The Man in the Green Coat

by Carola Dunn

  She dropped heir gaze and blushed, but said sharply, “Calf love, and well you know it, Luke Everett. We were children. Do not pretend to me that I blighted your life when I married your father. I believe you have persuaded yourself of it, and used it as an excuse for wearing the willow!”

  “No, you are fair and far out there. But I was in love with you when my father wooed and won you, and I have not quite forgiven him.”

  “Have you forgiven me?” she asked softly.

  “Long since, Cecilia. What future was there for you with a boy of sixteen? I could wish that it had not been my father you married, but if you had married someone else, we should not have become such good friends.”

  “We are friends, are we not? I am glad of it. If only you would recognise your father’s good points, for in spite of his faults, he has many.”

  “We will not discuss him, if you please. Cecilia, keep your ears open for news of my entangling charmer. For all she’s an elderly widow, I am anxious for news of her.”

  “Is it something to do with the Foreign Office?”

  “Now, you know I cannot tell you that!”

  “Then it is! I shall be very discreet, I promise. Ah, Dorrie, have you found it?”

  Dorothea came in carrying a tambour frame and a basket from which dangled lengths of coloured silks.

  “Here, mama. It was in your chamber.”

  “Thank you, child. I believe I shall not do any now, after all. I must see Cook before we go shopping, so I will leave you to talk to your brother. Shall you be home for dinner, Luke?”

  Lady Cecilia sailed out, looking dignified and matronly but still reminding him of the girl he had loved so many years ago. He shook himself mentally and turned to his sister.

  “What can I do for you, Dorrie?”

  “Lord Thirsk wants to marry me!” She sat pale and still, her hands clasped in her lap, but her voice was full of suppressed agitation.

  “Do you want to marry him?”

  “Mama says I must, because he is very rich. He could provide for my brothers and sisters, and then you need not work any more.”

  Luke moved to sit beside her and took her cold hands in his. “Dorrie, I may once have resented having to give up a life of pleasure, but I enjoy my work. It is interesting in itself, and of use, I hope, to the nation as well as to my family. If you married Golden Ball himself, I should not give it up.”

  “Then I do not have to marry him?”

  “Of course not, goose. You need not marry anyone you don’t want to.”

  “But if you did not have to pay all the bills, you would have more money for yourself.”

  “I do not pay the bills, Dorrie. I can see it is time things were explained to you, for otherwise who knows what you will imagine!”

  “I know Papa is a terrible gambler and lost lots and lots of money.”

  “Yes, but fortunately it was not in his power to dispose of our lands. Since he has been devoting himself to them, they pay for necessaries. But there is nothing to spare, because of the old debts that must be paid.”

  “So you pay for my brothers’ schooling and horses, I know that. And for my come-out, and my sisters’, and our dowries. You would be better off if I never married!”

  “Nonsense! Do you think I want an old maid for a sister?” teased Luke. “Cheer up, Dorrie, and believe me that I have all I want in life, and that being able to provide for you all is a matter of pride and pleasure as well as duty. So now you can consider Lord Thirsk’s offer without thinking of anything but whether you wish to marry him or not.”

  “He frightens me.”

  “Then you shall on no account marry him. Have you told your mother this?”

  “Oh, no. She is not afraid even of Papa in one of his rages. She would not understand at all.”

  “Then I am very glad that you told me. I will speak to Lord Thirsk and he shall not bother you again.”

  “Thank you, Luke! You are truly the best of brothers, even though you are sometimes just as frightening as Papa and Lord Thirsk!” She kissed his cheek and skipped out, leaving him wondering whether his fainthearted sister would ever find a suitor who did not make her tremble.

  He had always thought Lord Thirsk a thoroughly inoffensive gentleman, and as for himself—only Napoleon’s spies had any cause to fear him!

  Was Gabrielle Darcy a French spy? Ever since he had returned to Dover two days ago and found her gone, his suspicions had reawakened. Why else should she flee before his promised return?

  He had little reason to trust her. The message throwing doubt on de la Touche's royalist credentials might serve Bonaparte’s turn whether it were true or not. And the French intelligence service could have picked up hints of the existence of Le Hibou and his own alter ego, the Man in the Green Coat.

  But he had seen with his own eyes Dr Hargreaves removing a bullet from her side. Who the devil was Madame Aurore? Would he ever see Gabrielle again?

  It should not be for want of trying, vowed Mr Everett, and sent for Baxter.

  The taciturn manservant had many talents besides those of a gentleman’s gentleman. If anyone could run to earth an elderly French widow of uncertain antecedents, then Baxter was the one.

  And still more important, the mysterious woman would never know she had been found.

  * * * *

  Some hours later, the Honourable Lucius Everett emerged from Lord Hawkesbury’s office and made his way to his own.

  His elderly secretary, a tall, thin, meek-looking man, took one glance through wire-rimmed spectacles at his grim face and asked, “They didn’t believe it, sir?”

  “They do not choose to believe it, Davis.”

  “But the message was from Le Hibou! He has always been the most reliable source we have, since before you joined the service even. His lordship was grateful enough for the information we received from Russia last month.”

  “The message purported to be from Le Hibou. I am just sufficiently uncertain of its actual provenance to argue convincingly.”

  “You were convinced last week, sir, when you returned from Dover in such a hurry.”

  “Something has happened since which I cannot but regard as a cause for suspicion. The person who brought the message out of France . . . Hush! There is someone at the door.”

  The door was flung open and a large gentleman breezed in. Taller than Mr Everett, he was not precisely stout, but rather bulky in an unhealthy manner; flabby, with the look of muscles gone to waste. His bushy eyebrows, joined in the centre in a straight line, contrasted oddly with his nearly bald head.

  “Everett, there you are!” he exclaimed jovially, if unnecessarily. “I hear you’ve been closeted with the Secretary for hours. And young Monsyer Cadoudal and the French General too. Pichegru, isn’t it? Hawkesbury been giving you a hard time, has he?”

  “I am not at liberty to discuss the matter, Sir Oswald. You must excuse me, I have a great deal of work to accomplish.”

  “Piled up while you were gone, did it? Popping in and out like Punch and Judy, off to Dover and back again, they say. Daresay if the truth were known, you were just off on a repairing lease to your country place, eh, you sly dog?”

  “Who told you that I went to Dover?”

  “Oh, I’m not complaining, mind. ‘Pon my soul, a man deserves a break now and then when he sticks as close to his last as you do, Everett. Just like Sir Cosmo. You remember my father, Davis? Always nose to the grindstone. I like to pop in now and then to see how the old man’s office is managing without him. Of course, I’ve all sorts of obligations meself—head of the family, estate to run, and so on. Matter of fact, my place ain’t so far from yours, Everett. Near Sevenoaks, isn’t it? Surprised we don’t see you in Kent more often.”

  “I spend very little time at Wrotham, Sir Oswald. Now you really must excuse me, if you please.”

  “Of course, of course,” replied the baronet testily. “I hope you will dine with me tonight? Just a small card party, you know, nothing special.�
�

  “Thank you, but I have promised to escort my sister tonight. Another time, perhaps. Goodbye, Sir Oswald!”

  Mr Everett and his secretary converged on the unwanted visitor and at last succeeded in forcing him to retreat through the open doorway.

  “Nosy,” said the secretary disapprovingly, closing the door with a decided click. “You didn’t know his father, sir, but it was quite otherwise with him. Many’s the time I heard Sir Cosmo described as a pillar of the Foreign Office.”

  “Hence, no doubt, the son’s unjustified belief that he is welcome here. Davis, send someone to find out where my sister goes this evening, and to inform her that I go too!”

  * * * *

  Lady Cecilia was pleased to learn that her stepson intended for once to do his duty by his sister. Dorothea, however, regarded him with mingled alarm and delight when he joined them in the drawing room before dinner. She thought he looked magnificent in knee breeches and ruffled shirt, but his expression was not appropriate to an evening of merrymaking.

  “We are going to a ball, Luke,” she said timidly. “You abominate balls above all things. Indeed, you need not come, for Mr Gardiner is dining here and will escort us.”

  “Did I tell you that I abominate balls?” Luke said, smiling. “That was a great exaggeration.”

  “But you do not care to dance, I know. You do not think that I will stand up with Lord Aintree, or Sir Hubert? I promise I shall not, since you dislike it.”

  “I begin to think you do not want me to go!”

  Lady Cecilia intervened. “She means no such thing, Luke! We are both happy to have your escort. It is entirely your own fault if your offer takes us by surprise, for the only ball you have attended this season was our own.”

  “And a frightful crush it was, ma’am!”

  “Yes indeed! Excessively gratifying when your father and I have rusticated for so long and you do not lift a finger to maintain your position in society,” she said with acerbity.

  To Dorothea’s relief, Mr Gardiner was announced. Luke observed him closely, decided that he was a milksop who was as little likely to attract his sister as to frighten her, and resigned himself to a tedious evening.

  Half an hour at the ball did nothing to revise his expectations. Dorothea had correctly diagnosed his dislike for dancing; since discovering, seven years ago, the extent of his father’s gambling debts he had taken no pleasure in play; and none of the cronies with whom he enjoyed political discussion had graced the event with their presence. As he dodged, for the third or fourth time, a matchmaking mama with eligible daughter in tow, he wondered if it had been wise to conceal from the world the depth of the family’s financial misfortunes. Apparently he was generally regarded as a good catch.

  His evasive manoeuvring had brought him close to the entrance, and he considered abandoning Lady Cecilia and Dorothea to Mr Gardiner’s care. However, his host and hostess were still standing there, greeting a few late arrivals. There was no way to sneak past without being seen, and it was by far too early to make his departure with propriety.

  Frustrated, he watched a group of two ladies and two gentlemen approach the doors from the hall beyond, wishing they were going the other way and he with them. He was turning away when he stopped suddenly with an arrested look and glanced back.

  With a shock of recognition, his eyes met Gabrielle’s.

  Chapter 7

  Gabrielle went through the introductions in a heedless daze. She curtseyed prettily, thanked her hostess for including her in Lady Harrison's invitation, and moved on on Alain de Vignard’s arm without the least idea of what she was doing. The brilliance of the scene was lost on her—the gay music, twirling dancers, gems flashing in the light of a dozen chandeliers.

  Mr Everett here! And looking as elegant as any gentleman in the room. But had he really, as their eyes met, given the tiniest possible shake of his head, and if so, what did it mean?

  Was it possible that he did not recognise her in her finery? The apricot ballgown was certainly a far cry from the men’s clothes he had first seen her in, and her hair had been dressed by a fashionable coiffeur who had done wonders with the wreck she had made of it. Yet she was sure he knew her.

  She could only suppose he wanted her to pretend she did not know him. That was fair enough: it would be difficult to explain their prior acquaintance without referring to circumstances best left unmentioned. But how she wished she had met him under other circumstances!

  She pulled Gerard’s sleeve and drew him aside.

  “Mr Everett is here,” she whispered, “but I beg you will not approach him unless he should indicate a desire to recognise us. We cannot wish to appear encroaching, and it might be best that no one should know of our adventures.”

  “You are afraid it will get about that you arrived in England in breeches!” said Gerard with a grin. “Mum’s the word.”

  “It would ruin my reputation before I have time to establish one!” she said, laughing.

  She wished he knew about the message she had carried to the Man in the Green Coat. Once she had met Mr Everett, she had been sure that she was right not to tell, that the fewer people who knew his alias the better. She had always been close to her brother, though, and it was hard to keep a secret from him.

  As they made their way through the crowd, Gabrielle spotted Mr Everett talking to a tall, blond lady in a ravishing but matronly gown of lilac silk. They looked towards her, but made no sign of recognition. His wife? she wondered. With a sigh, she followed Lady Harrison to a row of crimson velvet-covered gilt chairs, and the ladies were seated.

  “Are you sure you will not dance, Miss Darcy?” enquired Alain de Vignard, bending solicitously over her. His English was accentless, only an occasional turn of phrase betraying his origin.

  “What, and betray myself for a country bumpkin, monsieur? I do not know any of the dances and should undoubtedly tie myself in knots, along with my partner and all those about me!”

  “We must engage a maître de danse,” declared Lady Harrison.

  “Not for me,” shuddered Gerard. “Gaby, you don’t mind if I walk about, do you? There is so much to see.”

  “If you will stop calling me Gaby, you may walk about as much as you please for all I care, but it is Madame’s leave you must ask.”

  He looked abashed. “I beg your pardon, Madame Aurore.”

  “Silly boy! Of course you are accustomed to attending to your sister. Me, I do not take offense. Run along and enjoy yourself.”

  “Monsieur de Vignard, you must not think yourself tied to my apronstrings. Pray go with my brother. I expect you have a great many acquaintances present.”

  “A few,” he admitted, “and I shall make Gerard known to some of them later on. But first let me procure you a glass of lemonade. It is deuced hot in here.”

  “Thank you, I should like that.” Gabrielle smiled up at him. It was a relief, in a ballroom full of strangers, to have a handsome young man considering her comfort.

  In the three days she had been in London she had seen little of Alain, but that little had favourably impressed her. He was kind and charming, properly grateful to Madame Aurore, and Gerard liked him. He seemed thoroughly gentlemanly, and she could only deplore the ill luck that had forced him to make his way in the world without family or fortune to help him. At that, she gathered from Madame Aurore that he was in better case than many of his countrymen, some of whom had been driven to such menial occupations as cobbling shoes for a living.

  Pondering his fate, she listened with half an ear to Lady Harrison, who was issuing, in an undertone, condensed biographies of the people around them. She had a certain gift for capturing the essential points of character or career in a few phrases, and Gabrielle was soon absorbed in her words. Some of the names she recognised from the reams of gossip Madame Aurore had penned to them over the years. It was fascinating to see in the flesh the fops and exquisites, Corinthians and court-cards whose exploits she had exclaimed over and giggled about
with Gerard.

  The dress of the ladies was equally interesting. Lady Harrison had an unerring eye for fashion and could point out exactly how a particular gown enhanced or detracted from the appearance of the wearer. She was commenting on a particularly unfortunate combination of palest pink and green, worn by a high-complexioned girl who should, she said severely, have known better, when their tête-à-tête was interrupted.

  Alain, returning with lemonade for Gabrielle and champagne for her ladyship, brought with him a sprightly matron and her two daughters.

  “Lady Harrison!” exclaimed the older lady. “Monsieur de Vignard tells us that you have a new charge.” She stared with frank curiosity at Gabrielle, who rose and curtseyed as she was introduced.

  The younger of the two girls was gazing at Alain with besotted eyes, and he soon took her off to dance. The others stayed in conversation, and gradually a group gathered about them. Several young men asked Gabrielle to dance, but she remained firm in her refusal, finding more and more outrageous reasons which set everyone laughing.

  “Miss Darcy is a wit,” explained one of the gentlemen to a newcomer attracted by the merriment.

  “A dashed pretty one,” he responded.

  A new dance started up, and several young couples departed to take their places, but others arrived and Gabrielle soon had more new acquaintances than she could count. Lady Harrison had not been boasting when she claimed a large circle of friends.

  Gabrielle was enjoying herself enormously. She waved gaily to Alain as he delivered his lovestruck partner to her mother and departed with another young lady. There was no sign of Gerard, and she hoped he was having as good a time as she was. She also hoped that Mr Everett saw how little need she had of his acknowledgment. Let him ignore her in favour of his tall blonde! She did not care.

  “I see Monsieur de Vignard is popular with the ladies,” she whispered to Lady Harrison, as once again he came to assure himself that they were comfortable before he went back to the dancing.

  “Oui, he has excellent manners, besides being so very ‘andsome, and the mamas like him because he makes no secret of his position and does not try to ingratiate himself, and dances with les jeunes filles who are ugly as well as with les belles.”