The Man in the Green Coat (18 page)

“No fear of that! If he may not eat in the dining room, he will do very well in the kitchen. I had best go change for dinner myself, or I shall be late.”

“Wait a moment, Miss Darcy. I had hoped to have a private word with you.”

She looked at him closely. “There is something wrong, isn’t there. Dorothea?” Sitting down, she waved him to a chair.

He bit his lip. “Yes. I hoped we had not drawn attention to ourselves, but if you observed us, her mother and brother must have done so also. She suspected that was why she was forced to leave London early.”

“So I guessed. You are come down to meet her?”

“I did not intend to. I wanted only to see her surroundings, find out whether she was well, perhaps catch a glimpse of her in the distance. I know there is no future for us, and I have told her so a thousand times. She is born for better than to be shackled to a penniless refugee, even if this ghastly business . . . even if her family did not stand in the way. I ought not to see her.”

“Probably not.” It was Gabrielle’s turn to bite her lip. “But it is my belief she is pining for you. She has been in the megrims ever since we came here, though she has not confided in me.”

“She is the dearest, sweetest angel! I cannot bear to think that she is unhappy. What must I do, Miss Darcy? I would not have her think I have abandoned her, yet to give her false hope were the act of a scoundrel!”

“What a coil! Oh dear, I do not know what to advise.”

“No, it was infamous of me to burden you with our troubles. I must make up my own mind. But if I decide to ask her to meet me, will you be my messenger?”

“Yes, if you will promise that should she refuse, you will accept her decision gracefully and not attempt again to contact her.”

“I promise.” Alain’s face was agonised. “If she should have the strength to reject me of her own free will, then all the love I bear her could not justify further endeavours on my part.”

“Gabrielle!” Gerard burst into the room, this time comparatively clean but decidedly dishevelled. “Rolf is teaching me to drive the gig! Is it not famous? Oh, hello, Alain. You must come out with us tomorrow and I will show you. I nearly made it through the gate on the second try, but the back wheel caught on the post.”

“I hope you were not going too fast, then!” said Gabrielle. “But at present, speed is what is needed. We have fifteen minutes to change for dinner.”

* * * *

Up at the Great House, Luke had changed his clothes hurriedly and was tapping on the door of his father’s dressing room.

“Come in!” called Lord Everett. “Oh, it’s you, Luke. Did you have a pleasant day?”

“Delightful, thank you, sir, except for a discovery I made at the end of it.”

“Discovery? What sort of discovery? Damme, my boy, cut the mystery if you please!”

“Has my stepmother told you of a young Frenchman who was seeing altogether too much of Dorothea in town?”

“She mentioned him in passing. De Vigny, or some such name. Seemed to think him a charming young man who knew his station in life too well to presume. No encroaching mushroom, she said. What of him?”

“Since he is the Vicomte de Vignard, he cannot precisely be described as a mushroom, but for all his title he ekes out a meagre living as a secretary. He is staying at the Dower House as guest of Lady Harrison.”

“Hmm. You think he has designs on Dorrie?”

“What else can I think, sir? The man is devilish attractive to the ladies, and I fear Dorrie has warmer feelings for him than she ought.”

“If he is a fortune-hunter, all we need do is drop a hint that her marriage portion cannot possibly be considered sufficient to set up household.”

“Oh, I acquit him of more than a passing interest in her fortune. To speak bluntly, judging by appearances he is head over heels in love with her!”

“I shall speak to her mother about it. Dorrie was always the most obliging child. A word in her ear. . .”

“Both Lady Cecilia and I have dropped words in her ear, to no avail. He must be sent packing, sir, and forbidden to return to Wrotham.”

“Come, come, Luke! I cannot possibly so insult Lady Harrison’s guest on no more than a suspicion. You may be sure that I shall watch the situation, and take appropriate measures if necessary.”

“Henry?” Lady Cecilia appeared at the door. “Are you ready, you two? The gong will ring in a few moments.”

“Coming, my dear. Luke has been telling me that that young Frenchman you spoke of is staying at the Dower House.”

“De Vignard? Oh dear! But it will not do to order Dorrie not to see him. Nothing encourages fancied love like oppression! I shall take her down there tomorrow morning, so that she may meet him unexceptionably in company.”

“I’ll give you ten to one,” said his lordship hopefully, “that after a week’s absence, she has already forgot him.”

* * * *

Alain was not in when Lady Cecilia and Dorothea arrived at the Dower House next day. Since her mother had thought best not to inform her of his presence, Dorothea chatted quite happily with Gabrielle, while the older ladies made plans to tour the house.

Nor did Gabrielle mention Alain. He had not yet told her his decision, and she did not want to distress her friend unnecessarily. So when he walked into the drawing room, Dorothea was unprepared. The incredulous joy on her face left no room for doubt in Lady Cecilia’s mind that her husband had been too sanguine, and a glance at the young man only confirmed that their feelings were mutual.

There was nothing to cavil at in Alain’s manners. He first bowed very properly over her ladyship’s hand before addressing Dorothea.

“How do you do, Miss Everett?” he said, and if he held her hand an instant too long, it was only an instant.

“Monsieur!” she breathed, eyes aglow. Neither of them seemed to feel the need of any further conversation, but their gazes never left each other, and both answered at random when spoken to.

Gabrielle could not help but wonder what it must be like to be so in love with someone who loved you too.

“Dorothea!” said Lady Cecilia firmly at last. “Lady Harrison is going to take me about the house and explain to me what she thinks ought to be done.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“You shall come with us. I am sure you cannot help but benefit from her advice against the day when you will furnish your own house.”

“Oh no, Mama! I mean, I expect I should learn a great deal from her ladyship, but Gabrielle and I were going to walk down to the village.”

“I am sure any errands you have can wait until the morrow. If not, you may send a maid or one of the footmen. Miss Darcy will hold you excused, will you not, Miss Darcy?”

“Of course, ma’am.” Gabrielle could hardly say anything else.

Alain offered to accompany her to the village. But though he made an effort, he was not a lively companion. She showed him the church, and the endless memorials to Everett ancestors seemed to depress him still further. On the way back he confessed that seeing Dorothea in her family setting had made him, if possible, the more aware of his unworthiness.

“But your family is just as good, is it not? The French nobility is in no way inferior to the British.”

“True. By birth I am her equal. But this magnificent estate . . . compared to my single room! In London, in society, the difference was less noticeable. Here, I am nothing!”

Since she could not but agree, Gabrielle held her tongue.

Alain left the next morning, without meeting Dorothea again. No sooner had the hoofbeats of his hired horse died away than Tombaugh approached Gabrielle, his face foreboding.

“Can I have a word wi’ you, miss?”

“Of course. What is it?”

“I don’t like to bear tales, miss.”

“I’ve heard this before, Tombaugh! If you have seen Marie talking to Baxter again, pray keep it to yourself.”

“’Tweren’t Baxter, miss. Monser Derveenar, it were. Right in this house! We ain’t had such goings-on in this here house in a dunnamany years.”

The thought of ‘goings-on’ between stringy, bad-tempered Marie and lovesick Alain was too much for Gabrielle’s gravity. She laughed.

“I bain’t joking, miss,” said Tombaugh, offended. “Heard every word, I did, only they was talking that heathen Frog lingo, so I couldn’t make it out. Above stairs, just outside her la’ship’s dressing room it were, and at an ungodly hour of the night, too.”

“I care not what hour of the night it was!” Gabrielle was angry. “If you and Mrs Tombaugh will not drop this ridiculous feud with Marie, who has been with my lady for years, then I shall be forced to report it to Lady Cecilia.”

The servant looked sulky, but bowed and said, “Very well, miss.” As he left, she heard him mutter, “Just you wait till we’re all a-murdered in our beds!”

There was no change in the quality of service provided by the Tombaughs, so if they had not gone so far as to mend their fences with Marie, at least they did not hold it against their temporary employers. Gerard, in fact, was a firm favorite in the kitchen, to which he repaired at any hour of the day when overcome by pangs of hunger.

Rolf frequently joined him, but their depredations on the larder were more than compensated for by the baskets of produce carried down from the Great House every day. Nothing that the gardens and orchards of Wrotham produced was lacking, from raspberries, cherries and blackcurrants to all kinds of vegetables—and even chickens, pigeons and a ham. To this Gerard added the odd rabbit, and when he was persuaded to add up the household accounts, he said he could not believe how cheap it was to live in the country.

A month passed. There were picnics, morning visits to neighbours, dinners at the Great House, a subscription ball at the Assembly Rooms in Maidstone. They were invited to attend Open Day at Knole, near Sevenoaks, the vast and magnificent mansion of the Earl of Dorset. Sponsored by Baron Everett, the Darcys merged into County society without the least effort on their part, and enjoyed it prodigiously.

Now and then they met Sir Oswald Harrison, with his pallid, subdued wife and sharp-faced daughter who, two or three years older than Gabrielle, might fairly be considered to have ended on the shelf. Their small estate was situated not far off, near Tunbridge Wells. Warned by Lady Harrison that, as far as she knew, Mr Everett’s investigation was continuing, they spoke to them politely but as rarely as possible, and avoided them when they could.

Sir Oswald was jovial in his cold way, and curious beyond the bounds of politeness about their sojourn at Wrotham. They received his promise of a visit as a threat, but the weeks passed and he did not come.

Nor did Luke come, nor Alain, nor Gabrielle and Gerard’s father. July passed into August, and Gabrielle knew Luke must have gone to Dover and back on his monthly visit without stopping to see them.

Had the news from France been so urgent it brooked no delay? Or was he deliberately staying away from Wrotham? And if so, why?

Chapter 17

Mr Everett posted north to Harwich. The French invasion force gathering in Boulogne was so thoroughly blockaded by the British fleet that the details of its doings had to travel all the way to Holland and across the North Sea to reach England. The Man in the Green Coat paced impatiently from end to end of the coffee room of the Anchor Inn; five days he’d waited while squalls delayed the crossing.

When the news came, borne by a friendly American, it was nothing new. The Corsican Monster continued to gather his Grande Armée; troop transports and landing craft were abuilding by the thousand; the construction of artificial harbours proceeded apace. To the ignorant it looked thoroughly alarming.

Mr Everett wondered whether it would be worth the effort to try to persuade the government that spending millions on raising a volunteer defence force was unnecessary. Even if good weather coincided with a momentary lapse on the part of the blockading fleet, it would take the French so long to sail out of their basins that the situation would have changed before they were all at sea. And besides, the transports would be sitting ducks before the guns of the Royal Navy.

Wearily he hastened back to London. As expected, his arguments went for nothing.

Mr Everett posted south to Brighton. The Duke of York, favourite brother of the Prince of Wales, wanted to lead an expedition to free the Dutch from the French yoke.

He spent a frustrating week of luxurious living at the magnificent Pavilion, attending balls and musicales, card parties, breakfasts and endless dinners. At last he obtained a private interview and succeeded in convincing His Royal Highness that the time was not yet ripe for an invasion of the Continent.

Hurrying back to London, he found that Georges Cadoudal had talked the government into subsidising his Royalist uprising to the tune of a million francs.

Mr Everett posted east to Dover. Le Hibou did not fail him. Méhée de la Touche was indubitably an agent of Fouché . The supposed conspiracy against Bonaparte was nothing but a plot to draw émigrés back to France and implicate General Moreau and anyone else foolish enough to oppose the First Consul.

Back in London, red-eyed from lack of sleep, he explained the intrigue to Hawkesbury, Cadoudal and Pichegru. Pichegru agreed to put off his return to France pending further investigation. Cadoudal, with his million francs in his pocket, was making preparations to depart at the end of August and no argument could sway his determination.

Lord Hawkesbury shrugged. The money had been handed over, there was nothing he could do.

As far as Mr Everett was concerned, there was only one good point to the whole business. General Pichegru’s secretary, Alain de Vignard, had been present at the meeting. Therefore he was not in Kent, dangling after Dorothea.

“What have you dug up on de Vignard?” he asked Davis the next morning, striding into the office well past noon. “And Harrison, too. Any results?”

“Good afternoon, sir. There is nothing to implicate Sir Oswald in any sort of espionage, other than his excessive curiosity when he calls in here. Nothing to suggest that he tries to pass on anything he learns.”

“Then it looks as if I shall have to tackle him myself, about the other matter. Devil take it! Strictly speaking it is none of my business. He’ll have every right to take umbrage.”