He was gone before Marianne could recover enough to retort. What was the use? Through the tears she was no longer able to restrain, she saw him climb in to the curricle, take the reins, and back the vehicle away. The wedding procession had moved out of sight past the swing bridge by the Tuileries and the crowd was already dispersing among the side-shows, the sweetmeat stalls and the open air buffets, and the fountains which would soon begin to flow with wine. But Marianne saw none of this.
Overwhelmed by a terrible feeling of defeat and helplessness, she sat motionless in her seat, her hand clenched on the shining handle of her parasol, her cheeks wet with tears that dropped unheeded on to her lace gown. It did not occur to her to summon Arcadius or to command the carriage to drive on. Her whole mind was concentrated on her cousin and what that elderly woman might be enduring at the hands of Fanchon Fleur-de-Lis and her minions. Jolival, however, had seen Lord Cranmere leave the carriage and had instantly leaped down from the box to rejoin Marianne.
'By all the saints in heaven, what has happened?' he exclaimed, seeing her transformed into a statue of grief. 'What has that man done to you? Why did you not call me?'
She turned her tear-drenched eyes to him and made a little movement to smooth out the crumpled yellow paper which she held between her hands before she gave it to Arcadius.
'Read it,' she said with difficulty. 'All Paris will read it unless I give him the money he wants. And – to make sure – he has abducted Adelaide. He has me, Arcadius, and he will not let me go. He knows the Emperor will not endure a scandal, nor see his name linked to that of a murderess.'
'A murderess? There is no truth in this filth.'
'Yes. Without intending it, in self-defence, I did kill Ivy St Albans and the runners are searching for me in England.'
'Oh.'
Arcadius lowered himself heavily on to the squabs. Marianne saw, to her distress, that he had gone very pale and she wondered momentarily if he too were about to shrink from her in horror. But Jolival merely extracted a large and spotless handkerchief from his pocket and, putting one arm in a brotherly fashion round Marianne's shoulders, began patiently drying the tears which still flowed from her eyes. A comforting smell of tobacco filled the carriage.
'And what are the – er – gentleman's demands?' Arcadius asked matter-of-factly.
'Fifty thousand livres – within three days. He will tell me where and how to hand it over.'
Arcadius whistled softly.
'The devil! He is greedy. And that, I dare say, is only the beginning. He will not stop there.' He returned the now useless handkerchief to his pocket.
'You think he will want more? I think so too, but he engaged himself, if I give him what he asks, not to demand more money for a year – and to restore Adelaide to me unharmed.'
'Kind of him. I imagine you do not mean to trust him?'
'Not for an instant, but we have no choice. He has Adelaide and he knows that I will do anything to save her life. If I set the police on his track, he will kill her without mercy. If that were not so, we should already be on our way to call on the Duke of Otranto —'
'— who would not be able to receive you since he is attending the Emperor's wedding. Besides, there is nothing to say that he could prevent the spread of this dirt. It is almost impossible to suppress a pamphlet of this kind. They appear every day. No, I am wondering if we cannot make shift to recover Mademoiselle d'Asselnat for ourselves. I cannot think there are so many places where Fanchon Fleur-de-Lis can have hidden her, for you may be sure she is in her hands.'
'Can she be in the quarries of Chaillot?'
'Quite certainly not. The Dame Désormeaux is no fool. She knows that charming spot has no secrets from us. No, she will have her somewhere else, but we will need to take great care in finding where because I agree that this Englishman will not hesitate to kill his prisoner as he threatened. I only hope he will honour his agreement and restore her to us on payment of the ransom.'
'Suppose – suppose he does not?' Marianne said faintly.
'That is why we have to try and find out where he has hidden her. Besides, as you say, we have no choice. First, we must pay, after that —'
He paused and Marianne saw his jaw tighten under the short beard. She was suddenly conscious that beneath the pleasant, willowy exterior of this little man with his precise, almost feminine elegance, was a will every bit as strong as Francis's.
'After that?' she breathed.
'Take advantage of whatever breathing space we are allowed to attack in our turn. We must render Lord Cranmere harmless for the future.'
'You know that my one desire is to get my marriage annulled so that I may become myself again?'
'That may not be enough.'
'What then?'
'Then,' Jolival said, very softly, 'supposing the Emperor is unable to offer you his head, I think we may have to take it ourselves.'
With the utterance of this cool sentence of death, Arcadius leaned forward and tapped with his cane on the glass.
'Ho there, Gracchus!'
The coachman's round, youthful face appeared.
'Monsieur le Vicomte?'
'To the Tuileries, my lad.'
The words roused Marianne from her contemplation of her friend's pronouncement. She started.
'The Tuileries? What for?'
'Have you forgotten you are engaged to meet Count Clary? He has promised to take you into the grand gallery of the Louvre to see the imperial pair leave the chapel?'
'Do you really think,' Marianne burst out, glad of the chance to relieve her feelings, 'that I have any intention of taking a closer look at this – this masquerade?'
Arcadius threw back his head and laughed.
'I see you have duly appreciated our Emperor's efforts at sartorial splendour. Yet it will be a fine sight, even so…'
'… and you may as well tell me straight out that you wish to be rid of me! What are you up to, Arcadius?'
'Nothing very much. I have a little business to attend to and I was hoping that if you did not require the carriage you would let me take it.'
'Take it by all means, but take me home first. Gracchus! We are going home.' Marianne rapped on the glass in her turn. She was curious to know just what it was that Jolival had found to do so urgently but she knew from experience that it was practically impossible to make him talk when he had made up his mind to say nothing.
Marianne's carriage swung round to make its way back across the Concorde bridge. The crowd, which had been so dense while the procession was passing, had thinned a little and most of the people were drifting away through the gardens or along the river towards the palace of the Tuileries, where the imperial couple were to show themselves on the balcony. Marianne, however, had no wish to see the ill-assorted pair again. Had Napoleon taken to wife a princess who matched up to her ideas of what a princess should be, a thoroughbred worthy to be the mother of an emperor, the aristocrat in Marianne would have taken a kind of painful pride in the event. But this blonde pudding with her cow-like expression! How could he gaze at her with such apparent joy and pride? Even the people had sensed it. Perhaps because the graceful and delicate image of Josephine was still before their eyes, the crowd had given the newcomer only a perfunctory acclaim. The cheering had been scattered and lukewarm. How many were there in that crowd, moreover, who were now greeting Marie-Louise in the very spot where, seventeen years earlier, they had watched the execution of Marie-Antoinette? How could the people of Paris feel anything but uneasy suspicion for this new Austrian, so pitiful a caricature of that radiant princess of an earlier day?
Marianne and Jolival sat in silence as the carriage proceeded across the bridge, and then past the new classical façade of the Palais du Corps Legislatif,[2] still shrouded in scaffolding, to the rue de Lille. Both were locked in their own thoughts and each respected the other's silence.
When the vehicle drew up before the newly restored front entrance to the Hôtel d'Asselnat, however, Marianne could not he
lp asking as she gave her hand to Jolival to descend from the carriage: 'Are you sure you would not like me to come with you on this – this urgent business?'
'Quite sure,' Arcadius answered smoothly. 'Go in and sit by the fire like a good girl and wait for me, and do try not to worry. We may not be altogether as helpless as Lord Cranmere likes to think.'
An encouraging smile, a bow, a nourish and the Vicomte de Jolival had disappeared into the carriage which was already turning back towards the street. Marianne gave a little shrug and trod up the steps to where a servant was holding the door for her. Wait like a good girl – not to worry – it was like Jolival to give her that advice. But it was dreadful to have to return to the house when Adelaide was not there, dear, irritating, wonderful Adelaide, with her insatiable appetite and never-ending fund of gossip.
As it turned out, she had no time to wonder what she should do with herself until Jolival's return. As she reached the marble staircase that led to her own room she was met by her butler, Jeremy, stiff and solemn as ever in his dark green livery. Marianne was not over-fond of Jeremy, who never smiled and always seemed to have some unwelcome news up his sleeve, but Fortunée, who had chosen him, maintained that to employ a person of such lugubrious and distinguished bearing lent tone to a house. Jeremy bowed, his aquiline features a mask of boredom and gloom.
'Monsieur Constant awaits madame in the music room,' he murmured apologetically, as though confiding some shameful secret. 'He has been waiting for rather more than an hour…'
A sudden wave of happiness swept over Marianne. Constant! Napoleon's faithful valet, the man most in his confidence and now, to Marianne, the guardian of what seemed a kind of Paradise Lost. Surely fate could have offered no better answer to her present anxiety and the agonizing days ahead? Constant's presence in her house meant that even on this day of days, Napoleon had thought of her in her loneliness and perhaps the Austrian's hold on him was after all less than Parisian gossip would have it.
Marianne cocked an eyebrow quizzically at her butler.
'I may as well tell you, Jeremy, that M. Constant's visit is very welcome, so there is no need to announce it as if it were a disaster of the first magnitude. You should smile, Jeremy, when you announce a friend, smile – do you know what that is?'
'Not altogether, madame, but I will endeavour.'
CHAPTER FOUR
Madame Hamelin's Lovers
With the patience that characterizes the northerner, Constant had sat down to wait in what comfort he could for Marianne's return. He even fell into a doze, ensconced beside the fire with his feet on the fender and his hands clasped on his stomach. He was roused by the sound of Marianne's quick footsteps on the tiled floor outside and by the time the girl entered the music room he was on his feet, bowing respectfully.
'Monsieur Constant! I am so sorry to have kept you waiting. I am so glad to see you, and today of all days! I should have thought no force on earth would have dragged you from the palace.'
'No occasion is important enough to outweigh the Emperor's orders, Mademoiselle Marianne. He commands – and behold, I obey. As for keeping me waiting, think nothing of it. I have been enjoying the peace of your house as a change from all the excitement.'
'He thought of me,' Marianne said involuntarily, shaken by this unexpected happiness, coming on top of the horror she had experienced in the place de la Concorde.
'Indeed – I believe his majesty thinks of you very often. At all events,' he continued, declining the seat to which his hostess waved him, 'I am charged to deliver my message to you and return to the palace forthwith.' He moved across to the harpsichord and picked up the heavy canvas bag which lay there. 'The Emperor instructed me to hand you this, Mademoiselle Marianne, with his compliments. It contains twenty thousand livres.'
'Money?' she exclaimed, flushing. 'But —'
Constant allowed her no time to protest.
'It occurred to his majesty that you might be in need of funds at this present time,' he said, smiling. 'Moreover, this is in the nature of a remuneration for your services which I am to engage for the day after tomorrow.'
'The Emperor wishes me to —'
'To sing at the reception to be held at the Tuileries. I have the invitation here.' He drew the card from his pocket and presented it to Marianne. Ignoring it, the girl clasped her arms across her breast and went slowly to one of the windows overlooking the small garden. The fountain pattered softly into the grey stone basin, under the smiling gaze of the cupid on the dolphin. Marianne watched it for a moment without speaking. Disturbed by her silence, Constant came towards her.
'Why don't you answer? You will come, of course?'
'I – Constant, I do not want to! To be obliged to curtsey to that woman, sing for her – I couldn't.'
'I am afraid you must, however. The Emperor was far from pleased that you did not come to Compiègne and Madame Grassini suffered for his displeasure. If you fail him this time you must be prepared for his anger.'
'His anger?' Marianne swung round suddenly. 'Can't he understand how it feels to see him with that woman at his side? I was in the place de la Concorde just now and I saw them ride past, smiling and triumphant and so full of happiness that it hurt. He makes himself ridiculous to please her! That absurd dress, that head-dress —'
'Oh, that dreadful head-dress,' Constant said, laughing. 'It certainly gave us some trouble. Half an hour it took us to set it at a reasonable angle – and even then, I confess, it was not a success.'
Constant's good humour did something to relax Marianne's nerves but her evident distress had not escaped the Emperor's valet and it was in a more serious tone that he continued:
'As for the Empress, I think that you, like all of us, must regard her simply as the symbol and promise of a future dynasty. It is my sincere belief that the Emperor is inclined to value her birth above her person.'
Marianne shrugged.
'Indeed!' she said sullenly. 'I have heard that after that famous night at Compiègne, he took one of his associates aside and told him: "Marry a German, my friend, they are the best women in the world: sweet, kind, innocent and fresh as roses!" Did he say that or no?'
Constant shifted his eyes and moved away to pick up his hat from a chair. He stood for a moment turning it between his hands but he looked up at Marianne at last and there was a touch of sadness in his smile.
'Yes, he said that, but it means little beyond an expression of relief. Remember, she is a Habsburg, the daughter of the man he defeated at Wagram. He might have looked for pride, resentment, even rejection. This placid princess is reassuring, she is a little awkward and nervous, like a country cousin. I think he is profoundly grateful. As for love, if he was as much in love with her as you would like to imagine, would he have thought of you today? No, Mademoiselle Marianne, believe me, come and sing for him, if not for her. And tell yourself that it is Marie-Louise who should fear comparison, not you. Will you come?'
Defeated, Marianne bowed her head in consent.
'I will come. You may tell him so. And tell him,' she added with an effort, indicating the bag of coins, 'that I thank him.' It hurt her to accept the money but as matters stood at present it was very welcome and Marianne could not afford the luxury of refusal.
***
Arcadius weighed the bag in his hands and laid it back on the writing-table with a sigh.
'The Emperor is generous. It is a good sum, but not nearly enough to satisfy our friend. We need more than twice as much and unless you ask his Majesty to prove himself more generous still…'
'No!' Marianne cried, flushing. 'Not that! I could not! Besides, I should have to explain, tell him everything. Then the Emperor would set the police on Adelaide's track – and you know what will happen when Fouché's men come on the scene.'
Arcadius felt in his waistcoat pocket and produced a pretty snuff box of tortoiseshell bound with gold, a present from Marianne, and helped himself luxuriously to a pinch of snuff. The time was nearly nine o'clock and he
had just returned to the house, apparently no more ready to explain his mission than he had been at the start. He restored the box to his pocket and smoothed the little bump it made there with his fingers, dreamily, as if in contemplation of a particularly agreeable idea. At last he said: 'We need have no fear of that happening. None of Fouché's agents will lift a finger to find Mademoiselle Adelaide, even if we were to ask them.'
'What do you mean?'
'You see, Marianne, when you described your conversation with Lord Cranmere, one thing struck me: the fact that this man, an Englishman travelling under a false name and in all probability a spy, was able not merely to go about Paris in broad daylight – and in the company of a woman notoriously suspect – but seemed to be in no dread of apprehension by the police. He told you, did he not, that if you had him arrested he would be released at once, with apologies?'
'Yes, I told you.'
'Did it seem to you odd? What did you make of it?'
Marianne clasped her hands and took two or three quick turns about the room.
'Well, I don't know – I did not think about it at the time.'
'Not then or later, I think. But I was curious to know a little more and so I paid a visit to the quai Malaquis. I have some – er – connections among the minister's staff and I found out what I wanted to know, the reason the Vicomte d'Aubécourt is not afraid of the attentions of the police. Quite simply, he is hand in glove with Fouché, perhaps even in his pay.'
'You are mad!' Marianne gasped. 'Fouché would never be hand in glove with an Englishman.'
'Why not? The Duke of Otranto has, at this present moment, excellent reasons for remaining on good terms with an Englishman. He has certainly extended a warm welcome to your noble husband.'
Marianne and The Masked Prince Page 9
