Vidal's Honor

by Sherry Gloag

  “What about you?” Honor enquired before accepting the one Vidal held out to her.

  “I do not apologise for using the agent’s funds,” he said tight-mouthed. The discovery of the money pouch at the bottom of one of the boxes had filled them all with repugnance, but, as Honor reminded them, pride made a cold bedfellow. “And haven’t we all enjoyed the food he provided?” she added, to her unassailable argument. So how could she and Consuela refuse to accept the welcome warmth of the extra protection?

  “We have coats too. And new boots, but until your ankle improves I will not replace your old ones. Knowing I could cut these.” He gestured to her worn and cracked footwear. “Until you’re able to put your foot in the new ones is comfort enough.”

  She’d had to accept, when they refused to allow her to take turns in walking for the last week, they’d made the right decision, so she’d ridden the animal now named Duke in a cynical tribute to the man who’d gifted it to them.

  Large sticky flakes of snow clung to their clothes and blocked the views, and their world shrank to the few feet surrounding them.

  Snowflakes clung to Vidal’s hair, perched on his eyebrows, melted, and dripped off his nose. She looked at the others and thought they must all resemble travelling snowmen.

  “We will stop here,” Juan called out from the front.

  “Is something wrong?” Vidal handed Duke’s reins to her and strode past Consuela.

  “No, we’ve reached the border and you must go on alone from here.”

  Sure enough, the faint outlines of a clutch of buildings loomed up out of the whiteness.

  “You are not thinking straight. If we can see them, they must be able to observe us. How do you intend to avoid both the border guards and our followers?” Honor brought the mule to a halt and slid down to face Consuela.

  “It is for the best.”

  To Honor’s ears the Spanish woman’s words lacked conviction.

  A figure looming out of the gloom prevented further comment as they waited for le duc to join them.

  “Here you are,” he said affably. “I have been expecting you for these last two days.” Ignoring the men, he stepped up to Honor and bowed. “I trust you are fully recovered from your recent misadventure. It would never do for your politicians to lay the blame for your injuries at my door.” He reached out and before she realized his attention, manacled her wrist with his strong and tapered fingers. “Come! The worsening weather demands we waste no more time.”

  Keeping his voice chillingly low and polite when Juan and Consuela remained where they stood, Dumas offered a twisted smile. “Oh no, my friends, surely you do not intend to abandon your charge now? You are of course included in my guarantee of safe passage to London. And when you arrive you can enjoy the knowledge you will join Lady Beaumont on Tyburn. And you…” He turned to Vidal. “I have yet to decide what to do about you.”

  “I, on the other hand, have not forgotten you have still failed to respond to my challenge.”

  “You disappoint me Vidal, really you do.” He looked round. “And where is the good Phillipe?”

  “He did not survive the night.” Despite his villainy, Honor missed him. That he’d betrayed her husband and saved her increased her confusion. The man responsible for her husband’s death had kept his promise to save her life.

  “How fortunate. It seems, my lady, you’ll have no one to stand with you against the indictment of treason.” He stepped back, wrestled the reins from her, and began leading her into Irun.

  Without a word the others fell in behind.

  No one prevented their progress through the border town and into France where a well equipped coach awaited.

  “Ladies?” Dumas indicated the open door of the vehicle and waiting groom. “We have a long journey ahead of us. Please do not delay.”

  Activity to her left caught Honor’s attention, where she discovered their tattered baggage was being strapped to the top of their conveyance. She looked round and saw Juan and Vidal watching Dumas talking to two liveried men who in turn signalled to two others, each holding the reins of a horse.

  “Much as I am sure you appreciate the efforts of your mules, they will not do to traverse the French countryside. I do you the honour of providing you with two of my best cattle. This way we will maintain good time. Your boat already awaits you, and to tarry in port too long draws adverse attention, you understand?”

  A lackey handed a flask of hot coffee to the ladies in the carriage, followed with a wicker basket slid across the floor. “My master regrets there is no time to stop for refreshments and hopes this will make up for his neglect.”

  Neither moved until the lackey closed the door and the horses started forward.

  “It seems,” Honor said with some irony, “Your travel arrangements to England are in hand. So I hope you will stay with me when we get there.”

  “You think le duc will allow you to return to your own home?” Consuela hitched a thumb in the general direction of the sound of the men’s hoof-beats. To any bystander the equipage looked like an ordinary outing of friends.

  From her seat Honour saw Juan tilt his head to better hear what Dumas was saying while Vidal looked round and held her gaze before joining in the conversation.

  “How can he prevent us without his participation in our arrival being exposed?” Vidal’s look convinced Honor he had a plan and to trust him. She discovered she had no problem with that. But whether to share the message with Consuela wasn’t such a simple decision.

  She watched Vidal riding beside Juan. His new pale blue fine cloth jacket, passed to him at the border by Dumas with a depreciative comment about maintaining the right image, set off his wide shoulders, straight spine and narrow hips. It bothered her that every time she tried to pull Devlin’s image to the forefront of her memory, Lord Vidal’s face intruded.

  “Why did your friend volunteer to bring you home?” It took Honor a moment to realise Consuela had verbalised her internal thought.

  “From what I gather, volunteering had no part in his arrival. He was told what was expected of him hours before he set out on the journey.”

  “How so?”

  “I never asked for details, and doubt Charles would have shared them if I had.” Honor opened the lid of the flask and inhaled the rich aroma of coffee. “Do you suppose there are cups in that hamper?”

  She redirected the conversation, and waited for Consuela to open the basket at their feet and hand two cups across to her. When she dug deeper for saucers, Honor shook her head. “I am sure my cup would rattle on a saucer so I will hold it and use it to warm my hands. I don’t know about you, but while these bricks le duc put in the carriage earlier are warming my feet, my hands are still chilled from travelling through the snow.”

  They drank their coffee in companionable silence, until the coach lurched as it hit a hole in the road. “Dumas is travelling at a wicked pace,” Honor said when she righted herself. “I wonder where his boat is moored?”

  “What difference will that make?” Tension sharpened Consuela’s voice.

  “The time we take to travel across France.” Honor turned to study the other woman. “What will you do when we reach England if you do not come with me?”

  “I’m not sure.” Consuela hesitated. “I am used to the men in my family making the decisions for me. It is difficult to change. I suppose it will depend on what Juan does. Or le duc.”

  Consuela turned from looking out of the window to offer a sad smile to Honor. “I truly thought we would avoid le duc before we reached Irun, but Juan simply travelled the whole way with you until that man met us and it was too late to do anything other than follow his instructions.” Anger edged into her voice. “He did not ask my opinion.”

  “Would you have done it any differently?”

  Consuela nodded. “Indeed, I would have,” she said but added no explanation of what her choice would have been.

  Dusk was falling when Honor woke, cold, thirsty and in need of an i
mmediate halt.

  “You are awake.” Juan’s voice chased the mental fog away.

  “Where are we?”

  “In truth I do not know. We have not followed the main routes, but le duc said to let you know we will stop for the night in about thirty minutes.”

  “Thank you.”

  So many questions circled round in her brain and she couldn’t work out how to put them into words.

  “You know, under other circumstances I might have liked the man.”

  She heard the disappointment in Juan’s voice and was rewarded when she held her tongue.

  “Vidal has invited me to stay with him, but until I can arrange somewhere for Consuela I cannot commit myself to his invitation.”

  “In that case you have no need to concern yourself, for I have invited her to stay with me, and she refused until she knew your arrangements.” She paused, trying to formulate her next question. “And le duc, he has no objection?”

  “Apparently not. He maintains his job will be complete when he puts us on board his yacht bound for Portsmouth.”

  “I see,” she lied. She didn’t see at all. She’d expected Dumas to monitor their movements. She supposed he still could but with the agents he’d already placed in England.

  If truth be known, his confidence in the outcome of the rumours bothered her and she couldn’t think of an immediate way round the problem.

  Being shunned by London society didn’t bother her overmuch; being branded as a traitor did. It offended her sense of righteousness that people would think Devlin lacked the wisdom to choose an honest and loving wife. As for the opinions of those who didn’t know them well enough to make an informed judgment, their sanctimonious attitude angered her.

  The disgrace attached to the rumours would flare out of control if those in power did nothing to halt them, and if, when they arrived in London, they’d grown beyond controlling, what could she do then?

  Home? Where? What had le duc meant when he said he’d "deal with" Cedric?

  “Juan?” About to catch up with Vidal and Dumas, he reined in and brought his mount close to the coach again.

  “Has Dumas made any mention of Cedric?”

  “Indeed, he told Vidal Cedric broke his neck when he fell off his horse shortly after our confrontation with him on the day of your accident.”

  “Fell off his horse?” The one thing Cedric bettered his brother in was his horsemanship. “How unfortunate!”

  “To quote your friend, ‘Quite so’.” Juan’s laughter lingered in the air as he spurred his horse forward.

  A few distant lights glowed through the falling snow, and faded away again as they passed. She didn’t know how long they continued before the coach began to slow. This time Vidal came to the window.

  “Le duc sent me to tell you we will arrive at our destination in about ten minutes, where we will stay overnight. He thought if you were asleep you may wish a few moments warning.” He glanced at Consuela rolling with the movement of the vehicle.

  “I’ll tell her, thank you. Do you have time to answer a question?”

  “If it what I think it is, it will be better if you wait until we reach England.” He stayed until she digested the implication of his words before moving off.

  Consuela, Honor discovered, did not wake gracefully, and bit back a laugh when she realised where they were, sobering when temper gave way to concern. She passed on Vidal’s tidings before helping Consuela into her cloak seconds before a groom opened the door of the now stationary carriage. He escorted them into a well-lit inn and to a private parlour at the back.

  “I trust you have had a pleasant ride?” Le duc rose and drew out chairs for both women.

  “Indeed, your attention to our comfort was most appreciated,” Honor said before Consuela could open her mouth, and she understood from the twinkle in their host's eyes he acknowledged her verbal hit.

  “I believe, with all the disruptions on our roads, it will take us more than two weeks to reach the Channel coast.” Dumas, a slender figure in white superfine breeches, black coat with silver braiding on the collar, and Brussels lace at his cuffs, smiled at his guest. In Spain his hat had concealed his raven-dark hair it was now pulled back into a tail, and gleamed almost blue from the candle light. Dark brows cast shadows over his deep-set eyes. Intelligent eyes, sharp and watchful, Honor decided while the man outlined his plans for the rest of their journey.

  “The militia, while essential to our plans, fill the roads and make a safe and problem-free journey unlikely, so we will travel through the countryside.”

  He turned to Vidal. “Some of these vineyards produce your favourite wines, my lord. If we make good time and I am in the mood to oblige I may allow a short detour. But you must understand, visits to such places are frowned upon—!

  He didn’t need to fill in "during these times of war", but everyone in the room understood never-the-less.

  Following the tone set by their host, Vidal inclined his head. “You are too kind.”

  “That is what troubles me,” Dumas said. “You have it in you to destroy everything I stand for and yet I still nurture a liking for you. And of course, before you can make a stand against me, it distresses me to acknowledge I must act to prevent that happening. It is the ‘how’ that perplexes me at the moment. So let us enjoy our time together while we can.”

  “And us?” Juan reached out for Consuela’s hand as he challenged the duke.

  “Ah, yes, you.” Le duc's smile slipped from his face. “I have met your brother,” he said, a frown darkening his brow. “And I do not like him. He is an enemy of his country while you are an enemy of mine, just as I am an enemy of Lady Beaumont’s…”

  When Honor gasped at his brazen admission he turned a brief smile in her direction. “Oh yes, my lady, I say it as it is. In my country I am a hero, while in yours I am considered a traitor. Your friend here, while considered a traitor by many of his compatriots, is a hero in my opinion. You must admit, he works to save the integrity of his country just as I do, just as your husband did, and you.” He held up a hand. “By supporting him with your presence you made him better at his work.”

  “I thought I put him at risk,” she muttered.

  “Never think so my lady, you did no such thing. Your wretched Earl Wellington did so the moment he requested Lord Beaumont to carry home a personal dispatch and hand it to none other than your Lord Dundas. He sealed your husband’s fate.”

  He looked directly at her, sadness in his eyes. “And all for nothing.” He smote one fist into the palm of his other hand. “He outwitted us to the very end.” Fury replaced the geniality of seconds ago and he pushed his chair back from the table, storming over to the window.

  “I don’t understand.” Her words dropped into the silence. Not one of his audience stirred.

  For a moment Dumas did not move, then swung round, his features cold, haughty, almost.

  “He extracted a promise from that batman of his, and in some sort of penance Phillipe agreed to arrange your safe transport back to England. The rest, as they say, is history.

  “It must be special to love someone as you loved your husband… and others love you.” he let his gaze linger briefly on Vidal.“

  “I—” Juan’s lips lifted in a wry smile. “I devote my life to one mistress. My country. She is more demanding than any wife, and equally as expensive as the most pampered light-o-love, and in return is more likely to watch me hang without a protest. That is my reality, Lady Beaumont.

  “As for you…” He looked over at Juan, then at Consuela. “Make the most of your time in England for you will not live too long to enjoy it.”

  “And you say this because?” Resting a hand on Consuela’s shoulder, Juan rose.

  “For the first and last time Chiltern excelled himself. He set the scene as well as I could have wanted and without any help from me. A greedy man, one who met a justifiable end. Of course, the fact he died in Spain while supposedly escorting you home, my lady, will only se
rve to add credence to his claims that you and his brother were working for the enemy.”

  He let the weight of his word hang in the air before turning to Juan and Consuela. “By association you will both be tarred with the same charges of treason, and of course suffer the same consequences.”

  He crossed the room and sat down again. “The topic has turned too morbid for such an evening of congenial company. Come, let us eat.”

  * * * *

  “Is he mad?” Consuela ran her brush through her hair and studied Honor through the mirror dulled with age. The sloping ceiling of their shared room cramped the space and Honor sat on the bed while waiting to take Consuela’s place.

  “Not in the least,” she denied. “He is an astute and clever man who knows what he wants and goes after it. Devlin introduced him to me a few weeks before our wedding.”

  “And no doubt he shared his opinion of le duc with you.”

  Unsure whether Consuela’s question was from curiosity or contempt, Honor took a moment to recall the incident.

  “He did.” Honor sighed then smiled as she remembered. "He had a way of summing people up in a few words which were uncomfortably accurate for those who either heard them directly or from others. Unless they were the butt of his comments most people found his strictures so funny they did not hesitate to share them with friends.”

  “And his opinion of le duc?” Laying her brush down, Consuela swung round on the chair and waited.

  “You must understand, he always wears black and white, and is known in England as ‘The Penguin’.”

  “So that’s how he got his name… I’ve heard of it before. And having met him I understand.” A brief smile lit her face before it turned serious again. “So how did your husband describe him?”

  “I don’t remember the exact words, but something along the lines of ‘An intelligent penguin, as cold as the arctic it comes from, as dedicated to his lover as the parents are to their chicks and without their ability to fast for several months at a time’.”

  Consuela’s giggles filled the room. “Oh I am sure I would have liked your husband.”