The Ruby Pendant

by Mary Nichols

`Laying siege to Bayonne, the last I heard.'

  `Will it hold out?'

  `Not long once Wellington decides to move. You may tell him that the Boney has suffered a resounding defeat at Leipzig. The Grande Armee is so depleted he is faced with recruiting schoolboys and old men to carry on the fight.'

  `There has been talk of peace terms.'

  `The Emperor rejected them. Now there is nothing to stop our troops from carrying on into France. Bayonne will fall.' He smiled. 'After that, who knows? North or east? I hope they make for Toulouse, then I can go home.' He seized the other's hand. 'Good luck, my friend.'

  `And to you.'

  Philippe hurried back to the inn, where he found Juliette pacing the floor of their sitting room. Without stopping to think, she threw herself into his arms. 'Where have you been? I have been sick with worry. Don't ever do that again.'

  He held her a minute, savouring the feel of her body against his, the faint scent of soap about her, then gently disengaged himself. 'I had business to attend to.'

  `You could have told me. I thought you had been caught.'

  `Caught? By whom? And why?'

  `Major Clavier. You have been on edge all the time we have been travelling, looking about you all the time. And you said he would come after us.'

  `But that was two days ago,' he said, sinking into a chair. He was bone weary, but there was still a long way to go and he must rest. 'He will have given up by now. After all, he is a soldier, he cannot go chasing off wherever the fancy takes him. He has to obey his orders.'

  `And you do not, I collect,' she said sharply.

  He laughed. 'Touche, ma chèrie.'

  `Now it is dark, I suppose we must set off again.'

  `No, we will go in the morning.'

  He opened the door and shouted to the innkeeper to bring food and drink. It was brought promptly and they .sat down to a meal such as they had not had in weeks: chicken soup, lamb chops and peaches, washed down with wine.

  Afterwards, he escorted her to the door of the bedroom, but he did not follow her inside. Their earlier intimacy had gone; he was not disposed to tease her or flirt with her or even to talk. She was hurt by his apparent change of mood. Oh, how she hated this dreadful war, which made enemies of those you would rather love. Where, oh, where was it all leading? The long day in the shepherd's hut had apparently been forgotten by him, but she could not forget it. Was that all she would ever have, a memory of such sweetness it hurt, deep inside her, whenever she thought of it. Better not to think at all.

  He was already up and dressed, waiting for her in the little sitting room, when she rose next morning. They ate breakfast in silence, each determined to maintain a coolness; it was the only way they could control their emotions. Afterwards he escorted her downstairs and out to where the horses had been saddled and were waiting. He helped her into the saddle, mounted himself and they set off again.

  They travelled for two days, passing through vineyards, many as neglected as those at Hautvigne, and staying at little inns in the villages, pretending to be husband and wife, though he never took advantage of it, but slept in a chair. Their conversation was desultory; they seemed not to have the energy for the enthusiastic repartee and the sharp riposte which had characterised their exchanges before. They were like strangers, polite, but distant.

  She supposed it might have something to do with the fact that they were nearing the fighting. They had been hearing the occasional boom of heavy guns for some hours and the roads were becoming clogged with the traffic of war, soldiers, mounted and on foot, guns on limbers, wagons, carts pulled by mules, women and even children. But they all seemed to be going in the opposite direction.

  `Where are we going?' she asked.

  `To Bayonne.'

  `Why?'

  He turned to look at hen 'That is where the lines are drawn.'

  `Battle lines?'

  `All the lines,' he said. Lines between friend and foe, between life and death, her life and his.

  `Supposing I do not want to go?'

  `There is no alternative.'

  She did not answer, but plodded on beside him, not because she had no choice, but because that was where she wanted to be. Always.

  They rode a little and walked a little, dodging patrols and the remnants of the French army who were retreating to take up new positions. The ground around them was devastated, uprooted trees, broken-down guns, dead horses, deep holes filled with icy water, human bodies, men digging graves. She shuddered. So this was the aftermath of battle.

  `It's inhuman.' She whispered, not because there was anyone taking any notice of them but because she felt it was respectful to do so.

  `But of the animal kingdom, only humans wage war,' he said.

  `It doesn't say much for the human race.'

  `No. '

  Suddenly they seemed to be alone on a hill overlooking a town. Beyond that was the sea. 'Come on,' he said, turning to look at her. She was exhausted, her hair had lost its sheen and her eyes had lost their sparkle; there was a smudge of dirt on her cheek and her skirt was torn, revealing the much-worn riding breeches. But she was still smiling, this brave and beautiful love of his. He smiled too, though it was an effort. 'The last two or three miles are always the worst.'

  `We are going down there?' She had noticed the flag fluttering from one of the tallest buildings and though it filled her with joy to see it, she was afraid for him, dressed as he was in a French uniform. 'Is that Bayonne?'

  `No, it is the harbour of St Jean de Luz. The British command has its headquarters there.'

  `We are going home, after all?' Her face lit with joy.

  `Not me. You. I will see you safely through the British lines where you will be looked after and sent back to England. Viscount Martindale will welcome you back, I'll stake my all on that...'

  `But why not you too? You are not the French soldier you pretend to be, I know that, even if you will not admit it, and even if you were, the prison camps are not so bad - there is one very near our home.' She paused, remembering how he had followed the escaped prisoners. `But then you know that already, don't you? Philip Devonshire left England and Philippe Devereux arrived in France. And don't you dare deny it.'

  He was very tempted to admit it, but when he thought of James and what he had to do, he knew nothing had changed. But he could not lie any more. Instead he said, `We spoke of cowardice and dishonour, remember?'

  She had not wanted to remember and she could not see that it had any bearing on the present situation. 'Oh, you make me so angry,' she cried. 'Fighting and killing, hate and revenge, it's all you live for, isn't it? I don't want you dead, I cannot love a corpse.'

  `Love, Juliette?'

  `Yes, love,' she shouted in English. 'Don't you understand, you buffle-head, I love you.'

  He dismounted and ran round to lift her off her horse. He stood with his hands on her arms, looking down into her troubled face. 'Say that again.'

  She repeated what she had said in French though she knew he had understood. 'Now, tell me I am shameless.'

  He threw back his head and laughed, though his heart was breaking. `Oh, you are very shameless, my love.' And he kissed her hungrily.

  She clung to him, returning kiss for kiss, knowing now that he did love her and that what he was doing, the risks he was taking, were all borne of that love. But she didn't want his sacrifice; she wanted to stay with him. 'Take me with you.'

  `No, it's impossible. I love you more than life itself and it is that love which is my greatest danger. Don't you see, my darling, only with you safe among your own people, can I go on and do what I have to do.'

  `You love me?' It was the first time he had said the words and her heart sang to hear them.

  `How could I not love you? You are everything to me. My life, my whole existence is bound to you. It was ordained from the beginning and will never change, no matter how long we are apart.' He touched her face with gentle fingers. 'But part we must. Please don't make it difficult for me.'


  The tears were pouring down her face, though she made no sound. He had said he must be the strong one and he was, but he was asking her to be strong too. She wasn't. She was weak and she needed him. Why couldn't he see that?

  He tethered the horses in a ruined barn. 'Horses are like gold,' he said, forcing himself to be practical. 'They will be confiscated if we take them with us and I need them both; riding them alternately will hasten my journey.' Then he took her cloakbag from her saddle and led her by the hand down the hill on to the road into the town.

  Juliette found she was shaking, though she could not tell if it were caused by fear or the imminent parting from the man she loved. A figure loomed up in the darkness ahead of them and startled her. She clutched Philippe's hand as the soldier levelled a rifle and shouted, 'Who goes there?'

  `Friend!' Philippe responded in English.

  `Password?'

  Juliette held her breath. 'Bucephalus,' Philippe said. `And I have a package for old Hooknose.'

  `Package, eh? And what might that be?'

  He put up the hand which held Juliette's. 'This one.'

  `What's so special about her?'

  `Take her to Lord Wellington and you will see.'

  `Do you think the Peer has nothin' better to do than entertain French whores?'

  Juliette saw Philippe's jaw tense and the hand that held hers tightened so that she almost cried out in pain. 'I am English,' she called out. 'My name is Martindale. You have heard of Viscount Martindale? I am his daughter.'

  Curiosity overcame him. 'Wait there.'

  Juliette watched, with her heart in her mouth, as he disappeared into a building behind him.

  `He has gone for the officer of the watch,' Philippe said. 'And I must go.'

  `Philippe...'

  He put two fingers on her lips to silence her. 'Listen, my darling. We must part. It breaks my heart to say it, but there is no alternative. One day, perhaps, when the world is at peace, we shall meet again. But, if we do not, know always that I loved you.'

  `Don't say that. Oh, Philippe, don't talk as if this were the end. I cannot bear it.' She clung to him while the tears rolled silently down her cheeks unheeded.

  He enfolded her in his arms, stroking the hair back from her forehead and tracing the outline of her face with a gentle finger. 'I need to know you are safe, my love. It is the only way I can go on. Go back to Hartlea, it is where you belong.'

  `Do you remember once telling me to wait and you would be back?' she asked.

  `Did I?' he said vaguely, though he remembered well enough.

  `Yes. Only I didn't wait. I ran away and caused no end of trouble and danger for everyone. But this time I shall wait and pray for an end to all this enmity and carnage. I shall pray every day that you will come safe through and back to me.'

  `I cannot ask that of you. You are young, one day you will fall in love and marry someone far more eligible than me. If you think of me at all, think of me with affection, as someone you met, a passing acquaintance with whom you once shared a short journey.'

  `Philippe, how can you talk like that? You are not a passing acquaintance, you are my only love. You will be here, in my heart, always.' She pulled herself away from him and delved into her pocket for the ruby in its heart-shaped setting. It had been safely hidden there ever since Major Clavier had searched the chateau. 'Here, take this as a talisman.'

  `No. '

  `Please, Philippe.' She put it into his hand and closed his fingers over it, attempting to smile. 'Keep it safe, because one day I shall want it back and you with it.'

  He took her face in his hands and kissed it, tasting the salt of her tears on his lips and tears sprang to his own eyes. 'Very well. I shall hold it in trust.' She was so absorbed in looking at him, trying to convince him that she meant what she said, she did not hear the sentry returning with the officer, but he did. He released her and turned her to face them. 'Go, my valiant one,' he said, putting her cloakbag into her hand. 'God keep you safe.'

  She stood and watched the two men approaching as if in a dream. She knew she ought to walk forward to meet them, but her feet would not carry her. She turned back to the man she loved, but he had gone, melted away into the shadows.

  The officer of the watch took her to his colonel, who had made his headquarters in one of the larger houses on the west side of the town, overlooking the little harbour. Here they interrogated her mercilessly, but she had nothing to tell them but the truth. Unable to make her change her story and admit she was a spy, they took her bag from her to search it and it was then they found the package, clearly addressed to Field Marshal, the Duke of Wellington, Commander in Chief of the British forces.

  `Where did you get this?' the officer demanded, holding it under her nose.

  `I don't know anything about it. I don't know how it got there.'

  `The Frenchie did say something about a package,' murmured the officer who had escorted her. 'We thought the fellow was referring to the girl.'

  `Give it here. I'll take it to the Peer. Watch over her and give her something to eat and drink. She looks as though she could do with a good meal.'

  He disappeared and by the time Juliette had made an attempt at eating the food they brought her, he had returned, smiling. 'Come with me.'

  Five minutes later she was in the presence of the great man and acutely conscious of her unwashed face and torn clothes. But he didn't seem to mind that, as he asked her to be seated.

  `Well, Miss Martindale, I have seen some very strange letter carriers in my time, but you are, indeed, the most extraordinary.'

  She stared at him. He was not particularly tall, nor was he extravagantly dressed, but he had a commanding presence and a way of looking at those he was talking to as if he knew exactly what they were thinking. He reminded her of Philippe, but then her thoughts were so full of the Frenchman she saw him at every turn. 'Is that all I am, a letter carrier?'

  `You think you have been used?'

  `Wouldn't you?'

  `Then let me reassure you, Miss Martindale, you are infinitely more than a letter carrier. That was my little joke and a very poor one, for which I beg pardon. You have brought me important information that will shorten this war by months. And you have brought me good tidings of one of our country's most trusted agents.'

  `Philippe?' she whispered.

  He smiled. 'Yes.'

  `Why did he not tell me?'

  `That would have been a very dangerous thing to do.'

  `Yes, I suppose it would.' She paused and lifted her eyes to his. 'But why did he have to go back?'

  `His work was not done. It won't be done until this war is at an end.'

  `Then I pray it will end soon.'

  `Amen to that,' he said. Then, suddenly becoming businesslike, he added, 'Now, there is a supply ship in the harbour which will be returning to England with some of the wounded. I shall send you on that, but in the meantime, I am sure you would like a wash and change of clothes...'

  `Yes, thank you, but can I not stay in France until...' She paused. 'I want to be near at the end.'

  `My dear Miss Martindale, we have no facilities for ladies. And we can never be sure the tide will not turn against us again.'

  'I could work, help with the wounded, be a letter-carrier, if you like. I do not mind.'

  `And what would Monsieur Devereux say to that idea, do you think?'

  She was silent, knowing how much Philippe had risked to send her back.

  `Viscount Martindale has been badly set back by your disappearance,' he went on. 'He will be overjoyed to see you safe.' Without giving her time to argue, he rang a bell on his desk and one of his aides appeared almost instantly. 'Find Miss Martindale a comfortable room and ask Sergeant Wetherby's wife to look after her and find her something to wear.' Then to Juliette, with a disarming smile which took the sting from his words. 'I am not accustomed to being argued with, my dear. My orders are usually obeyed implicitly and at once. Now you must put yourself in our hands and b
efore long you will be once again in the bosom of your family and able look back on the last few months as a bad dream.'

  It was spring, a wonderful joyous spring after one of the longest and coldest winters anyone could remember. Flags and banners flew from every masthead, church bells pealed out from one parish to another, bonfires were lit and everyone was out, laughing and singing. The war was at an end, the allies were in Paris and the tyrant had abdicated and been sent to the island of Elba. In England, everyone was preparing to welcome the heroes home, among those the Duke of Wellington.

  When the news of the surrender came to Hartlea, Juliette was in the garden with Anne Golightly, in the same spot she had been occupying exactly a year before, to sit for her portrait, a portrait that had set in train a sequence of events which had changed her life forever. Dressed once again in ladylike fashion, in a soft blue gown decorated with tiny embroidered rosebuds over a pale eau-de-nil petticoat and with her glorious hair brushed upwards and held so that its ringlets fell about her face in a silver cascade, she had become once again the fashionable debutante, far removed from the tearful ragged urchin who had faced Wellington in that bare room in St Jean de Luz.

  While she had been away, Lord Martindale had convinced his wife that she had been mistaken in her belief that Juliette was his daughter and his brother had simply been making mischief in telling her that she was. Lady Martindale had asked and been granted forgiveness and their relationship had been strengthened because of it, but it bad made Juliette's disappearance all the more distressing. Just when they had almost given up hope of ever seeing her again, she had returned, escorted by an officer appointed by Wellington to see her safely home. Her French birth had been forgotten and she was, once again, the beloved daughter of Viscount and Lady Martindale, though now the adoption had been legalised.

  The story everyone had been told was that she had been abducted by a group of French prisoners of war to aid their escape and that James Martindale had set off in pursuit and disappeared. No hint was ever dropped that he was other than a patriotic Englishman who had risked his life to save the woman he loved and Juliette had never mentioned seeing him in France. She was afraid it would hurt her father too much to know the truth and so she had simply said a French officer had rescued her and helped her to reach the British lines.