A Reformed Rake

by Jeanne Savery

  Sir Frederick watched as Harriet soothed the servants and sent them to their various beds. “Is that wise, Miss Cole? You need their protection.”

  “We needed it before, and they did not provide it. Not that I blame them. Why should they fear wine offered in my name? I’ve ordered it for them in the past after a long stage—not that this one was long, of course. The comte must have had us watched carefully to know my habits.”

  “And now?”

  “Frani and I will retire to our room and stay there. With the door barred.”

  A new commotion erupted at the top of the stairs. “I will go down. I will know what has happened.”

  The arrogant French voice was unmistakable. Françoise, who had been breathlessly relating the whole to Yves, swung toward the sound. Lifting her skirts slightly, the girl ran up the narrow stairs. “Grand-mere, you should not have left your bed. You know you should not.” Sir Frederick eyed the nervous landlord, noted shifty eyes sunk in plump cheeks and debated with himself how deeply mired the man was in the plot to capture Françoise. He turned to Miss Cole and speaking in clear French, loudly enough the landlord had to overhear, he said, “Monsieur de Bartigues and I will order our men to guard your rooms. They will not be tricked, I assure you. You may sleep in peace. I think it best if you retire now and stay closely protected in your rooms.”

  “Thank you, Sir Frederick.” Harriet held out her hand. “We are indeed in your debt.”

  “And,” he said, deep crinkles slashing a pattern at the corners of his eyes, “you wish it were not so. Do not think of it, Miss Cole. Any man would have come to your rescue.” He thought of that scene in the yard where many milled around the struggling women but not one had lifted a finger. He knew she was thinking the same thing. “We will see you in the morning,” he added, “and discuss our next move in this, our own personal odyssey.”

  “Madame is unwell,” Harriet said with a frown. “The journey has tired her, and she should not attempt a crossing in this weather. “However that may be, I have no way of stopping her if she decides to do so.” She noticed he still held her hand and, blushing, jerked it from his loose grip. “Good evening, Sir Frederick.”

  He watched as she too disappeared up the stairs, her movements quick and graceful—and revealing now and again a trim little ankle! The silence was broken by Yves. “Well!”

  “Is it well, Yves?”

  “No it is not. How can that man continue to frighten that shy little bird so badly? How can he behave in such a dastardly fashion to such a sweet child?”

  “Shy? Sweet? You refer to Mademoiselle de Beaupre?” Sir Frederick ignored the glower his friend turned on him and, throwing back his head, laughed heartily.

  Yves’ expression didn’t lighten. If anything his anger deepened. “She was frightened.”

  Sir Frederick sobered. “Both women were frightened. Badly frightened. Yves, we must see our valets guard them well. Too, I believe we must keep an eye on that plaguey landlord. He played some part in all this, I think.”

  Yves looked much struck by the notion. “He must have. There were too many inn servants out there ignoring the situation and only his orders to turn a blind eye to a kidnapping could have had it that way.”

  “My thought exactly.”

  Yves and Sir Frederick spoke with their men, who arrived just then with the last carriage and the luggage. After refreshing their travel weary bodies with a glass of brandy—Sir Frederick’s private stock which had made a timely arrival with the baggage coach and not that provided by the inn—they returned to the ground floor and followed their host to where a meal was laid out for them. “Now, mine host—” Sir Frederick spoke languidly, his eyes on the cold meats and sauce boats, the thick soup and bread, “—you will sit down and taste each and every item on that table.”

  The man blanched, backed toward the door.

  “But I insist!” Sir Frederick forced the tubby little man into a chair and served him from each bowl, sauce boat and platter on the table. “Eat.”

  Sweat spouted in tiny beads on the man’s forehead. “My lord, you cannot make me.”

  “Eat.”

  The landlord eyed the small pistol which had suddenly appeared in the large tanned hand, and the sweat ran down one side of his fat face. “I did not wish to do it.”

  “It?”

  “I was ordered ... I had to obey...”

  “The comte ordered you to, umm, add special seasoning to our food?”

  “He is powerful. He is terrible. He insisted...”

  “Just when did this powerful terrible comte insist?”

  “He ... He...”

  “He returned to the inn?”

  “He returned, my lord.” The pistol nudged pudgy flesh. “He returned and made me...”

  “Or paid thee?” The man blanched. “You are a greedy blackguard. Eat.”

  “No. No, I cannot.”

  “Yves, I think you must feed him.”

  “No. No, no, no.”

  “But you would have had us eat.” A thought crossed his mind, and Frederick’s pistol pushed, not gently, against the side of the man’s head. “What of the food sent up to the women?”

  “It is all right...” the man’s voice rose to a thin screech, his skin so grey Frederick thought him near to fainting. “I would not poison women. No, no. I would not.”

  “But will it, perhaps, put them into a deep sleep?”

  “No. Nothing. I swear it.”

  Sir Frederick let his pistol hand fall to his side. “Clear this away and see it is a danger to no one.” Then he smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “I’ve a better notion. Serve it to mon ami, le comte.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “I think,” said Frederick gently, “that you could. If you do not, you will, mine host, eat it yourself.”

  “He will ruin me.”

  “Ruin or death. Which do you prefer?”

  “It will not kill me. I did not,” he seemed to be trying to convince himself, “put in enough to kill.” The man looked at the food, reached hesitantly for a spoon.

  Yves stared. “You would rather suffer agony from whatever poison you added to our food, than serve it to the man who ordered it and deserves to suffer?”

  “I would. He is evil. You do not understand what he would do to me.”

  “That’s enough,” Sir Frederick said when the man raised the first trembling bite to his mouth. “I am not evil.”

  The man seemed to disintegrate. He slipped from the chair and groveled at Frederick’s feet. “I will serve you properly. The comte need not know you ate. He will think you fasted, not trusting the food ... or that you absently fed a bite to the dog there,” he pointed to where a small pooch lay before the fire unnoticed, “and were warned when the animal became ill. Yes, that is what I will say. He will believe me.” The man was babbling. In disgust Sir Frederick walked away. Slowly the innkeeper climbed to his feet, pasty-faced, and wavered toward the door. “I will serve you myself, m’lord. And I will taste what I bring so you may trust me.” He backed, still babbling out the door, closing it behind his exit.

  hat night Frederick slept with a pistol under his pillow, but he’d no need of it. He’d finished shaving when, early the next morning, he received a message that the comtesse wished to speak with him. Not bothering with breakfast, he dressed quickly. About to leave for the assignation with Madame, Frederick turned back and shook Yves awake. “Madame requires words with me. I will return shortly, but stay awake, my friend. I do not trust our acquaintance, le comte.”

  Sir Frederick bowed when brought into Madame’s presence by a tall, thin, grim looking maid, one of the pair of sisters who had been in Madame’s service for many years. “Madame?”

  “Sir Frederick. Again we are in your debt.”

  He waved a hand. “Please. It was nothing. I would know how I may serve you now.” His eyes noted the palsied shaking of the hand gripping the ever present cane. Her face, which had
worn age-wrinkled but healthy looking skin on first meeting, seemed shrunken, the skin tightening around the magnificent bones of her skull. It had a faintly yellow tinge to it, too, which he did not like. He knew she was holding herself stiffly erect by willpower alone and moved toward her, seating himself after receiving permission. He laid his hand over the one on the cane. “Madame, please. Do not exert yourself so.” She relaxed enough the back of the chair helped support her, but kept her chin raised. She stared at him for long moments before stating, “You mean my Frani no harm.”

  “I mean her no harm. My only wish is to help all of you.”

  “Yet Miss Cole reads your reputation as such that you will wish to seduce my granddaughter.”

  Frederick chuckled. “What it is to have a reputation. At one time, I certainly might have done so. She is just the sort of lively minx that appealed to my grass-time. That has passed, Madame. I swear to you I have no evil designs on her person or reputation.” He frowned. “But the very reputation which bothers our Miss Cole will make it difficult for me to help once we’ve crossed the Channel.”

  Shrewd eyes held his, the steady look disconcerting even to one as strong-minded as Frederick. “I see, I think. If you escort my granddaughter to her English grandfather, he would not believe you had not touched her.”

  “You speak bluntly, Madame. You also speak truth.”

  “But you would help?”

  “I would help in any way you can conceive.”

  “You will escort us.” He didn’t speak. “Yes, you will escort us, and you will pretend to be enamored of Miss Cole. If that proud old man sees you are after the other, he will believe my Françoise safe.”

  “And Miss Cole’s reputation?” A bleak expression chilled his features. “What of that, Madame?”

  She shrugged. “Miss Cole is a sensible woman who loves our Françoise almost as much as I do. She has been a true friend to the child. Once this is over I will set up an annuity for her support, and she need never go into service again.”

  “Yes.” Frederick held the old woman’s eyes, his voice stern. “She can live quite out of the way, never meeting those of her own station and, thanks to loneliness or a need for love, actually become what you would make her, in reputation, thanks to me!” He waved a hand, a sharp dismissive gesture. “I think not, Madame. Another plan, please.”

  Those shrewd eyes narrowed. “You are rather vehement in Miss Cole’s defense, Sir Frederick.”

  “Is that a crime?”

  She chuckled, a chuckle which turned into a cough. When the spasm passed, she looked still more exhausted. “You are, behind that sardonic mask you wear so well, a good man, are you not, Sir Frederick,” she suggested.

  “I doubt it,” he responded. His casual denial of humanity was spoiled when he added, “You must rest, Madame. We will speak when you are less tired.”

  “Yes. On the packet. Or when we reach Dover.”

  “You are determined to sail today?”

  “The sooner we leave French soil, the sooner my granddaughter will be safe.”

  Frederick didn’t attempt to argue with the determination he read in her words and expression—although it was his belief the comte wouldn’t let the English Channel interfere in his pursuit. “Monsieur de Bartigues and I will see to tickets for the packet, Madame.” Frederick rose and bowed, feeling great admiration for the proud old woman who would endanger her life to protect her grandchild. “Might I suggest that you pretend you are removing to another inn, not trusting the landlord at this one, but that you will wait elsewhere for a better crossing? That way, perhaps, if it is well-timed, you can be on the packet and away before the comte realizes you have escaped?”

  “An excellent notion, Sir Frederick. You are not only a good man, you are a wise one as well.”

  Ignoring her compliment he said, “I’ll reserve staterooms for your party.” He bowed again and let in the maid who stood guard at the door to Madame’s room. Speaking to her in soft French, he said, “Take care of your mistress. She is tired and not well.” The maid lifted her demurely lowered head, the look in her eyes scathing. He smiled. “I apologize. You know better than I her condition, but I cannot help worrying about her.” There was a slight softening in the hard features under the tight braid forming a high crown on the woman’s head. The maid nodded, and passed on to go to Madame. Frederick went to find Yves.

  After a brief conference the two strolled down to the main taproom. They studied the men lounging there. Choosing one they believed they’d seen in the comte’s train, they took seats nearby. “I could not convince her to leave on today’s packet, Yves. And truly, she is too unwell to attempt it. But she will remove with Miss Cole and Mademoiselle to another inn. I wonder if we, too, should stay.”

  “Her servants are warned. They will not be tricked again, I think.”

  “I am needed at home. We delayed in Paris too long for added delay now.”

  “Yes.” Yves scowled at his friend. “That express you received indicated speed was of the essence, but you would wait for the last of your order from the tailor there.”

  Sir Frederick chuckled at his friend’s accusing tone. Yves must have taken part in amateur theatricals at some time in his young life, that he was able to deliver the falsehood with such believable vehemence! “I was much in need,” he said, his voice caressing, “of a new wardrobe. And it had been a very long time since I could afford one. Do you blame me, Yves?”

  “Yes,” was the blunt response. Again the younger man took on a scolding tone. “If I had received such a summons...”

  Sir Frederick, fearing Yves would over-do his play-acting, interrupted. “Madame and her charges are safe, I think, and I only promised that we’d see them to Calais. We will, as planned, leave for Dover on the evening packet.”

  The two men finished their wine and strolled out into the bright day, the whipping clouds not yet thick enough to obscure the sun. Passage would be quick, the winds blowing, for once, in the right direction. Assuming, of course, that, fickle as such winds were, they continued to blow toward England. It would not, however, be an easy passage. Great swells rolled in, splashing up over the quay and wetting anyone unwary enough to get too near.

  “That went well, I think,” said Yves, noting that the suspected man followed and was watching as they walked toward the packet office. “Will he come in and actually check that we take passage?”

  “I think not. Especially if we hold tickets in our hand as we leave, only putting them away as we return to the inn. I will hide the tickets for Madame’s party and be very careful I’m not seen delivering them.”

  “It’s as good a plan as we’ve time for,” said Yves with a shrug. “Once aboard we may relax for a time.”

  “How wrong you are, Yves! We must watch ourselves while at sea. The comte will very likely send along a well-paid cutthroat to push us overboard if the chance arises.”

  “That,” said a wide-eyed Yves, “would not have occurred to me.”

  “You haven’t the mind for such deviousness.”

  “You do?”

  “What do you think?”

  “It always surprises me when that side of you appears, Frederick,” said the young man, his tone completely serious. “It doesn’t often, but when it does, you are always right about the evils in the human soul or the folly to be found in those we meet. Where did you learn to see so clearly and act so quickly?”

  “I had need of the twists and turns of an inventive mind when I worked against Napoleon during the war.”

  “That, I think, surprised me most of all,” said Yves. “I discovered the languid self-centered man you pretend to be hid a strong patriotism and the ability to play the dangerous games involved in spy and counterspy.”

  Frederick flushed slightly, wishing he’d not drunk so much the night he’d told Yves tales of his war experiences. “I was thought a coward by my countrymen. Why else, it was said, would I avoid joining the army in defense of my homeland? The canard was,
of course, spread deliberately by the war office. After all,” a tiny smile played around Frederick’s mouth, “who would believe a coward to be a counterspy?”

  “It was never revealed, the part you played?”

  “No. I didn’t wish to be whitewashed by compliments to my bravery when my original reputation was built on another sin entirely.”

  “It would have stilled the gossip you were a coward and proven you a patriot.’’

  “Nothing could be said while the war continued. Then the war was over. I was what I was, a gamester and a known seducer of women. Patriotism,” he added, his cynicism surfacing, as it did so often, “is only revered when a country is in danger.”

  “And your sudden wealth, what will be said about that?”

  “Not the truth. That I selflessly helped a destitute old woman who turned out to be a wealthy woman and that shortly thereafter her heart gave out and she’d left it all to me? No. That is a fairy tale. There will be rumors ranging from marked cards and duellos in the dim light of dawn to outright murder and mayhem.”

  “I can’t believe you are indifferent to what others will think!”

  “Long ago I learned the shallow twisted nature of too many of those who comprise the ton. I am truly indifferent to what such as they think of me.”

  “Your reputation in England is so truly black?”

  A self-deriding smile twisted Frederick’s mouth. “Truly black.” He turned his head, and looked out over the cloud-shadowed water toward England. “You’d best desert me now and return to Paris, my friend. At my side you will not be well-received by the English ton.”

  “You are not received?”

  “Oh yes,” said Sir Frederick, carelessly, “By all but the highest of sticklers. And I’m perfectly welcome in the clubs and other haunts of men. But cautious mamas hide their daughters behind their skirts and, in mixed company, husbands and fathers keep a wary eye on me. You are more in the petticoat line than I, Yves,” he teased. “Associating with me will make the most innocent pursuit difficult for you. Perhaps,” he went on thoughtfully, “I could give you an introduction or two before it is known you arrived from France in my company. My friends will see you are given the entree.”