud, I can give you what instruction I must while we exchange our apparel. If it is somewhat sparse by your lights, you need not worry. The excuse of illness has been carefully prepared, and should give you time to become comfortable once more in your role. You will have Count Bertrand at your hand, and also the Count and Countess de Montholon, to offer you support.”
At the door to the next room, which was presumably his bedchamber, Napoleon paused. “Captain, Madame Thorpe, you will forgive me, I hope. We shall have much time to become better acquainted in the next few weeks. During my absence, Count Bertrand will be your host. He has, I believe, ordered what passes with us as an English tea.”
They were served tarts filled with fruit, buns glazed with sugar or frosted with chocolate and then sprinkled with slivered almonds, and cakes filled with cream or lemon-flavored gel. Julia could not eat. She toyed with a demitasse of strong coffee, her nerves tightly strung in anticipation of the ordeal which still lay in front of them. Her thoughts turned to her father, the pride and joy he would have felt in this moment if he had lived. How fragile a thing was life, more fragile than the tiny china cup in her hand. It required very little to put an end to hopes, dreams, and ambitions.
Before the coffee had grown cold in her cup, the door burst open. A woman in the vicinity of forty years of age, with blonde hair and a raddled complexion only partially concealed by paint, strode into the room. Behind her came a man, expostulating at every step.
“You cannot do this, my dear,” he was saying. “I positively forbid it. You will make him angry.”
“What do I care for his anger if he is leaving us?” the woman cried.
Count Bertrand got to his feet with alacrity and moved to close the door. “My dear Albine,” he said. “This is unseemly. Would you spoil everything?”
“I saw the man who was supposed to come from my window. I changed my gown and waited for the summons, waited for the honor of the last goodbye. Do not mouth to me of spoiling the great man’s plans! If he can have so little consideration of what is due to me, and my husband, then why should I have consideration for him?”
“Madame!” Count Bertrand exclaimed.
“My dear,” her husband, the Count de Montholon, pleaded.
The door into the adjoining bedchamber swung open. The emperor, attired in pantaloons, linen shirt, and cravat, and just shrugging into his snuff-colored frock coat with pewter buttons and velvet lapels, emerged. “What is this noise?” he demanded. “Silence at once!”
“Your majesty,” the Countess de Montholon said piteously.
“Albine, it is you. I should have known. You have come to say your farewell. Very well. Let it be brief. Let all our farewells be brief.”
The woman would have flown into his arms. Instead, he grasped her hand, saluting it. Turning to her husband, he gave him the Gallic embrace, then did the same with Count Bertrand. “My friends, we have gone over what must be done many times. There is no need to repeat it. I commend my friend Robeaud to you. You will be to him, you must be to him, as you have been to me. He will have need of your aid, much need, but he will appreciate it, as I have appreciated your companionship and loyalty in these dark years. I regret that I must leave you behind now, but I ask you to have faith that I will not let you linger here one moment longer than necessary. Until we meet again—”
Taking up the hat Robeaud had left on his chair, Napoleon moved at once to the door. At that moment, M’sieu Robeaud emerged from the bedchamber, dressed in the emperor’s somewhat snug uniform. It sat so ill upon him, compared to the way Napoleon had worn it, that Julia felt a pang of dismay. She knew that the emperor’s valet, Marchand, could be depended upon to rectify the fit, but the quiet man she had come to know so well aboard ship had so much the look of a forlorn, costumed figure after a masquerade that tears rose into her throat. On impulse, she ran to him and flung her arms about his neck.
“There,” he said gently, patting her shoulder. �
�Do not distress yourself, ma chére. I am content.”
Julia knew that it was so, and yet, it hurt to smile and turn and leave him. Her vision was blurred as she joined Rud and the emperor and passed with them out the door.
Exercising the right and privilege of a monarch, Napoleon took the lead, striding swiftly before them. Julia caught her bottom lip in her teeth, reluctant to speak. One did not correct an emperor with impunity.
“M’sieu Robeaud?” she called, as loudly as she dared.
He gave no sign that he heard. They were passing now from the salon into the antechamber. In a moment, they would be within sight of the sentry. The man on duty could not be blamed if he thought it odd, even suspicious, that a gentleman supposed to be of no particular importance should precede a lady out of the door.
“M’sieu!” she said again, then with a harried look in Rud’s direction, she ran forward and caught the arm of Napoleon Bonaparte. By setting her heels, she halted his progress.
He swung on her in amazed anger, then caught the appeal in her amber eyes and her quick nod in the direction of the sentry. The emperor smiled, and with a flourish of the broad-brimmed hat in his hand, indicated that they would continue at a more moderate pace together.
They passed the first sentry without incident, the emperor choosing that moment of emergence into the outside world to clamp his hat upon his head. Strolling composedly, they moved down the walk, drawing farther and farther from the house. The second sentry nodded and gave them a good afternoon. While Napoleon escorted Julia to the far side of the wagon and helped her to climb in over the wheel, Rud exchanged a comment or two with the man on duty. When Julia and the emperor were settled, he took the whip from its holder, touched it to his hat brim in farewell, and mounted to the driver’s seat.
There had been no time to mention to the emperor that he would be expected to make his escape in a dray wagon. Julia almost expected to hear him refuse to lower his dignity so much. But no, he occupied his portion of the seat as if he had never known any other form of transportation.
During their absence within the house, the wagon had been unloaded. The comfortable, obscuring bulk of crates and barrels was gone. As Rud gave his horses the office to start and they rattled away down the drive, Julia felt as though dozens of eyes were riveted upon her back. The feeling did not subside until they had reached the roadway and rounded a wide curve, leaving Longwood behind them on its hill.
Even then, she could not entirely relax, nor, judging from the stiff way in which they sat their seats, could the men on either side of her. Sir Hudson Lowe’s semaphore posts stood about the island like giant sentinels, enormous cyclopean monsters with one red eye glittering in the rays of the setting sun. Julia stared at each one as they wheeled past. Was it blinking out a message of Napoleon’s escape? Would soldiers suddenly appear on the road before them? The signal that Boney had escaped was reputed to be a blue flag in addition to the signals, or so the island gossip said. No blue flag flapped in the trade wind, but this did not ease Julia’s mind. The gossips could be wrong.
The streets of Jamestown were hot and crowded, and yet, no one, it seemed, had anything to do except sit on the side of the road and watch wagons roll by.
Soldiers. They stood on the quay, a pair of them in regimental uniform, their backs to the town as they stared out at the David at anchor. As the wagon came to a halt, they turned and started toward it, their faces serious.
“Your pardon, sir, but are you Captain Rudyard Thorpe?”
Rud answered in the affirmative.
“We have permits to visit with friends aboard the ship on which you are sailing. We are told that the launch tied up here at the quay is at your disposal, awaiting your return. We wondered — that is — we would like to request permission to make the trip out to the ship with you, if it would not be an inconvenience, sir.”
There was more than enough room in the launch, even with the seamen who had been assigned to man the oars. Lack of room could not be used as an excuse to deny the two soldiers a place. There seemed, in fact, no reasonable grounds for refusing them. Rud had only a brief moment to form an answer.
“Certainly,” he replied, “if you don’t mind taking the forward seat. My wife cannot bear sea spray in her face, and my friend here is susceptible to seasickness if he has to endure the greater movement in the prow.”
“We aren’t choosy,” the soldier replied with a grin, only barely suppressing a salute. “Thank you, sir.”
It was as good a compromise as any. Facing forward, they would not be able to spend the short passage studying the emperor. With any luck, they would be off to find their friends the instant their feet touched the deck of the David.
Julia, settling herself upon her own hard boat seat, allowed a small sigh to escape her lips. Rud, as slight as the sound was, glanced at her, his eyes darkening with concern at the paleness of her face. Uncaring of the others, he reached out and drew her against him, absorbing the shock of the incoming waves as they crossed them.
Events turned out much as expected. By the time Julia stood on the deck of the David, the two young soldiers had vanished. Rud went below at once with the emperor to show him the way to M’sieu Robeaud’s cabin. He would remain closeted with him for at least an hour, putting him in possession of the facts, bringing him up to date on matters going forward in London, and giving him a thorough grounding in the layout of the ship and the passengers he should recognize. Then, Rud must return to Plantation House, where he would be expected to give a thorough report of everything that had, supposedly, passed between the emperor and his party.
Julia made her way alone to her cabin. Her head ached with a steady throb from the strain of the past few hours, and she felt a heaviness within herself so debilitating that she could hardly put one foot in front of the other. She should have been exhilarated, delirious with joy at the success of their mission. Instead, she only felt deathly tired. Her one desire was to shut herself away from prying eyes and weep.
The David sailed on the morning tide. Since Rud was once more with the emperor, Julia stood by herself at the rail, watching the sunburned island of St. Helena grow smaller with distance. Lost in her own thoughts, it was some time before she became aware of the man who moved to stand beside her. It was only when he spoke that she turned her attention in his direction.
“A miserable place,” the Count de Balmain said. “I am sure that, after only a few days, you are as happy as I to see the last of it.”
“You!” she said, and was at once aware of the inanity of the word.
“Even so. I told you I would be traveling to Rio, did I not?”
“I never dreamed that you meant it,” she said frankly.
“It was, I must confess, a somewhat sudden move.” As he spoke, he lifted the telescope he held in his hand to his eye. From this distance Longwood, desolate upon its plateau, could just be seen. The searching eye on his glass turned in that direction. “I understand you were admitted into the presence of the emperor yesterday afternoon,” the count continued.
“That is correct.”
“How I envy you,” he said, bringing the telescope down and closing it with a snap.
“Perhaps, when you return, you will have such an opportunity.” Julia did not look at him, but turned to stare out to sea, so that the frame of her gray straw bonnet hid her face.
“Shall I return? I wonder. I am of the opinion that there is nothing on the island of interest anymore.”
An enigmatic shading in his voice sent alarm coursing along Julia’s veins. She turned her head sharply. “What?”
A smile lit his dark eyes as they met hers. “I mean, of course, since you are not staying,” he replied.
Julia was not convinced, but it would not do to pay too much heed to his odd statement. “That is not a polite thing to say to a married woman. In any case, I rather thought you found Lady Lowe’s stepdaughter something more than interesting.”
“You are most observant,” he
said, his gaze narrowing, “and also most intelligent.”
“And quite unsusceptible to flattery,” she answered, laughing. But, despite their banter, there was tension between them. It was an uncomfortable feeling, one she had no wish to prolong. As soon as she could without seeming abrupt or in flight from him, Julia left him and returned to her cabin.
Contrary to her expectation, Count Alexander de Balmain did not prove a matter for concern during the eighteen hundred miles of the voyage to the coast of South America. For the first few days, her free time was given over to the alteration of Robeaud’s wardrobe to fit the emperor. The pantaloons had to be taken in at the waist and lengthened considerably. This last was not so difficult; the necessity had been foreseen and provision had been made for it by the London tailor who had made the clothing. Still, it was a trying period. The emperor was more than a little particular as to fit, and Rud was not the most skilled wielder of a measuring tape.
No sooner had this task been accomplished than they began to run into bad weather. The squalls of rain and wind were enough to make her keep to her cabin, but she also fell victim, for the first time in all their traveling, to the malaise and nausea of seasickness. She was able to keep nothing, but a little water and dry toast down, and she was overpoweringly sensitive to every odor that wafted about the ship. Her nerves were on edge and her temper uncertain. She came to hate the interminable motion of the frigate as it plowed on and on over the ocean. It seemed their voyaging would never end, and it did not help to know that when they reached Rio, they must turn about and make the long sea trek back toward Europe.
Rud was kindness itself during this period, but he could not seem to understand that all she wanted was to be left alone to lie as quiet and as still as possible. She did not want vinegar in water, his sovereign remedy for what ailed her, nor did she want beef broth, coffee, tea, or chocolate.
“Please,” she said, swallowing against the bile at the back of her throat caused by the mere mention of such things. “I don’t want anything.”
Love and Adventure Collection - Part 1 (Love and Adventure Boxed Sets) Page 23