Petty Treason (37 page)
Authors: Madeleine E. Robins
S
he returned to the comfortable tasks of making her house a home again. She kept the fire in the grate burning steadily and rejoiced to feel the damp chill recede to the furthest corners of the downstairs room and then from the bedchamber upstairs. She brushed and hung her clothes, polished her boots—not with champagne, said to be the polish of choice among the wealthy, but with plain harness wax—and took out the bag of rags from which she hoped to fashion a new rug.
he returned to the comfortable tasks of making her house a home again. She kept the fire in the grate burning steadily and rejoiced to feel the damp chill recede to the furthest corners of the downstairs room and then from the bedchamber upstairs. She brushed and hung her clothes, polished her boots—not with champagne, said to be the polish of choice among the wealthy, but with plain harness wax—and took out the bag of rags from which she hoped to fashion a new rug.
Dusk found Miss Tolerance sitting by the fire, drinking tea and braiding rags, thinking of Anne d’Aubigny and wondering what the widow would find in India. She hoped the widow would make the most of her second chance; it was not a thing given to every troubled woman.
Later Marianne rapped at Miss Tolerance’s door and was invited to take a glass of wine.
“Not working tonight?” Miss Tolerance asked.
“I’ve been working, well enough, but not on my back. I’ve been sitting with Mrs. B, looking over the ledgers.”
Miss Tolerance cast her friend a look of purest astonishment. “The ledgers? As well to say you have been given the keys to Heaven!”
Marianne laughed. “Felt like it, indeed. First, of course, I had to sit through half an hour’s rant upon why what she was going to show me must be kept a secret—from the patrons and the other girls and—”
“From me? I don’t doubt it. I gave up my chance at the keys to Heaven, and I think I must have hurt my aunt a bit in doing so. But I am glad to see them going into your competent hands.”
“So Mrs. B said. I should say thank you, but I imagine my privileges will be bought with a great deal of work, ciphering and writing and fretting. All this atop my regular responsibilities,” she added with an emphasis that made it plain she was quoting from her employer. “Yesterday I had employment and a following. Today, it appears, I have a career.”
Miss Tolerance raised her glass. “To your career!”
Marianne hesitated. “You are certain you don’t mind? You’re all the family Mrs. B has, and she would leave you the whole—”
“What would I do with the whole? No, Marianne, I am delighted that my aunt has had the sense to do this. You will do a far better job than I would.”
Marianne lifted her glass. “Then, to my career. And yours.”
The wind wound around the house with a thin, cold wail. Marianne rose at last and said it was time she returned to the house. “I’ve a gent coming in a bit.” She picked up the garden-cloak in which she had made her journey across the garden and threw it over her shoulders. With her hand on the latch she turned her head to bid Miss Tolerance good night, and stopped.
“There, and I haven’t given you this, which was my whole reason for being here!” she exclaimed. She slid her hand into a pocket of the cloak and took out an envelope. “This came for you. I’m that sorry I forgot it. The pleasure of your company, I expect.”
Miss Tolerance saw her friend safe across the garden, then opened the letter. It was from Wales. He thanked her for the information she had shared with him and asked her to call at Carlton House at noon the next day to discuss the matter further.
R
oyalty may be early or tardy, as it pleases. Commoners do well to be prompt. Miss Tolerance arrived at Carlton House at five minutes before noon the next morning, again wearing the steel-blue walking dress and her most demure bonnet. She was shown directly into a tidy little study, decorated in the Chinese style, with a good fire burning. She sat on a chair upholstered in red fabric embroidered with a profusion of yellow and blue birds, and looked around her with interest. The room had a chaotic elegance that was just short of being cluttered; there was a small sofa, three chairs, and several cabinets which held many Oriental curios.
oyalty may be early or tardy, as it pleases. Commoners do well to be prompt. Miss Tolerance arrived at Carlton House at five minutes before noon the next morning, again wearing the steel-blue walking dress and her most demure bonnet. She was shown directly into a tidy little study, decorated in the Chinese style, with a good fire burning. She sat on a chair upholstered in red fabric embroidered with a profusion of yellow and blue birds, and looked around her with interest. The room had a chaotic elegance that was just short of being cluttered; there was a small sofa, three chairs, and several cabinets which held many Oriental curios.
Within five minutes of her arrival the Prince was with her. His protuberant blue eyes were both affable and sharp as he raised her from her curtsy; his corsets creaked unmistakably. “You know far too much about my family’s dealings to stand upon ceremony, Miss Tolerance,” he said pleasantly. “Thank you for coming. May I ask you to tell me again the extraordinary information which you outlined in your letter?”
Miss Tolerance did so. Wales interrupted from time to time to ask her to elaborate upon a point. He had clearly considered her information, and its sources, carefully.
“There is no direct link between Madame Touvois and my brother?” he asked at last.
“None but the letter, sir. Which I have brought to put into Your Highness’s keeping.” Miss Tolerance took Camille Touvois’ letter from her reticule and placed it upon the round inlaid table by her elbow. “The only true link is that which I forged in my own mind, and that I would reveal only to you.”
Wales nodded. “Ernest is not stupid. He would not commit anything to writing. But this Frenchwoman, Madame Touvois—”
“The letter? It appears to give credence to her role as a French spy. But I recall something Mr. Beauville said of her: that she
delighted in causing mischief, particularly among the powerful.” Miss Tolerance smiled sourly. “I imagine her, cozily situated somewhere on the Continent with a very good deal of money from your brother and from the French as well, laughing at all.”
delighted in causing mischief, particularly among the powerful.” Miss Tolerance smiled sourly. “I imagine her, cozily situated somewhere on the Continent with a very good deal of money from your brother and from the French as well, laughing at all.”
“What am I to do, then, with my brother? This was a kind of treason. A plot against the process of law, certainly. And people died for it: that Beauville fellow, and the woman, my brother’s wh—mistress.” The prince looked at Miss Tolerance fixedly, his rheumy eyes shrewd. “I must ask a telling question, and trust that you will be honest with me, Miss Tolerance. You are
certain
my brother himself did not murder the woman?”
certain
my brother himself did not murder the woman?”
“Yes, sir.” Miss Tolerance was pleased to reassure him. “Beauville told me as much before he drew his sword and forced me to defend myself.”
Wales breathed a long, gusty sigh which smelt sweetly of cloves and snuff. “My brothers and I have shown an ample talent for tarnishing the reputation of the Crown without deliberately conniving at the matter. Miss Tolerance, you have all my thanks. I regret I cannot do anything more public—”
Miss Tolerance shook her head. “That would not serve your purpose or mine, sir. I am happy to have been of service.”
Wales took her hand and bowed over it. For a moment Miss Tolerance was afraid he would kiss it. He did not, but she was aware of the royal eye upon her, assessing her. He gave no more than a chaste regal salute, to Miss Tolerance’s relief. “If there is ever any way in which I may be of service to you, madam, I hope you will let me know.” He released her hand and tugged a square-cut emerald ring from his little finger. “I am quite in earnest; if you have need of my assistance, send this ring to me and I will understand.”
Miss Tolerance curtsied, murmured her thanks, and tucked the ring into her reticule.
Like something from an opera
! she thought. A handful of guineas would have been more useful, but she did not say so. She would never use the ring: a Fallen Woman does not summon royalty.
Like something from an opera
! she thought. A handful of guineas would have been more useful, but she did not say so. She would never use the ring: a Fallen Woman does not summon royalty.
“If you will excuse me now, Miss Tolerance? It appears I must have a talk with my brother Cumberland.” Wales smiled. “Although
I can never be king, it seems I must still act the head of the family. Your pardon, madam, and again, all my thanks.”
I can never be king, it seems I must still act the head of the family. Your pardon, madam, and again, all my thanks.”
When Miss Tolerance rose from her curtsy the prince was gone. As she left the room a footman joined her to escort her from the house, and at the doorstep she found a hackney carriage had been summoned for her.
“Miss, His Highness desired I give you this,” the footman said.
This
was a leather purse, gratifyingly heavy. As the carriage pulled away from the curb, Miss Tolerance opened it just far enough to disclose the cheering glint of gold. These coins, at least, she need not scruple to accept. She gave the driver Tarsio’s address.
This
was a leather purse, gratifyingly heavy. As the carriage pulled away from the curb, Miss Tolerance opened it just far enough to disclose the cheering glint of gold. These coins, at least, she need not scruple to accept. She gave the driver Tarsio’s address.
M
iss Tolerance ordered a bottle of burgundy and the newspapers and sat in the Ladies’ Salon. The whole of Anne d’Aubigny’s case, from the death of her husband to her detention at Cold Bath Fields Prison, to her triumphant vindication, was recapitulated over several weeks’ issues. The more conservative the paper, the worse Anne d’Aubigny’s supposed crime was painted at the outset, the more fervent the outcry against the godless French when the “treasonous plot” was exposed. The
Times,
in particular, which had early on suggested that Mrs. d’Aubigny was “the most horrid and unnatural of criminals, a woman who slays her rightful master,” did an about-face that was almost dizzying. With Beauville dead and Camille Touvois named as the author of the treasonous plot, Mrs. d’Aubigny now figured as “the gently reared and much-abused relict of a man who early sought to warn this Nation of French perfidy, and paid the ultimate price in horrid murder!”
iss Tolerance ordered a bottle of burgundy and the newspapers and sat in the Ladies’ Salon. The whole of Anne d’Aubigny’s case, from the death of her husband to her detention at Cold Bath Fields Prison, to her triumphant vindication, was recapitulated over several weeks’ issues. The more conservative the paper, the worse Anne d’Aubigny’s supposed crime was painted at the outset, the more fervent the outcry against the godless French when the “treasonous plot” was exposed. The
Times,
in particular, which had early on suggested that Mrs. d’Aubigny was “the most horrid and unnatural of criminals, a woman who slays her rightful master,” did an about-face that was almost dizzying. With Beauville dead and Camille Touvois named as the author of the treasonous plot, Mrs. d’Aubigny now figured as “the gently reared and much-abused relict of a man who early sought to warn this Nation of French perfidy, and paid the ultimate price in horrid murder!”
Miss Tolerance dropped the
Times
in disgust and took up the newest number of the
Gazette,
leafing through to the Dueling Notices. The gentlemen of London, she noted, had not been behindhand in attempting their mutual slaughter:
Times
in disgust and took up the newest number of the
Gazette,
leafing through to the Dueling Notices. The gentlemen of London, she noted, had not been behindhand in attempting their mutual slaughter:
By the sword, fatally, Mr. John Wantage, by Lord Desston.
By shot, Sir Walter Coigne, by an anonymous gentleman.
By shot, fatally, Alan, Lord Bennis, by Mr. Hottyn, in a matter of family honor.
Miss Tolerance thought of Henri Beauville and turned the page.
She passed over the shipping news, then went back and read the departures carefully. The
Lucy Singer
had departed that morning for Madras. Among the passengers, a Miss Anne Colcannon.
Lucy Singer
had departed that morning for Madras. Among the passengers, a Miss Anne Colcannon.
Miss Tolerance raised a glass to the
Lucy Singer
and its passengers.
Lucy Singer
and its passengers.
A
glance out the window demonstrated to Miss Tolerance that the evening was well begun, although it was only a little past five o’clock. The Ladies’ Salon had become lively with noise, and Miss Tolerance was not in a mood to listen to the effusions of her sex. She collected her coat and left, standing for a moment on Tarsio’s steps; the dank chill of the air was redoubled, and wisps of sour yellow fog were thickening near the ground. Then Miss Tolerance pulled the collar of her cloak a little tighter and hailed a hackney carriage. She had one more task to accomplish, and thought she had best do it now, with several glasses of good burgundy to give her courage.
glance out the window demonstrated to Miss Tolerance that the evening was well begun, although it was only a little past five o’clock. The Ladies’ Salon had become lively with noise, and Miss Tolerance was not in a mood to listen to the effusions of her sex. She collected her coat and left, standing for a moment on Tarsio’s steps; the dank chill of the air was redoubled, and wisps of sour yellow fog were thickening near the ground. Then Miss Tolerance pulled the collar of her cloak a little tighter and hailed a hackney carriage. She had one more task to accomplish, and thought she had best do it now, with several glasses of good burgundy to give her courage.
Sir Walter Mandif had a comfortable red-brick house on Gracechurch Street; the windows at the front gave a cheery light in the misty darkness, and the brass doorplate and knocker shone with reflected light. She was admitted to the house by a very young man, not much more than a boy, whose attempt at dignity was largely overmastered by the high spirits of his age. Miss Tolerance explained her errand and he bounded off, puppylike, to see if Sir Walter would permit her a few words. He returned a moment later to bring her to a comfortable office paneled in light wood and well lit around the desk. There were shelves along two walls, filled with books; more books were stacked upon a marble-topped sideboard next to the door. On the floor along the wall to the right of the desk a long line of ledgers stood. There was a tiled fireplace and a small fire in it which cast warm shadows on the backs of two chairs arranged to face the desk.
A very pleasant work place
, Miss Tolerance thought.
How is it I never visited here before
?
A very pleasant work place
, Miss Tolerance thought.
How is it I never visited here before
?
Sir Walter sat at his desk surrounded by half a dozen large books, writing in a ledger which appeared to be a fellow of those that stood on the floor. He seemed both focused and relaxed, as if
concentration were a comfortable state for him; only the slight pursing of his lips suggested that he was taking pains with his work.
concentration were a comfortable state for him; only the slight pursing of his lips suggested that he was taking pains with his work.
The only sounds were the snap and lick of the fire and the scratch of Sir Walter’s pen upon the ledger pages. “Miss Tolerance, sir,” the boy said.
Sir Walter looked up from the page and smiled.
Miss Tolerance examined that smile and saw in it a genuine pleasure which touched her. She also thought she saw caution. Did he think that she had come to quarrel?
“I am happy to see you,” he said simply, rising from his chair. “Please, sit. Will you take some wine?” He called the manservant back. “Michael, the claret and glasses, please.”
Miss Tolerance watched the boy go, then took one of the winged chairs that faced the desk. She licked her lips, annoyed with her own nervousness, and looked squarely at Sir Walter.
“I have come to say I am sorry,” she said simply. “To apologize for what I have said, and what I have thought. I hope you can forgive me; I do not have so many friends that I can afford to squander their goodwill.” Her voice was low and quiet.
Sir Walter shook his head. “It was I—” He stopped as a slight rattle announced that Michael was returning with the wine. The boy carried the tray with an energy that made Miss Tolerance fear for the decanter; when all was safely settled on the desk Michael grinned as if it were perfectly natural that the world should appreciate his success. Mandif thanked the boy and dismissed him, then took the time to pour out two glasses of claret. He presented Miss Tolerance with one and sipped from his own before he continued.
“I presumed too much on our friendship, I think. I underestimated—” He paused. “These last months, indeed the whole summer, have been hard ones for you. A difference of opinion with a friend must have seemed like a judgment upon—”
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