by Joan Wolf
Her position at the moment, she realized was weak, so she went on the offensive. “As for that, Matthieu, she said with raised brows, “You have hardly been a pattern of fidelity yourself.”
He looked surprised. “That is not the same thing.”
“Not to you, certainly,” she agreed, “but you can hardly think I enjoyed knowing you spent your time with Lady Bellerman or with that redheaded dancer from the opera.”
She had never before, by the slightest hint, betrayed that she knew about his affairs. There was a pinched look about his nostrils. “Those women have nothing to do with you,” he said.
“Of course not,” she responded, “after all, you take our marriage seriously, and I do not.”
“You are being ridiculous,” he said stiffly.
“I don’t think so.” She dashed angry tears from her eyes. “The fact is, the only thing holding our marriage together are two children, and don’t presume too much on them!”
“Are you saying you refuse to act as my wife ever again?
She heard the temper in his voice and saw it in his narrowed eyes. She remembered Adam’s caution that she was to act as normally as possible. Normally, she would never defy Matthieu like this. He held the hostages. She said, “No, I am not saying that, Matthieu. I am saying that you must give me time to…accustom myself.”
There was a tense silence as they stared at each other, then the danger faded from Gacé’s eyes. “Very well, Nanda,” he said. “I won’t press you – for the moment.” He walked to the door and turned at its threshold to address her again. “You are the only woman who is important to me, ma belle. Remember that.”
Nanda got into bed, her full lips thin with distaste. She pulled the covers up over her head and repeated a few satisfying swear words she had learned from her brothers. Then she went to sleep.
# # #
They sailed out of Dover on the ten o’clock tide, heading north to circle Holland, now part of the French Empire. Gacé’s plan was to sail up the Elbe River and disembark at Stade, which was also in French territory. However, they would drive immediately to Hanover, which was safely part of the Confederation of the Rhine.
As the yacht sailed out of Dover, Nanda stood on deck with her two children beside her. Adam, she knew, had already sailed, his destination the same as hers. Her knuckles were white on the rail as she watched the water grow between the yacht and the shore. She put an arm around either child and hugged them tightly. Then she went below to help supervise the unpacking.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Disguised as a boat crewman, Adam landed in Stade a day before the Gacé yacht was due. As he needed to speak to Captain Ross, Gacé’s pseudo-valet, he found lodging in the town and waited. The four men Menteith had attached to Adam were proceeding directly to Mannheim, the city closest to Niederwald, Gacé’s castle. Adam’s plan was to follow Gacé as he moved south through Westphalia and Frankfurt toward Baden. At each evening’s stopover he would make contact with Ross to check on Gacé’s movements.
# # #
The Gacé yacht arrived in the Stade channel early the following morning, and the de Vaudobin party disembarked. They breakfasted at the local inn while their carriages were unloaded from the ship. Gacé hired horses in the town and the family and servants embarked on the last leg of their journey.
By the time they arrived at the long, yellow, eighteenth-century castle, with its vineyards and views of the Rheingau hills, Nanda was worn out from the constant strain of dissimulation and surveillance. She had learned to school her face and hide her feelings years ago, but the thought of that memorandum in Gacé’s possession terrified her.
Her fear got worse after they reached Niederwald and Gacé was able to move about freely. She kept telling herself to put her trust in Adam, that he would never allow her husband to pass along that memorandum. She did trust Adam. But Gacé was so clever, and he was on his own ground now. Try as she may, she couldn’t stop being afraid.
It helped that the children quickly recuperated from the long trip and needed her attention. The first thing she had them do was visit the grave of the Princess de Condé, Ginny’s mother. Ginny was solemn and Marc was subdued as they stood before the splendid granite monument in Niederwald’s small cemetery. Ginny’s hand crept into Nanda’s and Nanda said, “I’m sure she’s very proud of you, darling. I’m sure she’s happy that you have a new mama who loves you just as much as she does.”
Ginny turned and threw her arms around Nanda’s waist. “I’m sad for her,” she said.
“I am too.” Nanda looked from the blonde head buried in her breast to the tall angel that adorned the top of the monument. I’ll take care of her for you, she promised. I’ll always take care of her.
The children wanted to see the Rhine. The castle was only five miles from the river, so one day Nanda took Marc, Ginny and a picnic to the river. As the children explored along the bank, and the footman laid out the picnic, Nanda stared across the river. This side of the Rhine belonged to Baden, but on the other side lay the French Empire.
Anger tightened her jaw. Napoleon, she thought bitterly. How many men have died because of your overweening ambition?
The river flowed, the birds called and the children were laughing. Marc picked up a stone and threw it in the water. “Can you throw that far, Ginny?” he asked.
How many men have died because of Matthieu? And how many more will die if he passes on that paper? Her thoughts flew to Adam, hidden somewhere in the vicinity. Please, God, let Adam stop him. Don’t let my children’s father be the cause of any more men dying.
“Mama!” She turned to see Marc jumping up and down. “Come and see what we’ve found.”
She rearranged her face and went to join the children.
# # #
Adam was about five miles away, in an abandoned farmhouse Menteith’s men had found. As soon as Gacé arrived at Niederwald, Lieutenants Smith, Anderson, Lowry and Castleton had taken on the task of keeping him under constant watch. Their chief duty was a continual surveillance of the Mannheim-Heidelberg road, the road Gacé would have to take if he left the castle grounds.
The watch on Gacé himself was left to Ross and Smith – whose father’s real name had been Schmidt and who spoke fluent German as a result. Smith had managed to get taken on in the stables for the duration of the Duc’s visit. Adam and the other three officers watched the road.
It was a week before Gacé made his move. “I won’t be dining home tonight, ma belle, he told Nanda at lunch. “I am going into Mannheim on some business and I’ll dine there with friends.”
Nanda’s voice was steady enough, although her heart had begun to pound. “Very well, Matthieu. Will you be late?”
“Not too late, I think. But don’t have anyone wait up for me. I will let myself in.”
“Very well,” she said again, trying desperately to keep her expression serene.
He left the house before six, dressed for riding. Nanda watched him from her bedroom window as he trotted down the drive, tall and elegant in the saddle of his gray horse. Three minutes later Ross was racing to the stables, explaining in English to the bewildered grooms that Monseigneur had forgot a paper of vast importance and that he, Ross, must catch up to give it to him.
Schmidt, the only stablehand to speak English, quickly produced a horse for the valet, then surprised everyone by bringing one for himself as well. The two men galloped out of the castle gates, leaving behind two very bewildered grooms.
Lieutenants Anderson and Lowry were on duty when Gacé appeared at the point where the Niederwald Avenue met the main road. As soon as he turned his horse toward Mannheim, Anderson leaped on his own horse and started after him. Lowry waited for Ross so he could tell the captain which way to go, then Lowry, Ross and Smith went galloping after Anderson.
The road, usually busy, was quiet this time of day, so the men had to be careful Gacé didn’t notice he was being followed. The Duc never looked around, however, and after five miles
he veered off onto a narrow path that pointed in the direction of the Rhine. The Englishmen speeded up so as not to lose him. The river road was rocky and overgrown with weeds, and it ended at a heap of stones that looked like it might be the remains of an old medieval castle.
The four men tethered their horses and quietly approached the river, crouching in the overgrown foliage so as not to be seen. They halted when they had Gacé in view, and watched as he tethered his own horse and approached the castle.
# # #
The Duc walked steadily toward a crumbled pile of stones that might once have been a tower. Just as he was wondering what he would do if there was no one to meet him, a man stepped from behind the shelter of the stones and said, in the accent of Paris, “Monseigneur de Gacé?”
Relief flooded through Gacé. The man approaching him was dark and slender, dressed in the nondescript clothes of a fisherman. Not someone Gacé knew. The two men exchanged greetings and Gacé asked some questions to confirm the man’s identity. Reassured that he was legitimate, the Duc took the precious memorandum from his breast pocket and handed it over.
“This is it?” the man asked.
“Yes. Be careful,” Gacé replied. “That piece of paper is going to destroy Wellington.”
A faint smile flickered across the man’s face. He tucked the memorandum inside his jacket and turned to the river, where a small boat was moored. Gacé was smiling himself as he returned to his horse.
It was no longer there.
With an oath, Gacé whirled, and found himself facing his valet and the point of a gun. “I have your horse, your grace,” Ross said. “Don’t try to run, please. You wouldn’t get far.”
There was a shot from the direction of the river. Ross’s gun never wavered, nor did his eyes leave Gacé. Another man came running across the rocky grass. “I had to kill him, Captain; he was already in the boat.”
“Did you get the memorandum?” Ross asked tersely.
“Yes. I have it.”
“Tie the body to one of the horses,” Ross ordered. “I don’t want him found too quickly.” He motioned to Gacé with his gun. “You’re coming with us too, your grace. My lord is anxious to speak to you.”
Gacé’s heart was pounding. He couldn’t believe what was happening. These were English voices. They were using military titles. They knew about the memorandum. He had been duped. He looked around and his mouth set in a bitter line. His fake valet was right; he wouldn’t get far if he tried to run. He would wait until he met their superior. Perhaps there was still a chance of salvaging something out of this debacle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Adam had not participated in Gacé’s capture because he wanted to collect his thoughts and emotions before facing the Duc. While he had full confidence his men would be successful, he was relieved when Ross told him Gacé was in custody and the memorandum was safe.
Thank you, God, he thought as Ross finished speaking. The former valet had ridden on ahead of the others to bring the news, and Adam said, “Good work, Ross. Good work all of you. It’s unfortunate that no one must learn how well you performed, but I’m afraid this incident must be kept secret.”
“We all understand that, sir. It was our privilege to help catch the bastard.” Ross’ face was flushed with pleasure from the compliment.
Adam clapped him on the shoulder. “As soon as Gacé arrives bring him to me.”
“That I will, my lord. It shouldn’t be long.”
It was precisely twenty minutes before the door to the parlor opened and Ross annnounced, “The Duc de Gacé, my lord.”
Gacé stepped into the room, first bending his head to clear the doorway. His face was an impassive mask, but when he saw Adam he stopped as if he had walked into glass. “You!”
“Good evening, your grace,” Adam said. He was standing in front of the stone fireplace, his hands quiet by his sides. “I really could not allow you to pass along that memorandum, you know.”
There was a white line around Gacé’s mouth. “So - it was a trap. You led me to take it.”
“I let you take it, yes. I had been aware of your guilt for some time, but I had no proof. Your disposal of Bellay forced us to take the rather dramatic measures of today.”
“It appears I underestimated you, Stanford,” Gacé said, his eyes narrowing as he regarded his captor.
Adam remained silent, but his fingers began to curl.
“Who else knows about this?” Gacé’s voice was short, business-like.
“Besides the men who are here today? Menteith.” Adam paused before adding, “Nanda.”
“Nanda!” Gacé inhaled sharply. He stared for a long moment at the man standing in front of the fireplace, his eyes hard and calclulating. Then he said, with an attempt at his old lightness, “It was not wise of me to have invited you to stay with us, was it, Stanford?”
“No. It was not wise of you.”
Gacé came a step closer. “What are you going to do?” The lightness had quite gone from his voice.
Adam looked him up and down. “What am I going to do?” he repeated. “I’m going to do what I would do with any traitor, your grace – take you back to London to stand your trial.”
“No!” The line around Gacé’s mouth grew whiter. He paused, clearly trying to pull himself together. When he spoke again his voice was rigidly controlled, “Nanda will never forgive you if you do that, Stanford. The scandal would ruin her. And my children as well. ” He took another step forward and lifted a long, elegant hand. “Why not just let me go. I can do you no further harm now that you know about me. For Nanda’s sake, let me go.”
For Nanda’s sake. Adam’s breath was coming fast and his heart was racing. His hands clenched. At this moment all he wanted to do was smash his fist into the Duc until he was a pile of blood and bones. He said, with suppressed violence, “I don’t relish the prospect of putting your family through a national scandal either. If we had caught you in England perhaps we could have arranged something. But not now. You know what’s in that memorandum.”
“I won’t betray you.” Gacé took another step forward. “I swear on my honor, Stanford, I won’t pass along anything I may know from that memorandum.”
Adam remained silent and Gacé’s eyes fell before the look in his eyes. The Duc moistened his lips and tried again. “Marc and Virginie will be marked for life.” His nostrils fluttered as he drew a shuddering breath. “My name will be disgraced … destroyed.” A hint of pleading appeared in his voice as he spoke about his name.
“You should have thought of that before you turned traitor,” Adam said brutally.
The Duc stared at the man standing some four feet away from him. For a long moment their eyes held, and Gacé correctly read the expression in Adam’s steady gaze. He said softly, “Then kill me, Stanford. You want to. Kill me and cover up what you know about me. Nanda and the children will be unscathed and my name will be saved.”
Adam fought to control his urge to do exactly what Gacé had just asked of him. He had thought seriously about killing Gacé, however, and he knew it was impossible. He said, in as normal a voice as he could manage, “I can’t Gacé. Much as I would like to, I can’t.”
“Why not?” The Duc came another step closer.
“Because of Nanda. She would always wonder if she were the reason I did it.”
There was irony in Gacé’s voice as he asked, “Do you think she will mourn my death? I can assure you that she will not.”
“You’re right about one thing. She won’t mourn your death. But she would hate to be the cause of my committing murder.”
Gacé pressed his lips together, then tried again. “She will hate even more seeing me tried for treason. She will never forgive you, Stanford, for the disgrace you will bring on the children.”
The desire to kill had become so strong that Adam clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. To have to listen to this man using his wife and his children to save his reputation was unspeakable. If it
weren’t for Nanda, Adam would have put a bullet through him with pleasure. He looked into the other man’s patrician face and said again, “I can’t.”
“For God’s sake, Stanford.” Finally the Duc’s voice had begun to shake. “Don’t do this. They will hang me. Do you realize that?”
The hills outside the small farmhouse window were dimming toward night. The parlor where they stood, lit only by two candles on the table, was growing dimmer. Adam bent his head to study the edge of the faded rag rug under his boots. “Yes,” he said, his eyes still on the rug. “That’s what we do to traitors in my country. We hang them.” A beat of silence, then he looked up, met Gacé’s eyes, and said, “There might be one other way.”
“And what is that?” the Duc asked, staring back at Adam.
Adam said, “I might lend you a gun.”
Silence. The Duc continued to look into Adam’s merciless eyes. At last he said, “What else would you do? If you lent me a gun?”
Adam walked over to the table, the only piece of furniture in the room, and rested both his hands on the paper that lay on top of it. “I will see to it that your reputation remains cloudless. I will give it out that you were killed on a mission for the War Department. Your son and daughter will never know the truth. You will be a hero, Gacé.”
The Duc’s eyes were on the white paper Adam’s strong, tanned hands were resting upon. “And what do you want from me in return?” he asked. “Besides, of course, my wife.”
Not a muscle moved in Adam’s face. “I want you to sign this.” He picked up the paper and extended it toward the Duc.
Gacé hesitated a moment, then took it. He glanced downward then his eyes rose again in profound shock. “This is my will!”
“Read it,” Adam said.
