The King's Falcon (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 3) (30 page)

‘Major Langley.’
 
She gave him her customary half-smile and resumed her work. ‘Is there something I can do for you?’

He didn’t give himself time to think.
 
He simply crossed the room and placed his cherished pages beside her on the sofa.
 
He said, ‘Yes.
 
I’d like you to read that and let me know what you think.
 
You needn’t worry about being tactful.
 
I’d rather have it straight from the shoulder.’

Pauline tucked her needle away and let the gown slide to the floor as she stretched out a hand for the Major’s offering. She’d been aware for some days now that he was writing something and had wondered what.
 
It seemed she was about to find out.

She said, ‘And you shall have it.
 
Now go away and walk your nerves off elsewhere.
 
I’ll call you when I’m done.’

Francis hovered for a moment and then, with a nod, left the room.
 
Pauline smoothed the pages out on her lap and took a moment to enjoy the sound of agitated pacing in the hall before she looked down at the script.
 
The top page merely said,

M
É
NAGE

A Play in One Act

Dramatis Personae

The Husband, His Wife,

Her Lover & The Mother-in-Law

She set the pages down again and shut her eyes.

Oh dear
.
The most hackneyed idea in the history of theatre.
 
What can have possessed the man?

Then, sighing, she turned the first page and started to read.

Twenty minutes later, mopping her streaming eyes and aching with laughter she’d been trying to keep silent, she opened the door and told Francis he could come back and hear the verdict.
 

He entered the room without speaking and, refusing the chair she indicated, stood in front of the empty hearth as if facing a firing-squad.
 
Then he absorbed the over-bright eyes, flushed skin and the fact that Madame Fleury’s hair was escaping its ribbon.
 
She looked like a completely different person.
 
She looked like a girl.
 
She also looked as if she’d been laughing her head off. Francis wasn’t sure how he should interpret that.
 
He said, ‘Well, Madame?
 
What do you think?’

‘I – I d-don’t know where to start,’ she managed.
 
And then went off into a fresh paroxysm of helpless laughter.
 

Francis waited patiently for her to regain the power of speech.
 
It occurred to him that, even if she’d hated his little play, the sight of her clutching her sides and giggling like a school-girl in some sense lessened his disappointment.

Finally, pulling herself together, Pauline said breathlessly, ‘I’m sorry.
 
There are a – a number of lines in there that tend to stick in the memory and – and I just recalled one of them.’
 
She sat up straight again and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
 
‘You want to know what I think?
 
I’m … astounded.’

‘Well, that’s something I suppose,’ he replied.

‘It is indeed.’ She grinned up at him. ‘Major Langley – I am not easily impressed.
 
But your play is the sharpest, funniest, most utterly wicked thing I’ve read in a very long time.
 
There’s not one wasted word and the relationship between the characters is so well-observed, it cuts to the bone.
 
The double and even sometimes
triple
-entendres are in a class of their own.
 
And as for the character of the
belle-m
é
re
… that is sheer genius.’
 
She spread her hands.
 
‘I don’t know how you did it – but I sincerely congratulate you.’

Francis was aware of an unfamiliar sensation filling his chest.
 
His hands tingled oddly and he knew that his colour had risen.
 
He swallowed hard and said, ‘That is … I hardly know what to say, Madame.’

‘Pauline.’

‘Pauline,’ he repeated, managing a slight bow.
 
‘It’s only an
entr’acte
or a curtain-raiser, if you will.
 
I – obviously I hoped you might like it.
 
But I didn’t expect …’ He stopped and then deciding to grasp the nettle, ‘When I began it, the play had only three characters.
 
I’m not sure when the mother-in-law arrived.
 
But I know where she came from.
 
You’ll have noticed that she is positioned above and outside the action, in order to comment on it apparently unheard and unseen by the other protagonists?’

‘I noticed she has the most evil lines – which, considering the quality of the rest, is saying something.’
 
She stood up and held the script out to him.
 
‘If you don’t give it to Froissart, I’ll take it to him myself.’

‘Willingly – on one condition.’
 

Her brows rose.
 
‘Conditions, Major?
 
Really?’

‘Francis,’ he replied, smiling.
 
‘And yes – really.
 
I’ll offer it to Froissart on condition that, if he decides to stage it, you agree to play the mother-in-law.’

*
 
*
 
*

With no more than a few judicious enquiries, Colonel Peverell traced Lucy Walter to a house near the Palais-Royal.
 
It helped, of course, that he already knew a great deal about her.

Prior to her liaison with Charles, Lucy’s lover had been Colonel Robert Sidney – and possibly that gentleman’s brother as well.
 
Her affair with the then Prince of Wales, had begun in ’48 in The Hague – and had resulted, the following spring, in the birth of their son, James.
 
The relationship had continued, on and off, until Charles left for Scotland in June, 1650 – whereupon Lucy had immediately leapt into bed with Viscount Taafe, producing a daughter less than a year later. When Charles returned to Paris after Worcester, he’d broken his links with the lady – publicly, at least.
 
And that was when the silly female had started trying to regain his attention by means of seeing how much scandalous gossip she could cause.

All in all, Ashley wondered how Charles – who was by no means stupid – had ever put up with her in the first place.
 
Granted, the woman was beautiful; clouds of dark hair and eyes bluer than a hot, summer sky.
 
But her personality left a lot to be desired and she had the potential to become a bloody liability.

A coin he could ill-afford pressed into the hand of the maidservant he saw exiting the house bought him the information that Madame Walter had lodgings on the first floor.
 
Ashley appraised the building critically and came to the conclusion that, if burglary
did
become necessary, the task wouldn’t be particularly difficult. Then, he lounged in the doorway of a tavern across the street in the hope of seeing any comings and goings.
 

For a time, all he saw were people who were either servants or possibly tenants of other parts of the building.
 
Then, just when he was considering giving up for the day, a gentleman emerged through the front door and, on reaching the pavement, turned to wave jauntily at the lady dimly visible at a first-floor window.
 
Ashley’s gaze remained fixed on the man, aware of a vague sense of familiarity which eventually crystalised into near-certainty.
 
He couldn’t remember the fellow’s name… but what he
did
remember was Will Brierley pointing him out as the King’s agent in Brussels.

Brussels?
 
Had Lucy’s journey back from England taken her by way of Brussels?
 
It was possible, he supposed.
 
But if that was when she’d first met Sir-whatever-his-name-was, one or both of them was a remarkably fast worker. Ashley grinned wryly, berating himself for his naivet
é
. Lucy had never been particularly fussy; and few men refused an offer from a beautiful woman.

Very few men, actually.
 
It was just a damned irony that Ashley himself had to be one of them. Since the incident in the hall when he’d narrowly avoided kissing her, he had managed to see Athenais only in passing and never alone. But he’d still managed to notice that her expression was frosty when their eyes met and bewildered when she thought he wasn’t looking.
 
Hell
.

Pushing away from the doorframe, he turned back in the direction of the Rue des Rosiers.
 
Surveillance was a tedious business.
 
Time to give Jem an occupation that would reduce the amount of time he had to spend with Archie and a bottle.

~
 
*
 
*
 
~
 
*
 
*
 
~

During the first week in October, everyone at the Th
éâ
tre du Marais rejoiced when King Louis left the palace of St. Germain and returned in state to take up residence at the Louvre.
 
Colonel Peverell was less overjoyed and felt impelled to spend as much time as he could spare with his own sovereign, which meant that he learned the latest news from England before he might otherwise have done. This, in turn, was responsible for him having the nearest thing to a quarrel one could have with royalty when he discovered that the Highland chieftains were urging Charles to appoint leaders for a Scottish uprising – and Charles flatly refused to make him one of them.

 
This, however, he didn’t tell Francis – merely revealing that Admiral Blake had won a resounding naval victory at the battle of Kentish Knock.

‘And that,’ he added, ‘presumably cancels out Tromp’s triumph at Plymouth. One wonders which side thinks it is winning.’

‘Both, probably – since that’s the normal way of things.
 
Anything else?’

‘There is – but none of it’s good.
 
Ralph Hopton died in Bruges at the end of last month.
 
And there’s rumour – as yet unconfirmed – that Prince Maurice has been lost at sea.’

‘Oh.’ Francis was suddenly still. ‘If it’s true, Rupert must be … well, I can’t imagine.
 
They argued almost constantly – but were closer than any two brothers I ever knew.’

‘Yes.
 
So we’ll have to pray it
is
just a rumour.’ Ashley stood up and reached for his sword.
 
‘Meanwhile, you and I had better take ourselves off to the theatre and attempt to earn our pay.
 
I don’t expect to make much more progress than we’ve done so far – but I suppose there’s always hope.’

This would be their fourth rehearsal and the results so far had been negligible.
 
Of the three actors they were required to train, only Etienne Lepreux showed the slightest potential – which was fortunate since he was required in both fights.
 
Of the other two, Marcel thudded wildly about the stage seemingly incapable of remembering the moves and Andr
é
clutched his sword like a cudgel, fell over at the least provocation and looked perpetually terrified.
 

Engaged in placing a sheaf of papers securely inside his coat, Francis said, ‘Perhaps it’s time to start praying for a miracle.
 
With only seventeen days left, we’re going to need one.’

‘Don’t tell me they’ve honoured you with a speaking role?’

‘What? Oh – this.’
 
Francis patted
 
his chest and shrugged. ‘No.
 
It’s just a little something I’ve been working on.
 
Pau – Madame Fleury suggested that Froissart might like to see it.’

It had taken him until yesterday evening to charm, flatter, cajole and finally bully Pauline into agreeing to his condition.
 
And, in the end, he’d done it by saying – with much less than his usual finesse, ‘You bone-headed woman!
 
It’s your role, don’t you see?
 
I wrote the damned part for you – so the least you can do is pluck up enough courage to play it.’

Unaware of this, Ashley muttered, ‘God. This theatrical nonsense is getting worse by the minute.’

‘It’s in my blood,’ retorted Francis flippantly.
 
‘And we can’t all be philistines.’

*
 
*
 
*

The afternoon’s rehearsal showed some slight improvement on its predecessors.
 
Etienne had plainly practised and memorised his moves – which was good – but was now overflowing with ebullient confidence – which wasn’t.
 
Andr
é
managed to fall and roll on cue but still staggered to his feet as if drunk.
 
And Marcel still hacked and slashed like a badly-handled marionette but had at least stopped sounding like a herd of thundering elephants.
 
At the end of two hours, when all three were sweating profusely, Ashley let them recover their breath whilst giving a twenty minute lecture on basic style and how to achieve it.

Leaving the Colonel to it, Francis ambled back to Froissart’s office and rapping lightly on the door, said, ‘Have you a moment, Monsieur?’

The assistant-manager looked up from the swiftly-mounting expenses of the forthcoming extravaganza.
 
‘Only for good news.
 
Anything else may cause me to open my veins.’

‘The swordplay is a little better.
 
If the Colonel’s schedule doesn’t kill them, it’s beginning to look as if your actors may manage not to look utterly ludicrous.’

‘Thank you. You have no idea how much better that makes me feel.’

‘My pleasure.’
 
Francis grinned and strolled across to place
M
é
nage
on top of Froissart’s costings.
 
‘Madame Fleury feels you should read this.
 
I believe the word ‘immediately’ was mentioned somewhere.’
 

And he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

By the time Ashley joined him fifteen minutes later, a series of odd snorts and guffaws were coming from the other side of the door.
 

‘Is he laughing or choking?’ asked Ashley, leaning negligently against the wall.

‘The former, I hope.
 
He’s been like this for --’

The door was suddenly hauled open and Froissart appeared clutching the script to his chest.
 
He said, ‘Where did Pauline get this?
 
Has anyone else seen it?
 
Does she know the writer?’

‘From me.
 
No.
 
And yes,’ drawled Francis, laughter lighting the back of his eyes.

Froissart stared at him, as if sorting out the answers.
 
Then, incredulously, ‘
You
wrote it?’

‘Yes.
 
Do you like it?’

‘It’s unscrupulous and deadly as a well-honed razor.
 
It’s also the best piece of comedy I’ve seen in a long while.
 
What do you want for it?’

‘Whatever you feel it’s worth,’ shrugged Francis.
 
‘There is, however, just one condition.’

‘Name it.’

‘The role of the mother-in-law is to be played by Madame Fleury.’

Froissart opened his mouth, then closed it again.
 
He shook his head, regretfully.

‘She won’t do it.’

‘Actually,’ said Francis simply and with immense satisfaction, ‘she will.’

*
 
*
 
*

While Francis was listening to Froissart’s raptures and Ashley sat in a corner reading the script to see what all the fuss was about, Athenais was walking around the parlour, rehearsing her lines for
Mariamne
and enjoying the rustle of her very first brand-new gown.
 

It was of leaf-green taffeta, trimmed with blond lace and she thought it was the most beautiful dress in the world – and entirely deserving of the equally new and lovely corset and petticoats she wore beneath it.
 
The feel of it and the sighing sound it made as she walked made it hard to concentrate on her lines.
 
More distracting still was the niggling wish that Colonel Peverell was there to see her.
 
Perhaps if he saw her dressed like a real lady and looking her best, he might actually kiss her.

She was still wondering why he hadn’t.
 
He had wanted to.
 
As soon as she had calmed down enough to think properly, she’d known that.
 
For the space of a minute, everything about him had shouted that he wanted a lot more than just a kiss.
 
And yet he hadn’t taken it – despite the fact she’d made it abundantly clear that she wanted him to.
 

It made no sense.
 
Men generally took what was on offer – and sometimes things that weren’t.
 
But Ashley Peverell had resumed his usual expression and stepped away from her as though nothing had happened; as though he hadn’t felt that instant, overwhelming tug between their bodies … or didn’t consider it nearly as cataclysmic as she did.
 

She huffed an impatient breath and ordered herself to stop thinking about him.
 
It was a waste of time and she should be concentrating on her lines.
 
Just because the mere sound of his voice or the echo of his tread on the stairs had the ability to make her pulse stutter and her chest grow tight didn’t mean he necessarily felt the same.
 
And just because he’d shown her the sort of kindness life had taught her not to expect was no reason to turn into an emotional jelly at the merest glance from those gold-flecked green eyes.

She picked up the script and rifled through the pages, trying to remember where she’d got to.
 
Then, just when she’d found the right place, she heard the front door open and the sound of booted feet crossing the hall.

Ashley and Francis back from the theatre?
 
Was it that time already?
 
She hadn’t thought it so late.
 
She tossed the script aside and flew to the small mirror over the fireplace to check that her hair was in place.
 
If she got into the hall quickly enough, Colonel Peverell would see her in her beautiful new gown and perhaps –

The door opened and the Marquis d’Auxerre walked in.

Athenais froze, rooted to the spot in shock.

‘Good afternoon, my dear.’
 
He bowed lazily and continued to advance towards her.
 
‘You look charming.
 
A new gown, perhaps?’

‘Yes.’
 
Getting just that one word out was an effort.
 
Swallowing hard, she said baldly, ‘How did you get in? I didn’t hear the bell.’

‘I didn’t ring it.
 
You have a distressing habit of being out when I call … and the door was unlocked.’
 

‘You – you’re saying you just walked in?’
 
Anger started to mingle with her alarm.
 
‘You have no right!’

He placed his hat on the table and started slowly stripping off his gloves.

‘I have any right I choose to take,’ came the careless reply.
 
‘And I am here because you and I have unfinished business.
 
Business which I intend to resolve today.’
 

Athenais backed away a couple of steps to put the sofa between them while she tried to think who else, other than Suzon, might be in the house.
 
Since the day she’d become acquainted with Colonel Peverell’s naked and extremely splendid chest, her father had been drinking noticeably less and started taking long walks around the city.
 
Jem Barker, busy with some mysterious task, was rarely around during the day; Pauline had gone to visit a friend on the Rue St. Paul; and both the Colonel and the Major would be at the theatre until at least five o’clock.
 
She wished she knew what the time was now.
 
She wished Pauline would come home.
 
She wished somebody had locked the front door.

Forcing herself to sound calmer than she felt, she said, ‘Then perhaps you should be seated – and I will ask the maid to bring wine.
 
If you will excuse me for a moment?’

‘No.
 
I don’t believe I will.’
 
He smiled at her.
 
‘I am not entirely stupid, Athenais.’

‘I have never thought you were.’

‘No?
 
But you hoped.
 
And you will not stir from this room until we have reached an agreement.’
 
He tossed his embroidered gloves down beside his hat.
 
‘Sit down.’

‘I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.’
 
She gestured to her skirts.
 
‘The gown, you understand.
 
It’s only just arrived from the dressmaker and of course I couldn’t resist trying it on – but I don’t want to crush it, so it’s best I remain standing.’

‘Perhaps it would be best to simply remove it.’

The smile still lingered and the look in his eyes told her that he’d be happy to help.
 
Tendrils of fear started to coil around her nerves.
 
She lifted her chin and said primly, ‘That is not the remark of a gentleman, sir.’

‘No.
 
But then, it wasn’t addressed to a lady.’
 
He moved beyond the sofa, forcing her to retreat towards the corner.
 
‘Enough of this now.
 
I have borne with you patiently for far longer than you deserve but the game has ceased to amuse me.
 
Are you going to come to my bed willingly – or must I employ more … persuasions?’
 
Two more steps brought him close enough to stroke his fingers down her neck and along the bare skin revealed by her
décolletage
. ‘I doubt you enjoyed your first experience of a claque.’