Angel Heart

by Marie Laval

  ‘I sent her a note warning of our arrival,’ he explained as he stepped out of the carriage. He held his hand out for Marie-Ange and winced as the door closed on his wounded shoulder.

  Caroline’s welcome was as friendly as Marie-Ange expected.

  ‘My darling, you look magnificent, as always.’ Caroline smiled coquettishly and gave her hand to Saintclair. ‘As for you, Madame, this is a surprise to see you dressed in such strange apparel. Are you going to a fancy dress ball or on a hunting party?’ She gestured for them to sit down.

  ‘I need your help for a few days, Caroline, a week at the most,’ Saintclair informed her. ‘Marie-Ange’s husband has got it in his head that she is being unfaithful, which is totally untrue, of course. She needs somewhere safe to stay until he comes to his senses. He is a rather jealous chap and doesn’t hesitate to use his blade instead of words to make his point.’ He gestured to his shoulder.

  So that was his cover story. Her husband thought they were having an affair and wanted revenge.

  ‘I see…’ Caroline pursed her lips. ‘Why are you asking me to help?’

  ‘Because I know I can trust you,’ Saintclair replied with a deep, cajoling voice. ‘And I shall make it up to you, as I always do.’

  Caroline’s eyes suddenly shone with pleasure. ‘In that case, Madame can stay as long as she needs. I think I am rather going to enjoy having a clandestine guest.’

  Saintclair then gave a list of instructions. Marie-Ange wasn’t allowed to go out of the apartment, and nobody should see her or even be told of her presence. He would leave money to buy a few indispensable items of clothing and toiletries and to cover any expenses Caroline might incur.

  Caroline got up and held her hand out to him. ‘Let’s go into my drawing room, Hugo. We need to finalise our arrangement.’

  ‘It will be my pleasure,’ he said.

  Marie-Ange threw him a cool, angry stare but he smiled, got up and followed Caroline out. Her composure crumbled as soon as they left the room. What did Saintclair mean when he promised Caroline he would ‘make it up’ to her? What did the woman imply by ‘finalising their arrangement’? Were they making love right now, in a room next door? Of course they were. They had been lovers for a long time, several years, Malleval had said. The capitaine was even jealous of her. She recalled how annoyed he had been at the opera because Caroline had gone to Auxerre with de Mitre, the man who had obtained his promotion over him.

  Marie-Ange pulled her hat off, shook her head and her hair tumbled down on her shoulders in a mass of curls. She felt she couldn’t breathe with the unfamiliar necktie fastened tight so she loosened it and opened the collar of her shirt before reclining on the armchair. Closing her eyes, she tried not to think about what was going on in Caroline’s drawing room.

  She heard their voices as they walked back a short while later. Saintclair stopped in the doorway. They stared at each other. His gaze locked with hers, and it felt as if they were alone. Next to him, Caroline’s smile faded. She hooked her hand into the curve of his arm and chuckled seductively.

  ‘Well, that’s settled then, my darling Hugo,’ she said, hanging onto him. ‘I shall look forward to our reunion. This little session has left me pining for more.’

  Marie-Ange jumped to her feet, a hot flush on her face. She had been right. He had made love to Caroline. He shrugged Caroline off him and moved to stand before her.

  ‘Do as you are told for once and don’t leave this apartment before I return,’ he said.

  Now that the moment had come for him to leave, she didn’t want him to go. Her chest was so tight she couldn’t breathe. She gave him her hand.

  ‘Thank you, Capitaine. For everything. I wish you a safe trip to Paris.’

  He gave her hand a perfunctory kiss, bowed his head and put his hat on. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  Ten days passed and he didn’t send any news.

  What had gone wrong? Perhaps his injury was more serious than the physician had thought, or Christopher or Malleval’s men had found him. The thought of him suffering any more harm was unbearable. Maybe he had discovered something in Paris which was keeping him away…

  Marie-Ange paced the bedroom, feeling like a prisoner. She stopped in front of the window and lifted the heavy red and gold brocade curtain to look at the street below. For the hundredth time that day, she sighed as she observed the fashionable crowd strolling on the pavements. Men in dark coats and black hats, ladies in fur trimmed pelisses and bonnets looked at the shop windows or stepped in and out of cafés and brasseries.

  How she longed to go out, too. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine walking on the cliff path back in Wellcombe bay, enjoying the breeze and the sea spray on her face, or running free on the moors with Rusty and Splinter. It was only four weeks since she had left Devonshire. It felt like an eternity.

  A pretty young maid came in and announced that lunch was ready. Marie-Ange followed her through Caroline Dupin’s elegantly furnished apartment. She hated being here. She knew Caroline didn’t like it any more than she did. On the few occasions they sat together, usually at lunchtime or for afternoon tea, the woman talked incessantly about her tumultuous relationship with Capitaine Saintclair. She would stare into space, a dreamy smile on her face as she recalled details of the passionate embraces ‘her cuirassier’ submitted her to. Marie-Ange did her best to hide her feelings behind an indifferent smile, but every one of Caroline’s words was like a dagger in her heart.

  At the entrance of the dining room, she froze. Caroline and two men in uniform were sitting around the table. Yet Saintclair had been adamant nobody should know about her staying there.

  ‘At last, dear Marie-Ange,’ Caroline exclaimed. ‘Come and meet my friends.’

  The two men stood up and Marie-Ange nodded a polite greeting.

  ‘Charming, utterly charming,’ one of them said, holding her hand.

  Caroline introduced him as Capitaine Renaud. He was very tall and looked like a Viking warrior, with blond hair and a powerful neck. He smoothed down his moustache while detailing Marie-Ange from top to toe.

  ‘So Madame is a friend of yours?’ the other man asked, his warm brown eyes glinting with curiosity. His name was Major Paulet. Without waiting for an answer, he added, ‘It should be a most pleasurable afternoon, then.’

  Marie-Ange blushed violently. She had heard enough these past few days to be in no doubt of Caroline’s occupation.

  ‘Marie-Ange is a good friend of Capitaine Saintclair’s,’ the woman said, her hard stare belying the smooth tone of her voice and the smile on her painted lips.

  Renaud poured some champagne for Marie-Ange and offered a toast to Capitaine Saintclair’s health. She took hold of the flute, not daring to object that she didn’t like champagne.

  ‘How is he these days?’ he enquired. ‘I have not seen him for at least three months. Last time was at a card game at Beauregard during which Uxeloup Malleval thoroughly fleeced him. Saintclair was in such a blind rage when he realised he would probably lose his house, he accused Malleval of cheating and challenged him to a duel. Needless to say Malleval refused. He might have gone a little strange lately, but he isn’t that crazy. The man who could beat Saintclair in a duel hasn’t been born.’

  Marie-Ange looked up sharply and put her flute on the table. ‘You were there when Saintclair gambled his house in a game of cards?’

  Renaud nodded. ‘Malleval is a devil at cards. That night, he seemed determined not to end the game until Saintclair had lost everything, and our unfortunate friend obliged him. Maybe it was because of the abundance of wine or spirits Malleval’s pretty housekeeper was serving, but Saintclair threw all caution to the wind and got thoroughly beaten.’

  ‘He was wounded a few days ago by Madame’s husband,’ Caroline said with a mocking voice. ‘A domestic misunderstanding…’

  ‘Poor Madame.’ Renaud took hold of Marie-Ange’s hand and lifted it to his lips. ‘I promise I will make you forget all your problems wit
h your husband, if you will allow me the pleasure.’

  Paulet poured another glass of champagne and this time they toasted to Marie-Ange’s health. She winced as she swallowed the wine and was about to refuse a third glass, but Caroline turned to her, her eyebrows arched and her tone ironic.

  ‘You are not going to refuse to toast our King, are you?’

  She had no choice but to drink. She was feeling light-headed by then. When Caroline urged the men to pour a fourth glass and toast to the English King George III and the regent, Prince George, she did nothing more than take a sip.

  ‘It does feel strange to toast our old enemies.’ Renaud laughed. ‘God knows I fought the English in several countries over the years, but what the hell! We’re at peace now.’

  Caroline’s maid brought in dishes of vegetable jardinière and a couple of roast chickens. Renaud and Paulet poured more champagne. During lunch, the conversation revolved around the impending journey the King and his entourage were making to Lyon.

  ‘The King is determined to review the troops in Lyon next week. He thinks they need a boost to their morale if they are to fight efficiently against Napoleon…you know the rumours of his comeback are still raging,’ Paulet commented.

  ‘His majesty will stay at the Hotel Lacroix-Laval, a stone’s-throw from here. My battalion is assigned to his safety.’ Renaud turned to Caroline. ‘We are all on tender hooks. There have been rumours of an assassination plot, and I swear my colonel’s hair has turned white with worry already.’

  He leant towards Marie-Ange. ‘Are you not feeling well? You are dreadfully pale all of a sudden.’

  ‘Too much champagne, that’s all,’ she whispered. ‘Who would be bold enough to plan a coup against the King?’

  Renaud shrugged. ‘Napoleon’s staunch supporters of course. The hardliners will never give up scheming for his return,’ he answered. ‘My money is on Fouché.’

  ‘Or Marshall Davoust,’ Paulet agreed. ‘I heard Chief of Police Bourienne had him under surveillance in Paris because of rumours of a coup.’

  ‘It’s Fouché he should have under surveillance!’ Paulet interrupted impatiently. ‘He is the snake in the grass. Bourienne may officially be the new police chief but it’s Fouché who still controls most of the agents.’

  ‘Will Monsieur Fouché be in Lyon to meet the King?’ Marie-Ange asked.

  ‘I doubt it,’ Paulet retorted. ‘The two men can’t stand the sight of each other. Fouché’s attempts to get back into government were all defeated by the King, the Comte d’Artois—the King’s brother—and his old enemy Talleyrand.’

  Marie-Ange’s mind was racing. Christopher had talked of a mission…What if he was the man charged by Fouché to assassinate the King during his visit to Lyon?

  The maid took the dishes away and brought a bowl of fruit—apples, pears, and plums, together with a plate of dark chocolates topped with sugar violets.

  ‘Try a couple of those, Marie-Ange. They are made especially for me by Lyon’s best chocolatier, Monsieur Voisin.’ Caroline handed her the plate of confectionary after helping herself to a handful of chocolates.

  The combination of the bitter chocolate and the sweet sugar flower was sickening, but Marie-Ange forced herself to eat. The Major was staring at her with a wide grin on his face. He put a handful of chocolates into his mouth too and drained his champagne.

  Caroline stood up and patted his shoulder.

  ‘Time for a little entertainment,’ she told him with a seductive smile. ‘We shall have coffee in my boudoir.’ Then turning to Renaud, she added. ‘Please feel free to come and join us whenever you’re ready.’

  They walked out, leaving Renaud and Marie-Ange alone. The Capitaine pulled his chair closer to her and took her hand. She swayed in her seat, suddenly light-headed and nauseous.

  ‘I have a confession to make,’ he said, kissing the back of her hand. His moustache tickled her, but she felt too weak to protest.

  ‘My presence here today is no coincidence. I too am indebted to Malleval. Like I said, the man is a devil at cards.’

  She looked at him and tried to focus on what he was saying, aware that it was important, but Renaud’s face was dancing in front of her eyes.

  ‘Earlier this week, I heard that Malleval was looking everywhere for a young English lady who had given him the slip, helped by a cuirassier officer. He is offering a generous reward for any information as to her whereabouts, and an even more generous payout for whoever takes the female in question back to him at Beauregard. When Caroline told me she had an unexpected guest, an English woman who was under Capitaine Saintclair’s protection, I put two and two together.’

  He seized her shoulders and looked into her eyes.

  ‘You are the one Uxeloup is looking for, aren’t you? Well, you shall be my way out of financial ruin. I will take you to Beauregard later today, but first, I mean to get to know you better.’ He pulled her up roughly and encircled her waist with his arm.

  ‘Don’t! I’m warning you, Capitaine Saintclair is coming for me, he won’t be happy if anything happens to me,’ Marie-Ange objected, her voice weak and slurred.

  ‘I can’t see Saintclair anywhere, can you? So for now, you’re all mine…and Malleval’s.’ He bent down and kissed her mouth roughly before leading her out of the dining room.

  Marie-Ange felt like a rag doll, unable to walk unaided, let alone run away. Yet it was exactly what she should do.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ They walked down the corridor and he pushed open the door onto Caroline’s boudoir. Marie-Ange opened her eyes wide. It was the first time she stepped into the room. The walls were covered with red velvet wallpaper and large, gilded mirrors. A huge bed occupied most of the space together with a chaise longue scattered with scarlet cushions. Thick curtains were drawn against the daylight, and candles burnt around the room.

  Marie-Ange saw the reflections of Paulet and Caroline in the mirrors. Paulet sat bare-chested on the bed. His breeches were down, his mouth open and his features heavy with pleasure as Caroline straddled his lap and he kneaded her bare breasts. She was completely naked, her hands holding on to the bed railing while her hips moved, slow and lascivious, on top of him. When she heard the door open, she turned her head towards Renaud and gave him an inviting smile.

  ‘Are you joining us? I did promise you a foursome.’

  Marie-Ange stepped back in alarm.

  ‘No, please! Not that!’ She lifted her hand to her mouth, feeling like she was going to be sick. ‘I want to go to my room.’

  Renaud laughed. ‘Are you a little shy? Ah well, it will just be the two of us, then.’

  He lifted Marie-Ange in his arms and carried her to her room.

  Once they were there, he put her down, closed the door behind him, and started to take his jacket and shirt off. Tentatively, because the room seemed to move around her, Marie-Ange made her way towards the bed. Her dagger was under her pillow. She would use it to frighten Renaud off.

  ‘I definitely don’t like champagne,’ she remarked, still slurring her words. ‘It makes me ill.’

  ‘Oh, but it wasn’t the champagne.’ Renaud chuckled. ‘Caroline put laudanum in the chocolates. Am I wrong in thinking you are not used to it?’

  Laudanum! That explained why her body didn’t respond to her any longer and why she felt an overwhelming urge to lie down, close her eyes, and fall asleep. She had to get the dagger, now. She extended her arms towards the pillow but Renaud intercepted her before she got there and roughly spun her towards him. She was unable to fight him while he undressed her, pulled her dress down, and unlaced her corset until it too dropped to the floor. Soon, she stood in her chemise and stockings in front of him.

  ‘There, that’s better.’ He grunted, breathing hard and fast.

  His fingers wandered up and down her chest and stomach, lifted the chemise up and touched between her legs.

  ‘No,’ she cried out and tried to push him away.

  He laughed as he tugged at her chemi
se, exposing her breasts. Then he bent down, took a nipple in his mouth, and sucked hard. His hands cupped her bare buttocks and ground her hips into his.

  ‘I’m so ready for you,’ he moaned.

  Part of her wanted to fight him off and scream, but another part observed the scene from a distance, calm and detached, as if none of this was really happening.

  He took her hand and pressed it against the hard bulge at the top of his breeches. ‘Touch me,’ he ordered.

  ‘I will do everything you want on the bed,’ she whispered, fighting another wave of nausea. She had to get the dagger. It was her only hope of escaping him.

  He heaved a ragged breath and looked at her.

  ‘All right. Take this off and lie down while I get out of these clothes.’

  He took his boots off, shrugged his shirt off, and started undoing his breeches.

  She walked unsteadily to the bed and lay down, still in her chemise. Slipping her hand under the pillow, she felt for the dagger. She would kill Renaud if she had to. He was a big man. She hoped she would be strong enough.

  The maid’s voice at the door interrupted them. ‘Capitaine, your sergeant’s here. He wants a word.’

  A man’s voice bellowed. ‘Sir! You and Major Paulet are needed at the barracks immediately. Colonel Dery is calling a meeting of all officers.’

  ‘Merde!’ Renaud exclaimed angrily.

  ‘I’m coming!’ He shouted back. Marie-Ange heard him put his clothes back on in a hurry.

  Here was her chance. She closed her eyes and pretended to be fast asleep. She heard his footsteps approaching, felt his touch on her shoulder.

  ‘I shall hold you to your promise later. I should only be a couple of hours,’ he whispered. He shook her lightly to check she was asleep, then, satisfied, walked to the door and left.

  She sat up as soon as the door closed. Her head felt heavy and fuzzy, the room spun in front of her eyes but she had to leave. Caroline couldn’t be trusted to keep her safe any longer.

  She took a few deep breaths and swung her legs to the side of the bed to get up. It took a long time to pull the man’s clothes Saintclair had given her out of the wardrobe. She did the breeches up, buttoned the shirt with shaky, clumsy fingers. When she was ready, she pinned her hair at random on top of her head and pulled the hat down to hide her face. She stuffed some money in her pocket together with the locket, slipped Christopher’s dagger into her boot and tucked her mother’s sketchbook into her breeches, flat against her stomach. Then she put the jacket and overcoat on and slipped out of the room.