Lady Vengeance

by Melinda Hammond

  ‘Your sainted mother would be pleased to see you wearing colours again, Miss Nell,’ said Hannah, her face brightening as she helped her mistress into bed. ‘Perhaps some good has come of this night after all is said and done. Talking can do a deal of good, and mayhap your ghost is laid to rest.’

  Elinor lay back against the soft pillows, her green eyes glinting.

  ‘Not quite,’ she said softly, ‘but I hope he soon may be.’

  * * * *

  Madame de Sange rose from her bed very early the following morning and issued her orders: she would see no one but her coiffeuse, and the dressmakers, milliners and the most fashionable mantua-makers in Paris that passed through the Hôtel de Sange in a constant stream. When at last she emerged once more into the Paris street a few days later, gone were the grey cloak and gown, replaced with a morning robe in emerald-green lustring and a cream woollen shawl thrown over her arm as a precaution lest any chill breeze should suddenly spring up. Her hair, previously dressed in thick powdered curls, was now pinned up neatly under a wide-brimmed straw hat, with little tawny ringlets framing her face. Today, however, this transformation was not for the benefit of any society acquaintance. Madame de Sange stepped up into her waiting coach and was borne away to the outskirts of Paris, where she could indulge in her favourite past-time. It was her habit, on fine days, to take her carriage to a small wooded glade where she could alight and walk undisturbed beside a stream that meandered through the trees. There she felt at peace. On this particular morning Elinor revelled in the solitude, for the past days had been so busy that she was glad of a respite to collect her thoughts. It was with some annoyance therefore that she observed a figure before her on the path. As she drew closer, she recognized the tall figure of Viscount Davenham. He sketched a bow as she came up to him.

  ‘Good day to you, Madame de Sange.’

  ‘Sir, I come here to be alone. Pray be so good as to go on your way.’

  He raised his brows at her direct speech.

  ‘I am sorry if I interrupt you.’

  ‘You do interrupt me. Good day, sir!’

  ‘Pray, hear me, Madame,’ he cried, walking beside her. ‘I have called at your house a dozen times since the Briàre’s soirée and on each occasion you have refused to see me.’

  ‘With good reason. I have been engaged.’

  ‘Then allow me now but a few moments of your time.’

  ‘No.’

  She walked on briskly, hoping he would turn back and leave her in peace. However, she soon realized that he had fallen into step behind her. He followed her in silence for some time, then:

  ‘Faith, spirit,’ she heard him say, ‘whither wander you? Do you go, perhaps, like Shakespeare’s fairy, over hill, over dale, thorough bush, thorough brier to serve some fairy queen?’ receiving no answer, he continued in a conversational tone, ‘It is exceeding pleasant here, is it not? The trees provide us with their leafy shade, birds delight us with their song and a stream too, a veritable paradise. I vow I could walk on forever. Indeed, I am beginning to think I shall be obliged to do so.’

  Elinor stopped and turned to face him, trying to hide a smile.

  ‘My lord, upon first meeting you, I discovered that you liked to converse with blocks of stone – granite, was it not? Now I find you talking to yourself!’

  ‘The latter case is easily remedied, ma’am.’

  ‘Is there nothing I can say that will persuade you to go away?’

  ‘No, Madame, nothing.’

  ‘Then faith, sir, I must capitulate. You may walk back with me to my carriage.’

  ‘Would you not care to stroll on a little further?’ he asked her hopefully.

  Quelling any desire to prolong their meeting, Elinor turned her steps resolutely back the way she had come.

  ‘How did you know I would be here, Lord Davenham?’

  ‘After trying unsuccessfully to call upon you, I made a few enquiries and discovered that you walked here most mornings.’

  ‘Have you then been here, lying in wait for me?’

  ‘Oh no. As I told you, I have tried each day to gain entry to your hôtel and having failed to do so, I watched for your carriage.’

  ‘And did your sources fail to inform you that I detest company on my walks?’

  ‘They told me of it, but I thought I should succeed.’

  ‘Oh?’ When he did not speak, curiosity forced her to ask, ‘Why should you think you would succeed when others had failed?’

  ‘Because we are both English. I learned from my informants that you came to France as a child. Thus, we have something in common.’

  There was a pause and glancing down at the lady, my lord was somewhat surprised to see the look of annoyance upon her countenance. When at last she spoke her voice was low and taut.

  ‘You are mistaken, sir. I no longer consider myself English, nor do I have any affection for that country.’

  ‘Do you never come to England now?’

  ‘No, never.’

  ‘Then how can you be so sure you would not like it there?’

  ‘My lord, I pray you will not question me too deeply. Let is suffice that England holds for me – unpleasant memories.’

  He stopped, obliging her to halt beside him. ‘Then I would wish, Madame, that you would but take the trouble to come to London, and mayhap we could replace those memories with something a little happier.’

  She shook her head, keeping her eyes lowered. ‘I doubt you could do that.’

  ‘I would willingly take up the challenge.’

  With a tiny shake of her head Elinor resumed her walk.

  ‘No. I am sorry. It will not do.’ She spoke firmly. ‘I have given you enough of my time, sir. You may escort me back to my carriage, if you so choose, but then I must ask that you do not trouble me again.’

  ‘I must in any event return to England at the end of the month, surely there could be no harm –’

  ‘No!’ she cried, stopping once more. ‘It cannot be. I have other plans.’ She drew a deep, steadying breath and looked up at him, forcing herself to meet his puzzled eyes squarely. ‘I am sorry for it, my lord. If it were not for –’ she broke off, then tried again. ‘There are things that I must do. A course of action that I must follow, and it allows no room for – other interests, my lord.’

  ‘What,’ he smiled at her. ‘Are you about to take orders and enter a nunnery?’

  ‘It would be all the same for you, sir, if I were,’ she told him earnestly. ‘Pray believe me, there is no place for you here.’

  Steadily she faced him, returning look for look. At length Davenham shrugged.

  ‘Very well, Madame. I can see you are resolved, and I will trouble you no further.’ He smiled again, this time a little wryly. ‘A pity, mistress, for I believe we should deal extremely well together.’

  Elinor held out her hand but would not meet his eyes. She said softly, ‘I am sorry.’

  The viscount took the outstretched fingers and lifted them briefly to his lips.

  ‘So too am I,’ he replied, then, without another word, he turned and strode off, leaving the lady to make her way back to her carriage alone.

  Chapter Five

  A gentleman is in peril of his life, and a lady of her soul.

  Madame de Sange dressed with care for the masquerade at the noble residence of M. Charrière, choosing a gown of gold-coloured silk embellished with quantities of blond lace and clasping about her neck the magnificent de Sange diamonds which had remained in their case since her husband’s demise. She completed her costume with a voluminous cloak of dark green and an elaborate gilded head-dress. Surveying her reflection in the mirror, Elinor allowed herself a smile: no one would recognize her – faith, with nothing more than her mouth and chin visible beneath the head-dress she hardly knew herself! Elinor shivered, but it was not the anticipation of an enjoyable evening that caused her to tremble. Her sole purpose was to confront Julian Poyntz, and she foresaw little pleasure in the encounter.

/>   The Charrière family was one of the very few in Paris that Philibert de Sange had deigned to recognize and his widow knew the house well. She moved confidently up the wide sweeping staircase to the ballroom, her nervousness gone now that she was so close to her goal. The room was already crowded, and very hot, and Elinor was glad to take a glass of champagne from a hovering servant. There was no sign of Poyntz, but she was not unduly worried: it was early yet. The dancing commenced and at once the ballroom seemed full of swirling, laughing couples. She watched them somewhat enviously, and took a second glass of champagne. An undignified collision between several of the dancers caused her to laugh out loud and a tall figure in a black domino immediately turned to stare at her. Unaware of this scrutiny, Elinor sipped at her glass, her foot tapping in time to the music.

  ‘Your pardon, Madame, but it is against the rules of the house for any guest to merely observe the dancing,’ remarked the gentleman in the black domino, removing her half-empty glass and setting it aside. Then, without waiting for a reply he led her onto the dance-floor. They were already dancing before Elinor had realized where she had heard his voice before.

  ‘English manners, my Lord Davenham?’

  He smiled, squeezing her hand, while through the slits of his mask his blue eyes glittered, causing her heart to pound in a most alarming way.

  ‘I fear a hesitant approach would have met with a refusal.’

  Since she could not make a denial, Elinor remained silent, allowing herself to enjoy the music and the dance. The viscount was a good dancer, expertly guiding his partner through the steps of the courante, avoiding collisions that were always a danger in such a crowded room. The atmosphere was exhilarating, and Elinor found herself in such harmony with her partner that she readily agreed to remain with him for the galliard, subduing her conscience with the thought that even if Julian Poyntz had arrived, it was still too early in the evening to approach him. The orchestra was playing a very lively tune, and many of the dancers whooped and shrieked as they whirled about the room, taking advantage of their disguises to abandon formality. Elinor and the viscount danced amongst them, twirling and skipping so fast that Elinor felt her senses reeling and when at last the music came to an end, she was obliged to lean against her partner for fear of losing her balance.

  ‘Sweet heaven, my lord, I have not danced like that for many a year!’ She laughed, allowing him to lead her from the floor.

  ‘But you danced perfectly. I would have said you were used to dancing every night.’

  ‘Flatterer!’ She tapped his arm with her fan before unfurling it and vigorously fanning her glowing cheeks. Observing this, Lord Davenham led the lady towards an embrasure where the glass doors had been opened to allow a little air into the ballroom. Breaking away from her partner, Elinor stepped out onto the terrace, thankful to feel the cool night air upon her heated skin.

  ‘I cannot think when I have enjoyed myself so much,’ she remarked as the viscount came up beside her. ‘When I set out tonight I had no anticipation that the evening would be so pleasant.’ She turned to face him, smiling. ‘Thank you, my lord.’

  She saw the gleam of his teeth as he smiled back at her.

  ‘I told you we should deal well together, did I not, Madame de Sange?’

  Before Elinor could reply, he had removed his mask and bent his head to kiss her, locking her into a crushing embrace. Elinor’s blood raced. For a few seconds she returned his kiss with equal fervour, pressing her body hard against him. Then reality swept back upon her and she struggled to push him away.

  ‘No!’ she freed herself and stepped back, her hands out before her to keep him away. ‘That should not have happened!’

  ‘Would you tell me you did not want me to kiss you?’

  ‘Yes, no – oh I wish you would go away!’ Elinor pressed a kerchief to her lips with a trembling hand. ‘It was the champagne and the dancing – you took advantage of me!’ His laughter made her angry and she stamped her foot at him. ‘You are no gentleman, sir, to treat me thus!’ her voice trembled as she fought to hold her tears.

  The laughter died from his face and Davenham stared at her in amazement.

  ‘By God, you are serious!’

  Elinor drew a deep breath. With scarcely a tremor in her voice she replied: ‘I have already told you sir, you waste your time with me. I enjoyed our dance, but I have no further use for you!’ Looking up as she finished this speech, she trembled at the angry look in the viscount’s eyes. For an instant she wondered if he might strike her, and in her heart she would not have blamed him, for her words had been insulting, calculated to repulse, but he made no move towards her. His lips had set into a thin line, and without another word he made her a stiff little bow, turned on his heel and strode back into the ballroom. As soon as he had gone Elinor felt the tears welling up, but she blinked them away, resolving not to give in to such weakness. Besides, she told herself sternly, she had not yet accomplished what she had set out to do – she must put this silly incident out of her mind, for all her courage would be required for the task ahead.

  * * * *

  When Julian Poyntz and the Duc du Bellay arrived at the Charrière residence, the promised masquerade was in full swing. Du Bellay had provided his guest with a grey domino and mask, and both gentlemen donned their disguises before entering the ballroom. Mr Poyntz, already mellowed by the duc’s generous dinner, found the noise and excitement intoxicating and was soon swept up in the dancing from which he emerged some time later feeling very hot and not a little thirsty. There was no sign of du Bellay, so Poyntz set off alone in search of some refreshment, making his way to an adjoining salon where a magnificent supper had been laid out. The main passion of Mr Poyntz’s life was food and he gazed rapturously upon the feast.

  It was some time later that he reappeared in the ballroom, having sampled almost every dish and refilled his glass with more of his host’s excellent wine. He stood gazing with a detached interest at the dancers until he became aware of a tall figure in a black domino standing but a short distance away. Poyntz recognized the gentleman, despite his disguise and, tossing off his wine, he bestirred himself to speak.

  ‘Lord Davenham – servant, sir.’ He sketched a small bow. ‘Thought I’d see you here. Dashed glad to be able to converse in English, too!’

  ‘It was always my expressed intention to attend tonight.’

  Hearing the cold tone, Mr Poyntz wondered who could be responsible for putting the viscount into such a black mood. He tried to dismiss Lord Davenham’s obvious ill-humour with a nervous little laugh.

  ‘Yes well, I’ve been thinking over the little matter we were talking of –’

  ‘Have you, perhaps, some information for me?’

  ‘Perhaps, perhaps,’ murmured Poyntz warily, ‘but it has occurred to me that it might be safer to take up residence here in Paris and to say nothing.’

  The viscount bowed, apparently unmoved.

  ‘As you wish, sir, although I am informed that His Majesty’s government would not be – ah – ungenerous to one who helped them in this matter. Also, one must remember,’ - he paused to brush a speck of dust from one velvet sleeve - ‘when a traitor falls, his accomplices are liable to fall with him.’

  ‘Wait! I own I would be pleased to be out of it, after all these years,’ muttered Poyntz, almost to himself. ‘Oh very well!’ he added decidedly. ‘I will call upon you here tomorrow, my lord, with your permission?’

  ‘Certainly, sir. I shall look forward to it.’

  The viscount moved off and Mr Poyntz returned his attention to the dancing, where the excitement was now much more intense. A figure suddenly appeared beside him, a lady swathed in a large cloak of green and gold, with a gilded head-dress that concealed all of her hair and half her face, save for a dainty chin and a pair of cherry-red lips that now smiled invitingly. She pulled him into the whirl of dancers and Poyntz entered into the spirit of the occasion, gallantly leading his partner around the floor and performing the rig
audon as energetically as was possible for a man of his stature, but after a few minutes he drew her to one side, wheezing and panting from the exertion.

  ‘A- a thousand – apologies, madam, but – I must rest – not as young as I was!’

  ‘It matters not, monsieur. Let us take a glass of wine together.’

  He stared as the masked face, frowning. The lady’s English was perfect, with scarcely a trace of accent.

  ‘Have we not met before? I would swear I know your voice.’

  ‘Oh, ‘tis quite possible, m’sieur.’ The lady’s eyes glittered through the slits of her mask, a warm smile curving her red lips.

  ‘Come then. Let us sit here while I try to discover your identity!’ cried the gentleman gaily. He led his partner to a vacant sofa, provided two glasses of champagne and spent a very pleasant half-hour in dalliance with his mysterious partner.

  Nothing could have exceeded the lady’s amiability: She gently flattered him, laughing at his attempts to name her and ensuring that he was kept supplied with drink. The gentleman pushed his round, flushed face close to hers.

  ‘Well, this I will say, madam! You’re dam’ - dashed good company, whoever you may be!’ He stumbled over his words, but the hand gripping her knee was very sure.

  She did not move away, and through the slits of her mask the green eyes were inviting.

  ‘It will soon be time for the unmasking,’ she said softly. ‘A pity that it is so noisy here. Shall we find a quieter spot in which to declare ourselves?’

  There was no mistaking the eagerness in the gentleman’s voice as he agreed. The lady led the way out of the crowded ballroom and along a corridor to the wide staircase. By the time they reached the next floor the noise from the ballroom was but a distant murmur.