In the Commodore's Hands

by Mary Nichols

  Jay conceded the wisdom of that. ‘Sam has gone to reconnoitre the prison. If he is allowed to see Giradet, he might learn more and can tell him to be ready.’

  ‘Good,’ Harry said. ‘We will need your carriage and some good horses. Nat will find us all suitable disguises and Joe will ride ahead and bespoke fresh horses along our route and safe houses where we might rest a while.’

  ‘The fly in the ointment is Gerald Wentworth,’ Jay said. ‘He and Lisette met this morning and though she says it was by accident and they only passed the time of day, it is worrying. He is sly enough to wheedle information from her without her even knowing he had.’

  ‘Why would he want to?’ Nat asked.

  ‘That I do not know. Lisette met him in the Rue St Honore not far from Robespierre’s lodgings. I am wondering if he has some contact with that gentleman.’

  ‘Are you worried enough to think we should cancel our project?’

  ‘No, I must go through with it for Lisette’s sake, but if you think the risk is too great, then I beg you all not to hesitate, but return to England at once.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ Harry said. ‘But Wentworth will bear watching. He knows us too well, Jay, so perhaps Nat can keep an eye on him.’

  ‘I will do that,’ Nat said, then to Jay, ‘Do you know where he is lodging?’

  ‘No, but start in the Rue St Honore,’ Jay said. ‘You cannot miss him in the street, he dresses like the English aristocrat in frills and flounces and high heels. He is even more flamboyant than you are, Harry, though no one would think it to look at you now.’

  Harry was used to being teased about his dress and, laughing, stood up. ‘Come, let us go on our perambulation. We will start from the barrier on the road to Pontoise and work our way back to La Force, taking careful note of side alleys, unoccupied houses and the presence of troops. Joe and Nat, off you go. Take as much gold coin as you think you will need, but beware of robbers. We will meet here again at five o’clock this evening.’

  All four left the tavern.

  Lisette decided to go back to the court and listen to more trials. Contrary to what Madame Gilbert had said, not all the accused were condemned. She wanted to make a note of the successful defences; such knowledge might be useful if Michel ever came to trial. After listening to a dozen trials, which for the most part only lasted a few minutes, she came to the conclusion that they were not based on logic or jurisprudence so much as the mood of the jury and she felt many had been bribed. That might have to be their way forwards.

  She went back to the Embassy to wait for Jay to return. She had hardly taken off her hat and coat when Madame Gilbert came to announce a visitor. ‘Shall I show him in?’ she asked.

  It was the visitor himself who answered. ‘No need,’ he said. ‘I am already in.’

  Lisette sprang to her feet. ‘Mr Wentworth!’

  ‘Mr Wentworth is too formal, don’t you think?’ he said pleasantly as the concierge withdrew. ‘Why not call me Uncle?’

  ‘Uncle,’ she repeated, her heart thumping.

  ‘Yes, Lisette, I am your uncle, but I am sure you knew that, didn’t you?’

  ‘If I did, what does it signify? You turned your back on my mother, cut her out of the family, so why should I acknowledge you?’

  ‘Not I, Lisette, that was my father. I was only a young man at the time and had no hand in the decision. On the contrary, I was very fond of Louise.’

  ‘But you did nothing to keep in touch with her, you never visited, you never wrote to her.’

  ‘I believed that was her wish. We did not turn our backs on her, she turned her back on us.’ He looked about him. ‘Are you not going to invite me to be seated?’

  She was in a quandary. If Jay came back now, there would be an unholy row and she dreaded the consequences, but she could not send the man away, not because he was her uncle, but because he might have news of Michel. She indicated a chair. ‘Please be seated.’

  He flung up his coat and sat down. ‘That is better. Now that we have established our relationship, we can talk of your brother.’

  ‘Is that how you found out who I was?’

  He chuckled. ‘I had to go and see the young man after you told me his name. He is my nephew, after all. As soon as I saw him, I knew. You are as like as two peas in a pod.’

  ‘He is my twin. What did he say?’

  ‘Naturally he begged me to help him.’

  ‘And can you?’

  ‘I am prepared to try, but you know he was very surprised to learn you had married Commodore Drymore. Why did you do that, Lisette?’

  ‘Why does one usually marry? We fell in love.’

  ‘After he had liberated your father from gaol and sailed away with you.’

  ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

  ‘It did not take a genius at mathematics to work it out.’

  ‘Oh.’ The worst had happened. The danger had increased a thousandfold and it was all her fault. She wished herself anywhere but where she was. She longed for Jay to come home at the same time as she dreaded it.

  He smiled. ‘You see, my dear, I am in possession of information that could send you both to Madame Guillotine.’ He paused to watch her face, while she tried not to show her dismay. ‘However, I may not make use of it.’

  ‘You want something from me.’ It was said with a heavy heart.

  ‘Let us say you could provide some names which I can exchange for your brother’s release.’

  ‘Names?’

  ‘Of those Englishmen who have become a thorn in the side of the Revolutionary government.’

  ‘I do not know what you mean.’

  ‘Come now, I think you do. Jay Drymore is one, that I know, and so, I believe, do you.’

  ‘I know nothing of the kind,’ she retorted, pretending anger. ‘My husband is an envoy for the British Government. I told you before that he would not jeopardise his position for the sake of one prisoner and that still holds good.’

  ‘Not even when that prisoner is his brotherin-law?’ he queried with a twisted smile. ‘I know you are anxious to set your brother free and I cannot believe a man would turn a deaf ear to the entreaties of the woman he professes to love.’

  ‘He is a man of strong principles.’

  He laughed. ‘What about your principles, Lisette? Where do they lie? You are a Frenchwoman, your loyalties should lie with France, not with someone who will abandon you as soon as your presence becomes inconvenient. for your brother’s sake I urge you to consider what I have said. His fate is in your hands. I know for a fact that his trial has only been delayed because the court is waiting for Henri Canard to come to Paris to give evidence. He is bringing the two gaolers with him who were guarding your father. They, of course, are eager to save their own skins.’

  With every word he uttered her heart sank further. He had her in a vise from which she could see no way out. Betray Jay and save her brother or remain silent and see Michel go to the guillotine. ‘And what do you hope to gain by this, Mr Wentworth?’ she asked, desperate to turn the tables on him. ‘You are an Englishman and yet you consort with Revolutionaries and lecture me on patriotism.’

  He laughed. ‘France is not at war with England, only with those who interfere in her internal affairs, people like your husband.’

  ‘If you know so much, why do you need me?’

  ‘Because there are others besides Drymore at work. Not only will they not stop at saving a few aristo heads, but even more importantly they will be taking thousands of gold coin and precious jewels out of the country, wealth it can ill afford to lose. There is a strong belief in the Department of Justice that these men mean to free Louis and the rest of the royal family. Evidence has been uncovered, letters found in a chest hidden behind panelling in the royal apartments in the Tuileries Palace, which point to counter-revolution and an attempt to regain the throne. If they are published there will be a hue and cry among the populace that will outdo any previous riots and massacres. Thousands will die. The
French Government is naturally anxious to avoid that.’

  ‘What is that to do with you?’

  ‘Any involvement of British subjects in the conspiracy is bound to have diplomatic consequences. It might mean war. I, as a loyal subject of King George, wish to prevent that at all costs and if it means the sacrifice of a few English lives, then it will be worth it.’

  He sounded so convincing she found herself wondering how much truth there was in what he was saying. If it were true, it made the rescue of Michel insignificant compared to the wider issues. Did Jay know this? Did Lord Portman? Was that why his lordship had come to Paris, nothing to do with Michel?

  ‘I do not see what this has to do with me or my husband,’ she said, trying hard to sound cool, though she was shaking and wished fervently her visitor would go away and allow her to think.

  ‘It has everything to do with him. Why do you think the British Government has sent an envoy to Paris so soon after the Ambassador left, if not to oversee a conspiracy to undermine the elected government of France, something the Ambassador could not condone?’ He stood up suddenly. ‘I will leave you to think about it, but do not take too long. I will meet you in the foyer of the Palais de Justice tomorrow at noon. Bring me the names Monsieur Robespierre wants and your brother could be free by tomorrow evening. If not, Henri Canard will have his way.’

  He bowed, replaced his hat on his head and left her. She heard him speak to Madame Gilbert and then the front door slamming. Only then did her taut muscles relax and she sank forwards on the sofa with her head in her hands. She was being torn apart—Jay or Michel? Michel or Jay? If Mr Wentworth had been right about the conspiracy to stage a counter-revolution, then the sacrifice of two or three lives might be considered justifiable compared to the saving of thousands. But if the two or three were people she knew and respected and, in the case of Jay, had learned to love, what then? It was like a refrain going round and round in her head, driving her insane.

  It was late when at last Jay and Sam came back. She heard Jay bid Sam goodnight and then he joined her. It was immediately obvious he was stiff with cold and suffering from sore feet. He hobbled to a chair and flung himself into it. ‘I have never walked so far in my life,’ he said. ‘Harry must have legs of steel. I do not think there is a corner of Paris we have not explored and some of it extremely noisome.’

  She had been waiting to have the whole matter out with him, to demand answers, to be told the truth, not only about his mission to France and how it affected Michel, but what Lord Portman’s presence really meant, and most of all, the exact nature of his enmity with Gerald Wentworth. It was not fear of his temper that made her hold back, but an overwhelming feeling of tenderness towards him. He had been wounded freeing her father; she and Papa owed their lives to him, she ought not to forget that. And even now, he suffered on her behalf. How could she betray him? How could she tell him about the blackmail, for blackmail it was, and give him something else to worry about?

  She bent to pull off his shoes. They were old ones in keeping with the lowly garb he wore and the soles had worn right through. No wonder he had sore feet.

  ‘Lisette, you should not be doing that,’ he murmured. ‘I will go up to my room by and by and make myself respectable.’

  ‘No, stay there.’

  She went to the kitchen to fetch a bowl of warm water, a towel and, after a search of the kitchen cupboards, some salve and soft muslin to make a bandage. When she came back he had fallen asleep. Gently she knelt and removed his ragged stockings and put his feet into the water. He did not stir. She looked up into his face; his eyes were shut as if asleep. Carefully she bathed and dried his feet, then applied some of the ointment and bandaged them. She could not put his stockings back on, they were full of holes and covered in blood and mud. Still on the floor, she sat back and surveyed him.

  In repose the stern look had left him. He was more like the man she had come to know at Highbeck, the man who loved his home and his children, the man who had a keen sense of humour and was the epitome of genteel behaviour, the man respected, even loved, by his tenants and servants, the man she had come to love. How could she even think of betraying him? But what of Michel? What of her father waiting patiently at Highbeck for her to return with her brother? There had to be a way, there had to be, even if it meant sacrificing her own life.

  He stirred and opened his eyes. ‘Lisette.’ His voice was husky and full of sleep. ‘What are you doing down there?’

  ‘I, as a good wife, have been tending your wounds.’

  ‘Wounds? I am not wounded.’

  She indicated the pink water in the bowl. ‘Your feet were a mess.’

  ‘You did not need to do that. I could have done it myself.’

  ‘It was my privilege. You must have found walking very painful.’

  ‘Sailors, unlike soldiers, do not learn to march long distances and I have grown soft.’ He leant forwards to take her hand. ‘Thank you, my dear. They feel better already.’

  The feel of his hand covering hers, his gratitude, his blue eyes looking into hers with such trust and tenderness was too much to bear after the turbulent day she had had. Her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Crying, Lisette?’ He reached out and touched her cheek, catching a tear as it fell from her bottom lid. ‘What is the matter? Has something happened today?’

  He was altogether too perspicacious. ‘No, nothing,’ she said quickly, blinking hard. ‘I’m tired and you must be too.’

  ‘I shall be right as ninepence in the morning.’

  She pulled herself together. ‘Have you had anything to eat? Shall I fetch something for you?’

  ‘I ate with Lord Portman at the Cross Keys. All I want now is to find my bed.’

  ‘Then, if you will excuse me, I shall go to my room.’ She attempted to get to her feet, but sitting on the floor with her legs under her had made them go numb. She stumbled and fell into his lap.

  He caught her and held her. ‘Oh, Lisette,’ he said. ‘You do try a man, don’t you?’ And then he kissed her.

  His lips were warm on hers, not demanding, not hot with passion, not tentative either—nothing Jay did was tentative—but it was enough to set her body trembling as the warmth spread right through her. No one had ever kissed her like that before, no one had stirred all her senses in the same chaotic way. She put her arms about his neck and allowed it to go on, then found herself responding, clinging to him, wanting more. She was, for that brief moment in time, deliriously happy, and when he would have drawn away, she pulled his face down to hers again.

  He came to his senses before she did. ‘Go to bed, temptress, before I forget myself entirely,’ he said, gently pushing her from him.

  She scrambled to her feet. ‘I…’ She stopped, lost for words.

  He looked up at her. Her hair had come loose, her clothing was in disarray and her eyes were dark with passion. With an effort of will, he resisted the temptation to pull her back on to his knee. ‘Go to bed, Lisette.’ His voice was flat.

  She fled, leaving him to dispose of the bowl of pink water and his ruined stockings. He took them to the kitchen, musing on the almost-forgotten sensation of kissing a beautiful woman. She had been so pliable, so receptive, naïve and yet knowledgeable in that instinctive way all women seemed to have when it came to men. In the heat of the moment he had forgotten his avowed intention to keep his distance. She was a danger to his peace of mind, always had been, ever since he had first met her, and, he suspected, always would be. Whatever he was doing, she filled his thoughts when they were apart and all his senses when they were together; she made him feel both protective and exasperated. And, yes, he loved her. How that had come about he did not know, nor did he know what to do about it.

  Madame Gilbert was dozing by the fire in the kitchen, but roused herself to get up and take the bowl from him. ‘Your wife had a visitor this afternoon,’ she told him.

  ‘I do not deny my wife visitors, madame.’

  ‘This was a g
entleman, an Englishman, dressed very fine. Madame did not refuse to see him.’

  ‘Why should she?’ he said evenly. ‘He is her uncle. Goodnight, Madame Gilbert.’

  He climbed the stairs to bed, deep in thought. The concierge’s revelation, coming on top of Sam’s earlier news—that he had seen a gentleman emerge from La Force who was undoubtedly an Englishman and one he had seen somewhere before, though he could not remember where or when—ruined the euphoria of those last few minutes with Lisette. Passing her room, he was tempted to go in and demand to know what was going on, but refrained. Tackling her when he felt hurt and betrayed would not help.

  That it was Wentworth he was certain and Wentworth undoubtedly knew who she was, but what he was unsure of was the man’s motive. was he hand in glove with the Revolutionary government, inflaming passions against Britain, or was it personal? From what Lisette had told him, it was probably the latter and he felt he could deal with that, if only she would confide in him. But in honesty he had to admit he had not confided in her. Had he been afraid to?

  He flung himself on his bed and fell asleep, only to have the recurring dream that had plagued him ever since Marianne died. Someone had come to tell him there had been an accident and he was riding hell for leather to Wentworth Castle. It wasn’t an old building, not medieval at any rate, but it was huge and ostentatious. It was also shabby and the garden overgrown. Why he noticed that in the heat of the moment he did not know, but the image was etched on his mind as if put there with a branding iron. He flung himself off his lathered horse and rapped on the door with his riding crop.

  A footman in livery admitted him and asked him to wait in the great hall, with its threadbare tapestries, blackened furniture and cantilever staircase, while he went to find his master. The servant was gone a long time and he was about to go in search of someone when the Countess came down the stairs.

  ‘Commodore, you are too late,’ she said. ‘She is dead.’

  ‘Dead?’ The sound of that word echoed in his sleeping brain. ‘When? How?’