The Duke's Messenger

by Vanessa Gray

  When Nell was alone, she sank into a chair by the hearth. It was perfectly clear that Phrynie was looking forward to an extended stay in this city of light. And haste was essential, because of the parcel.

  She glanced toward the bed. How tired she was, and how inviting was the high feather bed. Her nightclothes were laid out neatly for her…

  She sprang up with a smothered exclamation. She had forgotten the high level of service that the ambassador’s lady commanded. The maid had unpacked Nell’s bandbox. Had she also unpacked the parcel?

  The bandbox was empty, standing on the floor of the wardrobe. The clothing it contained was hanging properly on the rod. And the parcel was nowhere in sight.

  Nell’s head began to throb. The parcel, stolen!

  She looked in the dressing-table drawers. Under the pillow. In the bandbox again. She sank into a chair and put her head in her hands.

  Then she remembered. Once again she had moved the parcel, as she had done daily since leaving London. This time, she had changed its location from bandbox to jewel case. Hadn’t she?

  The case lay on the dressing table, locked, the keys tucked into her reticule in a drawer. Anyone with a larcenous bent and any degree of initiative could have found the keys! She was certainly not trained for this kind of covert activity! With shaking fingers she fitted the key into the lock and opened the jewel case. Her knees grew faint with relief. The parcel was still safe!

  She did not know why she expected it to be stolen. Mr. Haveney had spoken of the importance of delivering the parcel swiftly to its appointed recipient. If an object were valuable or important, then it followed that its removal by unauthorized hands was a likely hazard.

  All at once she wished she had not been so blithe about overlooking the perils involved. She was in bed before the thought occurred to her — was the parcel precisely where she had put it? Or had it been moved from the right side of the case to the left?

  She had moved it so frequently as she transferred it from bandbox to jewel case, and even when she had this evening taken out her amethysts to wear with her lilac crape, that by this time she could not precisely remember its most recent location. But the case was locked and the key was in the place where she had put it. It was only imagination that made her envision a maid poring over the contents of the jewel case and moving the parcel.

  After all, even Nell did not know the contents of the parcel. How much less likely that a maid in the embassy might seize upon it with a glad cry and spread the word to her confederates!

  Nell closed her eyes. She had quite simply read too many Minerva Press novels and taken them to heart. Life was fortunately not filled with moldy châteaux and evil dukes and dungeons and pilfering maids. Any doubts along those lines were merely the product of several exhausting days of travel.

  She slept at once.

  Chapter Eleven

  At breakfast the next morning Lady Sanford gave evidence of her intention to linger in the capital for some time.

  “I am looking forward,” she informed Lady Westford, “to seeing dear Paris again. I was but a child — a very young child, of course — when I was here last. But my mother often told me how exciting it was, with such magnificent balls, fabulous gowns, and fantastic jewels. Excursions into the countryside as well. My mother was the Queen’s guest at Versailles, you know.”

  Lady Westford smiled sourly. Where the ambassador was hearty, his lady was acidulous. She was thin and pinched, as though placed in the sun to dry and left too long. Having been born into a county family of some standing and gentility, she was stunned when she found herself moving into the upper reaches of the diplomatic service. Convinced that the task set for her was beyond her grasp, she took refuge in complaint, as though by showing herself superior to her surroundings, she would not be expected to deal effectively with them.

  She was not, therefore, loath to disappoint Lady Sanford’s hopes. “I fear you will find it sadly altered, as my dear husband told you, I believe, last evening? The King is so obese that he can barely manage affairs of state and leaves all the events at court in the hands of his niece the Princess. A sad affair, that. I do hope I know my duty, and I have offered many times to assist Her Highness in any way she wishes.” Lady Westford’s thin lips tightened in unpleasant memory. “But I shall not trouble her again.”

  Lady Sanford murmured, “What a pity.”

  “However, since you wish it, I have ordered the carriage, and we will drive out. I do not believe the Princess is receiving, but we shall at least see the public rooms in the palace.”

  As soon as Nell had a moment alone with her aunt, she whispered fiercely, “Aunt, you know we must not linger here. We must be on our way at once.”

  Lady Sanford was not pleased. “My dear child, I cannot understand you. I understood that we were to wait here for your brother. Did you not tell me that Tom was following at once?”

  Nell, caught in a snare of her own devising, agreed. “But just the same, whatever progress we make now is that much less to be made after he overtakes us.”

  “I cannot fault your logic, Nell. Although in truth, I am not sure that logic plays any part whatever in your thinking. But we shall stay here for a bit. I have not suffered this long journey only to go on without seeing Paris. Now change your gown. We must not keep our hostess waiting.”

  Nell lifted her hands helplessly. She hoped that Tom would be following hard on their tracks at this very moment. But she could not escape a strong urge to move on. Logic told her that Phrynie had the right of it. To wait here in comfort for Tom was quite the best thing to do.

  Nevertheless she knew she would not be easy until they were on their way again. It was the burden of the parcel that moved her, she told herself, and not the quite impossible vision of Penelope Freeland arm in arm with Rowland Fiennes. She had no doubts of Rowland’s constancy.

  The three ladies, plus coachman, groom, and two footmen up at the back, set out from the embassy on a morning’s drive about the civilized city. Lady Westford proved to be an endless wellspring of information, if a somewhat muddied one.

  “We were here, you know, even before Louis was restored. In April, there was a great deal for the ambassador to do. Talleyrand took it upon himself to negotiate with the Emperor — although I must not call him that now. My husband would be most displeased. He has instructed me, you know, not even to mention the name of the usurper.”

  Phrynie made an appropriate comment and added, “But I.do not recognize some of these scenes. I suppose that arch there — “

  “That is the Place de la Concorde,” Lady Westford interposed. She had an unfortunate habit of not listening carefully. Instead she waited, so Nell surmised, until the other’s voice halted, perhaps to take breath, and then went smoothly on with her own conversation. “That is where Madame la Guillotine stood. I have heard that the tumbrils — those carts filled with straw and prisoners, you know — lined up every day from the Bastille to this place.” She shivered. “But that is over, of course, and there will never be another such atrocity. Fortunately, civilization has conquered at last.”

  Soon Lady Westford’s thin voice continued. “I count my attendance at the entry of His Majesty into Paris as one of the high points of my life in the diplomatic service. His snowy hair, his kindly smile, riding down the boulevard to his palace, he looked quite like a father returning home to his wayward children.”

  “Very touching,” said Lady Sanford, her expression without guile. “The King must be most gratified to regain his throne.”

  “As well he should be,” the ambassador’s wife said with some acerbity. “Not by his own efforts, I may tell you. If it hadn’t been for the English, he would still be sitting in that little house on the outskirts of London.”

  Nell could not gaze her fill. She caught sight of one small fountain, and before she could do more than glimpse its perfection, they had passed and another object demanded her attention.

  “The gardens must be beautiful in season,�
�� she suggested. The space before the Tuileries, toward which they were now progressing, was broad and treeless. The pavement before the palace was wide, and even in the chilly morning air people were already strolling, much at their ease.

  Beyond the promenade could be seen walkways leading in intricate design into each other, separated by geometric figures of gray, frosted lawns and darker, turned earth.

  “It is hard to believe,” said Lady Westford, “that the French are so callous. I told you that the King’s niece, Princess Marie-Thérèse, might not be receiving. It’s been more than twenty years since she was last in Paris, but the French are so cruel. I was told that her coachman, when she entered the capital for the first time, drove her directly over the spot where her parents were killed! She could not speak for weeping.” She paused to consider the Princess’s plight. “I am told she weeps much.”

  Due to Lady Westford’s prestige and a certain amount of strong persuasion, they were admitted to the public rooms of the palace. The carpets, to Nell’s surprise, appeared worn and faded. Even the red velvet draperies hung in dispirited folds.

  The Bourbon lilies were strewn on the curtains and over the carpet like fallen leaves. Her foot caught at the edge of one fleur-de-lis, and she looked down. The edge of the woven medallion curled up where she had inadvertently torn loose the threads that had attached it to the floor. Underneath the lily, woven into the carpet itself, was revealed the golden Napoleonic bee. The tacked-down lily was indicative of the haste with which the Bourbons reclaimed their throne, but perhaps it was also a symbol of the transitoriness of their reign. It would be the work of only hours, not days, to remove the lilies if the impossible proved possible and Napoleon appeared again at the palace door.

  The Princess was indeed not receiving. An aide whispered in Lady Westford’s ear that the lady and her nonentity of a husband, her cousin the Duc d’Angoulêrne, had quarreled bitterly the night before, and Marie-Thérèse did not wish to be seen with tear-swollen eyes.

  So much for viewing royalty, thought Nell, basely relieved by the Princess’s domestic difficulties. Now at least tomorrow we can be on our way.

  But tomorrow arrived and still Lady Sanford made no move in the direction of resuming their journey. When traveling on was suggested, in fact, Lady Sanford said simply, “I see no need to hurry away. And in truth, I see more than one reason to stay. Are we not to wait for Tom to arrive?” She made a moue. “Not that I particularly enjoy our quarters here. I should think that our embassy ought not to be quite so shabby.”

  “Aunt, they are only newly in possession,” Nell pointed out. “There will be improvements.”

  “If that woman has them in hand, then I am sure I shall take a dislike to them.”

  “You have diverted me. Aunt, we really cannot delay longer.”

  “Why must we? You are truly becoming tiresome on the subject. Perhaps you can inform me, my dear Elinor, why we must hare off into the wilds when we can wait for your brother here in some degree of comfort.”

  How dreadful, thought Nell. When Phrynie chose to call her niece by her full name, she was seriously displeased with her. It would in all likelihood tax Nell’s persuasive powers to coax her back into a reasonable frame of mind.

  “But, Aunt, you know we cannot remain as guests of the embassy forever?”

  “I am sure we have not yet worn out our welcome. I certainly am not so ill bred as to overstay when we are not wanted.” Lady Sanford’s eyes narrowed. “I cannot avoid thinking that I have not been placed au courant with affairs. There seems to be a lively undercurrent to this journey. Elinor Aspinall, are you bamming me?”

  Nell faltered. “B-bamming? Of course not.”

  “Kindly do not attempt further to deceive me. Did your nurse tell you many fairy tales? I know mine did, and you would be quite surprised were I to tell you how often they prove illuminating.”

  “Fairy tales?”

  “One of my favorites was the tale of the little girl who told lies. Do you recall that one? It developed that every untrue word she spoke turned into a toad. How extraordinarily exciting it was, at my age then, to envision toads leaping about the room. I fear the moral was lost on me, for I do recall telling lies deliberately, but I never spat out any toads. A grave disappointment.”

  “Aunt,” cried Nell, exasperated. “What do toads have to do with anything at all?”

  “Why, child, when you stammer in that fashion, I know you are — I should not quite like to say lying — but I sense a certain evasion of the truth. Now then, Nell, I may as well tell you that I shall not move another step on the road until you tell me in what havey-cavey business you have involved me?”

  Lady Sanford sat in one of the velvet chairs beside the hearth and imperiously pointed to the other. Nell sat opposite, as she was bid. She made one more attempt, without hope, to divert Phrynie.

  “How can you tolerate Lady Westford any longer? And not a ball in sight to relieve the tedium. Everyone of importance has already gone to Vienna, you know.”

  Lady Sanford was thoughtful. “I agree,” she said finally, “but the prospect of entertainment in Vienna does not cancel the opportunity for you to tell me — and tell me now, Nell-exactly what our situation is. Is this all a scheme to join Foxhall? If so, I warn you, I shall be seriously grieved with you.”

  “No, Aunt. I may have started out — indeed I did — with the intention simply of being with him, for in truth I am desolate without him. But there’s more to it now.”

  Her aunt’s gaze grew even sterner. “I think you must agree, Nell, that it is time for a complete confession. It may do little for your conscience, but I should like to know exactly what to expect.”

  Nell resigned herself to the inevitable.

  “It began with Mr. Haveney and his parcel. The one he wished Tom to deliver to Vienna. From what I could make out, Tom has done this kind of thing before, though goodness knows he never made much of it, and I confess it is most unlikely that anyone with any sense would entrust anything to him, as dear as he is to me.”

  Phrynie made a small gesture as though to interrupt but thought better of it.

  “But Tom wrote that he would come to London to meet Mr. Haveney and pick up the parcel. And I made sure that if Tom were presented with us, the chariot packed and all made ready to travel, he could not refuse you, dear Aunt.”

  “Flattery!” pronounced Lady Sanford, not pleased in spite of herself. “However, since Tom did not arrive to view us in such a state, I must assume there is more to the tale.”

  “Well, you see, Aunt, Tom did say he would come right away — as soon as he could walk.”

  “Walk!”

  “Charlie Puckett sold him a hunter — Oh, what does that matter? Tom can’t walk for a little, but he is coming as soon as his knee is better.”

  “And when will that be?” —

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, then, perhaps the omniscient Lady Westford can find us lodgings in Paris, and we will send word — Nell, you are still blue-deviled. I am persuaded I have not yet heard There was no way out, and in truth Nell was seized with a longing to unburden herself. Not in the ordinary way untruthful, the carrying on of an involved web of deceit had taken its toll on her.

  “The parcel that Tom is to bring, when he overtakes us —”

  “The parcel that provides our raison d’être for this entirely questionable journey?”

  “The same parcel. Well, to put it without frills, Tom will not be picking it up from Mr. Haveney.”

  “I am not sure I wish to know the explanation for that odd statement.”

  “We ourselves have the parcel.”

  Phrynie stared, unbelieving. “Elinor, you have misappropriated government business? I cannot believe it.”

  “Not exactly misappropriated,” said Nell scrupulously. “But the messenger from Mr. Haveney did expect me to put it at once into Tom’s hands. As I would do, of course — if he were here.”

  Nell had expected,
at the least, that the ceiling would fall on her head. Alternatively, she would be given orders to return to London at once and return the parcel to its rightful hands.

  Neither eventuality happened. Instead, Lady Sanford laid her head back on the chair cushion and laughed. When she was genuinely amused, as appeared to be the case now, her laugh was like a cascade of silver bells, very pleasant to hear, especially just now.

  “I suppose, Nell, you bewitched the messenger into forgetting even his head?”

  “I did not precisely tell him an untruth,” Nell said primly.

  “I wonder whether you stammered.”

  Nell grinned reluctantly. “At least there were no toads on the pavement.”

  “Well, my dear, I am glad you told me everything. I suppose you have no more surprises for me? Good. I assume Tom will appear in due course, and in the meantime we must get the parcel to its destination. I did not think to launch out on a new career at my time of life, but perhaps it will be interesting after all. We shall leave early in the morning.”

  Nell sprang to her feet and hugged her aunt. “How wonderful you are! I wish I had told you from the beginning.”

  “No, you don’t. For we would, in that case, still be in London.”

  “I’ll send Mullins to you, shall I, to begin packing? I shall hope that ‘early’ does not mean afternoon?”

  “I shall hope,” retorted Lady Sanford with immense dignity, “that by noon tomorrow I shall have eaten my last meal to the accompaniment of unasked-for, and indeed highly unattractive, education at the hands of the ambassador’s wife.”

  Chapter Twelve

  So far, thought Nell, so good.

  She had been required to give up the secret of her deception, but she had won her aunt’s agreement to leave Paris. The next step was one she approached with misgivings but with determination.

  She had planned to discharge Reeves in Paris and hire another coachman. She felt no compunction about leaving the man on his own, for he had only to return to Calais. She would of course pay his fare as well as his wages. She would not then be required to travel to Vienna in the company of an elderly man who knew all too well how to register his disapproval.