Love’s Betrayal (46 page)

She drew her shawl closer around her shoulders and turned away from his crude gaze.

Paper crackled. “The apple orchard at midnight.” Mr. Pringle sounded displeased. “Difficult to conceal men there, but we shall have to contrive a way. If you give this spy so much as a hint of warning, I shall shoot you down like a … a frog. It is fitting that a frog should find you appealing. One large mouth must attract another.”

“Mr. Pringle!” Marianne stepped into the room, her face crimson. “How cruel! You are no gentleman to speak so to a lady.”

Chagrin flitted across his face. “This is no lady. She is a spy, Marianne—a spy who betrayed her husband and her country. Such a woman deserves no courtesy.”

Georgette produced a sob and a few tears. Burying her face in her hands, she rushed out of the room and upstairs, pausing to catch her breath on the first landing. To her surprise, Marianne had followed her.

“Darling Gigi! How your heart must be breaking!” Marianne led the way into her own drawing room and closed the door.

Georgette sighed. “Marianne, why must life be so confusing? Why does God allow certain prayers to remain unanswered?”

“He answers every prayer, Gigi, but sometimes His answer is ‘no' or ‘wait.' From our limited perspective, these prayers appear unanswered. Do you love this Frog so much? I thought you loved Mr. LaTournay.”

“But I do! Oh Marianne, I cannot explain.”

Marianne sat on a settee and patted the seat. “Is the Frog handsome?” she asked as Georgette sat down.

A twinge of jealousy pinched Georgette. Then she nearly laughed aloud at her own folly. “His face is always concealed. He is a tall, active man with a beautiful voice. He speaks of love to me in French.”

In French.
How blind she was! Georgette decided that had she been married to Jean-Maurice when first she met the Frog, he would not have deceived her so easily. He would not have deceived her at all.

“I detect tenderness for him in your voice.” Marianne sounded close to tears. “Do you wish me to warn him in some way? I could ride to meet him at the ferry and warn him away.”

So Marianne wished to impress the dashing Frog, did she? Georgette savored the power of possession. “I cannot allow you to endanger yourself. Besides, how can I convince Mr. LaTournay of my faithfulness to him unless I betray the spy?”

“But, Gigi, Mr. Pringle has twenty-five men ready to seize the Frog tonight. They plan a public hanging.”

Fear licked like flames at Georgette's confidence. What did Jean-Maurice plan to do? Only now did it occur to her to wonder why he planned to meet her in the orchard. Would he needlessly expose himself to danger? She shook her head. “He has always escaped their traps before. I pray he will find a way of escape tonight.”

“I, too, will pray for his safety,” Marianne whispered.

Before he left the house at eleven that night, Pringle gave Georgette explicit instructions about when, where, and how she should leave the house and make her way to the orchard. “We will be watching you, and any deviation from the plan will cost you dearly.” He narrowed his eyes. “Any hint of warning, and that Frog of yours takes twenty-five musket balls in his gut.
My
shot just might miss its target and find you.”

“I understand.”

Marianne and Georgette held hands and prayed while they waited for time to pass. Georgette heard running horses outside. Would Jean-Maurice be prepared for this unfriendly welcome? Surely he did not depend solely on the Grenville servants to protect him. Why bother coming at all? What ulterior motive directed his movements?

Several shots rang out. Men shouted. Horses neighed.

The women exchanged startled stares. Running to an upstairs bedroom window, Marianne and Georgette looked toward the Jamaica road, seeing torches and milling figures. Georgette's mother and Mrs. Grenville joined them.

“What has happened?” Mr. Grenville spoke from the bedroom doorway. Receiving no answer, he pushed his way to the window. “Something has gone awry. This disturbance would alert the enemy.”

Calling for a servant, he stormed from the room and thundered downstairs. Out in the road, the torches moved slowly into the distance and disappeared from sight.

The women followed him, conjecturing among themselves. Georgette checked the grandfather clock in the front hall. Soon it would be her appointed time to meet the Frog in the orchard. Would the meeting ever take place?

A liveried man rushed through the front door, bent to gasp for breath with his hands on his knees, then ran into the parlor. The women followed him, hoping to overhear his news.

“What is it, Toby? Stop puffing and tell me what you have discovered,” Mr. Grenville ordered.

The man struggled for breath. “I run clear from the crossroads, suh. Mr. Pringle's men, they was captured by a band of associators. They be taken back to New York City tonight. Mr. Pringle, he went crazy and shot the leader spy, the one he calls the Frog. Then somebody shot Mr. Pringle, but he ain't hurt bad. Somebody carried that Frogman off somewheres, but nobody knows what become of 'im or who he was.”

Neither is there salvation in any other: for there is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved.

A
CTS
4:12

G
eorgette lowered herself into a chair and laid her head back.

Dear Lord God, I beseech You to protect my husband and bring him home to me. Jean-Maurice believes he is doing right in Your eyes, I am certain. Forgive his unbelief and make Yourself known to him in an unmistakable way. Please make me worthy.

The Grenvilles and Georgette's parents discussed the subverted plan in hushed tones. Marianne brought Georgette a cup of chocolate and knelt at her feet, looking up with worried eyes. Georgette held her cup with one hand and reached to squeeze Marianne's hand with the other. “I am certain Mr. Pringle will recover. Toby's report indicated that he was not seriously injured.”

“Yes, but the Frog.” Tears turned Marianne's eyes into sparkling blue pools. “He was so brave and daring. No wonder you loved him. I wish such a man would take interest in me.”

“You speak as though he were dead.” Georgette snatched her hand back and sipped at her chocolate. “I do not believe it.” The enormous lump in her throat could not be swallowed or ignored.

“I pray you are right.” Marianne inspected her fidgeting fingers. “You say you never saw his face, yet you loved him. Did he ever kiss you, Georgette?”

Georgette lifted a brow. “How romantic you have become, Marianne. At first he only touched my hands, but his voice held a passion that set my soul aflame. He called me ‘ma belle grenooj' or something like that.”

Marianne's forehead wrinkled. “‘My beautiful frog'? But he was the Frog, not you. Are you certain he said ‘grenouille'?”

Georgette wanted to laugh and cry at once. The rogue! How dared he call her a frog! Setting down her chocolate, she rose with a rustle of petticoats to walk across the room. She covered her lips with one hand and propped her elbow with the other, her old habit. Did Jean-Maurice think her mouth too large? Or did he call her his frog because he had always intended her to be his mate—one frog admiring another?

Her thoughts flitted from one concern to another. Small wonder he had been secretive all these months of their marriage. Georgette recalled several instances when she had reviled Whig leaders and condemned the revolutionary forces. How could Jean-Maurice know that his wife loved him far more than she cared about politics? Whatever course he decided upon was the right choice as far as Georgette was concerned, knowing as she did that her husband would dedicate himself to no cause without careful deliberation.

In the wee hours of the morning, Georgette retired to her chamber and drew the curtains around the cold bed. Tonight she would receive no visit from an audacious frog. Still praying for her husband's safety and salvation, she drifted into sleep.

Just past noon the following day, while Georgette sat knitting in the parlor in the company of her parents and the Grenvilles, the servant Toby burst into the room. “Mr. Grenville, suh!”

“What is it, Toby?” Mr. Grenville growled, looking up from his newspaper.

“Mr. LaTournay—he rides up the lane.”

Georgette's father sat up, knocking his wig askew. “Ah! Hope returns with him.” Casting a burning glare upon Georgette, he ordered, “You will do and say nothing to further alienate the man.”

“Yes, Father.” Georgette could scarcely conceal her elation. Her Frog was alive and well! Clasping her hands amid the folds of her gown, she strove to control her breathing. The lace ruffles upon her breast rose and fell much too violently. Staring at her lap, she reminded herself of the role she must play: the penitent wife.

The front door opened, voices sounded, and footsteps crossed the hall. Mr. LaTournay paused in the parlor doorway. Georgette took in a quick breath. Flawless attire and polished boots proclaimed him the fine gentleman, although a stray lock of hair dangled beside one of his high cheekbones. She resumed breathing with conscious effort.

“Welcome, LaTournay.” Mr. Grenville bowed and offered a chair. “Your return signifies the return of hope to this household. You are no doubt aware of the attack upon our loyal citizens? Pringle has been taken captive. A dram of whiskey to dispel the chill?”

Mr. LaTournay bowed to the ladies, accepted the chair, and declined the drink. “Take heart. City leaders are already protesting the detainment of your townspeople. I doubt their incarceration will be of long duration. A more significant loss was the cache of gunpowder hidden in Mr. Johannes Smythe's barn. Had you heard of that calamity? The Whigs confiscated all.”

“And Pringle's plot to capture that infamous Frog spy has been foiled,” Mrs. Grenville added. “Do you think Mr. Pringle is badly injured?”

“I had not heard that his injury was severe. Some say he killed the Frog; others say the spy escaped unscathed.” Mr. LaTournay held his hands to the fire, leaning his elbows upon his widespread knees. Georgette thought his face looked pale.

“A ship sails for England next week,” her father said.

Mr. LaTournay studied his father-in-law dispassionately. “Whether or not you sail on that ship depends upon your daughter. I hear she took part in Pringle's plot to apprehend the spy. Was her participation voluntary? That is the pertinent question.”

His enigmatic gaze turned upon Georgette. Despite her certainty, doubts assailed her. Jean-Maurice was the Frog … wasn't he? Could it be possible that he possessed a double, a twin? Who was this hostile stranger, after all?

“I—I wrote a note to bring the Frog here. It is not my fault that the plot failed.”

His fixed stare brought heat to her face. “I shall never betray you, Mr. LaTournay,” she added. Somewhere behind that forbidding mask must lurk her Jean-Maurice.

A sneer curled his lip. “Never—as long as I never turn my back upon you. We shall discuss this matter further in private.” His voice held an ominous note. Georgette heard Marianne inhale sharply.

LaTournay rose. “Talbot, almost I am tempted to send your daughter back to England with you until this military conflict ends, but that would not serve my purposes. She will do penance at my pleasure. I shall purchase passage for you and Mrs. Talbot before my return north.” He turned to Mrs. Grenville and Georgette's white-faced mother. “Pardon my blunt speech, ladies. Disillusionment brings out the worst in a man. I promise that my wife will suffer no physical harm, Mrs. Talbot; you need not fear.”

Mrs. Grenville sputtered into speech. “You are always welcome to lodge here, Mr. LaTournay. The third-floor chamber still awaits your pleasure.”

“I am grateful for your hospitality.” His burning gaze once more focused upon Georgette. “Hence I shall retire until dinner. Mrs. LaTournay, you will accompany me.”