“I will be the judge of that. Tell me what you know.”
“Very well. I will tell you a little, and then if you wish to know more, perhaps we can come to an arrangement. The king of France is planning to invade England.”
The lord Henri laughed derisively.
“Is this the news you kept me from the opera to tell me?” he said. “Louis has been talking of invading England for twenty years, and will no doubt still be talking of it on his deathbed many years from now. You waste my time, sir.” There was a rustling sound, as the lord turned to leave.
“He is doing a good deal more than talking, my lord,” the other man put in hurriedly. “In August he sent his horsemaster James Butler to England, to find out the level of support for the Stuarts. He has now returned, and it seems there is a great deal of support for a French-led invasion. The king has now started planning. I assume you know that he is holding regular meetings with Amelot and Maurepas?”
Henri had stopped and turned back. Angus slid his arm reassuringly around the girl’s shoulder, praying she would realise from the tone of the voices that this was no light-hearted assignation, and would remain silent.
“Yes,” said Henri. “Regarding the war in Germany and Austria.”
“That is what Louis would have everyone believe. But in reality, he is planning to invade England in the spring. He has already started to assemble his forces.”
“These are serious assertions,” the lord replied. “Do you have proof?”
“Of course. I can tell you where the troops will be massing, how many ships will sail, their destination in England, and the names of the leaders of the Jacobites in England who will assist them. It is most secret information, my lord. Even the royal favourite Noailly does not know of it. Nor does Cardinal Tencin, or Orry.” The man paused.
“How is it, then, that you know?” asked his companion.
“I have my ways. Walls have ears, as you might say, and I am skilled at passing unnoticed. It doesn’t matter. The fact is, I speak the truth.”
“Yes, go on then,” said Henri impatiently.
“I think this information is worth at least, oh, a thousand louis, my lord,” the man replied. “Do you have the money?”
“A thousand louis?!” said Henri, incredulously. “Are you mad? Your news would make interesting after-dinner conversation, but is hardly worth a hundred louis, let alone a thousand.”
“Do you not think, then, that the English would pay at least double that to know the full invasion plans of the French army?”
“Maybe they would,” said Henri casually. “Is that what you then intend? To go to England with your information?”
“No, my lord. I am a servant, low-born. I could not get anywhere near King George, nor would I be believed if I did. Even if I was, I would receive little reward. Fifty pounds or so, perhaps, as befits my station. You, on the other hand, would receive a good deal more.”
“I am a trusted employee of King Louis,” replied Henri. “Do you not think it more likely that I will denounce you to the authorities as a blackmailer and a traitor, than go running to the enemy?”
“No, I do not, my lord,” his companion asserted, confident now. “Because as well as knowing Louis’ invasion plans, I also know that you are a spy in the pay of the Hanoverian king.”
“A spy?” interrupted Alex. “Did ye get a good look at the man?”
“No,” Angus admitted. “It was dark, and I didna dare to move in case we were spotted. I thought it more important that I heard all the conversation. But I think Henri was his real name. After all, they thought they were alone. Why would they use false names?”
“Do you know him, Alex?” Beth asked.
“No,” said Alex, considering. “But I havena been to Louis’ Court for a good few years, and Henri is a very common name.”
“I’d know the man again, in any case,” Angus said. “Whenever he spoke the letter ‘s’, he hissed through his teeth, just a wee bit, but enough to be distinctive.”
“What happened next?” Beth asked, enthralled.
“Henri appeared defeated, promised the man money, or even gave some to him, if he had any with him,” Alex answered.
“How do you know that?” Beth asked.
“Because it’s what I would have done. Go on,” he said to his brother.
“Aye, you’re right. There was a sort of chinking sound, and Henri said that it was something on account, and he’d draw the rest from his banker, if the information was good. The other man assured him that it was, and that if he didna pay up, he would let it be known that Henri was no’ all he appeared to be.”
“So, did he reveal the plans?” Alex said.
“Aye,” replied Angus. “They’re a wee bit uncertain at the moment, still in the early stages of planning. But it seems the duke of Beaufort, Lord Orrery, Lord Barrymore and Sir Watkin Williams Wynne, to name but a few, have all agreed to actively support an invasion, and help the troops to land at Essex. Louis is collecting information as to the number of troops and ships that can be mustered. It certainly seems serious, Alex. Henri seemed to believe him.” His eyes sparkled
“I wonder if Prince Charles knows about this?” Alex said.
“No, the informer said that Louis doesna want the Stuarts to know yet, because the prince is watched and if he leaves Rome for France, it’ll alert the British that something’s afoot.”
“Aye, well, Louis might not want Charles to know, but if he doesna know yet, he will do soon enough. He should. After all, no one in Britain, Jacobite or otherwise, will support a French invasion unless it’s to restore James Stuart to the throne.”
“He may not have heard yet,” said Beth. “Isn’t Rome virtually cut off from the outside world by the plague scare?”
Angus looked at his brother and laughed.
“So much for no’ worrying the lassie,” he said.
“How did ye know about the plague?” Alex said. “Why did you no’ say anything?”
“I read the newspapers,” responded Beth tartly. “And everything else I can get my hands on. And contrary to what everyone believes, I do occasionally listen to drawing room chatter too. There’s plague in the Mediterranean, but in Italy it seems to have been contained at Calabria. But there’s still quarantine in force everywhere, fifteen days in Genoa, I believe. I didn’t say anything, because I knew you were trying to stop me worrying, which is rather sweet, although I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”
Alex looked not a little embarrassed, both at being called sweet in front of his brother, who would no doubt store this for future use, and at the fact that Beth had known about the plague all along.
“There isna any danger of contagion. I was going tae tell you,” he muttered.
“You’d have had to, soon enough,” she replied. “We’ll be in Genoa in a few days, weather permitting. I’d much rather you told me everything, you know, good or bad. You’re still underestimating me. I’m not the sort of woman who has the vapours at the slightest problem. You should know that by now.”
Intellectually he did, but he still had difficulty reconciling the fragile beauty of his wife with the indomitable spirit it concealed. Even though he had fallen in love with her wild and independent nature, she still aroused his protective instincts. He would talk to her about it, but not in front of Angus.
“What happened next, after the idiot had given all his information to Henri?” he asked.
What had happened next was that Angus had heard the unmistakable liquid gargling of a man choking on his own blood, and the sounds of a very brief scuffle, and then the blackmailer had crashed through some young banana trees and landed with a dull thud no more than a few feet from where they lay. The wire that Henri had used to garrotte the man had cut deeply into his throat, and a dark stain started to slowly spread across the floor towards their hiding place.
Angus still had his arm around Katerina’s shoulder, and feeling her tense, had clapped his hand firmly over her mouth to stifle
any scream, pulling her head into his shoulder so that she couldn’t break his hold if she struggled. She stiffened for a moment, her eyes wide with threatened hysteria, then she relaxed into him. He drew his knife silently, praying that Henri would want to leave the scene of the crime as quickly as possible. The man was obviously dead, but if his killer wished to be sure, and came to examine his victim, there was a possibility that he would see the couple hiding in the straw. To his relief, Henri bent only to pick up the purse of money the man had dropped in his death throes, before leaving the room hurriedly.
“If I hadna been with the girl, I’d have killed him anyway,” Angus said. “But she knows I’m Sir Anthony’s footman. She’s been here. She’d be bound to tell someone, and I couldna bring myself to kill her too. I’m sorry, Alex.”
Alex rubbed his hands through his hair.
“Dinna be sorry, Angus. But it’s a shame you were no’ alone. We have to find out if the information about the invasion is true.”
“Is it likely to be?” Beth asked.
“Aye, it’s possible,” Alex replied. “It would be a good time to invade, with most of the British troops fighting abroad. Although they’ll be going into winter quarters soon, and a lot of them will be in Bruges and Ostend, from where they can return to England quickly, if they need to. So if Louis does plan to invade, he needs to keep it secret for as long as possible. If the French make a surprise attack, they could be in London before the troops could be recalled, and Charles could take the crown for his father. Once that happens, even his most circumspect supporters will declare for him.”
The three Jacobites sat in silence for a moment, contemplating this wonderful possibility.
“We need to do something about this Henri, if we can find him,” Alex continued, frowning. “We have to find him, I think. I’d like to double back to Paris, but I canna do that without arousing suspicion. Mann is expecting me to go to Rome, so I’ll have to, but I think that now we should get there as fast as the quarantine will allow, and find out what Charles knows. We dinna ken why Henri is in Nice, of course. He may be enroute to Italy as well, for all we know. We’ll keep a look out for him on the way. Aye, it may have been better if ye’d killed him while you had the chance, Angus, but there’s no help for it now.”
“Is that what you would have done?” Beth asked. The unasked question was written on her face. Would you have been willing to kill an innocent young girl in cold blood?
“I’m no’ certain,” Alex said candidly. “But on consideration, aye, I probably would have done. If the information is true, then we’re standing on the edge of the best chance the Stuarts will ever have to be restored to the throne. And this man Henri now has the information to stop it, if he is working for the British.” He looked intently at Beth, his eyes hard. “I will do whatever I have to to restore the Stuarts, Beth. It’s our only chance for freedom. It’s no’ always possible to protect the innocent, although where I can, I will, and I dinna blame you for being human, Angus. Part of me would have thought less of you if ye’d been able to kill her.”
Angus had laid his hands on the table, and was examining them, avoiding his brother’s gaze.
“Like ye said once before,” Alex said softly to him, “there’s a big difference between killing a man when you’re blood’s up, and killing one in cold blood. You were willing to do that last night. Killing a woman at all, let alone one ye’ve just been tumbling, is another thing entirely. I wasna being kind when I said I’m no’ certain what I’d have done, I meant it. I wasna there, I havena seen the girl, although I mean to.”
Angus looked up. Alex’s eyes were warm, affectionate, held no sign that he thought his younger brother was weak. Quite the opposite, in fact. Angus smiled, quickly, and then was serious again.
“I’m seeing her again tonight,” he said. “She’s verra bonny. But why do you need to see her? I took her to an expensive inn afterwards and managed to calm her. She’s sensible. She’ll no’ say anything, I’m sure of that. If she did, she’d risk this man coming after her. She was terrified of him, that much I could tell in any language.”
“You said the men spoke in French. Are ye sure she doesna understand the language at all?” Alex asked.
“Of course I am!” Angus replied. “I wouldna be spending half my time inventing hand signs, and wishing I’d learnt more than basic Italian, if she could speak French!”
“There’s a difference between understanding a language and speaking it, though, is there no’?” Alex said. “Humour me. Bring her here tonight, just for a few minutes, and we’ll make sure.”
What Alex intended to do if it was discovered that Katerina did understand French, he was not willing to reveal.
They were going out that night, to a card party, and Alex took especial care over his appearance. Once dressed, in royal blue velvet edged with Brussels lace, her hair beautifully dressed by her husband, who was reasonably expert in such matters, being able to curl and powder his own wigs, Beth sat at the writing desk to put the finishing touches to her letter to Isabella. Angus had departed some time before, promising to bring Katerina for a brief visit at eight o’ clock. He seemed as nervous as Beth about Alex meeting the girl, which, as he knew a lot more about the violent side of his brother than she did, made Beth even more anxious.
After some time, the bedroom door opened, and Sir Anthony appeared. Although Beth had seen the transformation many times, it still never ceased to amaze her. The tall, burly, indisputably masculine Alex MacGregor would disappear into a bedroom, and within half an hour, would metamorphose into the effeminate, affected baronet. Occasionally she had watched as he rose from his seat at the dressing table, having just applied the paint, rouge and patches. He would stand erect at first, still imposing, still Alex, in spite of the paint, and then he would slump his shoulders, loosen his joints, and compress his spine, shaving a couple of inches off his height in the process. After that he always gave a small sigh, before taking on the rest of Sir Anthony’s mannerisms. The strong stride would shorten, become mincing, the muscular arms and wrists become almost boneless, the hands fluttering languidly. The compelling MacGregor charisma was still there, but subdued by the frivolous, superficial personality of the fop. It was remarkable.
Tonight it took longer than half an hour to effect the transformation, and when her husband finally made his appearance, even Beth, accustomed as she was to Sir Anthony’s flamboyant dress sense, was taken aback.
“I am not going out with you, looking like that,” she said, firmly. “What are you thinking of?”
He was dressed in magenta silk breeches, and a bright orange waistcoat of silk brocade, embroidered with yellow marigolds. His coat was of brightest scarlet, and above it, his cherry-red mouth beamed at her. It was impossible to envisage a more hideous combination of colours. He seemed to have had an accident with his rouge as well, which covered a far larger amount of his cheeks than normal. He looked hideous. Even for Sir Anthony he looked hideous. He cocked his head, and a cloud of powder puffed lightly from his wig. He coughed, delicately.
“Oh my dear Elizabeth, do you not like my choice of attire?” he simpered.
“Like it?” she said. “Have you looked in the mirror? No. I do not like it. That’s an understatement. I detest it.”
“Well then, I will change, just for you,” he said petulantly, as a light tap came on the door. He backed away into the bedroom, leaving Beth to greet the visitors.
Angus had been advised to tell Katerina that his employer wished to meet her, that he was very severe, and that she must be on her best behaviour, for Sir Anthony was very unpredictable and could take offence at the slightest thing. That Angus had done his job well was obvious from the moment the couple entered the room. Katerina was trembling slightly, and her eyes were downcast. Angus loomed behind her, towering over her diminutive figure.
“Come in,” Beth said, attempting to sound reassuring. Why Alex had wanted to make the girl terrified of meeting him she had no idea,
but one look at her told Beth why Angus had been unable to contemplate harming her last night. She was lovely. Small, smaller even than Beth, but more voluptuous, she bobbed a curtsey, and raised her head to observe Beth with a pair of long-lashed, anxious soft brown eyes, set in a perfect heart-shaped face, framed by masses of dark brown hair, pulled up into a simple chignon. Beth’s heart went out to her, and she wondered how she could make the girl feel at ease.
“Buona sera. Piacere di conoscerla,” she said, exhausting almost all her Italian with her friendly greeting. She motioned for the pair to sit down, which they did, side by side on the sofa. Beth noticed the girl put her hands in her lap and clasp them tightly in an attempt to stop their trembling being noticeable. Whatever Angus had told her about Sir Anthony, it had worked. She looked as though she were about to meet the Devil himself. Angus looked around the room for his brother.
“My husband…ah… mio marito…is dressing,” Beth said, pantomiming someone putting on a coat. Katerina smiled, uncertainly.
“On the contrary, my dear Elizabeth, I am already dressed, and cannot wait to make the acquaintance of this delightful young lady!” Sir Anthony cried from behind them.
Both Angus and Katerina sprang to their feet, and turned to the apparition that had appeared from the bedroom. Beth frowned. She thought he had gone to change, but it seemed, by the stench of violets that announced his entrance, that he had only gone to douse himself in the scent Beth had hoped he’d renounced for good.
Angus’s eyes widened slightly, but otherwise he showed no reaction to the rainbow figure. Katerina gave a snort of laughter, before flushing bright red and dropping into a deep curtsey. Sir Anthony moved forward and took her hand, raising it to his lips and gallantly kissing it. She stood, and looked cautiously at him, struggling not to laugh, her eyes dancing. Her free hand came up over her mouth and she covered up the second giggle that escaped with a cough.
The Mask Revealed (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 2) Page 15
