Winter Dreams, page 21
“This time it is final—on that you have my word. But in the meantime I have something I must ask of Rachel, whom I know is well aware of Judith’s whereabouts.”
Chris held up his hands. “Don’t look at me, for I am not in her confidence on this matter.”
“Would you have told me if you were?”
Chris cleared his throat. “Until tonight, no, certainly not—but now I’m inclined to think you are not the blackguard you have seemed.”
“Thank you,” Daniel replied dryly.
“It’s your own fault,” was the cordial response.
Daniel smiled a little. “I know. Anyway, to Rachel—”
“I don’t think she will speak to you,” Chris replied.
“Please, Chris.”
For a moment Chris hesitated, then reached for the hand bell. When a footman answered, he said, “Please inform Mrs. Nansloe that I wish to see her immediately. Tell her it is important.”
“Sir.”
Nothing more was said in the dining room as the two friends waited for Rachel’s return. The clock on the mantel ticked slowly, and another carriage drove past on the cobbles outside. At last the door opened, and Rachel entered. Her eyes were cool, and there was no softening of her expression as she stood facing them both. “You wished to see me, Chris?”
He looked apologetically at her. “No, my darling, it is Daniel who wishes to see you.”
Her nostrils flared, and she caught up her gown to walk out again, but Daniel stepped swiftly between her and the door. “Please, Rachel, I beg of you!”
“You are a monster, Daniel, and I refuse to say a single word to you. Please stand aside.”
“Is Judith still alive?” he asked quietly.
Rachel paused. “Still alive . . . ?”
“Yes. Come now, don’t persist in pretending you don’t know where she went two months ago.”
“It is none of your business where she went, sirrah, because you are now engaged to another. Or had that small point slipped your mind?”
“Nothing has slipped my mind, Rachel, least of all Judith. I need to know if she is safe.”
Rachel turned away. “Why?”
“Because I love her.”
She whirled to face him again. “Your love is too selective, sir!”
“I swear that I love Judith and only Judith. For pity’s sake, Rachel, two months is a very long time without hearing anything of her.”
Rachel was about to heap scorn on his claims of love when something in his eyes, and perhaps the inflection of his voice, made her reconsider. “Yes, she is safe. I know so because I had a letter from her today.”
Chris put two and two together. “She’s at Nansloe? Damn it all, why didn’t I think of it before? It’s not my grandmother you’re writing to all the time, it’s Judith!”
Rachel could have throttled him, but knew the game was up. “Very well. Yes, she has been at Nansloe, but I tell you this, Daniel, she doesn’t want to see you. You meddled with Bella Barnardi too much and too long.”
“Not out of idle amusement, I promise you. There were reasons—compelling reasons, as it happens.”
“Indeed? Well, Judith had a compelling reason for leaving.”
“Compelling?” Daniel looked closely at her, feeling there was more to it than just his dalliance with Bella.
Rachel nodded. “She mentioned it in her last note before leaving Hampstead, but has written nothing of it in her letters since. It seems she had reason to fear the French had found out about New Pelham Crescent.”
Daniel stared at her. “Found out?”
“That’s all she said, and in view of the attempts on her life she felt it best to flee.”
“Without telling me?” Daniel ran his hand through his hair, and turned away.
Rachel was relentless. “Perhaps she thought you were the source of the problem.”
Daniel was stung. “I would never, never betray her whereabouts!”
Rachel met his eyes without flinching. “No, but you are far closer to Bella Barnardi than you ought to be, and Bella Barnardi is not only French, but has been mistress to both Bonaparte and General Sérurier in Lisbon. Those gentlemen appear to have given up their secrets to her, so why not you as well? I for one would not be so sure of your reliability on that score, so I certainly imagine Judith would feel the same.”
Chris was dismayed. “That’s enough, Rachel.”
“Well someone has to say it!” she cried.
“No, Rachel!”
Daniel intervened. “Peace, my friends, for Rachel is within her rights to give me a piece of her mind. I haven’t said anything to Bella, or to anyone else except you two, but I can see why it might be suspected. I tell you this, if the French do know about Hampstead, then their source lies elsewhere. Servants, probably.”
Rachel looked blankly at him. “Servants?”
Chris nodded. “He’s right, Rachel. The household here probably knows because the coachman took you to and from New Pelham Crescent. Anyone who knows you are Judith’s closest friend would probably find out by bribing someone here. The coachman is the obvious suspect.” His mind ran back to the Sunday morning when he and Rachel had been about to set out for church, and the strange man who had run off after speaking to the coachman. Had that been the moment of betrayal? Yes, he was inclined to believe so.
“Chris?” Daniel saw the thoughtful look on his friend’s face.
“I think it was the coachman,” Chris explained, and told him about the incident. “Shall I send for him?”
Rachel shook her head. “There is no point, for he was dismissed yesterday.”
“Dismissed? What for?”
“The butler said he was discovered stealing. The undercoachman is now the coachman, and one of the grooms has been promoted to undercoachman.”
“Why wasn’t I told?” Chris demanded.
“Because you were out when it all happened, and by the time you returned I had forgotten. I didn’t think of it again until now. You know what my memory has been like since I have been in this condition. I vow I will wake up one morning and find I have forgotten who I am!” Rachel turned to Daniel again. “Obviously the coachman could have been the source—a possibility that had not occurred to me—but even so you have to realize that none of this has been easy for Judith. The last thing she needs now is for you to—”
“To what?” Daniel broke in. “Put things right? Explain everything? Win her back again? Because that is what I want, Rachel, and it is what I mean to do . . . if it is still possible. Tomorrow I will go to Cornwall, and there is nothing you can do to prevent me.”
“She will refuse to see you,” Rachel warned, for that was what Judith’s letters had implied.
“We’ll see.” Turning on his heel, Daniel left, tugging on his three-cornered hat as he went out to his carriage.
The excited crowds that thronged the way had delayed Bella’s arrival at the King’s Theatre from Nerot’s Hotel. There were even attempts to unharness the team of her carriage, so the people could draw it through the streets themselves. Outside the theater, there was the usual impossible crush of vehicles, and the house was filling rapidly. By the time the curtain was raised the theater would be groaning at the very seams, Daniel thought, as he and Lord Howick waited in Bella’s dressing room. He could hear the distant cheers as she reached the Haymarket.
The Foreign Secretary glanced at him. “Are the émigrés fully primed?”
Daniel nodded. “As fully as can be. They will do what is expected of them.”
“But will you, Penventon? After all this damned shilly-shallying, I trust you mean to be all sincerity to her?”
“I will convince her as, I trust, you will too. Are you sure you know exactly how this conversation is to conducted?”
“I’m damned nigh word-perfect, but I tell you this—I’ll treat you to dinner if it works as you seem to think.”
“I’ve dwelt long and hard on the entire ploy, and I know Bella enough to feel certain she will fall for it.” Daniel leaned back against Bella’s cluttered dressing table, where artfully arranged mirrors and several four-branched candelabra provided for the judicious application of stage makeup. “Foreign Secretary, I wish to have your word, as one English gentleman to another, that this will be the last time I am called upon to do my damned duty. I consider I have more than served my country, and once this Barnardi business is over, I wish to be left alone, without the threat of shabby retribution.”
“Oh, come now, that’s a rather harsh way to describe it.” Lord Howick shifted a little.
“It’s an appropriate way to describe it. So your word, if you please, and be warned—renege and I’ll call you out.”
“There’s no need for this sort of thing, dear boy. Very well, you have my word. Pluck Bella Barnardi of her feathers, and all . . . warnings, will be lifted.”
“It had better be so, my lord, because I mean what I say. I’ve killed a man in a duel before, and I will do it again, whether or not you are His Majesty’s Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.”
Lord Howick sighed. “You’ve made your point, Penventon, so pray do not belabor it. I do not relish a dawn meeting on Putney Heath, so your future reputation is—”
“And that of Mrs. Callard,” Daniel interrupted.
“—and that of Mrs. Callard, is secure.” Lord Howick raised an eyebrow. “Damned if I understand you, for this could have been done with well before now. The Barnardi canary has been here over two months, but hasn’t chirrupped because you have been delaying unnecessarily.”
Daniel straightened bitterly. “Tell me something. If you were being drummed into marrying a woman you didn’t like or respect, would you skip to the altar?”
Lord Howick pursed his lips. “Damn it all—far from not liking or respecting Bella Barnardi, you’re bedding her, so why in God’s name not promise marriage too? All you have to do is publicly confirm the announcement she sprang upon you on her very first night here.”
“That isn’t all I am expected to do,” Daniel replied irritably. “And may I remind you that she foisted that first announcement on me as well as upon the rest of the world. I should have corrected her there and then, and in public as she deserved, but because I am a gentleman, and because I have Britain’s best interests at heart, I’ve gone along with the deception. But she isn’t saying a word about Boney’s intentions because she wants marriage first. Marriage, not a mere promise of it. That, sir, is what I’m expected to do, and it’s something from which I am justified in shrinking.”
“Nevertheless—”
“And I am not bedding her,” Daniel interrupted coldly.
Lord Howick gaped. “Not? But—”
“Oh, I could, for she has made plain her wishes, but I have . . . deterred her.”
“Deterred?” The Foreign Secretary raised an eyebrow.
Daniel smiled a little. “She believes I’ve acquired a dose of the clap from a King’s Place whore.”
“The clap?” Lord Howick stared, then guffawed.
“I gave my word to be faithful to the woman I really love,” Daniel said quietly, “and I’ve been standing by it.”
The Foreign Secretary recovered from his mirth, and became serious again. “Well, in your endeavors to honor your word, sir, you’ve been neglecting your country’s need to uncover what Bella Barnardi knows. England cannot wait any longer. Bonaparte is marching roughshod over the map of Europe, and must be stopped. The most recent intelligence from Yarmouth informs us that Barnardi told a friend she’d overheard a vital conversation between Bonaparte and his most trusted friend, General Lannes, who as you know preceded Junot and Sérurier at the French embassy in Lisbon. Barnardi must be made to talk about that conversation, and if that means promising marriage within the week, then so be it. I trust I have made myself clear?”
“Oh, perfectly. I trust that I also make myself clear when I say again that if I can possibly achieve it without actually standing before the altar, then I will. And remember, sir, this is positively the last task I am going to carry out for you, or for any other Foreign Secretary. And if you so much as think a threat toward Mrs. Callard or me again, I will more than think about challenging you. You see, my lord, you are not the only one capable of a threat.”
There was a sudden burst of cheering outside, and they knew that Bella had arrived. Both men straightened expectantly, and soon there were sounds in the passage, footsteps on a board floor, voices, and Bella’s affected laughter. Then the door burst open and she came in. She wore royal blue and her arms were full of costly hothouse flowers from various hopeful admirers. The passage behind her was suddenly thronged with people, all anxious to come into the dressing room as well, but her diminutive dresser pushed to the front and barred the way.
Bella’s eyes were dancing, her lovely face alight as much with the cold outside as the excitement of the night. She pushed the flowers into her dresser’s arms, then waved everyone away.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Bella faced Daniel and Lord Howick. “Gentlemen?” she murmured in French, beginning to remove her gloves.
“Madame Barnardi.” Lord Howick executed a formal and exceedingly graceful bow, at which she inclined her head. Then she looked at Daniel.
“It is good to see you again, my love.”
“Bella.”
“To what do I owe this honor?” She removed her spencer and dropped it carelessly over a chair, then sat at the dressing table in a sensuous rustle of cambric. Her face was immediately reflected in the mirror, each feature picked out in the minutest detail, not a single flaw to mar the effect as she reached up to take the pins from her soft velvet bonnet.
Lord Howick answered. “Madame, it is now two months since you arrived here, and although it pains me to have to say, you have yet to tell us anything.” His French was perfect, but spoiled by his English accent.
“The solution lies with my dear love,” she replied, her lustrous dark eyes meeting Daniel’s in the mirror.
Lord Howick drew a long breath. “But you have what you wish in that respect, madame.”
“No, my lord, I do not. Oh, Daniel may not have contradicted my betrothal announcement, but nor has he confirmed it. He accompanies me here, there, and everywhere, but never once have I heard him speak of our future together. So I am a little, shall we say . . . uncertain?”
“Madame, you gave no intimation of such terms when first you indicated a desire to come here,” the Foreign Secretary said with patience.
“A lady should not surrender her secrets unless in the most advantageous circumstances,” Bella responded flirtatiously as she set the delightful bonnet aside, then leaned closer to the mirror to examine her complexion for imagined blemishes.
Daniel went to place his hands on her shoulders and bent so that he could look at her in the mirror. “I am not the free agent you think, Bella.”
She turned to take his face in her hands and kiss him passionately on the lips. “But of course you are, my darling. All you have to do is marry me, and I will tell your government everything it wishes to know.”
Lord Howick cleared his throat, adjusted his neckerchief, and flexed his chin. “It is not quite that simple for Lord Penventon, Madame Barnardi,” he said.
Bella pulled away from Daniel to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“Simply that the British government has forbidden him to marry you until you surrender your knowledge.”
She stared at him as if he had just removed a mask and revealed himself to be Satan. “That is not possible,” she said.
Daniel drew a heavy breath. “I’m afraid it is, Bella. Why else do you imagine I have been so tardy?”
She rounded on him. “Are you a man or a mouse, my lord? How can you stand there and tell me that you obey such a . . . a preposterous command?”
“Bella, you do not need me to remind you that these are troubled times. This nation is almost alone against Bonaparte’s ever-growing empire, so things that might have been unthinkable in peacetime have now become almost commonplace. Our government does not shrink from using everything at its disposal in order to have its way.”
For a moment she looked at him, then a wry glint lit her eyes. “As I do, you mean?”
“I did not say that,” he replied quickly.
“But you thought it,” she answered. “What is the old saying? All is fair in love and war?”
Daniel smiled a little. “That is indeed the saying,” he murmured. And how true it is. “Bella, if I defy orders and marry you, and should you subsequently remain silent about Bonaparte’s intentions, a campaign will commence against my good name. Scandalous whispers will be circulated, my honor impugned, and I will be shunned by society. And if I am dishonored, as Lady Penventon you will be too.”
She was shocked. “But that is blackmail!”
Lord Howick gave a thin smile. “A crime that is no doubt familiar to you,” he observed coolly.
Bella recoiled, but not, Daniel was sure, because she was once again being credited with the same faults as the British government. No, there was another reason; one that sucked the color from her face and wrought fear in her dark eyes. “What do you mean?” she breathed, trembling visibly.
Lord Howick’s curious glance met Daniel’s, then returned to Bella. “I mean that your terms for coming to this country are also blackmail, madame.”
She relaxed. “Oh . . . I—I suppose they are,” she said absently, and resumed her seat at the dressing table. “If I agree to tell you first, how long must I wait again before Daniel honors his word? If he honors it at all, of course.” She took some pins from her hair. “You see my dilemma, gentlemen? I dare not comply with your . . . wishes, and so my marriage demand must remain. I become Lady Penventon, and then I sing Napoléon’s plans to you.”
Lord Howick shook his head. “No, madame, that will not do. The offer is this: You tell us everything you know now, and then go onstage. At the end of the performance, when you have taken all your calls and London is enslaved to you forever, Lord Penventon will join you onstage and announce that you will be married within the week.”
