Jack Chiltern's Wife (1999)

by Nichols, Mary

  But though Kitty told herself with increasing vehemence that she disliked him and wished heartily that they could be rid of him, she knew that they would be lost without him. Within the constrictions imposed by the situation he did try to ensure their comfort and, somehow or other, he found food for them. And, whenever the people they met became too curious, he protected them, shouldering the questioners away and ensuring they were not molested.

  At dusk on the fourth evening when they could see the outlines on the city of Paris on the road ahead of them, Kitty’s hopes began to rise. They immediately fell again when Jack turned off the road on to a rough track, rank with weeds and overshadowed by uncut hedges. It was so dark they had no idea where they were being taken. Terrified, they clung to each other as the carriage jolted over the ruts.

  ‘Where is he taking us?’ Judith asked. ‘Does he mean to do away with us here and rob us of all our belongings? Oh, I wish we had never come. I had thought we should be in Paris tonight and instead he takes us heaven knows where.’ She began to wail. ‘Oh, what is to become of us? It is not the guillotine we should fear, but him. He has frightened us into believing he would help us, when all the time …’

  ‘Oh, Judith, do be quiet,’ Kitty said, wondering if her maid might be right after all. But what had the man to gain? They had nothing worth stealing and, whatever he was, she did not think he was a thief. There was more to it than that. Perhaps he was planning some devilment. Did he see her as a threat to those plans? But that was foolish; she had no reason to threaten him. And what could she do anyway?

  She had put herself in his power, had begged him to help her, had willingly entered this ramshackle vehicle which was bad enough on what passed for good roads, but which now threatened to fall apart with every bump. She had truly been the architect of her own downfall but, what was worse, she had involved poor Judith.

  She thought of trying to jump out and run, but Judith could not do that and Kitty would not leave her. Besides, however fast they ran, he would soon catch up with them. She sat back in her seat, trying to devise a scheme to outwit him, but none came to mind.

  Fifteen minutes later, they stopped before the door of a small farmhouse, which appeared deserted. No light shone in the windows and no dogs barked. They heard their escort jump to the ground and then his footsteps as he came to the coach door and opened it. ‘This is as far as we go tonight.’

  ‘But this is not an inn,’ Kitty protested, making no move to alight. ‘Why did you bring us here?’

  ‘We cannot travel after curfew, you must know that by now, and this is a safe house. No one comes here but those I know I can trust. You do understand me, I hope?’

  Both women nodded.

  ‘Good. Then get down, if you please, and follow me.’

  There was nothing to do but obey.

  He opened the farmhouse door and ushered them inside. A minute later he had struck a flint and lit an oil lamp which cast its soft glow over what must once have been a comfortable home. There were chairs and tables, even a bookcase and a glass-fronted cupboard containing crockery. A worn carpet covered the middle of the wooden floor and there were curtains at the window. Kindling and logs had been placed in the hearth ready to make a fire and he bent down and put a light to them.

  ‘You will soon be warm.’ He moved over to the window and closed the shutters, then returned and lit another lamp from the first. ‘I’ll show you to your rooms.’ He paused on his way to the door to look at Kitty, who stood with her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open in surprise.

  She presented a strange but delightful picture. The rags she wore did nothing to diminish her beauty, or the fine lines of her figure, nor did they make her into the coarse peasant she purported to be. She was simply a gentlewoman playing at dressing up and his heart missed a beat. How could he keep her safe? How could he protect her, except by degrading her, bringing her down to the level of those with whom he was obliged to associate?

  He must harden his heart, keep his mission in the forefront of his mind, and he could only do that by constantly reminding himself of Gabrielle and the vow he had made to her father to find her and bring her back. Gabrielle …

  He shook himself and led the way up the carpeted stairs to the next floor where he flung open one of the doors and ushered them into a bedroom. Putting the lamp on a table by the window, he pulled the curtains closed. ‘You may dress in your own clothes tonight,’ he said. ‘We will dine in a civilised fashion.’

  Just this once, he told himself, just this once, he would relax a little, enjoy her company, encourage her to talk, even argue a little; he guessed she had an alert and intelligent mind. Tomorrow … tomorrow was another day.

  When Kitty returned downstairs, clad in a rather crumpled green silk gown decorated with rosebuds and with a fine lace shawl to keep her shoulders warm, she was taken aback to see a young woman coming from the room where Jack had lit the fire.

  She was dressed in a plain wool gown of a light brown colour with a starched white collar. Her hair, pushed up under a lace cap, was fair and, though she was thin, she was by no means starved. What was so pleasing was that she was spotlessly clean; cleanliness seemed to have been generally abandoned since the Revolution.

  She stopped when she saw Kitty and indicated the room she had just left. ‘He waits for you,’ she said, speaking slowly in French in order that Kitty might understand.

  ‘Merci.’

  Kitty entered the room and found Jack opening a bottle of wine. He was dressed in black breeches and white silk stockings with black clocks. His shirt ruffles were pristine and he was once again wearing the blue velvet waistcoat. A dark blue coat hung over the back of a chair.

  The table in the middle of the room was covered with a white cloth on which were set cutlery and glasses and a covered tureen, which she did not doubt contained the ubiquitous potato soup which might, if they were lucky, contain a few pieces of stringy meat. She guessed it had been cooked by the young woman she had seen, which indicated he had been expected.

  Who was she? A servant? But as far as Kitty could tell there were no servants in France any more which, if true, must mean that a great many otherwise deserving people must be out of work. How could the Revolutionary notion of liberté, egalité, fraternité justify that? She would ask him over dinner; it might make for a lively debate. But was the woman his sister or his wife?

  The thought that he might be married unaccountably depressed her and she pushed it from her mind and turned her attention to her host, as he lifted the lid of the tureen and a delicious aroma of chicken and leeks assailed her nostrils. ‘That smells good, Mr … monsieur …’ She floundered.

  He smiled. ‘Monsieur is as bad as Mister, my dear. If you cannot put your tongue round citoyen—and who can blame you?—then call me Jacques.’

  ‘I cannot call you that, we are not so well acquainted.’

  ‘Oh, come, Kitty, we are very well acquainted and will become even more so before long …’

  She drew in her breath sharply. ‘If you think what I think you do, then, sir, you will be sorely disappointed. Just because you had the audacity to take me by surprise and steal a kiss, does not mean I will allow you to … to …’ She stopped, unable to put her fear into words.

  ‘You will not allow!’ He threw back his head and laughed because she had misunderstood him, but decided against telling her so. It was more entertaining to leave her thinking the worst. ‘How, pray, would you prevent me? Scream for help? I assure you, no one will come.’

  ‘There is Judith.’

  ‘Ah, the inestimable Judith. I have no doubt she would be a formidable opponent.’

  ‘Where is she? She was not in her room. I had thought to find her here.’

  ‘What! And have her spoil our little tête-a-tête!’ He paused to look at her. Her face was a picture of bewilderment and dismay, her expressive violet eyes open wide, her lovely lips slightly parted, unknowingly inviting more ungentlemanly behaviour, like that kiss. He co
uld not forget it.

  What he had intended as a lesson to her, to demonstrate the dreadful fate which could befall her if she continued with her escapade, had been a salutary lesson to him instead. He had meant to be harsh with her, to take some of his own frustration and anger out on her, but instead he had found himself enjoying the taste of her lips, the feel of her softly curved body against his, the warmth of her. She had managed to rouse feelings in him of tenderness and compassion and a desire which had nothing to do with lustful gratification, however hard he tried to convince himself of the contrary.

  ‘Your maid is dining in the kitchen with Lucie,’ he went on, because she seemed to be struck dumb. ‘They will be company for each other even if they cannot converse.’ He smiled, wishing she would relax. She stood there, facing him, every muscle tense, as if waiting for a blow to fall. ‘Two silent women, a rare phenomenon, to be sure.’

  ‘It is nothing to jest about. You arranged that so that you might be alone with me.’

  ‘Naturally, I did. Her presence would certainly put a damper on proceedings.’

  ‘What proceedings?’

  Was she really as innocent as she seemed, or was it all a ploy to disarm him? ‘That depends on you.’

  ‘Sir, I asked you to escort me to Paris because you know my brother and could take me to him, and for no other reason. If you had any notion of anything else, I must disappoint you. If you cannot behave like a gentleman, I will retire to my room.’

  ‘Without your dinner? Are you not hungry?’

  ‘Not so hungry that I will stay and allow you to take liberties.’

  He laughed. ‘Do you have the least idea what that means?’

  ‘I know I should dislike it intensely.’

  ‘You would not, I guarantee it.’ He did not know why he was taunting her so. Was he testing her, seeing how far he could go before she was reduced to tears? He hated seeing a woman in tears; it always made him angry. He could deal with her better if he was angry. Anger was better than compassion. Compassion made you weak. Surprisingly she did not falter, neither did she attempt to leave the room.

  ‘You are insufferably arrogant and conceited,’ she said.

  ‘Audacious, arrogant, conceited,’ he said softly, changing his tactics. ‘Can you find no merit in me at all?’

  Unable to lie, she said nothing; she would not let him turn the tables on her and put her in the wrong. She looked from him to the door, and from the door to the table and its steaming tureen. She was very hungry.

  ‘So be it,’ he said, cheerfully abandoning his teasing. ‘Let us call a truce. It will not serve for us to be forever at odds, we still have some way to go. Now, sit down and eat, it might be the last nourishing meal you have for some time.’

  Reluctantly Kitty sat down, knowing she could not fight him physically. Her only recourse was to appeal to his sense of chivalry. He must surely have one, or he would not have brought them thus far without harming them, or allowing them to be harmed by others. But he made a very strange knight.

  ‘Now,’ he said, filling a plate from the tureen and putting it in front of her, ‘we will stop this cat-and-mouse game and talk sensibly.’

  She began picking at her food, but hunger overcame good manners and she tucked into the delicious food with every appearance of enjoyment. But she was still wary. And curious.

  ‘Who is she?’ she asked, realising he was not eating himself but was watching her with a delighted smile on his face and eyes twinkling.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Lucie. I thought at first she might be your wife, but then I thought no, because she would not leave us to dine alone. A servant, perhaps. Are you allowed servants in France these days? Your friend, Pierre, did not seem to think so. Perhaps she is a relative …’ She prattled on, not giving him time to answer. ‘She is very pretty.’

  Not nearly as beautiful as you, my dear, he thought, watching the animated face of his guest and wishing there was some way he could stop time, freeze it so that she need never change, but stay always bright and cheerful, never to know cold and hunger and brutality. ‘Yes, Lucie is pretty. And good, which is more important.’

  ‘She is your lover, then?’

  He laughed and poured wine in her glass. ‘She was what English people might call a serf in the old days, tied to her seigneur, but since the Revolution she is free to work for whom she likes, which is good in theory but does not always work in practice.’

  ‘Are you her seigneur?’

  ‘No. She chooses to work for me. I pay her wages to keep this house clean and cook for me when I am here. Does that satisfy you?’

  ‘She doesn’t wear that hateful red cap.’

  ‘If she went into Paris, she would. As you must.’

  ‘Do you have a wife?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh.’ She digested this piece of information and wondered what difference it made. None, she told herself sternly, none at all. He was going to take her into Paris and reunite her with James and then she need see him no more. She gave him a brittle smile. ‘Where is she? In England?’

  Her face was so expressive, the violet eyes seemed to mirror her soul and he understood her thoughts almost as if she had spoken them aloud. It gave him a frisson of pleasure which vanished when he thought of Gabrielle, leaving him bitter and morose. ‘She is in France.’

  ‘In Paris?’

  He shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

  ‘Oh, I am so sorry,’ she said. ‘I have been very selfish, haven’t I, burdening you with my troubles and accusing you, when all you must be thinking of is going to your wife? I have delayed you and crossed you at every turn, it is no wonder you are so down in spirits.’

  ‘I am not down in spirits, far from it,’ he said, deciding not to correct her misconception. He had never found it easy to talk of Gabrielle and the last thing he wanted was Kitty’s sympathy. ‘I have no reason to believe she is not safe.’ He raised his glass to her. ‘We will talk of other things.’

  ‘Very well. This food is delicious, which just goes to show that France is not in such bad straits as you would have us believe.’

  ‘It does nothing of the sort, it shows only that money can still buy a few luxuries if you know where to find them.’

  ‘How much money?’ she asked, thinking of her dwindling resources.

  ‘A great deal, I am afraid.’

  ‘Oh. Then how does James go on?’

  ‘He earns his bread and wine, just as we all do.’

  ‘You, too?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Better you do not ask.’

  ‘Could I?’

  ‘Could you what?’

  ‘Earn my bread and wine. Edward gave me as much as he could, but it will not last very long with the prices so high here. I must find a way of earning my keep.’

  ‘What can you do?’

  ‘I could teach English. Or sew.’

  ‘Hardly skills in great demand in France at the moment,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘Have you ever done any play-acting?’

  ‘Of course not. Uncle William would never have allowed it.’

  ‘Not even charades?’

  ‘We did sometimes play charades at Christmas when Mama and Papa were alive. My stepmama does not care for the pastime. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because, tomorrow, I want you to act my wife for all you are worth.

  ‘Your wife! But how can I? You are already married.’

  ‘Jack Chiltern is married, I give you. But I am not Jack Chiltern, I am Jacques Faucon and my papers state that I am married.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ she said slowly. ‘But surely, when you are stopped, you could simply say you had left your wife at home.’

  ‘I could, but how would that help you, my dear? You want to get into Paris, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course, but to be your wife …’

  ‘In name only, of course. The last thing I want is an emotional entanglement, I promise you.’

  ‘
No more do I,’ she retorted. ‘Neither do I wish to become embroiled in anything illegal or disreputable. I know nothing about you. Who are you? What are you doing in France? Are you French? You certainly speak it very fluently.’

  He smiled. ‘You should have asked those questions long ago, before we ever left Calais. It is too late now, don’t you think?’

  ‘I thought I could trust you.’

  ‘Trust is a two-way thing, my dear. It must work both ways or it does not work at all. So, think carefully. Do you still trust me?’

  She looked at him with her head on one side and considered the question. He had been arrogant and conceited, he had taken advantage of her naivety to kiss her, he had taunted her, had been tyrannical and would no doubt be so again but, in spite of all that, she was grateful for his help. Without it, they would never have left Calais. ‘I suppose I must.’

  He laughed. ‘Hardly wholehearted assurance, but no matter. We go on together, eh, ma petite?’

  ‘I do not seem to have much choice.’

  ‘Then listen carefully to what I tell you.’

  She put her knife and fork down and listened as he outlined his plan, a plan which filled her with trepidation but also gave her a surge of excitement, as if new doors were being opened to her, doors to new experiences, new delights, perhaps new horrors, and it was up to her which she opened.

  He emphasised that he would be on hand to support and protect her, but she must follow his lead and do exactly as he said. ‘There must be no faltering,’ he said. ‘Nor must you behave haughtily, however provoked. You must remember you are not of genteel birth— nothing will inflame the Guard more than an aristo pretending to be a peasant. And Judith is your mother, not your servant, is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, yes, but my French is not very good.’