Basil flinched each time his horse stepped on a twig, sure the sound was echoing through the night.
They rounded a curve. Myles held his hand out to signal Basil to stop.
In the distance, Basil could see three men on horseback. It didn’t seem they had noticed Basil and Myles.
“We’ll ride up the slope and try to avoid them, but if they follow, let me do the talking,” Myles whispered.
They made it a quarter mile, by Basil’s reckoning, before the men came in pursuit.
He and Myles spurred their horses on until they were covered in sweat, but the three men kept pace with them. Images of his sisters and Amelia left alone in the world if he died in France spurred him on, and he pushed his horse at a brutal pace.
A shot rang out. Basil’s stomach lurched, and he glanced over to see if Myles had been hit.
Not only had he not been hit, he reined in, turned his horse to face their pursuers, and skidded to a stop. He pulled a firearm from his waistband and pointed it. He yelled something in French but spoke so fast Basil didn’t understand him. Has he lost his mind? Turning toward gunfire?
When the others came to a stop with two of them pointing weapons, the man who appeared to be the leader doffed his hat and responded, also in French.
Basil’s schoolboy lessons in the language came back as the man asked if they were also brigands.
To Basil’s surprise, Myles said, “Oui.”
The man then bowed as he sat in the saddle and said, “Excusez-moi, c’est ma faute.”
They turned and rode off. Basil shook his head. Who is Myles Cuthbert really? That these apparent robbers would just leave after being told this information?
“These woods are always full of highwaymen. It’s better to pretend to be one as well. They have sort of a gentleman’s code—or a non-gentlemen’s code, I should say.” Myles tucked his pistol away. “Come along. Might as well walk the horses back to the river to let them cool off before we go on our way.”
How does he know this? Just how often is he in France and in these woods? Basil wanted to ask Myles a lot of questions but decided it would be better to stay silent until he was back on English soil. His rudimentary French would not help him if Myles decided he was too much trouble to continue in this quest. He needed his friend to aid him in the foreign land, no matter what kind of man he was. Trust is vital.
For the next two days, they rode from town to town on the trade route, stopping at various churches to talk to priests and checking records in the cities as well. Basil wasn’t used to so much riding and ached in places he never knew existed. They’d had one more narrow escape, this time from soldiers in French uniforms, but Myles had spotted an old, partially burned down barn for them to shelter in with their horses. Basil had wondered at the time if Myles already knew about the structure as it seemed he led them right to it when they were pursued.
When they made camp on the third day, Myles passed him a hunk of bread they’d purchased that morning, along with a wedge of cheese.
“Let’s eat then look at the map again to see where to go from here,” Myles said.
“Do you think we’ve wasted our time?”
“No. I’m sure there’s someone who knows about the history of Miss Amelia Mandeville. We just haven’t found the correct man yet.”
“What do you think it is? Amelia said you studied her ring intently when you first saw it, and when you were holding it in my parlor, you looked very thoughtful.”
“You might think I’ve lost my sanity, but I’ll tell you. I didn’t want to say anything to the ladies as you and I know how they romanticize things, but I think that ring of Amelia’s is connected to the Grimaldi family.”
“The Grimaldis? How so?” Basil almost choked on the piece of cheese he’d put in his mouth. A royal connection? My Amelia? How can that be?
Myles waved his hand in the air as he talked. “I’ve studied some heraldry from a number of European countries and recognized the Grimaldi crest on the ring. When Amelia said it belonged to her mother, it confused me since I hadn’t heard of a member of the family who married a British chap.”
“She does insist her uncle says she’s illegitimate. Maybe her mother was forbidden to marry him.”
“I can’t imagine it being allowed, but I also wonder how the child would’ve come out of Monaco.”
“Maybe whoever owned the ring lost it, or maybe it was stolen by the woman who would become Amelia’s mother. She could’ve been a servant in the household, fell pregnant, and needed funds to escape with her lover, Amelia’s father.”
“But the ring wasn’t disposed of.” Myles took the last bit of bread and ate it. As soon as he swallowed, he said, “We can’t solve it tonight. I suggest we start out again fresh tomorrow.”
“I agree.” Basil turned over on his pallet and soon drifted off to sleep.
He awoke to the sound of someone whispering.
Sitting up, he peered through the darkness to see Myles at the outer edge of the reach of the glow of the fire talking to someone in French.
Concerned that he was in a foreign country with a man he barely knew, Basil rose, made sure he had his pistol handy, and moved to where the two men stood.
“What’s he saying?” Basil asked in what he hoped was a casual way. If Cuthbert is a French spy, I’ll have to dispatch him and then be on my own in enemy territory.
“I sent a letter on to Paris before we left London, and this is one of my contacts. He’s been doing the same thing we are but coming the other direction from Paris.”
“One of your contacts? What does that mean, Cuthbert?” Basil placed his hand on the handle of his weapon in case he needed to use it.
“I was hoping to avoid telling you, but I serve as an agent for His Majesty.”
“King George?” Basil hated to have to ask, but there was a contingent of French people who were working to restore the monarchy in France. He needed to know where Cuthbert’s loyalties lay, despite the fact that he was married to the daughter of a duke. “Of course King George.” Myles clapped him on the back and laughed. “My good man, surely you didn’t think I was for the French?”
“You do speak flawlessly.” Basil shrugged and then laughed at himself for thinking, even for an instant, that his friend was a French spy. I got part of it right. He is a spy, but thank goodness I was wrong on the rest. Having to kill a friend on enemy soil wasn’t high on the list of things Basil wanted to do. That would have been beyond the pale even in his wild days before he became a duke.
“Now that we’ve got you straight on what my role in France is, don’t you want to know what news my man brings?”
Basil nodded and looked back toward the chap who had been speaking to Cuthbert, but he was gone.
“He couldn’t stay. We have to keep moving around.” Myles grinned. “Part of the thrill of spying.”
“What news then?” Basil asked, not sure he thought spying was as pleasant a diversion as his friend seemed to think it was.
“Let’s return to the fire and discuss it. It’s too cool to stand here in the dark.” Cuthbert led the way back to their blankets.
When they were seated, Cuthbert said, “There’s a village about a four-hour ride from here that has a marriage record for a Richard Mandeville and a Cécile Duval dated 1796.”
Basil quickly did the math in his head. “Then they married when Amelia was a couple of years old? Doesn’t the law say if the parents marry at any time, it legitimatizes the child?”
“I believe so, but this begs the question of the Grimaldi connection. I’m still convinced this ring is the property of the House of Monaco.”
“Then we will find out by talking to the priest in the village.”
“Unless it was stolen, that is,” Cuthbert said.
“T
rue.” Basil glanced up at the sky. “How soon will it be light enough for us to move on? I’d like to get to the village early to see if we can find some answers.”
“We can pack up now as far as I’m concerned. I caught a nap while you slept, but I don’t usually spend a lot of time in one spot when I’m on a mission.”
“This is a mission now?” Basil laughed. Who’d ever believe the serious, staid Duke of Darnley would be out in the middle of nowhere in enemy territory at a campsite with a spy? Of course, when I was plain Mr. Basil Staunton, younger son and part-time idler too ready to play pranks and engage in escapades, I would’ve been all agog about such an adventure. What will befall my sisters and Amelia if something happens to me before I can return, though? They’ll be alone in the world with no protector.
As the thoughts circulated in his mind, he came to the realization that maybe it wasn’t so bad to be the responsible adult after all. Would I have really wanted to pass through life without making a difference to anyone else? I’ve already made a change in Amelia’s life for the better. What else might I be capable of? Basil was excited about the possibilities. And so what if I threw a little fun into the days now and again? I can certainly do that, can’t I?
“I think so. At least for you and your betrothed, it’s the most important one of all, isn’t it?” Cuthbert rolled his blankets and carried them to his horse.
Basil followed behind with his own gear. He hoped no one would chase them again. I’ve had enough of that for two lifetimes.
Once everything had been removed from their sleeping area, Myles kicked dirt over the remains of the fire, and they saddled up for the ride.
They moved along for almost two hours. Finally, pink streaks began to appear in the sky. Basil could see a church steeple in the distance, and as soon as they made it over the next rise, he discerned shapes of other buildings. There were enough to make up what he hoped was the village they were seeking. The more he rode, the more anxious he became for answers.
In less than a half hour, they safely entered the village and stopped at the church.
A young boy ran out almost in front of them and stopped beside Basil’s horse. He said something in French. Basil understood part of it.
Cuthbert translated. “The boy was told by my man to wait here and take care of our mounts while we are inside.”
“That’s efficient.”
“It helps to have been on this route many times before and pay well.” Myles laughed as he dismounted. He handed the reins to the boy, and Basil followed suit.
Inside the cool, dark church, they found a young man to ask about the marriage record.
He showed them to the registry books and turned to the year 1796. Once at the correct page, he pointed to the entry. It was just as Cuthbert’s man said. Richard Mandeville and Cécile Duval. October 28, 1796.
“Is there any other information?” Basil asked.
The man held up his index finger then turned some more pages to a record of a funeral service for Cécile Mandeville. Just a little under two years later—September 5, 1798.
“And Mr. Mandeville? Was this their parish church?”
“It was. The members at the time heard he died a few months later. He was no longer here as he’d begun his journey back to England. With the death of his wife and his health failing, he wanted to get the child to safety.”
“Safety?” Basil asked.
“Oh, yes, there was still a lot of unrest this close to Paris. He knew he was dying and wanted to take the girl home.”
“Was there a birth certificate?” Cuthbert asked.
“No. I’ve learned since the other man came by that Miss Amélie was already born when they came to live in the village.”
“When did they arrive?” Basil asked.
“I will take you to the priest who was here when they married. He knows more than I since I wasn’t with the church back then.” The young man led the way down the center aisle and to a side door past the boxes where the choir stood. He knocked. When someone called out, he opened the door to allow Basil and Myles to pass through. “I’ll leave you with him. I have some altar duties to tend to.”
The two men stepped inside an office where an elderly man sat behind a simple oak desk. The priest stood and gestured for them to be seated.
After they introduced themselves, Basil explained about Amelia and their desire to know about her parents and whether they were married.
“You see we have the marriage record, and we can provide documents for you. We have no record of the birth as little Amélie was already here when they came to the village and married. I understand she was born in Paris, in the midst of the Reign of Terror.”
“What else do you know about the family?” Basil asked.
“They lived here for a while and attended services here. Then Mrs. Mandeville died. She was a midwife by trade, by the way. Your intended bride may want to know that about her mother.”
“A midwife?” Cuthbert asked.
“Yes.” The old priest nodded. “She helped bring many babies into the world.”
“Do you know if she ever worked for royalty?” Cuthbert asked with a glance at Basil.
“Can’t say that I do, but I am aware Mr. Mandeville rescued many of the doomed from the Bastille and helped them flee from Paris. Maybe some were royal.”
“We’d heard rumors of his heroics but weren’t sure they were true,” Basil said.
The priest reached down and opened a drawer. He pushed some things aside and pulled out a carved box a little larger than one of the Gothic novels Basil’s sisters liked to read. He set it on the table. “The man was a hero to many. When he told me he was dying and was going to take his little girl home to England and safety, he gave me this box and told me someday she might come for it. I was to hold on to it until she came.”
“Take her to safety?” Basil asked, wondering why she was in danger if they’d obviously lived peacefully in a village outside of Paris for a while.
“That’s what he said.” The man patted the top of the box. “You must understand, it was still very dangerous, and life in France—at least this close to Paris and the seat of power—was still quite unstable. One wouldn’t blame the man for wanting to get her to family who could tend to her at his death. I was saddened to hear he didn’t make it back to his homeland.”
“May we take the box to Amelia?” Basil asked.
“Of course. It’s much too dangerous for her to come herself. I admire your bravery to undertake it in this time of war. You are much like her father.” The priest slid the box toward Basil.
Basil resisted the urge to open it and patiently conversed with the older man. “I know she will appreciate it.”
“We will definitely want a testimony that the marriage took place,” Myles said.
The priest placed his palms on the desktop and hefted himself out of his seat. “Come with me then, and we shall see to that.” He turned to Basil. “You may stay here and inspect the contents. I have not done so. Mr. Mandeville put his trust in me, and I have not betrayed him.”
Once Cuthbert and the priest had gone, Basil opened the box. Inside were a significant pile of bank notes, some folded papers, and a couple of pieces of jewelry.
Ignoring everything else, Basil opened the papers. The top sheet was a letter addressed to Amelia.
Torn about whether to read Amelia’s personal correspondence, Basil decided it was best so he would know if there was anything else he needed to tend to while he was in France.
My dear Amelia,
My name is Richard Mandeville, and you have been told I am your father.
Basil almost choked at the first sentence.
Much as it pains me to say, I’m not your father by blood, but from the first moment Cécile put you in my arms, I was y
our father by love. Cécile was the midwife who delivered you and brought you safely out of the Bastille.
This sentence hit Basil in the face with a force that made him recoil. My Amelia in the Bastille? Whose child is she?
Eagerly hoping to learn the truth, Basil returned to reading.
Your mother, the one who carried you in her womb and thereby postponed her own date with Madame Guillotine, was the wife of His Serene Highness, Prince Joseph of Monaco. She was safely out of Paris but missed her three children and, so, returned to the city. Captured by the rabble, she was saved—for a time—by the fact that she was pregnant. Both Cécile and I tried to rescue her, but there were too many guards.
On the day you were born, Cécile brought a child’s body into the Bastille we’d arranged to receive when needed—do not trouble yourself there, the child was stillborn. Once she delivered you safely, she showed the guards the body of the deceased child. Your mother, the princess, wanted you to be smuggled out to safety. She gave you her ring and these other pieces of jewelry so you could be identified as her child. Still hoping to be free, she allowed Cécile to take you out with the used linens, and dear Cécile managed it, praying you wouldn’t cry. And my darling girl, you did not.
Once you were out of the Bastille, she brought you to me, and we found a place to keep you safe. Cécile kept you hidden while I continued my work of freeing people as I could. I regret I never could save your mother, who was called Her Serene Highness Marie Thèrése. She loved you dearly and went to her death knowing you were safe.
Cécile and I fell in love as we took care of you, and we eventually married. She recently died, and a big piece of my heart went with her. I am now dying myself and have to bring you to my home in England since I cannot take you to your true father in Monaco. I’ve already set up a fund for you at home and have asked my brother to take you in. I will leave this note with the priest here whom I trust. I hope someday you will make the journey to learn the truth about yourself. The signet ring, I will take with us.
The Orphan and the Duke Page 22
