by Stella Riley
D’Auxerre’s frown became more pronounced.
‘An Englishman?’
‘I have that honour. And you are?’
‘Philippe de Mantignon, Marquis d’Auxerre,’ came the clipped response.
‘Delighted,’ lied Ashley. And bowed again.
The Marquis managed something that was little more than a nod.
‘May I ask what you are doing in this house?’
‘You may ask. One wonders, however, why it should interest you.’
There was a long, unpleasant silence during which Ashley decided that the look in the fellow’s eyes spoke of knives on a dark night. Finally, the Marquis said, ‘I understood that Mademoiselle de Galzain lived here.’
‘She does – as do a number of other people.
‘Including yourself?’
‘Including myself,’ agreed Ashley with a deliberately provoking smile. ‘For the time being.’
‘I see. How soon, then, will you be leaving?’
‘Who can say? Here today and gone tomorrow, perhaps. Or then again – not.’ His tone was a nice blend of urbanity and discreet mockery. ‘However. If you were looking for Mademoiselle, I fear you are doomed to disappointment.’
‘She’s not here?’
‘A fitting with her dressmaker, I believe. You could wait, of course. But for all I know, she may go directly to the theatre.’
‘There is no rehearsal today,’ snapped d’Auxerre abruptly.
‘No? I’m afraid I don’t concern myself with these things.’
‘And what things do you concern yourself with, Colonel?’
‘Those which are purely my own affair,’ replied Ashley. And left the obvious implication hanging delicately in the air.
The Marquis reached for his hat, his mouth curling unpleasantly.
‘If you can manage that, sir, you will save yourself a great deal of trouble.’
Recognising the threat, Colonel Peverell subdued an urge to pin the fellow to the wall and said idly, ‘I daresay that may be true.’
‘You can be sure of it. But I’ll take up no more of your time.’ He nodded again and moved to the door. ‘Please tell Mademoiselle that I called.’
‘Certainly.’ Ashley followed, determined to see him safely off the premises. ‘I’m sure she will be desolate to have missed you.’
The dark eyes swung back to him with an expression of acute dislike.
‘My business and hers, Colonel. I recommend that you bear it in mind.’
The Marquis stepped over the threshold and Ashley shut the door behind him. Then, thoughtfully and without haste, he made his way back to the courtyard.
Still rigid with tension, Athenais said, ‘Has he gone?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank God! And thank you, too.’
‘My pleasure. I didn’t take to the gentleman.’
‘He’s not a gentleman,’ she said acidly. ‘He’s a nobleman.’
‘The two shouldn’t be mutually exclusive.’ He paused and then said slowly, ‘I’m told the gossips are linking your name with his. I believe they’re laying bets on how long you’ll stay out of his bed.’
‘Merde!’ said Athenais bitterly. And sat down with a bump.
Torn between sympathy and amusement, Ashley sat beside her and said, ‘Tell me about it.’
‘Why? You can’t help. No one can. Unless you’d like to push him down a deep well?’
‘It’s a thought,’ he agreed. And waited.
She stared searchingly at him, guessing that he probably knew most of it anyway. Finally, drawing a deep breath, she said, ‘He wants me to be his mistress and won’t take no for an answer. If I don’t give in, he says he’ll kill my career in the theatre.’
‘Can he?’
‘Oh yes. He has influence and a great deal of money. He can put pressure on Monsieur Laroque to dismiss me and on Floridor at the Bourgogne not to take me on. He could hire folk to jeer and throw things every time I walk on-stage. He could threaten or bribe half of my colleagues to make me look ridiculous in performance. He could even,’ she finished bitterly, ‘persuade the Cardinal to close the theatre down completely for a time.’
‘I see.’ Ashley swallowed the nasty taste in his mouth. ‘It seems an inordinate amount of trouble for a woman who doesn’t want him. At least, I’m presuming you don’t?’
‘No. I don’t. Aside from there being something about him that – that actually repels me, I don’t want to start earning my living on my back.’ She paused and spread her hands, sounding suddenly weary. ‘I’m not a prude – or stupid. I know the other girls do it and that everyone thinks actresses are whores. But once you step on to that road, there’s no end to it. And I don’t see why I should sell my body if I don’t choose to.’
Silence, punctuated only by the call of a pigeon, filled the little garden. Holding his anger in check, Ashley said tightly, ‘You’re right. He isn’t a gentleman. If he was, he wouldn’t be trying to force you – and he has absolutely no right to do so.’
‘He doesn’t need it. And, though I don’t want to give in … if it comes down to a choice between him and my career, I’ll have to.’
An odd, wholly unfamiliar sensation took place in Ashley’s chest. With some effort, he restrained himself from taking her hands in his and, keeping his tone light, said, ‘Then we’ll have to see that it doesn’t come to that, won’t we? Stay out of his way as much as you can and, if he becomes importunate, I presume you know how to use your knee to good effect. And if that doesn’t do the trick, come to me.’
Athenais shook her head, touched that he would offer help but knowing better than to let him. She said, ‘No. It’s kind of you – but no. You shouldn’t involve yourself. He’s got too many friends and the Cardinal standing behind him. If you got in his way, there’s no saying what he’d do. The man is dangerous. More so than you’d think.’
‘Is he?’ Colonel Peverell stood up and smiled disquietingly down on her. ‘So, as it happens, am I.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
THREE
Over the next couple of days, Ashley spent some very enjoyable moments imagining bouncing the Marquis d’Auxerre off numerous hard surfaces, notably his own fists, or using his sword to put a few holes in him. The prospect of smashing something went a little way towards lifting his spirits. Sadly, the mere prospect wasn’t nearly enough.
He felt as though he was in a cage. A year ago, he’d been as tolerant and well-adjusted as anyone and more so than most. Now, with impatience enveloping every nerve and sinew like bindweed, he could feel his temper becoming daily more uncertain. And, worrying as that was, the most alarming fact of all was that he couldn’t see any way of changing it. A month ago, no one he spoke to seemed to think that there was either point or value in reviving the Cause. Everyone counselled caution and a further period of waiting. England as a whole, they said, was sick of upheaval and the few Royalists left there needed more time to recover from the aftermath of Worcester. Nothing, they agreed in solo and chorus, could be achieved yet. And eventually, after banging his head against a series of identical brick walls, Ashley had come to the depressing conclusion that the only man who might just manage to transform the gloomy talk into action was Prince Rupert. And Rupert, unfortunately, was somewhere in the Caribbean, playing at pirates.
And so, as day succeeded day, Ashley felt himself starting to resemble a coiled spring which had been wound too tightly. For the most part, he managed to control his tongue and create a façade of near-normality; but the pointless feelings he now cherished for Athenais, coupled with the threat hanging over her from the Marquis reduced the façade to the thinness of paper, under which violence boiled and simmered.
And then, quite by accident, he found a legitimate channel for his ill-humour.
Rising early one morning, he entered the kitchen to find Jem Barker and Archie Stott snoring over the table amidst over-turned tankards, empty bottles and pipe-ash. The room stank like a tavern at the end of a busy night. For
perhaps half a minute, Colonel Peverell stood in the doorway, absorbing the scene with steadily rising anger. Then, with the suddenness of a tornado, he went into action.
Having thrown the windows wide, he advanced first on Mr Barker and, taking hold of his collar, hauled him outside into the yard. By the time the first icy douche of water hit his neck, Jem was already beginning to come round but Ashley didn’t let that stop him. His hands biting like the teeth of a steel trap, he continued to hold his sodden, shivering henchman under the pump until he was satisfied that – though on the brink of drowning – Jem was fully conscious. Then, heaving him upright, he stared into the bloodshot gaze for an acutely unpleasant moment before releasing his grip long enough to deliver a single crashing blow to the jaw.
Jem went hurtling backwards, collided painfully with the log-pile and subsided on the cobbles. It took him a few seconds to recover his breath and decide, by means of cautious massage, that his jaw wasn’t actually broken. Finally, in somewhat muffled accents, he said protestingly, ‘Sodding hell, Captain! What --?’
‘Colonel,’ corrected Ashley, his voice sheathed in the iced silk of incipient danger. ‘I am a Colonel. Try, if you will, to remember it. On the other hand, if you intend to become a walking sponge, you will find it more comfortable to do so out of my orbit. In short, if you’re going to make this sort of thing a habit, I’m done with you. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Clear enough,’ muttered Jem sulkily.
‘Good. Now get out of my sight and make yourself presentable,’ snapped Ashley. And turning on his heel, he strode back to the kitchen to deal with Mr Stott.
Archie, being blessed with a larger capacity even than Jem, took longer to rouse and, by the time he did so, Ashley’s arm was aching from operating the pump. Eventually, however, he let the older man slide to the ground in a confused, retching heap; and when the worst of the shuddering had stopped, said cuttingly, ‘Someone told me you were a soldier. They lied.’
Archie looked blearily up into the cold face of his tormentor.
‘Wh-what?’
‘You heard. If you’d ever been a soldier, you’d have more backbone.’
Archie shook his head to clear it.
‘I was a soldier. In the German wars.’
‘Then I can only assume that either you were a damned bad one or your commanding officers weren’t fussy. Speaking for myself, I prefer to leave tavern-floor sweepings where they lie.’
‘You cheeky young bugger!’ Archie began the laborious process of levering himself upright and promptly discovered that he wanted to be sick. Telling himself that he’d die sooner than vomit in front of this razor-tongued bastard, he said, ‘Who the ’ell do you think you’re talking to?’
Folding his arms, Ashley looked down on him with total contempt.
‘The dregs at the bottom of a wine-vat. In the short time I’ve been here, you’ve been crapulous six nights out of seven. No wonder your daughter is ashamed of you. You’re a total bloody disgrace. And if you weren’t completely spineless or had any brain worth mentioning, you’d --’
He side-stepped as Mr Stott came hurtling down on him and casually extended one booted foot to send the other man thudding to the ground. Then, as if nothing had occurred, he continued blightingly, ‘You’d realise just what a useless, slovenly old fool you’ve become and try to do something about it. Beginning, I would suggest, with staying sober for more than an hour at a time.’
Archie pulled himself up on one elbow and opened his mouth to retaliate. It was a mistake. Unable to control his insides any longer, he threw up.
‘Oh hell,’ breathed Ashley disgustedly. ‘That’s all it needed.’ And simultaneously became aware of Pauline Fleury watching from the doorway.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, carefully modifying his tone, Ashley said, ‘How long have you been there?’
‘Long enough.’ Her tone was non-committal but the hazel eyes, had he been close enough to see, held a glimmer of approval.
‘My apologies, then.’ He gestured to Archie. ‘I’ll see to this – and to the mess in the kitchen, too, if you’ll give me a minute.’
It was the first time they’d had anything approaching a proper conversation and Pauline surveyed him thoughtfully. He was still pale with temper and a pulse was hammering in his throat. She said, ‘There’s no need for that.’
‘Since my servant is partly to blame, there is. But I think you’ll find he won’t make the same mistake again.’
Having passed Jem in the kitchen, drenched and clutching a swelling jaw, Pauline didn’t think he would either. A rare smile dawned and she said, ‘You don’t mess about, do you?’
‘No.’ He paused, sounding suddenly tired. ‘No. But I don’t usually make my point with my fists.’
‘I never supposed you did. But don’t start regretting it. That man of yours will thank you, if he’s got any sense. As for this drunken old fart – he’s probably past saving. Certainly, he never listens to Athenais. But I reckon he just might pay some attention to you … if, that is, you could be bothered to take the trouble.’
There was a long silence. And then, ‘Miracles,’ remarked Ashley, reaching for a bucket with which to sluice down both Archie and the cobbles, ‘are a little out of my line. But I’ll do what I can.’
‘Good. Well, in that case, you can leave the kitchen to Suzon and me. And by the time you’ve shaved and put on a dry shirt, there’ll be some breakfast for you.’ Pauline eyed him pleasantly but in a way that brooked no argument. ‘Half an hour, Colonel.’
By the time he returned to the kitchen, the freshly-scrubbed table was set with bread, cheese and ale. Swathed in a spotless white apron, Pauline stood at the range, expertly frying slices of ham while the maid tripped in and out, removing the last of the debris. As Ashley hesitated in the doorway, Pauline cast him a brief glance and said, ‘Sit down. This won’t be long. Personally, I think meat for breakfast is a barbarous custom – but you’re English, of course.’
Without moving, Ashley said, ‘It’s very kind of you, Madame. But --’
‘It’s a couple of slices of ham – not a ten-course banquet.’ She transferred the meat from pan to platter and set it on the table. Then, facing him with her hands on her hips and an indulgently acidulous smile, ‘If you’re wondering about Athenais – she won’t stir for at least another hour. So sit down and eat.’
It was unmistakably an order. Ashley sat.
For a time, she left him to eat while she moved about the kitchen setting various things to rights and turning over various possibilities in her mind. Then, when his plate was almost empty, she sat down opposite him and said, ‘This can’t be much of a life for you. Is there no alternative?’
His mouth twisted wryly.
‘None that I can see. There’s nothing for me in England – even supposing I’d go there under the present regime.’
‘Aside from the fact that your King’s in exile from it, what’s wrong with the present regime?’
‘Nearly everything. Repression, mostly … and idiotic priorities, given the state of the country after years of civil war. For example, in the last few months – rather than spend their time dealing with the things that really matter – the remnants of the so-called Parliament have passed laws against swearing, profanity and adultery.’ He paused and then, because of what she’d witnessed in the yard, said, ‘Not that I’ve any particular desire to curse, blaspheme or fornicate – but I strongly object to the principle. The playhouses are closed, the Maypoles have been burned and Christmas was cancelled some time ago. People are being told how to act and think and live. And I suspect it’s going to get worse rather than better.’
‘So where does that leave you personally?’
‘Me? I’m thirty-one years old. I’ve no money, no occupation and no prospect of either. Inactivity doesn’t suit me – with the result that my temper has become … unreliable. Worst of all, I don’t know how to mend it.’ He stood up. ‘I’m sorry. You don’t ne
ed to hear this. I’m only saying it because you’ve seen for yourself how --’
‘You’re saying it because I asked you. Sit down.’
Once again, he found himself obeying her. She was a remarkable woman, he thought; and quite possibly the only person with whom he could imagine having this conversation. He waited to see what she would say next. It wasn’t what he expected.
‘But for the war, what would your life have been?’
‘I don’t know. Ordinary, I suppose.’ He thought. ‘I’m a younger son so I’d have had to take up some profession anyway and, like as not, it would have been soldiering. I’d expected to marry … but, after my father died, my brother turned his coat to the winning side and the girl in question decided that he was the better bet.’
‘That must have hurt.’
He shrugged. ‘It was a long time ago. And it was probably for the best.’
‘For you, maybe. But unless your brother has the edge on you in the ways that count with women, I’d be surprised if she hasn’t sometimes regretted it.’ Pauline surveyed him critically and then, half-smiling, said, ‘You wouldn’t have been easily forgettable, I imagine.’
He laughed. ‘Merci, Madame. But looks aren’t everything.’
‘I know that – and it’s not all I meant. But looks count for a great deal. Consider Athenais, for example. She’s got where she is through hard work, determination and talent. But if she’d been ugly, she’d never have got the chance. And if you want proof, you’ve only to look at me.’
Ashley had been looking. One side of her face was cameo-perfect … the other, sadly flawed. She had once been an extraordinarily attractive woman and the contrast her mirror showed her must be hard to bear. He said gently, ‘What happened?’
‘Two moments of carelessness – one mine and the other, the driver of a loaded-dray,’ came the economic and dispassionate reply. ‘That was six years ago. I was twenty-six and, though I shouldn’t say so myself, the best actress in Paris. Now I attend to various matters at the theatre and give Froissart quantities of advice which he sometimes listens to.’ She paused, as if the conversation had arrived at some predestined point. ‘I take it your fighting skills don’t end with your fists?’