Amanda Scott (18 page)

“Only encourage the man a trifle and you will quickly see how wrong you are,” Nest said, turning a stern eye upon her sister as she spread jam thickly upon her toast. “When he compliments you upon your gown, you immediately turn it into a compliment for me, saying that you would never have done so well on your own without my excellent advice. That is true, of course, but you need not say so. Why, it must put the poor man quite off his stride. Furthermore, whenever he casts sheep’s eyes at you, as he does constantly, you turn the conversation to politics or to the weather, for pity’s sake. Or else you simply draw another person, such as myself or Mr. Carruthers, into the conversation. Yes, and if you don’t want Sir Antony—though why you shouldn’t, I’m sure I cannot say—you might have Mr. Carruthers merely for the dropping of your handkerchief.”

Meriel burst into a peal of laughter. “Mr. Carruthers! Really, Nest, just because he has made himself perfectly charming these past weeks and has been welcomed into your friends’ homes as quickly as into your own does nothing to mitigate the fact that he is a common thief.”

“Nonsense, there is nothing common about that man. He’s a gentleman born, that one is. Perhaps he’s been cast off by his own. Whatever it is, he’s a deep one, that’s all.”

Meriel shook her head in exasperation. “I have no time for this idiotish conversation,” she said, pouring herself more tea. “Nor do I have the time or the inclination to marry. I have an estate to look after, and I am responsible for two young women and one schoolboy. What on earth would you have me do with them if I should marry?”

This question appeared to be unanswerable. Nest’s voice was hardly as firm as it had been before when she suggested, “Auntie Wynne?”

“Don’t be absurd. You must remember what she is like. A delightful creature, and I am sure I value her as I should, but now that she has tasted London life again, she will not wish to return to Plas Tallyn. She is not even particularly fond of the children, you know, and it was only by promising her that they would behave themselves like paragons while I was away that I convinced her to look after them for this brief time. And you know as well as I do that the letter I received only two days since betokens an impatience for my return that I can no longer ignore. I daresay if Gwenyth or Davy has not got into a scrape, Eliza has found another unsuitable beau and fancies herself in love again.” Meriel’s tone by the last sentence had become rather abstract, for her thoughts, of their own accord, had returned to her sister’s conviction regarding Sir Antony’s flirtations. Surely Nest was wrong. She had little time to dwell upon the matter, however, for a footman entered just then, bearing a message upon his silver tray.

“Goodness,” said Nest, “whoever would call at such an hour as this?”

“Read the note and see,” suggested her sister with a twinkling look.

Nest opened the note and scanned it briefly. “
Mon Dieu
, Monsieur Deguise is below and insists that he must speak with us at once. I hope nothing has happened to imperil André’s release. We were told only another day or so.”

Meriel patted her hand, then folded her napkin and arose from her chair, smoothing the skirt of her russet linen morning dress. “Perhaps it is no more than news of the negotiations,” she said calmly. “He has feared recently that they might fail, and he knows I have a keen interest in what transpires.”

When the two ladies entered the ground-floor drawing room, Monsieur Deguise turned quickly from his contemplation of the empty fireplace and strode toward them with a haste that was quite unlike him.

“
Madame, mademoiselle, merci du bon Dieu
!”

“What is it,
monsieur?
” Meriel demanded. “’Tis not something gone amiss with de Prévenu, surely?”

“No, no,
mademoiselle
, he will be free within the week. Napoleon is in Paris, he is angry, and he is in need of funds, so there is nothing to trouble you there. The news I bring is sufficiently bad,
bien sûr
. The talks, they have collapsed. Lord Whitworth leaves for England today.”

“Good heavens, then the embassy is to be closed?”

“
Vraiment, mademoiselle. En effet
, you and your sister must prepare to depart from France at once.”

Nest regarded him in dismay. “Depart from France? Don’t be absurd,
monsieur
. I have no intention of departing, come what may, for I am part of a French family now, and they will protect me. Nor is there any reason for my sister to depart, for she is Welsh, not English, and will be in no danger.”

“I cannot agree,
madame
,” he said, gazing at her quite seriously. “She has come into France on a British passport, for such is what is issued at all English ports.” He glanced at Meriel, who nodded her head. Her passport was indeed a British one. “In such a case there is a record of her entry as a British citizen in the Le Havre passport registry. It is such registries as that one that the authorities will check, if worse comes to worst. Me, I know this.”

“But that is absurd,” Nest protested. “She is my sister. My husband’s family will protect her.”

Monsieur Deguise was not convinced, but he soon saw that to argue further would be an exercise in futility. Thus he took his departure, leaving the two sisters to discuss the morning’s events at their leisure.

“You know, Nest,” Meriel said when he had gone, “he was perfectly in the right of it. You ought to pack up and come home with me.”

“No, I shan’t do anything of the kind. Oh, Mama Elise,” she exclaimed in relief when her mother-in-law chose that moment to enter the room, “Meri is afraid there is going to be war and says I must go home with her.”

As always, Madame Elise carried her knitting with her. Today it was a shawl in bright shades of green and pink. She settled herself comfortably in a wide-lapped chair near the fireplace, arranged her knitting to her satisfaction, and then turned her attention to her impatient daughter-in-law.

“Your sister is a woman of excellent sense,” she said then.

“Oh, no!” Nest cried. “You cannot mean to say that I must go with her. You cannot! My place is here with you, with André’s family. I will not go.”

“Of course you will not go,
ma chère
. I have said only that your sister shows the good sense, not that you must obey her. You have to obey no one but your husband, and he is not here yet to tell you what you must do.”

“Then he is likewise not here to protect her,” Meriel pointed out gently, “and I cannot think it wise under the circumstances to await his pleasure.”

“I would not go even if he said I must,” Nest said stubbornly, “but he would not say such a thing. I know he would not.”

“No, I do not believe he would,” said Madame Elise, smiling at her, then turning the smile upon Meriel. “It is a good thing that your sister loves my son so much, I think,
mademoiselle
. It would be good for you to find a man to love like that. But for now, you must think only of yourself and what you wish to do. I cannot promise that my family can protect you, but they will protect
ma chère
Nest. Her safety need not concern you.”

Knowing that the Comte de Prévenu was still in prison despite the fact that three weeks had passed since her arrival did not give Meriel a strong opinion of the Depuissants’ ability to protect their own, but she said nothing then. When Sir Antony arrived an hour later with the same news of the negotiations that Monsieur Deguise had brought them, however, she had no qualms about expressing her fears to him.

Nest had followed her into the drawing room to greet him, and Madame Elise arrived several minutes later. Thus it was that Meriel had to phrase her sentences carefully, but she had no fear that he would not take her meaning. Indeed, he understood her perfectly well.

“I agree that you would both be safer in England,” he said firmly. “I have come to offer my services to escort you there.”

“That is kind of you, sir,” Nest told him, “but there is no need. As we are Welsh, not English, there is scarcely any reason for us to fear the onset of war between England and France. Anyone knows that the Welsh rarely side with the English on any matter.”

“My dear madam,” Sir Antony said patiently, “you complained to me in this very room not three weeks past that the French have great difficulty distinguishing Welsh from English. Moreover, while I feel sure that Napoleon might conceivably understand and appreciate such political and historic niceties, I am equally convinced that his minions will not. The mere fact that Lady Meriel is in France on a British passport and speaks English will preclude any further questions if the
gendarmerie
detain her. The sooner she is off French soil now, the better. With all pretense at negotiation ended, the next step, I assure you, will be a declaration of war by one side or the other.”

“It will be the English who will declare war, sir. I would stake my best bonnet against anything you would care to name.”

He failed to convince her either that Napoleon would be the aggressor or that she or her sister would be in any danger regardless of who declared war upon whom, and although Meriel was certain he was right about the fact that she, at least, ought to depart from Paris as quickly as possible, she could not agree to leave until she had had time to make at least one further push to convince her sister to accompany her.

This Nest flatly refused to do, and when word came to them that evening confirming the fact that the Comte de Prévenue was to be released within the week, Meriel knew there was no argument at all that would change her sister’s mind. As it happened, she had very little time to consider the matter, for they received another visit from Monsieur Deguise the very next day. His news was not good.

“Mademoiselle,”
he said sadly, “I regret to inform you that King George the Third has this day declared war upon the sovereign state of France. Furthermore, Napoleon has given orders that all British tourists are to be detained for internment at Verdun. The arrests are to begin at once.”

“T
HERE NOW, DID I
not tell you that the English would begin it?” inquired Nest smugly. “How fortunate that Sir Antony did not accept my wager, for he would look prodigious odd in my best bonnet.”

Monsieur Deguise looked at her as though she had quite lost her mind, and even Meriel was distracted enough to tell her rather sharply to hold her tongue. “For did you not hear what else our kind friend has said?” she demanded. “British tourists are even at this moment being arrested.”

“Oh, pooh,” said Nest, unimpressed. “I keep telling you and telling you that you are perfectly safe here.”

“Begging your pardon,” Monsieur Deguise put in hurriedly, “but even the so-powerful family Depuissant will be unable to protect her from arrest. In effect, as I said to you before, the Lady Meriel entered France under a British passport, which is registered in Le Havre. Me, I tell you more, that there will be a little list, just as soon as someone gets to drawing it up.”

“He is right,” Meriel told her sister. “You may be able to help after I am arrested, but I’d as lief not have the experience if it can be avoided.” Then she turned her attention back to Monsieur Deguise. “You have been most kind to warn me,
monsieur
. Or, when you say that no one can protect me from arrest, do you mean that such arrest is imminent and unavoidable?” The thought made her stomach clench, but Deguise hastened to reassure her.

“Oh, no, no,
mademoiselle
,” he said quickly. “I come but to warn you and to urge you to flee as quickly as you may arrange to do so. Your presence in this house is no secret, so it will not be long before someone comes, but I believe you will have sufficient time to pack a case or two.”

Stepping to the bell-pull, she gave it a hearty yank, and when the footman appeared, she asked her sister to relay orders to Gladys Peat to begin packing. “Have him tell her to pack only what is necessary and to do it quickly.”

When the young man nodded, appearing not the least disturbed by the odd orders, then made his bow and departed, Meriel turned back to Deguise. “What do you advise me to do,
monsieur?
Do I return the way I came?”

“Indeed,
mademoiselle
, I have given the matter much consideration. No doubt it would be simpler to find someone to take you across La Manche—that is, your Channel—from Calais, but I believe that way will be extremely crowded with other British tourists. You would be wiser to go by way of Dieppe or Le Havre, and I myself should choose the latter simply because you are familiar with the route and because you can resort to a water coach if the road should prove to be overlittered with the
gendarmerie
. Then, too, your friend and mine,
le bon père de Rouen
, will surely be willing to assist you. Therefore, my advice is certainly to go to him as quickly as you may, then accept his guidance from there.”

“But how will she travel?” Nest demanded. “Surely there will be
gendarmes
and soldiers on every route, searching for British tourists. Her papers, as you have pointed out, will do her no good.”

Monsieur Deguise smiled. “I have taken the liberty,
mademoiselle
, of bringing with me today such papers as I believe might be of greatest assistance.” With a small, triumphant flourish, he extracted from his coat pocket a packet of foolscap papers which he presented to Meriel.

She unfolded them, thinking they would be all in French, but to her surprise, some were not, and with growing delight she rapidly scanned the contents. “Good gracious,
monsieur
, how came you by these?”

“Me, I have my methods,
mademoiselle
,” the elderly man said modestly, “and I am blessed with many friends.”

“One of whom, at least, is American,” she said dryly. “I am become Mary Travers, American citizen, Nest. Only look at these.” She held the papers out to her sister, who took them eagerly.

“There is a separate passport here for Gladys Peat, too, in her own name,” Nest noted with admiration, “saying that she too is American. Would it not have been simpler to provide them with French identities,
monsieur?
”