Carola Dunn (3 page)

“Not in so many words, I admit, but she knows where I lodge.” He glanced around the dingy room with distaste.

To Fanny the parlour seemed comfortable, if not cheerful. Trying to see it through his eyes, she said, “I suppose she considers this the wrong side of town! Will not your employer pay for better lodgings and smarter clothes, since he requires you to mingle with the best society?”

“I daresay Mr Rothschild might count the expenditure justified, but I cannot. My personal expenses must come from my own pocket.” Obviously pride forbade his living in clover at the banker’s expense, the sort of pride Fanny appreciated. “I’ve made no secret of being purse-pinched,” he went on. “Today, for instance, I pointed out that I’d borrowed the curricle I drove. Her only objection was that a curricle is too sporting a vehicle for a lady to ride in with perfect decorum.”

She giggled. “I wonder what she’d have thought if she had seen me crossing the Spanish mountains astride a mule!”

Though he smiled, he said seriously, “She is, perhaps, a trifle over-fastidious, but she always conducts herself with the utmost propriety and I honour her for it. After all, she is the daughter of a marquis. Rank brings obligations as well as pleasures.”

“No doubt.” She was by no means convinced of any connection between a sense of duty and a disposition to make a fuss over trifles. “Well, I must go and see how Henriette is getting on with our dinner.” Setting Anita on the floor, she stood up.

“I’ll dine out tomorrow, by the way. I’m going to a café outside the ramparts.”

“One of those places where the Belgian bourgeoisie make merry? Not with Lady Sophia, I assume!” She couldn’t resist the dig. “Are you coming to the kitchen with me, Anita?”

“I want Tío Felix to play so’jers with me.” An admonitory glance made her change her words. “Please, dear Tío Felix, my lord, will you play so’jers with me? Which do you like bestest, infantly or calvary?”

“Artillery,” said Felix promptly. Like Frank Ingram, her father had been an artillery officer.

“Me too, but I can’t say it,” Anita confessed, and tugged him over to the table to set up her fallen troops.

Fanny watched them with a smile before turning to go to the kitchen. Lady Sophia might appear immune to his charm, but Anita adored him. If only she could prevent herself succumbing!

* * * *

Katrina Lisle had reasons other than Lord Roworth’s charm for appreciating him. A voluptuous, red-headed Fleming, she was the widow of a Walloon soldier who had fought for the French emperor. He had died during Napoleon’s abortive invasion of Russia and she hated armies in general, Bonaparte in particular, with a passion unusual in the phlegmatic Flemish race.

That passion spilled over into her relationship with Felix. Unattached to the army yet doing his part to overthrow the usurper, he was to her mind the ideal lover, as she told him often. He didn’t mind that, but it was a trifle embarrassing when she expatiated on his height and strength; his handsome, aristocratic face; his blue eyes and golden hair; his superior performance in bed.

“Ach, those who say the English are cold-blooded know nothing!” she would exclaim.

Fortunately she kept such effusions for her chamber. They spent a pleasant evening at a café just outside the Namur gate and then repaired to her house for a night of superior performances.

* * * *

Felix returned to Madame Vilvoorde’s after a late breakfast the next day, to find awaiting him a courier from London. Fanny had invited Moses Solomon into the parlour and was plying him with tea. Anita was plying the slight, dark young man with questions, for he was a regular visitor and therefore a friend of hers.

“Was there big waves when you went on the boat? Did you see lots of seagulls? Did you throw bread for them? I did, when I went on a boat. They catched it in the air. Did you see fishes? Tío Frank says there’s lots of fishes in the sea, but I didn’t see them,” she lamented.

“Come along, chatterbox.” Fanny smiled at Felix as he entered the room, her irresistible dimples as always bringing an answering smile to his face. “We’ll leave you to do your business in peace, Lord Roworth. If you’d like some tea I’ll send Henriette with a fresh pot. She has learned how to brew it quite respectably. Mr Solomon, I hope you will take a luncheon with us?”

“Th-thank you, Miss Ingram, I’ll be happy to.” He turned to Felix as Fanny departed, and said with enthusiasm, “W-what a splendid person she is! P-pretty and gay and always w-welcoming. I haven’t the least claim on her hospitality. If she weren’t a Goy...”

“What, thinking of marriage?” Felix was surprised and displeased.

“No, no, my mother would drop dead if I brought home a

Gentile w-wife,” he said regretfully.

“Besides which, Miss Ingram must be four or five years older than you are. Come now, to business.”

“Yes, my lord. I’ve brought another load of g-gold for the Duke of Wellington. As usual, Mr Rothschild wants you to check it, before I deliver it to Mr Herries at the Commissariat, and to personally report its arrival to General Wellington. There’s a letter, too--here you are. I think it’s about the subsidy for Hanover.”

Felix groaned. “Not that business still!” He took the letter, broke the seal, and read it. “All right, I’ll have to discuss this with the Duke. We’d best go right away and check the gold. The army’s appetite for the stuff is inexhaustible.”

At a nearby mews, the carriage that had brought the gold from Ostend was guarded by a stalwart coachman with horse-pistols and a burly guard with a shotgun. Though the Rothschilds owned several carriages with hidden compartments, Felix recognized the shabby black vehicle at once.

Four years ago he and Isaac Cohen had driven it from Paris to the Pyrenees through the very heart of the enemy’s country, loaded then, too, with gold for Wellington. They had had no guards with them, only the brave young woman who was now Isaac’s wife.

Felix sighed. He still carried Miriam’s image in his heart, though no doubt she had been right and a marriage between them would never have worked. Certainly his parents would never have approved of her, he reminded himself, as he knew they would of Lady Sophia Gerrold.

This consignment of gold was mostly in ingots and was soon counted. Sending young Solomon on to the Commissary-General with a reminder to have the receipt signed by Herries himself, Felix walked to the Duke’s Headquarters.

As always the hôtel in the Rue Royale, overlooking the park, was aswarm with Wellington’s personal staff. Young men of noble birth, equally at home in the ballroom or the saddle--Felix might have been one of them had his father not lost a fortune. They referred to themselves as the Duke’s “family,” and in fact Lord Fitzroy Somerset was married to his commander’s niece.

The older officers, Felix had known during his years on the Town. As the Rothschilds’ liaison with Wellington, he had met others in Paris when the Duke was ambassador, or in Vienna during the Congress. As heir to an earldom he was always welcome, especially as most knew something of his unconventional part in the struggle against Napoleon.

“What news, Roworth?” a plump gentleman in the white net pantaloons, blue frock coat, and fringed sash of the Staff greeted Felix. Colonel Sir Alexander Gordon had been one of Wellington’s aides since Portugal.

“None for your ears,” Felix responded firmly. “Is Fitzroy around?”

“Gordon’s ‘a round’,” teased Lord March, the Richmonds’ eldest son. “Fitzroy’s on the slim side. He’s with the Duke at present, Roworth, consulting with my lord and master.”

“Slender Billy’s here? I suspect my news will make the Duke speak words about King William that his majesty’s royal heir ought not to hear.”

“The Hanoverian subsidies?” The youthful Lieutenant the Honourable George Cathcart, lounging by the window, was promptly frowned down by Canning and Percy. Such delicate matters of diplomacy and finance were not to be bandied about by very junior officers.

“They shouldn’t be long now,” said Gordon, “and Fitzroy hasn’t mentioned anything in particular on the schedule that might interrupt you. You’ll want to see the Duke himself, I expect?”

“If there’s trouble with King William, I suppose he’ll be in a devilish mood for the rest of the day,” moaned Cathcart.

“I’ve good news too,” Felix assured him with a grin. A shipment of gold was always welcome.

Five minutes later, the Prince of Orange erupted into the room, with Lord Fitzroy following at a more sober pace. The young heir to the throne of the Netherlands, despite the glory of a General’s uniform, was an unimpressive figure. He was very thin, with protuberant eyes and a wide mouth that gave rise to his other nickname, the Young Frog, his stout father being known to the irreverent as the Old Frog.

However, the prince’s irrepressible gaiety and lack of condescension made him generally popular with the Staff, of which he had once been a member. “March!” he cried, “the Beau wants to see you. It’s my belief he’ll repeat everything to you in case I wasn’t listening.”

“And were you listening, sir?” Gordon enquired as Lord March departed.

“To every word that falls from the Great Man’s lips,
je vous assure!
Tell them, Fitzroy, that I was most attentive.”

“His Highness was most attentive,” said Fitzroy gravely, a twinkle lurking in his eyes. “Sir, are you acquainted with Lord Roworth?”

“We’ve met,” said the prince with a friendly smile as Felix bowed. “At some ball or other, was it not?” They exchanged a few words, and then Slender Billy said, “I expect you have business with Fitzroy--don’t let me keep you from it.”

He went over to Percy and Cathcart by the window, whence laughter soon arose.

“How is Lady Fitzroy?” Felix asked. “And your daughter, of course?”

“Both very well, but I can’t help wishing the Duke hadn’t persuaded Emily not to go home for the birth. Perhaps her staying reassured waverers, but with the baby she cannot easily travel now, should it become necessary. Do you have further news from Paris?”

“No, from London. You think Brussels will be unsafe for women and children?”

Fitzroy shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about Lady Sophia, if I were you. Daventry’s no Richmond. He’ll whisk the ladies away at the first sign of trouble.”

“I wasn’t thinking of them. There’s a little charmer at my lodgings...”

“What! Unfaithful to the fair Belgian, Felix? Not to mention the Goddess.”

“This particular charmer is three years old. Three and a half, as she would have it. There’s a young woman too, her guardian, but she is far too intrepid to desert her soldier brother.” He wished he were in a position to insist that Fanny take Anita out of danger. He could not even offer to accompany them, since his duty to Rothschild required his presence within easy reach of the Commander-in-Chief. War was coming, and victory or defeat, his employer demanded immediate news. “Oh, here’s March. Is the Duke free now?”

Fitzroy looked round. “As far as I know. I’ll stick my head in and ask.”

“Into the lion’s den,” said Lord March ruefully. “I’ve been properly raked over the coals.”

When Fitzroy beckoned Felix into Wellington’s office a moment later, he was glad, for once, that he was not under the irascible Duke’s command.

The Commander-in-Chief of the Allied forces, seated at his desk, favoured him with a hard stare of his light-blue eyes and demanded, “Well?”

“A consignment of gold has arrived from England, sir. The courier is delivering it to Mr Herries.”

“Excellent. If I can rely upon anyone in this business it is Mr Rothschild. Make a note, Fitzroy, to let De Lancey know. Take a seat, Roworth. What’s the news from London?”

“Here’s a letter for you, sir. I can tell you the gist of it. Mr Rothschild is prepared to advance the entire sum for the Hanover subsidy immediately, but the Government wishes you to make another effort to persuade King William to pay his agreed share.”

“It is impossible to persuade the King to anything,” snapped the Duke impatiently. He rose and began to pace the room. Though he wore plain morning dress, every vigorous movement of that trim figure exuded authority. The piercing gaze and famous hook nose swung back towards Felix. “And every delay brings new demands from those avaricious Hanoverians! How am I to carry the day against Napoleon without cooperation from my allies and my Government?”

“Mr Rothschild cannot proceed without authorization from the Government, sir,” Felix ventured to point out.

“No.” The Duke dropped into his chair, tore open the letter, and scanned it rapidly. “Fitzroy, a letter to King William. You’ll put in all that ceremonious fustian for me. Thank you, Roworth, I’ll let you know when I have an answer,” he added absently, and began to dictate.

Felix slipped out, returning to the less stressful atmosphere of the staff room. “One of you glorified errand-boys will shortly be on his way to Antwerp,” he announced.

A united groan answered him. They all enjoyed escaping from Headquarters for a wild cross-country ride, but the stuffy Dutch court was not a popular destination.

De Lancey, the harrassed-looking Quartermaster-General, and Captain Lord Arthur Hill, who was even stouter than Gordon, had joined the others. Felix chatted with them until Moses Solomon arrived with the receipt signed by Herries, and then walked back with him to Madame Vilvoorde’s.

He told Solomon that the Duke was writing to King William. “This afternoon I’ll add a word about that business to my report for Mr Rothschild,” he said, “and then you can be on your way home.”

Moses looked less than pleased. “Hadn’t I b-best wait until the Duke receives a reply?”

“That may take days.” Noting his disappointment, Felix wondered again about the young man’s infatuation with Fanny. Somehow he had never envisaged her as “splendid.” A pleasant companion, certainly, and pretty, too, but compared to Lady Sophia all other females paled.

Chapter 3

Fanny had set the parlour table with fresh-baked bread and butter, Dutch cheeses from Gouda, Edam, and Limbourg, cold mutton, and a small dish of early strawberries. When Felix and Moses Solomon arrived, Anita was eyeing the ripe red berries hopefully.