we were not allowed through until a substantial sum of money had changed hands, after which we continued on to Lyons, where we stayed for two nights to recover from the rigours of travel. Although one is sitting in a coach for most of the day, it is still incredibly tiring. The jolting on badly-maintained roads, the tedious halts at post-houses while the horses are changed, and the dubious nature of some of the accommodations, are quite exhausting. At this time of the year there is also the weather to deal with, and in spite of my furs and the bags of heated semolina that Sir Anthony was kind enough to procure for me to warm my hands and feet, the cold does take its toll.
Shortly before Lyons, it started to snow heavily, so we cut short our journey and put up at a small inn for the night. It was, thankfully, warm, due to a large log fire in the main room, which was consequently crowded. Unfortunately a small pony, who had been left untied outside, kept expressing his desire for shelter by butting open the door of the inn with his nose, letting in flurries of snow and a howling wind. The sensible thing would have been to go and stable him, but the landlord, not wishing to venture out into the snow, contented himself with closing the badly-latched door in the face of the unfortunate animal, which after a few minutes would repeat its performance. After several repetitions we moved from our seat near the door into the interior of the room.
It was as well that they had moved into the shadows. Five minutes later the door had opened again to a general groan from the company, but instead of the chestnut nose and soft pleading eyes of the pony, in had come a heavily cloaked and hooded man, brushing the snow off his shoulders and stamping his booted feet before entering the room.
Sir Anthony observed the traveller, who threw back his hood as the landlord approached him. The baronet started visibly, then leaned over to Angus and hurriedly whispered at some length into his ear, relying on the chatter and general noise to cover up what he was saying. Angus stood, and taking an extremely circuitous route round the room, finally approached the stocky red-headed stranger from the other side. Beth leaned forward to get a better look at the man, who now greeted her brother-in-law with recognition, although not affection. A sharp tug on her arm pulled her back into the shadows.
“Really, my dear, the noise and the smoke in this room are giving me the most dreadful headache. Why don’t we retire to our chamber? Jim will ask the landlord if he will be so kind as to provide us with a hot meal of some sort. I really feel quite unwell.”
Unwilling as she was to forsake the warmth of the common room, which was just starting to dislodge the cold from her bones, she knew an intrigue when she saw one. The landlord was now talking to the newcomer, who was shaking his head and moving across to a table, his face pale and lined with exhaustion. Angus took up the conversation on the stranger’s behalf, and that was all she saw before Sir Anthony led her up the wooden staircase to their small, but at least clean, bedroom. There he had explained, his breath forming small clouds in the frosty room, that the man was William MacGregor, or Drummond, of Balhaldie, chief by election of the MacGregor clan, although in Alex’s view not fully worthy of the title, and that he knew both Alex and Angus well enough for it to be inadvisable that he meet the former in his present disguise.
“I thought you were supposed to show complete obedience and loyalty to your chief,” Beth observed.
Sir Anthony, as he still was, looked at her wryly. He would not take off his paint until full dark tonight. Whilst no one would be eavesdropping on their conversation from the next room, as at Mann’s, it was highly likely that someone could barge in at any moment. Not least the landlord, with the much wished-for hot meal.
“Angus has been talking to you, I see,” he said. “That’s true, but it’s a two way relationship. The Balhaldies were elected chief just before the ’15, although there were disputes at the time about their right and seniority and many of the clansmen, myself included, don’t acknowledge him as chief. And it was not the Balhaldie of the time, but Rob Roy MacGregor who took the leadership in the rising.” He stood up and paced around the small room in an attempt to warm himself. Beth huddled deeper into her fur-lined cloak. “We just don’t see eye to eye, that’s all,” he said. “I think that James and Charles should know the truth about the level of support they have in France and Britain, and that without strong French support, the English Jacobites, and many of the Scots too, will absolutely not rise. I also think they should know that Louis is a devious bastard who will always look to his own interests first and will only invade England if it’s to his personal advantage to do so.”
“Which it is, at the moment, because he wants revenge for the British victory at Dettingen,” Beth said.
“Possibly,” her husband acknowledged. “But I still don’t trust Louis, and won’t believe he’s sincere until James is sitting in London with the crown on his head.”
The conversation was interrupted by the appearance of the somewhat harried landlord, who was carrying two bowls of steaming onion soup and a long loaf of bread. A few sticks of firewood were tucked under his arm, which he proceeded to stack in the bare grate haphazardly, before lighting them and disappearing. The couple took their bowls and sat on the wooden floor by the hearth, to take full advantage of the meagre heat.
“So how does Balhaldie’s view differ from yours, then?” she asked. The soup was good.
“He’s very eager for a fight. So eager, that I strongly suspect he’s been greatly exaggerating the level of support James can expect, hoping to incite him to action. Which in my view, and that of many others I might add, is not a good thing. I’d rather wait another ten years for a successful invasion, than have an immediate failure. If James, or more likely Charles, attempts to take the throne without French help, the country will not support him in sufficient numbers. I tell him that, every time I see him.”
“Surely that’s all right, then? Charles certainly trusts you.”
“Yes, he does. But Balhaldie gets to see him more often than I do. And he tells the prince what he wants to hear, that his subjects are loyal and oppressed, and only waiting for him to land on British soil to sweep away the hated German tyrant and restore the Stuarts to their proper place.” His voice was heavy with sarcasm.
“You really don’t like your disputed chief much, do you?” Beth commented.
“His loyalty’s not in doubt, which is more than can be said for many a chief. Lovat, the Fraser chief, for one. But he’s dangerous, and no, I don’t like him that much. Murray of Broughton hates him, and it certainly doesn’t help the cause to have its chief protagonists constantly bickering with each other.”
Angus entered at this point, his cheeks rosy with warmth from the fire below. He eyed Beth’s pinched face and red-tipped nose with some sympathy.
“He’s no’ staying,” he explained, to his brother’s relief. “Ye can go back down an ye want. Christ, it’s cold enough in here tae freeze your…ah…”
“Balls off?” Beth suggested. She smiled at the expression on Angus’s face. “One day, I hope, you’ll get to meet Graeme,” she said. “And when you do, you’ll understand why there’s little you can say of that nature that will shock me.”
“What did you find out?” Alex asked.
“No’ as much as I’d hoped,” Angus admitted. “He was awfu’ close-mouthed. But he was verra cold, and the brandy here is surprisingly fine. You owe me…”
“Yes, I’ll pay you later,” said Alex impatiently, retaining his crisp English accent, but not the flouncing manner. “What did he tell you?”
“No’ a great deal in words. But he’s tired, verra tired. He’s travelled hard, without stopping more than necessary, and he’s heading over the Alps to Italy, then south. I mentioned that I’d just come that way myself, and he was particularly interested in the state of the passes, and the number and nature of the people I’d met. He also wanted to know about the quarantine regulations, how strict they were. He’s hurrying. He didna even ask me what I was doing travelling through Italy, which I w
as grateful for, as I couldna think of a good reason myself. What he couldna resist saying was that he’s got an important message for King James and the prince from a great ally of his, and he tellt me to hold myself in good readiness.”
“Louis,” said Alex immediately. “But why would Louis tell Charles what he was planning, if he wants to keep it secret? He might tell James, because if he intends to invade without the prince, he would need documentation from James supporting the invasion to convince the British supporters to rise.”
“Would King James not tell his son?” Beth asked.
“Not if Louis told him not to. James is far more cautious than his son. He does everything by the book. He will see the sense in Charles staying in Rome until the invasion is launched and there’s no more need for secrecy. But he knows Charles will not. So he won’t tell him.”
“Why do you look so worried then?” Beth asked, looking at the two brothers, who wore identical frowns.
“Because if James won’t tell his son that the invasion is a reality, and imminent, Balhaldie certainly will. And a lot more besides, I shouldna wonder,” Angus had said.
Concentrate. She would never finish her letter if she let her mind wander after every sentence.
Although the rooms were clean, they were not heated. That was the coldest night I have ever spent. But now we are in Paris, and our lodgings are very comfortable and warm. It would have been a great surprise to encounter Lord and Lady Winter and Miss Maynard, had you not advised me in your letter that they were also travelling in France. We met with them yesterday, and will travel to Versailles together tomorrow, making a very merry party, I am sure.
She sighed. Might as well get all the lies over with at once.
I am very pleased to hear that Richard has received his Cornet’s commission, and looks to be promoted to Lieutenant in the very near future. Of course, as I am sure you know, Sir Anthony had provided the funds for the Lieutenant’s commission, but I did not expect he would achieve this rank so soon.
Commissions only became available when the previous holder died, retired, or bought himself a higher commission, leaving all those below him to move up, if they had the requisite funds. Maybe Richard had quietly done away with his superior. He was certainly capable of it. She would put nothing past him.
I am sorry to have missed him, but find it interesting that he has seen fit to return to our old home during the winter period, when there is no fighting to be done. I am certain he will find everything in order, as the servants are excellent, and that he will take the time to make a few improvements to the building, which is in urgent need of a new roof. I am sure he will be busy once the spring comes, with the war in Europe showing no signs of concluding soon.
She certainly hoped he would be busy, losing against the French in England.
I am sure that Lady Winter will inform you of the wonders of Versailles, and whether the Court is really as corrupt as we have heard. I will also of course write to you again, and Sir Anthony and I will certainly pay you a visit upon our return. It goes without saying that I would not be now enjoying the wonders of Europe had you not launched me into society in the first place, enabling me to attract the attention of a man such as Sir Anthony. You cannot know how grateful I am.
Or how horrified they would be if they truly knew why she was so grateful.
I remain,
Your loving cousin, Elizabeth.
* * *
“I must say,” sniffed Lord Winter. “If one wished to put forward a case against an absolutist Catholic monarchy, one could not do better than to conduct one’s argument here.” He scowled around the beautifully sculptured gardens of the Versailles orangery with their neat paths and central fountain, rainbow-hued in the winter sunshine, as if he expected at any moment to be accosted by a flock of priests brandishing crucifixes, heaven-bent on converting the heathen. The palms and oleanders together with the pomegranate, Eugenia and orange trees, placed in the gardens in the summer, were now housed in great vaulted galleries which ran round three sides of the garden. “The ridiculous waste of countless millions of livres in order to house a corrupt family in tasteless splendour is insanity itself,” he complained.
They had just completed a perfunctory tour of the Palace of Versailles. A lengthy tour would take weeks, Beth thought. The stables alone, Sir Anthony had pointed out in twittering ecstasy, could accommodate twelve thousand horses.
“Really, my dear, one could spend days just enjoying the gardens, without even entering the chateau at all!” he had said.
Nevertheless, they had entered it and wandered around the public rooms, which were full of tourists, who seemed to be allowed to go anywhere at will, clattering across the parquet floors, commenting on the innumerable marble statues and exquisite wall paintings, and surreptitiously stealing silk tassels and gold braid from the curtains and tapestries as souvenirs. Although the royal family themselves were not in evidence at the moment, Lord and Lady Winter assured the company that when they were, the tourists treated them as just another attraction, crowding round to watch them eat, or dress. Or so they had heard.
Beth sighed. She seemed to be sighing a lot this morning. Probably because she was by now aware that of the three of them, she had by far the worst task, although it had not seemed to be the case yesterday, when they had sat in their Parisian accommodation and hatched their plan for today.
“We must remember at all times that our ultimate aim is to find this Henri,” Alex had reminded his wife and brother. “Because we dinna ken what the man looks like, we must listen for anyone wi’ a sibilant ‘s’, and then find a way of asking his name. Our best chance is to get intae the palace, but it’ll no’ be easy, as I havena the contacts.”
“I thought anyone could get into the palace,” Beth said. “Isn’t the place constantly full of tourists?”
He shot her a disparaging look.
“Aye,” he said. “But I dinna think we’re likely to encounter a trusted employee of the king’s wandering around chatting to the tourists. It’s possible, but I doubt it. No, we have a far better chance if we can get intae the palace as guests. We need to get ourselves invited to a function of some sort, where we can chat to the courtiers, and find out more.”
“I should be able tae get into the servant’s quarters, without too much trouble,” Angus said confidently. There was no doubt his confidence was well placed. Any servant girl he exercised his charm on whilst waiting for his master and mistress to finish their lengthy tour would be sure to invite him somewhere before too long. Alex nodded.
“I need to talk to any courtiers I see around when we’re touring tomorrow, see if I can procure an invitation of some sort. It’d be a damn sight easier if we were no’ with the Winters and that limpet Maynard lassie.”
“What do you want me to do?” Beth asked.
“You might try chatting to any female courtiers you see. Maybe ye’ll get yourself an invitation to the Queen’s rooms,” Angus suggested.
“No, that would be nae good at all,” Alex said. “She never attends any functions. The king and queen dinna get along. Ye’d be better trying tae make the acquaintance of one of his many mistresses. They have far more influence wi’ Louis than his wife does.”
Beth frowned.
“I don’t think I’d have much success with women of that sort,” she said. “Society women don’t seem to like me very much. No matter how hard I try, I think they realise that I’m not that interested in the things they like.”
The two men looked at her. Slender, curved in all the right places. Perfect face. And the hair… It was all too clear why women disliked her.
“Ye really have no idea of just how beautiful you are, do ye?” Alex said.
“Oh, that.” The fine brows drew together over the cornflower blue eyes in a frown. Not the normal reaction from a woman who’s just been told she’s beautiful. “Yes, of course I do. It’s a damn nuisance. Everyone judges me by the way I look. I often wish I were ugly. At least I
might be taken seriously, then.”
Instead she was taken in an impulsive bear hug by Alex, and then soundly kissed, which drove all the breath from her lungs, and nearly all thought from her mind. That he would have followed through on his affectionate impulse was clear from his dilated pupils and the darkening of the irises to a deep, smoky blue. But Angus was there watching, approving, amused.
“I do love you,” Alex contented himself with saying instead. “But aye, you’re right. Maybe ye can occupy Lord and Lady Winter then, and prise Anne off me if I see someone, gie me the chance to have a wee blether with them.”
And so she had. And had indeed had to link her arm forcibly through Anne’s in a firm gesture of friendliness to stop her following the baronet as he coo’eed his way across the orangery and round the circular pond towards a startled courtier dressed in sumptuous blue velvet.
“There are so many practical uses to which such an enormous sum of money could have been better put.” Lord Winter continued his criticism of the French king’s extravagance.
Anne, deprived of her baronet, now turned her simpering attentions on the only other male present.
“Indeed you are right, my lord,” she said. “There are so many fine art works decaying in damp buildings, and classical monuments in need of maintenance. You would think the king would spend his money on far more tasteful things.”
I will not say anything provocative, Beth determined. She agreed with her acquaintance to some extent, although having travelled through the poverty ridden villages of France, restoring monuments was not top of her list of more worthwhile royal expenditure.
“Like waging war on Britain?” She could not resist it. Pompous men like Edward and Lord Winter brought out the worst in her.
Lord Winter favoured her with a scathing look.
“I hardly think waging war on us would be tasteful, do you, Lady Elizabeth?” he replied condescendingly.
The Mask Revealed (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 2) Page 21