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A wry smile tugged at one corner of his mouth before he reduced the contents of his glass still further. Although he certainly hadn’t lived the life of a monk in recent years, no female had succeeded in capturing his heart since Julia had held a place there in his youth. Even now, after all these years, he could well remember how utterly devastated he had been when he had discovered that his childhood sweetheart, the female whom he had considered so perfect in every way, had betrayed his love and trust by marrying his cousin. Had the bitter experience left him hard and cynical, and disinclined to trust another member of her sex? He could not help wondering. Or was it merely that he had searched in vain for a replica?
A slight frown creased his brow. If that was so, why then had he felt nothing within him stir when, after so many years, he had seen Julia again, a few months ago? He would have expected to feel something more than just a faint twinge of nostalgia for the happy hours they had spent together in their youth. Undeniably, time had been kind to her and she was still very beautiful. Graceful and serene, she remained for him the epitome of womanhood. Not like that damnable little shrew who had crossed his path just a few weeks ago! He inwardly fumed, his frown deepening dramatically as the pleasing image of golden locks and limpid blue eyes was unexpectedly thrust from his mind’s eye by a set of quite different features, framed in a riot of deep auburn curls.
He shook his head in a vain attempt to dispel the vision which had too frequently plagued him during his stay in town. That unpredictable little virago typified everything he most despised in her sex! Contrary and sharp-tongued, she was just the type to lash out at a poor, unsuspecting male without the least provocation. Any man who was ever stupid enough even to contemplate taking that ill-mannered minx to wife would deserve all he got! he told himself, wondering why on earth he had been singularly unsuccessful in forgetting her very existence.
The door-knocker echoing in the hall brought these less than charitable musings to an abrupt end, and a minute later his friend’s very correct manservant entered to apprise him that he had a visitor. A quick glance in the direction of the mantel-clock informed Daniel that the hour was well advanced. He had an appointment early in the morning, and had no intention of delaying too long before he sought the comfort of his bed.
‘Did the caller give a name?’ he asked after a moment’s deliberation.
‘He did not,’ a smooth voice answered from the open doorway. ‘But he felt certain that our long and—er—not uneventful association would be sufficient to grant him admittance.’
‘Oh, you did, did you?’ Daniel muttered, before dismissing the servant.
In one lithe movement he rose from the chair and moved towards the decanters. ‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit? I thought you had returned to Hampshire?’
‘I did … briefly,’ the caller responded, accepting the glass of wine, before seating himself in one of the chairs by the hearth. He then waited for Daniel to settle himself in the seat opposite before adding, ‘But I have been back in town for nearly three weeks.’
Frowning suspiciously, Daniel studied his companion over the rim of his glass, before demanding somewhat abruptly, ‘Spit it out, Osborne! Why are you here?’
The baronet’s thin lips curled into an appreciative smile. ‘Always so delightfully brusque!’ he quipped. ‘Surprisingly enough, I consider it to be one of your most endearing qualities, my dear fellow. One always knows where one stands with you, Ross.’ A faintly menacing gleam hardened his grey eyes. ‘You are so refreshingly different from so many of those with whom I have been obliged to associate in recent years.’
‘Nobody forced you to take up such work,’ Daniel reminded him. ‘It was done through choice.’
‘Through necessity,’ Sir Giles corrected, ‘though I cannot deny that I have always displayed a certain aptitude. But my task is not yet complete.’
‘But mine is,’ Daniel returned, unable to prevent bitterness from edging his voice. ‘Years of conflict … thousands dead … and for what?’
‘So that we in these islands would continue to speak the King’s English, and not French. Which you, of course, do so remarkably well … And that is precisely why I’m here, Major Ross. Once again I find myself in dire need of your undoubted talents. I am here in an attempt to persuade you to take charge of a little commission which has already begun across the Channel.’
‘No!’ Daniel’s response, sharp and uncompromising, cut through the air like a knife as he rose once again to his feet. ‘My war’s over, Osborne. You cannot order me to go, not this time.’
A sigh escaped the older man as he stared intently at the impassive figure, solid and resolute, now standing before the hearth, staring intently down at the burning coals. ‘No, I cannot order you to go, Major,’ he concurred. ‘But should you agree to do so, you might attain some justice for those many friends who needlessly lost their lives throughout the campaign.’
‘Damn you and your spying games, Osborne!’ Daniel exploded, unable to quell the bitter resentment and anger which had steadily increased throughout the years of conflict, and continued to fester even now, like some open sore that refused to heal. ‘Justice for whom? Curse you!’
Daniel cast a glance over his shoulder in time to see the baronet’s bony fingers tighten fractionally about the stem of his glass. ‘Whose death are you so determined to avenge—your son’s? He was a soldier and, like so many others, was prepared to die for his country. He’s just another of those poor wretches who now lie buried in nameless graves scattered throughout Spain and Portugal.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Or is it perhaps Justine Baron’s demise which continues to prick your conscience?’
Sir Giles held the hard-eyed gaze steadily. ‘Yes, I do feel that I owe it to Justine to bring her murderer to book.’
‘You owe her nothing, Osborne,’ Daniel countered, totally unmoved by the hint of remorse so easily discernible in the baronet’s voice. ‘She knew the risks she was taking. She and the traitorous devil who has plagued your dreams all these years were two of a kind, and both gained considerable financial rewards from indulging in their despicable trade.’
‘Very true,’ Sir Giles concurred, the composure for which he was justifiably famed seemingly having been fully restored. ‘As I remarked before, Justine loved only one thing more than money—her sister. And it is the young woman who has agreed to pose as the former Mademoiselle Louise Baron who just might, if everything goes according to plan, avenge so many needless deaths.’
‘Dear God!’ Daniel muttered, his expression clearly disdainful, as he once again sought the comfort of the winged-chair. ‘Don’t you ever give up? Napoleon is on Elba. It’s over at last.’
‘Perhaps,’ Sir Giles conceded, before his eyes hardened once more. ‘And this is why my elusive friend has possibly begun to drop his guard. He may have severed all communication with many of his contacts, and now thinks himself safe. But he is at his most vulnerable. What will his reaction be when I make it known that, during these past months of Napoleon’s exile, I have worked tirelessly and have managed to locate the whereabouts of Justine’s sister? What if I also make it known that Justine left certain documents in the safekeeping of a lawyer whose identity is known only to the sister, and that the aforementioned sister has every intention of travelling to England in order to retrieve them? What if I were to suggest that the documents might prove interesting reading, and that the girl has agreed to let me study them before she takes her property back to France?’
Sir Giles smiled faintly at Daniel’s openly sceptical expression. ‘Oh, it will undoubtedly trouble him, Ross. He knew of the existence of this sister. But we managed to get to her first, did we not, my dear friend?’ A hint of gratification just for one moment flickered in the baronet’s grey eyes. ‘I promised Justine that I would never disclose her sibling’s whereabouts to another living soul. I also promised that I would never involve her in any of my exploits in the future. And I have kept my word, and shall continue to do so. Justine’s old maid, Marie Dubois, is a different matter entirely, however. I did make contact with her, and she is more than willing to help in my attempts to uncover her late mistress’s murderer. It is none other than Marie herself who is at present taking care of our delightful little impostor across the Channel.’
Daniel arched one dark brow. ‘Our little impostor?’
‘Of course you must go to France in order to accompany your—er—lovely wife to England. Naturally you must not cover your tracks too well, as it were. However, by the time our intended victim has managed to alert his erstwhile associates to the hitherto unforeseen danger to his continued anonymity, I shall have the child safe.’
‘As safe as Justine was in your care?’ Daniel queried, not slow to remind his visitor of past errors of judgement.
Sir Giles was silent for a moment as he stared down into the contents of his glass once again. ‘It will be different this time. Once you have brought the girl safely back to Dover, your part in the plot ceases. You’ll be free to return to Dorset, and forget the whole business. Naturally you will receive your share of the reward, if we are successful in uncovering this traitor.’
Again Daniel’s lips were curled by a smile of unalloyed contempt. ‘Was that the inducement you used to persuade this idiotic female to take part in such a damnably foolhardy escapade—money?’
‘No, it was not,’ Sir Giles assured him. ‘She knows nothing of the reward. She has her own personal reasons for wishing to see this traitor brought to justice.’
Daniel’s bark of derisive laughter echoed round the small salon. ‘If she supposes for a moment the man will ever stand trial, she is a gullible little fool!’
Sir Giles’s eyes were softened by a flicker of admiration. ‘No, she is not a fool, Ross. She’s an immensely brave young woman who is very well aware that what she has agreed to do is not without personal risk should things go wrong. The least I can do is try my utmost to ensure nothing does go wrong.’ He gazed levelly across at the man for whom he had always had the utmost respect. ‘And that is why I need you … someone I can trust implicitly. As you have already pointed out, I cannot order you to go, Major Ross. I can only ask you … one last time … to serve your country.’
Sir Giles made a point of visiting his club early one evening towards the end of the week, and was highly satisfied to discover several very interesting persons present, all seated together at a large table in one corner. Sauntering over, he did not hesitate to avail himself of the only vacant chair, before instructing a waiter to bring him wine.
‘I didn’t realise you had come up to town, Osborne,’ the gentleman seated directly opposite remarked, briefly raising his eyes from the cards in his hand. ‘Are you acquainted with young Gifford here, a distant relation I’m sponsoring this Season?’
‘No, I’ve not had the pleasure, Waverley,’ he responded, before acknowledging the young gentleman seated beside the portly baron, and receiving a stuttered salutation in response.
‘You may not be acquainted with a near neighbour of mine either,’ the gentleman seated on his left put in. ‘Sir Joshua and I travelled up to the capital together a couple of days ago.’
‘We are acquainted, Cranford,’ Sir Giles enlightened him, before turning to the baronet. ‘How are you, Ross? Haven’t seen you in town for a number of years. I do run across your nephew on the odd occasion, though.’
‘Ha! Do you, b’gad!’ Sir Joshua barked. ‘Well, that’s more than I do. Seen the boy only once or twice since he sold out. You’d think he’d settle down now that he’s left the army, but he’s forever gadding about. No repose, no repose at all!’
His sigh was distinctly mournful. ‘Don’t get about much myself now,’ Sir Joshua continued in the same booming voice, which induced several other members, seated at tables nearby, to frown dourly in his direction. ‘Health ain’t so good. That’s why I took the opportunity to travel with young Cranford here, when I discovered he was planning to come up to town. Daughter-in-law kept plaguing me to consult one of these fancy London practitioners about my hearing. Complete waste of time. Stone deaf in my right ear, and my left ain’t much better, so you’ll need to speak up a bit.’
As Sir Giles did not relish the prospect of shouting himself hoarse, he turned once again to the gentleman on his left. ‘By the by, Cranford, I received your letter inviting me to the party next month. Providing nothing unforeseen crops up, I should be delighted to attend.’
He received a piercing gaze from the bright blue eyes of the last member of the party. ‘What’s likely to stop you now? Your work’s done, Osborne, surely?’
‘Yes, Davenham, to all intents and purposes, I suppose it is.’
‘Well, what’s stopping you, then?’ the Viscount persisted. ‘We’ll all be there. You’ll be among friends.’
A ghost of a smile hovered momentarily about Sir Giles’s lips. ‘I cannot tell you how relieved I am to here you say so, Davenham. Unfortunately, there is just a possibility that my presence will be required in town. I’m not quite certain when she’ll be arriving, but I should imagine she has reached Paris by now, and is merely awaiting the arrival of her escort.’
Several brows rose at this. Since the death of his wife, several years before, Sir Giles’s name had never been linked with that of any female. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve found yourself a French charmer, Osborne!’ Lord Waverley exclaimed, laughing heartily. ‘I’d like to meet her. She must be something out of the common way if you’ve gone to the trouble of having her escorted across the Channel.’
‘Indeed, she is special.’ Sir Giles reached for the wine, which a waiter had deposited on the table a few moments before, and filled his glass. ‘She is none other than Justine Baron’s sister, the former Mademoiselle Louise Baron.’
Viscount Davenham frowned. ‘Should we know her? I can’t recall hearing the name before.’
‘No?’ Sir Giles arched one silver-grey brow. ‘Then let me refresh your memory—Justine Baron was a French spy who worked in this country a few years ago. She had a sister living in France, and although the girl was not involved in espionage herself, she mysteriously disappeared around the time of Justine’s death. I managed to locate her whereabouts a few months ago, and wrote to her. She sent a very interesting letter back. Now that the war is over, she intends to travel to England to visit Justine’s grave. She also informed me that Justine left some papers in the safekeeping of a London notary whose identity is known only to Louise. She has agreed to let me peruse the documents when she has retrieved them. So you can appreciate why I’m so keen to ensure that she arrives here safely, for I’m certain those papers will make enthralling reading. Naturally, she and the person I have engaged to escort her will be travelling under assumed names, posing as man and wife.’
The short silence which followed this astonishing disclosure was broken by Sir Joshua Ross who, gathering together the cards and reshuffling the pack, asked Sir Giles if he wished to be included in the game.
‘Why not?’ he responded. ‘I’m feeling distinctly lucky tonight.’
This proved to be the case, and Sir Giles won several hands in quick succession before four of those assembled, making various excuses, rose from the table, leaving only one gentleman to bear him company.
‘Dear me,’ he murmured. ‘Do you suppose it is my skill at cards or something I said? Surely they weren’t all alarmed by my purely fabricated tale?’
‘You had me almost believing it myself,’ his companion admitted, a gleam of admiration flickering in the depths of his grey eyes. ‘You can only hope that your—er—intended victim believed it.’
‘I’m not so foolish as to suppose that, my dear fellow. No, he probably doesn’t believe it. But he will need to be sure. And that is when I’ll have him at last.’
‘You know who it is, then?’
‘I’m not one-hundred-percent certain, no,’ Sir Giles admitted softly, ‘but I believe I know. I need proof, though. And I’m relying on my little impostor to provide me with the proof I need.’
His companion’s eyes widened fractionally. ‘So, you have in truth a young female coming over from France.’
‘Oh, yes, my dear. And she is indeed being escorted by … by someone I hold in the highest regard. He’ll be across the Channel by now, if everything has gone according to plan, and will have the girl safely back in England before our traitorous friend has alerted his French associates. Undoubtedly at this moment our victim is frantically making arrangements for someone to go over to France. I, on the other hand, am for my bed, so I shall bid you goodnight. Come and dine with me tomorrow evening if you’re free.’
Sir Giles remained at his club only for the time it took to collect his outdoor garments and then, declining the hall porter’s kind offer to hail a hackney carriage, set out on foot and arrived at his home a short time later, feeling very well pleased with how smoothly events had progressed thus far.
Extracting the key from his pocket, he was on the point of inserting it into the lock, when a carriage pulled up outside the front of his house, and a familiar figure alighted.
‘Ashcroft! What the deuce are you doing here?’
Not waiting for a reply, Sir Giles quickly unlocked the door and led the way into the house. He had never encouraged his servants to wait up for him, and the house was as silent as a tomb. Even so, he took the precaution of ushering his unexpected guest into the library and quietly closing the door.
‘Don’t tell me Ross has arrived in Paris already?’ he said, going about the room lighting various candles.
Dishevelled, and looking decidedly weary, his faithful associate availed himself of one of the chairs. ‘He hadn’t arrived when I left, sir, no.’
‘Your orders were to keep watch over the girl until he did arrive, and then report straight back to me.’ Sir Giles noticed that his unexpected visitor was looking deeply troubled. ‘What’s happened, Ashcroft? Was there some hitch during your journey to Paris?’
‘No, sir. Everything went smoothly. It was two days after our arrival in the capital that I first learned of it. I advised Miss O’Malley to return to England at once, but she wouldn’t hear of it, sir. She said that we couldn’t be sure that the rumour was true, and that if it did turn out to be correct, your uncovering the identity of the traitor was even more necessary.’
‘What rumour, Ashcroft?’ Sir Giles demanded to know, surprisingly betraying signs of losing his iron self-control.
‘You haven’t heard then, sir? It will surely be all over London by morning … Napoleon has escaped from Elba and is, as we speak, marching on Paris.’ He waited in vain for a response, and then added, ‘There will be some, I dare swear, who will attach no importance to the event, believing that Napoleon will prove no threat. But others think differently. Panic has already begun to spread throughout the French capital, especially among foreign visitors, and those who openly welcomed the return of the Bourbon King.’
Ashcroft remained silent as Sir Giles, suddenly grave, went to stand before the hearth, then asked, ‘What do you wish me to do, sir—return to Paris and bring the girl back here? She could travel under her own name. No one would pay much attention to an Englishwoman wishing to flee the city. I dare swear hundreds are doing so by now.’
A long silence, then, ‘No. You will remain here in town. We must now place our trust in Major Ross. He has never failed me before … Pray God he does not do so this time!’
Katherine stared through the rapidly fading light at the street below her window. There were far fewer carriages and people about on foot now; less signs of the panic which had been steadily increasing during the past days. That, she supposed, was because so many had already fled the city, and many more, so she had been informed, were planning to go.
Had she been foolish to remain? She had asked herself that self-same question dozens of times since Mr Ash-croft’s departure two weeks before. Having given it as his opinion that, with the unforeseen turn of events, their mission would of necessity have to be abandoned, he had urged her to accompany him. Yet she had chosen to remain, certain in her own mind that Sir Giles would have wished her to see his plan through to the end if it was at all possible. With every passing day, however, success seemed less likely. Had the person chosen by Sir Giles to escort her back to England arrived at the inn, there might have been a chance of carrying the plan through to a triumphant conclusion. Sadly, now, that seemed highly improbable.
The door behind her opened, and Katherine turned to see the middle-aged woman who had taken care of her since her arrival in France enter the bedchamber. Marie Dubois was not given to smiling much, and she was certainly looking far from happy now. None the less, the ice-cool reserve with which she had treated Katherine at the start of their association had swiftly diminished, and relations between them were now very cordial, each having acquired a deal of respect for the other.
‘I have bespoke dinner, Madame Durand,’ she announced clearly for the benefit of any inn servant hovering within earshot, ‘and have requested yet again that it be served in here.’
Although beginning to feel something of a prisoner, Katherine could well understand her companion’s continued caution. Marie never forgot the role she had been requested to play—that of a loyal maid to the wife of a prosperous French merchant. Katherine, on the other hand, was forced to own that she had been less successful in her portrayal of the devoted wife, longing for her husband’s return from the south so that they could continue their journey to their home. There had been several occasions when she had failed even to remember that she was supposed to be French, and had reverted to her native tongue without having been aware of it.
There was some excuse for these frequent lapses, she supposed. So much had happened in so short a time that she hardly knew whether she was standing on her head or her heels. From the moment she had agreed to take part in Sir Giles’s plot her quiet and faintly tedious existence had been brought to an abrupt end.
She clearly recalled the time she and the baronet had spent together on that early February afternoon, planning how they could spirit her away from Bath, unaccompanied, and without giving rise to the least suspicion.
After having divulged the name of a young woman with whom she had struck up a particular friendship during her time at the seminary, and with whom she had continued to correspond on a regular basis, Katherine had needed to do nothing further except try to carry on as normal. She had returned to Bath the following day as planned, and a week later had received a letter, undoubtedly written in a female hand, inviting her to stay with her friend. Miss Ashcroft, pretending to be her good friend’s maiden aunt, had then arrived at the door a few days later, and had announced in a very authoritative tone that, as she would be accompanying Katherine throughout her stay, there would be no need for either a chaperon or a maid, as her own servants were more than capable of catering for both their needs.
Bridie, of course, had not wished to be excluded, but Miss Ashcroft, having been forewarned of Bridie’s stubbornness, played the part of a dictatorial maiden aunt quite wonderfully, and had foiled each and every one of Bridie’s attempts to be included in the trip.
Katherine had then been escorted to France without delay. In Calais they had been met by yet another player in the game, Marie Dubois. Miss Ashcroft had returned to England, and Katherine, having adopted the guise of a prosperous Frenchman’s wife, had travelled on to Paris with Marie and Mr Ashcroft, where all that remained was to await the arrival of her ‘husband’.
Everything had proceeded so well up until then, she reflected. Sir Giles had planned everything right down to the last detail. But he could not have foreseen the surprising turn of events that had taken place since her arrival in the French capital, and which, sadly, would ultimately foil his meticulously organised stratagem for uncovering the traitor.
Katherine sighed as she moved away from the window and took a seat at the table, where she had eaten all her meals since her arrival at the inn. ‘I think we must now face the fact, Marie, that Sir Giles has possibly been forced to abandon all his well-laid plans. Tomorrow I shall commence the journey back to England.’
‘I think that wise,’ Marie whispered in English, as she joined her at the table. ‘I did not like to tell you this, but whilst I was downstairs earlier there was talk that, even though the King had dispatched troops to intercept him, Napoleon entered Lyons without a shot being fired. He has many supporters in the army. Should they change allegiance …’
‘Which makes it all the more imperative that you return to your home,’ Katherine announced, knowing what Marie could not bring herself to say. ‘If Napoleon does by some miracle manage to reach Paris and take control, then our countries will in all probability once again be at war. I do not wish you to be branded a traitor for protecting an enemy of your country.’
Marie’s hard features were softened by a rare smile. ‘I do not consider you an enemy, mademoiselle. But there are those who might should you remain. You will forgive my saying so, but you could never pass yourself off as a Frenchwoman, petite.’
Katherine was forced to acknowledge the truth of this. ‘I did inform Sir Giles that my grasp of the Gallic tongue could best be described as adequate, but he insisted that that was of little importance, and that the person he had in mind to escort me back to England would have no difficulty in convincing anyone that he was French.’
The older woman’s eyes narrowed speculatively. ‘I wonder …?’ she murmured.
‘Wonder what?’ Katherine prompted.
‘I wonder if it is the same man who helped me rescue my late mistress’s sister four years ago?’
Katherine was not at a complete loss to understand to what Marie was alluding. Before embarking on this exciting escapade, she had learned a little about the woman who had for two years passed on secret information supplied by the British traitor whom Sir Giles was determined to bring to book. More recently she had learned something of Justine Baron’s early life from Marie who, Katherine had discovered, had been employed many years before as a maid in the Baron family’s home on the outskirts of Paris.
Although not of the aristocracy himself, Justine’s father had been a wealthy man who had made the mistake of speaking out against the injustices of the new regime, and in consequence had had his house and lands seized by those in power before he and his wife had been executed. Justine and her younger sister Louise had only just managed to escape with their lives. Spirited away in the dead of night by their devoted servant Marie Dubois, they had been taken to an isolated farm, owned by Marie’s brother, deep in the French countryside, where they had remained safely hidden from the French authorities for several years. Unfortunately, by the time she had attained the age of eighteen, Justine had become utterly bored with the bucolic existence and, accompanied by the devoted Marie, had decided to find some means of supporting herself in the capital.
Having been the daughter of wealthy parents, Justine had received a good education, and had had little difficulty in acquiring a position in the establishment of a famous modiste. With her striking looks and superb figure, she had been perfect for modelling her employer’s latest creations, and it had not been too long before Justine had fallen under the eye of a high-ranking government official. She had willingly become his pampered mistress, and for several years had lived in comparative luxury in a house overlooking the Seine.
During this period in her life, she had continued to visit her young sister regularly. Unlike Justine, Louise had been content to live a quiet life on the farm. Consequently Justine had been happy to leave her there, and had provided for her sister by sending sums of money to Marie’s relations at regular intervals.
This act of generosity on Justine’s part was to prove her downfall. When the time had come for her to find a new protector, she had chosen unwisely by agreeing to become the mistress of a sinister, shadowy figure who had close links with the man who four years previously had declared himself Emperor.
Her new lover had not been slow to make use of all Justine Baron’s talents. By removing Louise from the farm and placing her in a secluded house, where she had become a virtual prisoner, he had attained the means by which he could force Justine to do precisely as he had wished.
Within weeks she had been despatched across the Channel, where she had swiftly found employment in the establishment of a famous Bond Street modiste. If the modiste had been faintly uneasy about her new employee’s ability to obtain silks and laces at a much reduced rate, she had kept her suspicions to herself, and had not asked too many questions concerning Justine’s frequent trips to the south coast. Which, of course, had allowed Justine to pass on the secret information obtained from the British traitor.
‘I seem to remember you mentioned that you accompanied your mistress to England, Marie,’ Katherine remarked as a thought suddenly occurred to her.
‘Yes, mademoiselle. That was when I learnt to speak your language. We were there for a little over two years.’
‘And in all that time you never once saw the man who sold my country’s secrets?’
