The Mask Revealed (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 2) (20 page)

“Of course I am!” Angus replied. “I wouldna be spending half my time inventing hand signs, and wishing I’d learnt more than basic Italian, if she could speak French!”

“There’s a difference between understanding a language and speaking it, though, is there no’?” Alex said. “Humour me. Bring her here tonight, just for a few minutes, and we’ll make sure.”

What Alex intended to do if it was discovered that Katerina did understand French, he was not willing to reveal.

They were going out that night, to a card party, and Alex took especial care over his appearance. Once dressed, in royal blue velvet edged with Brussels lace, her hair beautifully dressed by her husband, who was reasonably expert in such matters, being able to curl and powder his own wigs, Beth sat at the writing desk to put the finishing touches to her letter to Isabella. Angus had departed some time before, promising to bring Katerina for a brief visit at eight o’ clock. He seemed as nervous as Beth about Alex meeting the girl, which, as he knew a lot more about the violent side of his brother than she did, made Beth even more anxious.

After some time, the bedroom door opened, and Sir Anthony appeared. Although Beth had seen the transformation many times, it still never ceased to amaze her. The tall, burly, indisputably masculine Alex MacGregor would disappear into a bedroom, and within half an hour, would metamorphose into the effeminate, affected baronet. Occasionally she had watched as he rose from his seat at the dressing table, having just applied the paint, rouge and patches. He would stand erect at first, still imposing, still Alex, in spite of the paint, and then he would slump his shoulders, loosen his joints, and compress his spine, shaving a couple of inches off his height in the process. After that he always gave a small sigh, before taking on the rest of Sir Anthony’s mannerisms. The strong stride would shorten, become mincing, the muscular arms and wrists become almost boneless, the hands fluttering languidly. The compelling MacGregor charisma was still there, but subdued by the frivolous, superficial personality of the fop. It was remarkable.

Tonight it took longer than half an hour to effect the transformation, and when her husband finally made his appearance, even Beth, accustomed as she was to Sir Anthony’s flamboyant dress sense, was taken aback.

“I am not going out with you, looking like that,” she said, firmly. “What are you thinking of?”

He was dressed in magenta silk breeches, and a bright orange waistcoat of silk brocade, embroidered with yellow marigolds. His coat was of brightest scarlet, and above it, his cherry-red mouth beamed at her. It was impossible to envisage a more hideous combination of colours. He seemed to have had an accident with his rouge as well, which covered a far larger amount of his cheeks than normal. He looked hideous. Even for Sir Anthony he looked hideous. He cocked his head, and a cloud of powder puffed lightly from his wig. He coughed, delicately.

“Oh my dear Elizabeth, do you not like my choice of attire?” he simpered.

“Like it?” she said. “Have you looked in the mirror? No. I do not like it. That’s an understatement. I detest it.”

“Well then, I will change, just for you,” he said petulantly, as a light tap came on the door. He backed away into the bedroom, leaving Beth to greet the visitors.

Angus had been advised to tell Katerina that his employer wished to meet her, that he was very severe, and that she must be on her best behaviour, for Sir Anthony was very unpredictable and could take offence at the slightest thing. That Angus had done his job well was obvious from the moment the couple entered the room. Katerina was trembling slightly, and her eyes were downcast. Angus loomed behind her, towering over her diminutive figure.

“Come in,” Beth said, attempting to sound reassuring. Why Alex had wanted to make the girl terrified of meeting him she had no idea, but one look at her told Beth why Angus had been unable to contemplate harming her last night. She was lovely. Small, smaller even than Beth, but more voluptuous, she bobbed a curtsey, and raised her head to observe Beth with a pair of long-lashed, anxious soft brown eyes, set in a perfect heart-shaped face, framed by masses of dark brown hair, pulled up into a simple chignon. Beth’s heart went out to her, and she wondered how she could make the girl feel at ease.

“
Buona sera. Piacere di conoscerla,
” she said, exhausting almost all her Italian with her friendly greeting. She motioned for the pair to sit down, which they did, side by side on the sofa. Beth noticed the girl put her hands in her lap and clasp them tightly in an attempt to stop their trembling being noticeable. Whatever Angus had told her about Sir Anthony, it had worked. She looked as though she were about to meet the Devil himself. Angus looked around the room for his brother.

“My husband…ah…
mio marito
…is dressing,” Beth said, pantomiming someone putting on a coat. Katerina smiled, uncertainly.

“On the contrary, my dear Elizabeth, I am already dressed, and cannot wait to make the acquaintance of this delightful young lady!” Sir Anthony cried from behind them.

Both Angus and Katerina sprang to their feet, and turned to the apparition that had appeared from the bedroom. Beth frowned. She thought he had gone to change, but it seemed, by the stench of violets that announced his entrance, that he had only gone to douse himself in the scent Beth had hoped he’d renounced for good.

Angus’s eyes widened slightly, but otherwise he showed no reaction to the rainbow figure. Katerina gave a snort of laughter, before flushing bright red and dropping into a deep curtsey. Sir Anthony moved forward and took her hand, raising it to his lips and gallantly kissing it. She stood, and looked cautiously at him, struggling not to laugh, her eyes dancing. Her free hand came up over her mouth and she covered up the second giggle that escaped with a cough.

“
Bonsoir, mademoiselle
,” he trilled. “
Vous êtes tres belle.
”

Angus opened his mouth to translate, but Katerina put her tiny hand on his arm.

“
Yo capisco
,” she said, smiling. “
Merci beaucoup, Monsieur le Comte,
” she replied in heavily accented French. Beth and Angus exchanged twin glances of apprehension. If she understood that, what more did she comprehend? Then Sir Anthony was motioning the pair to sit down again. He did not disabuse the girl of her notion that he was a Count, Beth noticed.

“So,” he continued in French. “Jim here tells me you are maid to a countess on her way to Paris. Have you been to France before?”

The girl looked expectantly at her companion, who translated slowly, in halting Italian.

“No,” she replied, in the same language. “But I am very much looking forward to it.”

Once again, Angus translated, slowly. Sir Anthony showed no sign that he could, in fact, speak Italian quite well, certainly a lot better than the young man struggling to translate. Beth stood back, observing as the conversation continued for a few minutes in Sir Anthony’s flawless French, and Katerina’s beautiful Italian, punctuated by ‘Jim’s’ painful attempts at translation. The girl showed no sign of understanding any more French than his first compliment to her beauty, which she had undoubtedly heard from every Frenchman she had ever met in Italy. How long would her husband continue this charade? Beth felt more sorry for Angus than Katerina now. She had recovered from her first sight of Sir Anthony, although her eyes were moist with the effort of not laughing. Angus’s command of Italian was being tested beyond its limits, however, and he was clearly becoming irritated.

The weather and the delights of Paris now being exhausted, the conversation finally drew to a close, and the young couple rose from their seats to take their leave. Sir Anthony took Katerina’s hand and once again lifted it to his lips.

“Your mother was a whore and your father fucks pigs,” he said pleasantly, still in French, smiling warmly at her.

Beth inhaled strongly, through her nose.

Katerina glanced up at Angus, awaiting the translation. Angus blinked once, then looked calmly at his brother, and smiled. He turned to Katerina, then pointed at Sir Anthony and Beth, before walking his fingers through the air in the direction of the door.

“My master and mistress are going out,” he said carefully. He pointed now at himself, and her, before making a sweeping gesture which took in the whole room. “They have said we can stay here this evening. After our meal,” Angus rapidly wielded a knife and fork upon a generous helping of air, then raised an imaginary glass in toast to Sir Anthony. “Which he will pay for,” he finished, miming his master paying a large sum of money to an invisible waiter. He smiled and bowed his gratitude to Sir Anthony, and it was Beth’s turn to choke back a laugh.

“Oh,
Grazie mille
,
Segnore
!” Katerina cried, curtseying deeply, her eyes sparkling.

“Cleverly managed, Jim,” said Sir Anthony in French, throwing his purse at his footman, who caught it deftly. “But you’ll need to go out while I change into something a little less garish. I suggest you find an eating house. There’s an expensive one by the harbour, which should empty that purse somewhat, and ensure you a successful night. We will return at dawn. Be gone by then.”

“Are you going to explain?” Beth asked, as Alex rubbed the excess rouge off his cheeks, and selected a new outfit in the comparatively sober colours of mulberry red and lemon.

“Do I need to?” he asked. “Were you offended?”

“By your comment? No. If she was pretending not to understand your normal conversation for some reason, she would nevertheless have shown some reaction to your appalling insult. She didn’t. Are you satisfied now that she didn’t understand Henri?”

“Yes,” said her husband, unbuttoning the garish orange waistcoat. “But not just because of her lack of reaction to my comment. Tell me something. If you understood French, but knew that your life depended on people not knowing that, would you react if I called your mother a whore and your father a seducer of animals?”

“No,” said Beth, “I wouldn’t.”

“But on the same basis, if you knew that the man you were about to meet for the first time was not only a man of title and power, but who also became very violent at the slightest provocation, would you laugh at him if he turned out to look like a circus clown and smell like a brothel?”

Understanding dawned.

“No, I wouldn’t,” she said. “But she did, and had difficulty controlling herself for some time. So you knew then that she was not adept at concealing her emotions.”

“Precisely,” said her husband, still in the tones of Sir Anthony, which he would now maintain for the rest of the evening. “The girl is delightful, and quite ingenuous. She displays her emotions for all to see. She is quite taken with Angus. And in answer to your next question, no I wouldn’t.”

“No you wouldn’t what?” said Beth, unaware that she had had another question to ask.

“Have been able to kill her, if I had been tumbling her in the hothouse last night.”

Beth heard with relief the answer to the question she had not known she wanted to ask, and realised how well her husband knew her. It was warming, disconcerting.

“I’m very glad you weren’t,” she replied after a minute. He had shrugged on his coat, blown out the candle, and moved towards the door. He paused, his fingers on the handle.

“You’re very glad I wasn’t what?” he asked, smiling down at her.

“Tumbling Katerina in the hothouse, or any other woman, anywhere. Because if you were, and I found out, I would be quite capable of killing you. Although my blood would be far from cold at the time.”

He turned back, and reaching, cupped her face with his hands. The skin of his gloves was soft, warm against her cheeks.

“I am yours, until I die,” he said, startling her with his sudden seriousness. “If you ever have cause to kill me, it will not be due to my unfaithfulness. I will love you, and only you, and will take no other, not even in play, while you live.” In spite of the make-up and clothes, it was not Sir Anthony, but Alex who leaned forward, and kissed her, gently, on the mouth. His lips were warm and dry. “One day, when you are ready,” he said, “I hope you will say the same to me. But I do not demand it. I know why you married me.”

She looked at him, unblinking. The soft touch of his strong hands on her skin, the scent of the suede, the intensity of his dark blue gaze burned themselves into her memory, and she knew she would never forget this moment, however long she lived.

“I am ready,” she said.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The young couple walked along the second-floor gallery of the Palazzo Muti, the clicking of their shoes on the polished wooden floor echoing dully from the walls and high ceiling. Portraits of long-dead women wearing ruffs and holding flowers, or men in full armour and outmoded wigs, hands on hips, stared down at them as they made their way to the door at the end of the gallery, which was guarded casually by two men with sheathed swords.

Beth, both nervous and excited by the meeting to come, had dressed modestly, although elegantly, hoping to minimise her beauty, and therefore observe rather than be observed. She had never expected to meet the man behind the door, and had no idea what to expect, as her husband, although acquainted with him, would divulge nothing, telling her only that he wished her to make up her own mind, and would be interested to hear her opinion later.

Alex was nervous for the opposite reason to Beth. He had had several meetings with the man, but always as Alex MacGregor; this would be the first time he had entered these chambers as Sir Anthony Peters, and in doing so he was about to reveal his dual identity to another person. He was not worried about that in itself; this man would not betray him, and if he did, then Alex would have spent his whole life in vain. What worried him was that there might be other people present at this meeting, at least initially; people who had never met Sir Anthony, but who were acquainted with Alex MacGregor, and who must not know that the two were one and the same man.