Not Forgotten

by Elizabeth Johns

  “Tonight?

  A butler opened the door for them and he escorted her inside.

  “Yes, your aunt is holding a soirée. Welcome to my Paris home, Lady Amelia.”

  Chapter 4

  Philip really should not have teased Lady Amelia, but at the time he could not seem to help himself. She was so young and full of joy, and something about her made him forget about the seriousness of his task. Even if she recognized him now, he would be himself again that evening.

  He laughed as he walked along the Rue Saint Honoré. She had been so annoyed when he bumped into her! It would be entertaining to have her present during this assignment, but he was wary of having her underfoot and in danger. It would require all of his attention to make sure she was safe and not distracting him from his true purpose.

  The avenue was busy with pedestrians and deliveries. A candle maker and the milk maids made deliveries, and other sundries were also brought to the larger houses. Philip spied Tobin in a corner across the street from La Glacier’s house and had to admit the Irishman was playing his part well. There were other beggars and a group of pie sellers in the vicinity, so he was inconspicuous. Philip crossed the street to where Tobin was at his post. He bought two meat pies from the nearby vendor and checked his surroundings. After he was certain Tobin had seen him, he walked past him into the alleyway. A few minutes passed before Tobin joined him.

  “Are you going to share?”

  “Are you hungry?” Philip taunted as he held a pie up to his mouth.

  “Of course I am hungry, you worthless gobshite. I could hardly buy a pie when I am supposed to have no money. I have been tortured by the smell for hours now.”

  “I suppose I could share,” Philip said, handing him one of the pies.

  Tobin grabbed the food from Philip and devoured it. Philip handed him the second one and Tobin looked up in surprise.

  “I had a good breakfast.”

  Tobin scowled at Philip, but took the pie and ate it. When he had finished, Philip finally got down to business.

  “Do you have anything for me?”

  “No. So far it has been quiet. It makes me wonder if they are to have the meeting here, after all. Should there not be extra traffic?”

  Philip frowned. “It is about time, and she is having a party here tonight. There should at least be extra deliveries as well as signs of cleaning and other preparations. Who is watching the back?”

  “I do not ken. My post is in the front.”

  “I will see what I can discover. She has probably moved the location.”

  “Where else would it be? They could hardly hold it at the palace.”

  “I have no idea, but I intend to find out. Send word if anything changes,” Philip directed.

  “Yes, sir,” Tobin said with a hint of mockery in his voice. Philip ignored him and went on to explore at the rear of the house. However, there was no sign of any activity in the alleyway behind the hôtel. A large stone wall stood guard around the courtyard, but for a house holding a party that evening, something did not hold true. It should be a hive of activity.

  “She is trying to fool us,” he murmured to himself, “but will the meeting really be here and she is trying to make us think it will be somewhere else, or is it actually to be somewhere else?”

  Philip knocked on the service door for deliveries. After several minutes, a young maid finally answered.

  “Oui?”

  Philip attempted his charming, flirtatious persona. “I heard there was a party tonight. I have come to offer my services,” he said with a wink.

  “And what services would those be, Monsieur?” she asked, rightfully sceptical.

  “I am a man of many talents. I will do anything.”

  “I will have to ask the housekeeper. We do have a party here tonight, but my mistress is very particular about who she allows to work for her.”

  “Very understandable. Is there anything I can do to help before the party?” He rolled up his sleeves and flexed his hands. “I am not afraid of any job,” he said, raising his eyebrows and flashing her a smile. “It is hard to find work with the Emperor in exile. I was one of his devoted soldiers,” Philip added in a pitiful tone.

  “I am certain my mistress would be pleased to hire you, but she is gone out for the day.”

  “And your housekeeper?”

  The maid looked around to see if anyone was listening. “She pretends to be in charge, but she does nothing without the mistress’s approval.”

  “Oh, I see. What is so important for the mistress to be out all day when she has a grand party at her house tonight?”

  “Who can say? She is a very important person.”

  “You are fortunate to work for her, then. I hope the rumours are true about the army rising up again. I had heard Madame was organizing the cause. Perhaps another day I may speak with her.”

  “You may wait for her, if you wish, but it is not likely she will have time to meet with you today. Her man, Lannes, is more likely to have time, but unfortunately, he also went out.”

  “Maybe one day I can be a part of their important plans.”

  “I wish I could help you more. Perhaps you could try tomorrow?”

  “Yes, tomorrow.”

  “Should I tell her you called?”

  “It would do no good. I have no card or direction. I will try again tomorrow as you say. Au revoir.”

  The gate closed behind him and Philip muttered a curse to himself. He was so close! Was the maid an excellent liar? Was she privy to her mistresses whereabouts?

  Either way, it seemed she was not going to divulge anything else. Pondering his next course of action, he was walking slowly back along the alleyway when an open door caught his attention. It was in the ground, but it did not look as if it led to a sewer. The steps were made of stone and led back in the direction of where La Glacier’s house loomed above the kennel. He glanced around him from beneath his hat. Seeing no one, he looked down a few steps and heard voices, but none he recognized. If this was the meeting, where were the lookouts? He went back up to the street. It would do no good to be caught now. There had to be guards somewhere—obviously they were relaxing in their duties. Was there a tunnel close, perchance, whereby he could try to get closer and listen to what was going forward?

  At the end of the road, he finally found one. He lifted the cover and made his way down into the sewers. It was easy to become disoriented and the stench was as bad as anything he had ever experienced. Wading through murky waste and liquid, he tried to count out which house must be La Glacier’s. By his best estimate, he was somewhere between her house and the tunnels leading toward the palace. He found what appeared to be a room of stone, but no entrance from the east sewage tunnels.

  Skirting around the edge for any way to listen in, he had almost made it around the perimeter of this cellar when he found a small vent.

  “That is all for now, then,” La Glacier said, sounding hollow. “We continue to amass the army and wait for the emperor’s return.”

  “Vivre l’Empereur’!” the men shouted.

  “Now, I must prepare for my unexpected visitors. I will send word when it is time for our next move. We must continue to be patient and vigilant.”

  Philip waited as the people began to disperse. He could make out very little through the small vent, only chairs being pushed back from a table. He needed to get back to Wellington and report, quickly. He waded through the muck back to the street, going one street further, closer to where Tobin was camped, and climbed the small ladder up to fresh air.

  “What happened to ye?” Tobin asked, making a face and covering his nose.

  “I have been in the sewers, eavesdropping.”

  “Whatever takes yer fancy. Madame returned to the house five minutes ago. It looked as though she had been shopping.”

  “She is very clever, since she was doing nothing of the sort. I am back to Headquarters if you want to go.”

  “What, and leave my post of luxur
y and intrigue?” he mocked.

  “Suit yourself. I am off to take a bath and shave.”

  “I will be along soon. It would not do to be seen together.”

  “Very well. I will give my report on the meeting to the Duke by myself.”

  “Ye were listening to the meeting?” Tobin asked in a hushed voice. “Why did ye not say so?”

  Philip grinned and walked south, away from the Rue Cambon towards the Rue Saint Honoré.

  When he arrived he chose the servants’ entrance, to the dismay of all in his path. He left his boots, stockings and outer clothing outside the door.

  “Burn those clothes, send up a bath to my rooms as soon as possible and tell the Duke I need to speak with him urgently—as soon as I have washed.”

  “Oui, Monsieur.”

  Philip was soaking the stench away in a copper bath next to the fire when, without ceremony, Wellington burst into his room. His magnificent presence seemed to fill what space was left of the chamber.

  Philip made to stand, but Wellington waved him back down. “What did you discover?”

  “I only happened upon the meeting by surprise. It was in a secret chamber, down among the tunnels between the palace and La Glacier’s residence. I could not gain entrance to the house, and I only discovered it as I was leaving. The door to the alley was left open.”

  “A lucky chance, by God, but I will take it. What did they say?”

  “I only arrived for the end, but it seems they are amassing an army for Napoleon’s expected return. There was no mention of a date, but the group shouted, “‘Vivre l’Empereur’ before they left.”

  “Ha. Wishful thinking. I do not mind if they waste their time indulging in fancy, but consider this: will they appoint a new leader instead? We must be prepared, Elliot,” Wellington barked. “I will send my man to you. No need to look like a bear any longer.”

  Despite having the latest fashions in London, Amelia was dissatisfied with her current wardrobe when she would be attending a ball with the elite in Paris.

  Amelia and Meg were in the Duchess’ dressing room, a surprisingly feminine space done in gold and green. They were trying to decide what would be suitable, when Waverley knocked on the door.

  “May I come in?” he asked, somewhat unnecessarily since he was already stepping over the threshold.

  “Of course,” Meg said.

  “I have received a letter from your aunt.”

  “What does it say?”

  “It is a personal invitation to her gathering tonight. Instead of being guests of Wellington, we will be there at her behest.”

  “That is for the best. I am glad she sent a note. Amelia is concerned, however, that we do not have the latest Parisian fashions,” Meg explained to her husband.

  “You have the latest London fashions. They will be just as curious to see how you look as you are wishful to be approved. It is all in how you present yourself.”

  Meg agreed but Amelia was not convinced, and looked at him sceptically.

  “No one will be looking at your gown,” the Duke reassured her.

  “Lavender, cerulean, or pomona?” she asked, holding up three gowns beneath her chin.

  “Lavender is my favourite colour,” Meg answered.

  “Then lavender it shall be,” she said sweetly. “Will there be French officers present?”

  “I assume you are asking for information’s sake, not romantic notions,” Waverley remarked with a frown.

  “Of course not! I want to be alert and help discover whatever it is that needs to be discovered. It would be useful to know what information we seek, precisely.”

  Waverley sighed deeply and sat down in one of the armchairs. “That is often the great difficulty with being a spy. You do not always know what you are looking for. Wellington has suspicions, but since Napoleon is on the island of Elba, under guard, we cannot definitively say he is organizing another army against the rest of Europe.”

  “Yet you have your suspicions?”

  “Rumour has it that King Louis has not regained the support or trust of the people, and that they are still loyal to Napoleon.”

  “So we are merely here to set a foot inside the door and report anything we hear?”

  “Yes, Wellington is not above using every tool available to him to win, which I respect, except in cases when it involves my family. I want you both to promise me that you will do nothing stupid. Do not go anywhere alone.”

  “I would have no notion where to go,” Amelia protested, holding out her hands.

  “Trust me, it will happen—more than once, no doubt. You are naturally curious, which can make for an excellent spy, but if you do not know your own limitations, you will die. Any of these people will be willing to kill in the name of their country.”

  Amelia’s heart sped up at the realization they might be involved in intrigue and danger.

  “How will I get information to you if I hear anything? It is you I come to, I collect?”

  Waverley wrinkled his face. “I assume so, but Wellington might give you some other people you can go to if I am not available. You need a signal to make if you are in distress.”

  “What kind of signal?” she asked.

  “Some kind of subtle gesture, like pulling on your necklace or juggling your earring.”

  “I see. I tend to play with my necklace when I am nervous, so it had better not to be that. My earrings then. If I play with my earrings, then that shall be my sign.” She demonstrated the movement.

  “Do I need one, too?” Meg asked.

  “I do not intend to let you out of my sight, but I suppose it is a wise precaution.”

  “Then mine will be my necklace. I do not normally play with it.”

  “Is there anyone in particular you expect to be here who we should become acquainted with?” Amelia asked.

  “Only your aunt. I have been told of no one else of any particular interest. We assume her closest advisers will be there. Napoleon’s main man, Lannes, is now by her side for the most part. Her circle is very small.”

  “How will I know who everyone is?”

  “You will be introduced to everyone you need to know,” he assured her.

  Amelia took a deep breath and wiped her clammy hands on her skirts.

  “The key to being a spy is for no one to have any idea what you are doing. Pretend you are going to your first London ball and plan on capturing everyone’s interest. You have the natural gift of drawing attention to yourself, so pretend you are a happy ingénue with naught on her mind except catching the biggest prize.”

  “I wish that was what was on her mind,” Meg remarked dryly.

  “Unfair, sister!” Amelia wailed.

  “I will leave you two to dress. I am certain it is a good time for me to withdraw.” Waverley held up his hand defensively and left the room. As soon as the Duke was out of the door, Meg set her arms around Amelia.

  “I do not want you to do this!” she cried.

  “I will be all right. I will be careful, I promise.”

  She shook her head. “You do not know how these people behave. They are ruthless! I saw with my own eyes what they did to people who they believed had crossed them.”

  “I gathered some notion when they kidnapped me.”

  “Forgive me. Of course you did.”

  “My country needs me, and I will do the best I can. I may not be able to help at all, but I will get to know our aunt and that is enough, if nothing else. I miss our parents, Meg.”

  “I do too, Amelia, but recollect it is our aunt who is responsible for their deaths!”

  “No, it was our sick, traitorous uncle! His twisted infatuation with her did that. He wanted money and power to impress her. Do you believe she would have ordered the death of her own sister?”

  “I could not say,” Meg answered quietly. “I would not like to believe it of her. I could never do such a thing.”

  Amelia reached over and stroked her sister’s hand. “Nor I, but this is simple en
ough for us to do. So I will do it.”

  “Please be careful. I cannot bear to lose you, too.”

  Some minutes later, they dried the tears which had then overtaken them both and Meg left her to dress for the evening. Amelia wore a gown in a shade of dark lavender, with a soft, flowing organza fabric that moved with her when she walked. The neck descended to a ‘v’ at the front of the bodice, with a slight sleeve over the shoulder of the same flowing fabric. Simple pearls with matching ear-drops—she would never look at earrings in the same way again—and her hair pulled back in a severe knot, with a pearl circlet around her head, completed her toilet. After donning her slippers and choosing her reticule, she looked at herself in the glass.

  She felt older, more mature. It was time for a new chapter in her life. She would leave her fantasies of Captain Elliot behind with the child she had been when newly from the schoolroom. It was time to grow up and take on the serious task before her.

  How would she feel if she was the cause of her aunt’s demise?

  “Wretched,” she answered herself. Was this the kind of coldness spies had to assume to do their duty? It was probably much worse than she could imagine, she acknowledged to herself, yet she felt up to the task. She wanted and needed to do something worthwhile with her life. If it meant sacrificing it for the good of her country, so be it. After a Season in London, though, she did not know if she could force herself to make a loveless match for the sake of alliance. A sinking feeling came over her, and she knew it was nervousness. When she walked through the door, she would be accepting a new way of life.

  “Amelia, my girl, into the breach!” she encouraged herself. Her looks and form were pleasing, she knew that. “Thank God for lavender, His gift to all redheads.”

  With nothing else to do to delay any longer, she went out of the door, across the grand hallway, and down the red-carpeted stairs to meet her party.

  “Lady Amelia, at last,” Wellington said brusquely, looking at her with blatant appreciation.