The Danbury Scandals (26 page)

It was opened
by the Duke himself, a habit which frequently astonished his visitors. He was
in grey breeches and shirt-sleeves. His uniform jacket hung over a chair and
his highly polished boots stood beside it. Adam returned his sword to its
scabbard and pushed past Lord Brandon. ‘Your Grace, I am sorry for this
unconventional arrival, but his lordship was not inclined to announce me.’

The Duke
smiled. ‘He is paid, among other things, to protect me from vagabonds like
you.’ He turned to Brandon. ‘You may leave us and make sure we are not
disturbed for at least ten minutes.’

Lord Brandon
scowled and Adam could not refrain from grinning; it was not the first time he
had bested a junior official over whether the Duke of Wellington would see him,
but this time he had been less sure of himself. If the events at Castle Cedars
had reached the ducal ears, he might very well have been refused.

Knowing that
when the Duke said ten minutes he meant exactly that, he lost no time in
explaining his errand as soon as they were alone. The Duke listened gravely,
but refused to be intimidated by threats.

‘I am aware of
the situation,’ he said. ‘And, although I have nothing against making a
strategic withdrawal, it would look decidedly odd if I were to pick up my tails
and run now, don’t you think? If it is found necessary to withdraw me, then I
hope it can be done with dignity, but until then I stay at my post.’ He paused before
going on. ‘Rest assured, we will be watchful, Captain.’ He smiled. ‘If you want
to be of service, do as you have always done, watch and listen and keep me
informed.’

‘Yes, Your
Grace.’

‘Preferably in
the south.’

‘I had planned
to go to Challac, Your Grace. It is near Grenoble,’ Adam explained.

‘Good. Good.
That suits me very well.’

Adam took his
leave; it was no more than he had expected but he didn’t think his old friends
would be satisfied with that and was half glad of the excuse to leave Paris. He
had been commissioned to look and listen and report what he saw and heard, and
he knew that the Duke’s mild way of putting it was an instruction to act
positively. He was not expected to sit on his estate and wait for news to come
to him. If there was going to be trouble, he ought to send Maryanne back to
Robert where she would be safe, but the very thought of parting from her was
almost more than he could bear.

Maryanne spent
the morning supervising household tasks but returned every now and again to the
letter. It had come from England and it was addressed in a flourishing hand she
guessed belonged to Robert Rudge. Robert had already sent money, so why had he
written again so quickly unless he had something important to tell Adam? About
the murder? Or to warn him that Mark was coming to Paris? If so, he was too
late and the damage had been done. She felt like going up to Adam’s room and
shaking him into wakefulness so that he would come down and satisfy her
curiosity.

When he did
appear, it was not from his bedroom, but from the street. ‘Where have you
been?’ she demanded, her anxiety making her speak sharply. ‘You haven’t met
Mark again, have you?’

‘No, my dear,
if I had intended duelling with him, I would have done it in London. ‘Tis a
pity I did not, it might have saved a deal of heartache.’

‘Then where
have you been?’

‘I went for a
ride in the Bois du Boulogne to clear my head. I am afraid I imbibed a little
too much after I left you last night.’

She smiled her
relief; it was easier to forgive him for getting drunk than going after Mark.
‘It’s too late for breakfast,’ she said.

‘I am not
hungry. I’ll have coffee.’ He picked up the letter and ripped it open while she
rang for a servant.

When she turned
back to him, she was astonished by the expression on his face. It was alight
with joy.

‘She’s alive,
Maryanne. Alive. Can it be true?’ He read the letter again while she stood
staring at him. ‘All these years...’

‘Adam, who is
alive?’

‘
Maman.
Maman
. The Comte de Challac has written to me. I played a small part in
getting him out of the hulks at Portsmouth and reuniting him with his wife, did
I tell you? Robert has forwarded the letter.’ He handed it to Maryanne. ‘Here,
read it yourself.’

Maryanne took
the sheet of paper to the window to read what the Count had written.

‘When I heard a
rumour that there was an Englishwoman in the Convent of St Margaret, I went to
enquire after her, thinking that I might perhaps, in gratitude for my own good
fortune, be able to do for her what you did for me and restore her to her
home,’ she read. ‘It is many years since I saw
madame
, but I am almost
sure the lady was your mother, though pathetically thin and stooped. The nuns
say they rescued her from the prison where she had been kept ever since the
Terror, and though they have cared for her devotedly she is very confused. She
can remember brief glimpses of the past which fly away as soon as you try to
probe more deeply. I beg you make all haste to come and see for yourself. Your
old home is hardly habitable, so please come and stay at the château with us.
Hortense calls you her saviour and wants, above all, to give you her thanks
personally.’

She looked up
at Adam when she had finished reading. He looked as though he did not know
whether to laugh or cry. ‘If only I had known!’ he cried. ‘I truly believed she
had been executed just before her husband. I saw him die, you know. Just before
they... just before that, I spoke to him and he said he hoped they had been
merciful and I took that to mean... Oh, Maryanne!’

He grabbed her
round the waist and swung her off her feet to kiss her. Slowly he set her down,
but his mouth did not leave hers; the kiss lingered on and she felt swamped by
her love for him. It came over her in waves like the sea pounding on a shore,
relentless, undeniable, sweeping away all doubts. It was just as it had been in
Dover, so sure, so rock-solid.

‘We must go to
her at once,’ she said when he released her.

‘We? You
include yourself?’

‘Of course,’
she said. ‘What else would I do but come with you? Wasn’t that always your
intention?’

‘Yes, but after
last night I thought you might have changed your mind.’

‘What has last
night to do with it? You still do not think I want to go back to England, even
if I could? There is nowhere for me to go, you know that.’

‘You were the
one who did not want to be always running away. You could go back to the Duke
of Wiltshire...’

She stared at
him, unable to believe that their disagreement of the night before still
rankled. ‘That is out of the question and you know it.’

‘I cannot take
you to Challac unmarried. It is not like Paris, you know...’ He stopped.
Eleanor Saint-Pierre would be able to prove who he was and he prayed she was
not as confused as the Count seemed to think. ‘
Maman...
’

‘Would be horrified,’
she interrupted him. ‘Is that all you can think of?’ She blinked back the tears
which sprang to her eyes. How could he be so blind? It was almost as if he was
trying to turn her against him.

‘It is a little
late to go down on my knees and propose in the conventional manner, Maryanne. I
remember you telling me you would not marry me however compromised you had
been, but we cannot go on like this. God, woman, don’t you know what it’s been
like for me these last weeks? I won’t be held at arm’s length and played with
like a cat plays with a mouse.’

‘I haven’t done
any such thing!’

‘Oh, yes, you
have. Now, you must make up your mind, once and for all. If you come, it will
be as my wife or...’ He did not want to say it again, knowing he was tempting
fate. But he had to know.

She was in
tears. ‘Adam, I have said I will come with you, I have always said it.’

‘As my wife?’

‘As your wife.’
The words were whispered.

He let out his
breath in a long sigh of relief. ‘You will not regret it,’ he said. ‘And one
day, as God is my witness, you will be able to hold up your head anywhere in
the world.’ He kissed her then, but she felt wooden and unresponsive, the
exuberance of a few minutes before gone. If only he had wanted to marry her
because he loved her, if only...

They were
married the same day, in a quiet ceremony witnessed only by Lerue and another
old acquaintance of Adam’s, neither of whom Maryanne had met before. They came,
she realised, from Adam’s past, from his jackdaw days, and she found them
rather frightening.

‘They are good
men,’ Adam assured her. ‘And who else could we ask?’

He was right,
of course; all their Parisian friends believed them to be already married. It
did not help her to feel any less nervous about the step she was taking. She
wanted, more than anything in the world, to be his wife; she wanted to be done
with pretence, to share his life and to know that, whatever happened, they were
united in their love for each other. But how could that be achieved when it was
all so one-sided, when his prime consideration was the silencing of gossip?

She forced
herself to put her doubts behind her as he took his place beside her in the
church and the parson began the service. It was done now and she must make the best
of it. Perhaps, in time, it would all come right; perhaps, when the past had
been put behind them, they could build a future for themselves.

As soon as the
ceremony was over, they left Paris in a hired chaise. Adam was relaxed and
cheerful and talked of his home and his parents and how eagerly he awaited his
reunion with his mother, so that by the time they stopped at an inn for the
night she had caught his mood. Perhaps it was only in Paris he was so morose,
and now that he was going home she would come to know the real Adam
Saint-Pierre.

He ordered a
meal to be brought to their room, but, unable to think of anything but the big
four-poster bed, she had no appetite.

‘Is it not to
your taste, my dear?’ he asked, after watching her push her food round her
plate.

‘I find I am
not hungry,’ she told him.

He smiled and
stood up. ‘Neither am I.’ He took her hand and drew her to her feet. ‘My hunger
is of a different kind.’

She stood,
almost impassively, as he kissed her, but when his hands began the gentle task
of rousing her she found herself responding, shyly at first, then, as he
removed her clothes, taking his time, kissing her and caressing her with great
tenderness, she became more and more inflamed. Her love, her desire, her need
found expression in a passion that not even he could have guessed at.
Delighted, he picked her up and carried her to the bed.

Not until the
following morning did she realise that, whatever happened, nothing would ever
be the same again, that irrevocably she was his wife and if he could not find
it in his heart to love her as a husband should, at least he knew how to be
kind and gentle. She would try to be content.

Chapter Ten

They reached
Challac two days later, two days in which Maryanne was blissfully happy. She
was almost afraid to arrive, in case it should all come to an end.

The village
nestled in a valley enfolded by hills. There was a church with a very tall
steeple and quaint little cottages grouped around a tree-lined square where a
fountain played. There was a plinth beside it, but no statue. ‘They took it
down,’ Adam said, smiling. ‘It was one of Bonaparte. I imagine they are in no
hurry to replace it with another of Louis.’

His home was
called
Les Cascades
, he told her, because of the many little waterfalls
which tumbled down the steep slopes that surrounded it. From a distance it
looked a beautiful house, not quite a chateau, nor an English mansion, but when
their coach made its way up the drive and they drew nearer they could see it
was almost derelict. Windows were broken, slates missing from the roof and the
oak door looked as though it had been battered down with a tree-trunk. The
garden was a wilderness of weeds, except large areas where the grass had been
trampled flat.

‘They must have
had heavy guns here,’ Adam said. ‘It is a wonder the place is still standing at
all.’

Next to the
house, they saw a tiny patch of cultivated ground where potatoes and onions
grew, and here a bent old man was hoeing. He stopped what he was doing as the
coach came to a stop and stood watching them. Suddenly his face broke into a
grin, revealing a single broken tooth. ‘
Monsieur
Adam!’ He turned to
scuttle back into the house, crying, ‘Anna! Anna!
Monsieur
, our master,
is back. Come and see!’

A little round
tub of a woman came to the kitchen door, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Oh,
monsieur
,
can it be you?’ She peered short-sightedly at Adam. ‘All the long years we
prayed for you and now our prayers have been answered.’

‘Thank you,
Anna. It is good to see you again. And you, Henri. Maryanne, these two good
people, Henri and Anna Garonne, were here in the old days.’ He turned back to
the old servants. ‘This is my wife. She is English but she can understand your
French if you speak slowly.’