Patricia Wynn (2 page)

“Tell me what I can do for you,” Lord Harleston said gently, but the older man waved it aside.

“Not yet. That can wait. Tell me what is going on in Paris.” His tired eyes lit with eagerness.

Lord Harleston grinned. He had not forgotten his captain’s appetite for gossip, or his dandyish ways. Pulling a chair closer to the bed, he sat and began to relate the on-dits he knew would appeal most to the old gentleman.

“Bacon and Arnold of the 10th and Sir Charles Smith have introduced four-in-hand teams to Paris,” he said after bringing the captain up to date on their old corps. “They meet near the Cafe de Paris and drive to the Boulevard Beaumarchais, and then back to the new archway they are building, the Arc de Triomphe. They seem to be drawing quite a crowd. Of course, Sir Charles takes up one or two beauties to ride beside him,” he added.

“The idiots!” said Captain Johnstone, laughing and then lapsing into a cough. The paroxysm lasted an alarmingly long time before it subsided, and when it did he spoke in a weaker voice. “Won’t be happy, I suppose, until they’ve broken their fool necks.”

“They’ve got up a bit of horse racing, too. It’s somewhat better than the French races, which look like a contest between the Gendarmes and the National Guard. The mounted police follow so closely after the horses that sometimes they finish before them.” Lord Harleston was rewarded with another chuckle.

“What are they wearing?”

“The fashions are not at all what one sees in London. The men’s coats are invariably blue or black and strangely made. They hang down to the ankles and are baggily cut.”

The old man’s eyebrows rose with a suggestion of distaste. “And the ladies?”

“Scanty skirts, quite short, with little or no waist. Enormous, unattractive bonnets which protrude a distance from the face
—and fans.

“I went to a soiree the other evening in the Rue de Clichy
—Lady Oxford’s. You would scarcely believe the number of English in Paris now, and half of them, it seemed, were at her
hôtel.”
He went on to list some of the guests. “And they are all, at least the men, frequenting the Salon des Étrangers and the Palais Royal.”

The pale hand grasped his again eagerly. “Tell me about the Palais Royal.”

Lord Harleston suppressed a smile. “Very well. The houses
—and there are a vast number of them—are all pretty much the same. The ground floor of one, I remember, was occupied by a jeweller, and his stock consisted of the finest gems I’ve ever seen. Diamonds and rubies of almost unbelievable size. Then, upstairs, on the first floor, were the gaming tables.”

“What do they play?”

“Mostly
rouge et noir
and roulette. You find every class of person around them, from the King of Prussia to the workman throwing away his last sou. The tables are usually separated by class, of course, but there is something for everyone.” He spoke quietly and without enthusiasm, not liking the feverish look in the older man’s eyes. “And up above that are the ladies.”

Some of the glaze disappeared from the captain’s stare, and he lifted his eyebrows at his young friend. “Want to tell me about the ladies?” he asked.

Lord Harleston laughed. “I’d better not, sir. But I will tell you that they live in a style of splendour that has much to do with the activities below.”

Captain Johnstone nodded. He seemed wearier suddenly. Lord Harleston watched him for a while without speaking, wondering what regrets, if any, were passing through the older man’s head. After a moment, the captain patted his hand weakly and gave him a sober look.

“You must be wondering why I wrote to you,” he started, watching for the baron’s reaction with some concern. The young peer returned his grasp firmly.

“I am ready to do whatever it is you need of me,” was the simple answer.

Captain Johnstone stared at him a moment more, but seemed reassured. Finally he spoke, “It is Susan.”

“Miss Johnstone?” Lord Harleston said. Since seeing the captain’s daughter, he had privately come to the conclusion that she must be the subject of the letter he had received. But Miss Johnstone was already of an age—he guessed her to be about twenty-five—that she could not be made his responsibility. And he suspected that she had not been told of the letter because she would not have sent it had she known its purpose. He spoke hesitantly, “Monsieur Rénard mentioned there was nothing left...”

The captain nodded. “Did he tell you the bailiff nabbed me?”

Lord Harleston’s brow clouded. “You went to prison?” The thought distressed him.

“Yes. I signed up to be a member of the Fleet.” Captain Johnstone’s eyes twinkled again as he repeated the old joke. “Three months on board for a bit of whitewashing. Water under the bridge.”

“And you came here afterwards?”

The old man shook his head slowly and a glimmer of pride lit his eyes. Then he said, “Susan sprang me.”

Lord Harleston started. “She
what?”

The captain’s eyes danced. “She smuggled me out. Took me out on a white pony and made straight for the coast. Had a ship all ready and waiting, and we were on the high seas before I could blink an eye. She must have been saving every penny I’d sent her to pull it off.” He chuckled.

“Did she, by God!” Lord Harleston was still stunned. He was having trouble reconciling such a desperate deed with the graceful, almost fragile creature he had seen in the parlour. He looked back at the door, almost expecting to see her there in a different disguise.

Captain Johnstone seemed to divine his thoughts. “Aye, she’s a beauty like her mother. But I guess there’s a bit of the old man in her, too.” He eyed his visitor with satisfaction as a hint of colour tinged Lord Harleston’s face. “You see the problem now, don’t you?” he continued. “She’s in trouble with the authorities, and there’s no hope of her going back to England when I’m dead.”

“But surely she knew that would be the case?” said Lord Harleston, speaking as much to himself as to the captain. He was wondering what had possessed her to do such a rash thing when her father’s sentence would have passed in only three months.

“Yes,” Captain Johnstone admitted, raising his eyebrows expressively, “but you don’t know Susan. I wrote to her, you see, when they caught up with me, just so she would know why I wasn’t sending her any more money. I’ve tried to send her some whenever I had it. She’s been living with an old governess of hers.” An intimation of guilt crossed his face. “Anyway, I hadn’t expected her to post straight down to see me. And the deuce of it was I had just taken ill.” He stopped his narrative with an air of having concluded.

Lord Harleston waited expectantly for a moment before asking, “But why did she plan your escape?”

Captain Johnstone looked at him in surprise and then, remembering, suddenly grinned. “I forget you do not know her yet,” he said. Then he explained. “Susan is not what you’d call bold—she doesn’t put herself forward. But show her some poor unfortunate beggar and she’ll raise the Lord Mayor if it’ll do him any good. One look at me in that place was enough. She had plans to get me out of there by nightfall, and by the end of the week it was done.” He eyed his visitor hopefully as a look of admiration came over Lord Harleston’s face.

The young man was lost in thought. An occasional smile wavered about his lips. In a while, though, he seemed to recall his present circumstances and faced the captain with eager determination.

“What is it you wish me to do?” he asked.

“Get her back into England” came the quick reply. Captain Johnstone was not discouraged by the answering spark in the baron’s brown eyes. “She can go back to her old governess and be perfectly safe there. If the authorities don’t know she’s back, they won’t try to look for her. And I’m certain the whole thing will blow over eventually.”

He waited. With any other man he would have expected questions and protests, demands as to how the thing was to be done. But not with Harleston. Captain Johnstone could see the wheels turning inside the young man’s head as he thought out his plan of action, and he was heartened by the enthusiasm in his expression. Harleston always did like a tight spot.

In a minute, the baron turned to him and held out his hand again. “Done,” he said.

The old man grasped at it gratefully. Words of thanks did not come easily. “I should have been better to her, you see,” he said instead. “A pretty girl like Susan—she should have had parties, balls, more fine dresses. And now,” he ended weakly, “with no dowry...” Lord Harleston pressed the hand in his but did not speak. There was nothing to be said, for what the captain said was true.

The old man’s clasp grew weaker. “I always hoped the next hand would be a winner,” he explained almost petulantly now. “Some of them were such near things.” His mind drifted as he replayed those old hands in his mind. Lord Harleston gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“You needn’t worry about your daughter,” he said to ease the captain’s thoughts. It was too late for guilt. “I shall see she gets back to England safely, and I’ll be happy to do what I can to secure her future.”

The captain returned to the present with a start. “One more thing,” he said in an urgent tone. “You mustn’t breathe a word of this to Susan. If she catches on to it, she’ll be gone before you can get back. Just tell Rénard to send you word when I’m gone. He’ll manage to keep her here for a while
—knows all about it.” His speech was cut off by the sound of the door opening.

Lord Harleston turned to see Susan enter the room and rose to his feet. She smiled hesitantly at him and moved gracefully towards the bed. He watched her with barely concealed admiration.

“I know you have enjoyed your visit, Papa, but I think it has been long enough for now.” Captain Johnstone looked once more at the baron for reassurance.

Lord Harleston turned to address him, glancing now and then back at his daughter as though drawn in some invisible way. “I will leave you to your rest now, sir,” he said. “Urgent business takes me back to Paris,” he added with a wink for the captain’s benefit. “But I shall give myself the pleasure of returning soon.” The old man seemed too tired to answer, but as he lifted a hand in farewell, his smile was peaceful. The two young people went out and closed the door.

Shuttering his eyes to welcome sleep, the captain recalled Lord Harleston’s expression as he had gazed at Susan’s face. He chuckled softly to himself. No, he had not been wrong when he had written to Harleston. The young devil would have her back in England in a trice and settled comfortably as before.

A twinge of guilt disturbed him momentarily but was banished. He had done what he could to deliver her into good hands.

Chapter Two

Three weeks later, Susan was sitting in the parlour putting the final stitches in her mourning. She was already dressed in black. Her father had lived slightly longer than expected, and she reflected gladly that he had seemed calmer the last few weeks. Ever since Lord Harleston’s visit, she recalled. She wondered what the purpose of that visit had been, but all her father had said on the subject was that he had a yearning to see his old favourite before he died. Somehow Susan did not quite believe it. She still did not understand why Monsieur Rénard had written the letter, and she remembered her surprise upon answering the baron’s knock and finding such a handsome gentleman at the door.

Her needle paused for a moment. Surely Lord Harleston’s hair was the fairest she had ever seen except on a small child. But where one might have expected to find blue eyes, his were a golden brown, and she suspected the sun would turn his smooth skin to a becoming bronze. Susan shook herself and took up her needle once again. Whatever could have turned her thoughts so strangely? she wondered.

She tried to interest herself in her work, but put it down in another few minutes with a sigh. She really must confront Monsieur Rénard today. The captain’s funeral had been four days ago and it was time for her to be leaving. She could not impose on her father’s old friend any longer. Monsieur Rénard spoke often of an old debt, but that debt was to her father and had been amply repaid.

Susan had had many talks with the bookseller about her future plans and he had promised to help her find a situation as a governess or an English mistress in a school, but so far he had not done so. When she had last spoken of it to him he had told her that he was almost certain of a position not far from Calais if she would only wait a few more days. But his delay caused her to worry that something had happened to cancel that prospect. She would have to talk to him about going to an agency tomorrow.

A knock at the door took her by surprise, but she hoped that Monsieur Rénard had come at last with news of employment. Opening it, however, she was amazed to see her father’s friend Lord Harleston again.

His large frame loomed in the narrow hallway as it had on the night of his first visit. The thought struck her that he was not so much big as tall and powerful with broad shoulders over narrow hips. He had swept off his beaver and the light of day gleamed on his fair hair.

“Miss Johnstone?” he began. He smiled at her in such a way that she knew he had received word of her father’s death.

“Lord Harleston
—please come in,” she said, backing into the room. But as she moved she recalled his entry on the previous visit and quickly put up a warning hand. Smiling his thanks, but with a sheepish look, Lord Harleston ducked and missed hitting his head a third time.

“I’m afraid you are come too late to call on my father,” she said without emotion.

He noted it with approval. The black of her dress did nothing to diminish the dark gleam in her hair and eyes and, despite its sad purpose, became her well.

“I know,” he answered, “I had heard. May I offer my condolences?” She nodded and he continued. “My business, however, is with you, Miss Johnstone. If I might have a word...” Susan gave a curious smile and indicated a chair, which he took before speaking again.

“I have come,” Lord Harleston began, watching carefully for her reaction and treading cautiously as he went on, “in answer to your father’s dying request.” Susan’s eyes opened in surprise, but she listened as he explained his reason for calling. In a very short while, those eyes were flashing their refusal.