by Stella Riley
‘Yes.’ Refusing to elaborate, Ashley said, ‘Sir, you’re going to have to be more specific with regard to these papers of yours. I’ll need to know what I’m looking for.’
‘Letters,’ replied Charles succinctly. ‘Letters I wrote to her four years ago. Most of them are perfectly harmless … but there are three or four that could be damaging if they ended up in the wrong hands. She probably keeps them all together in one bundle – so the simplest thing would be to remove them all. Also, if you come across these so-called marriage lines while you’re about it, you’d better liberate them as well.’ He paused and then said, ‘I’m not comfortable about this, Ash. But, with things as they are, I don’t have much choice.’
‘Quite.’ A pause; and then, ‘Do you mind me asking why Mistress Walter is intent on making your life difficult?’
‘Now? The usual reason. Money.’
A frown darkened Ashley’s eyes. He said, ‘Forgive me, Sir … but I was under the impression that you had recently paid at least part of the lady’s promised pension.’
‘No. Had that been the case, she might be less …’ He sighed, shrugging. ‘You know how it is, Ash. Mazarin keeps me on a damnably tight financial leash with my aunt, the Queen Dowager standing squarely behind him. Money – or rather the lack of it – is at the heart of everything these days. How are you managing?’
Ashley put aside what he’d learned for future consideration.
‘I’m not. And, to put it bluntly, the situation is becoming critical. I need paid employment. But it seems I’ve only two options. Enlist under Turenne and quite possibly find myself posted to Spain; or offer my services to the Cardinal’s guard and march up and down like a toy soldier for a man I neither trust nor respect.’
Charles sat up, looking confused.
‘Do we not pay you?’
Ashley blinked. ‘You, Sir?’
‘The so-called Royal purse – Hyde – Secretary Nicholas in Antwerp. One of them?’
‘No, Sir.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘I’ve served for love. And while we had an army, that was viable. Now, I’m afraid, it’s not. I’ll do my best to reclaim your letters, but after that --’
‘Stop.’ Charles looked genuinely chagrined. ‘This isn’t right. I’ve called on you over and over for years now – since before my father met his end – and you’ve never failed me. I assumed that, like a handful of other extremely necessary gentlemen, you were being paid. Not much, admittedly – but something. Hyde finds the money. I don’t know how – but he does. And you’re telling me that in what – over four years? – you’ve never received a penny?’
‘No. But then, I never expected to.’
The King surged to his feet.
‘Well, it won’t do – and I wish to God you’d told me months ago. There are precious few men I rely on completely, Ashley – but you’re one of them. I’m going to have this out with Hyde right now.’ He stopped, apparently recalling that Nicholas was waiting in the next room. ‘Apologise to Nick for me and tell him to visit me again so I can learn how he’s been faring. But this can’t wait. I want to hear Hyde’s explanations. And I particularly want to hear how he’s going to make it possible for you to continue in my service.’ His Majesty stretched out his long arms and cracked his knuckles. ‘Do you know, Ash … I’m actually quite annoyed.’
Nicholas accepted his dismissal philosophically and followed Ashley into the freezing drizzle outside. He said, ‘Are you allowed to tell me what His Majesty wanted?’
‘Later,’ said Ashley crisply. ‘For now, I want a word with Sir William Brierley.’
‘Who?’
‘A man I counted as both a friend and one of the best agents in the game. I want to hear him explain why he lied to me.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
NINE
Despite his best efforts, Ashley failed to find One-Eyed Will and was eventually convinced that he’d left Paris for a time – which did little to improve his own mood. He didn’t like being duped; he especially didn’t like being duped by a man he trusted. And worse than that was the lurking suspicion that, if Will had lied to him, it didn’t bode well.
He tried to cheer himself with the possibility of finally being paid but he knew better than to place too much faith in it actually happening. Charles was sincere but Ashley couldn’t see Hyde paying for services he’d previously had for nothing. He’d say yes to the King, then find ways to procrastinate until the matter was forgotten – secure in the knowledge that Ashley was very unlikely to ask.
Having traipsed around fruitlessly searching for Will Brierley, he and Nicholas arrived back at the house rather later than he’d anticipated but in plenty of time to escort Athenais to the theatre. As soon as he walked through the door, she came skimming down the stairs glowing with the mere pleasure of seeing him and cast herself on his chest.
Unable to remember ever being the cause of such undisguised delight and trying not to show how it moved him, he caught her, dropped a kiss on her hair and said lightly, ‘What’s this? Anyone would think I’d been away at the wars for months.’
She shook her head and buried her face against his throat.
Nicholas said humorously, ‘You ungrateful devil. Mademoiselle Athenais can throw herself into my arms any time she likes.’
‘I’d advise you not to hold your breath,’ suggested Ashley mildly.
Athenais shot Nicholas a mischievous smile.
‘Thank you, Sir Nicholas. I’ll remember that for when I detect a lack of appreciation.’
‘Call him Nick,’ said Ashley. And, in a low, wicked murmur, ‘I appreciate you. I could do it now, if you like.’
Nicholas didn’t hear the words but Athenais’s blush gave him the general idea. He said, ‘I feel decidedly de trop. Shall I ask Jem to carry on searching for this Brierley fellow?’
‘Yes. I doubt if he’ll find him – but it’s worth a try. And, if all else fails, Jem knows where he lodges so he can always watch for him there.’
Nicholas nodded and left them. Athenais said, ‘Who is Monsieur Brierley?’
‘Just someone I’m rather eager to speak to.’ Since they were temporarily alone, he took the opportunity to kiss her. She sighed, nestled a little closer and laid her palm against his cheek. Presently, he said, ‘This is a very nice welcome. I must make a habit of going out for a couple of hours on a regular basis.’
She laughed. ‘Or you could just leave the room for five minutes.’
It occurred to him that being so very dear to someone might take a bit of getting used to … and then, that he actually didn’t want to get used to it; that he’d like to experience this unique glow every day of his life.
Twining her hair around his fingers, he said, ‘I’m presuming that if Francis had murdered Celia you’d have mentioned it before now?’
‘Oh!’ She tensed in his arms and stared up at him in sudden alarm. ‘I forgot. We’ve laid her out in the parlour.’
Just for a second, he almost believed her.
‘Very funny.’
Athenais grinned. ‘She slammed out of the house shouting something about Francis lying and ill-wishing her and never, ever believing him.’
‘Ah. He told her, then.’
‘Told her what?’
‘That her lover is being unfaithful to her.’
‘Oh dear. And is he?’
Ashley shrugged. ‘He’s certainly doing something – though whether it’s just an affair or something more serious, I couldn’t say. Has Francis spent the rest of the day talking about dropping Celia down the nearest well?’
‘No – though he couldn’t be blamed for wanting to. He may have said something to Pauline … but all I heard him say was that he washed his hands of her and that Eden was well out of it.’ She looked at him. ‘Do you know him – this Eden?’
‘No – though I wouldn’t mind meeting him one day. He’s a Roundhead, of course … but Francis and Nick both have a high regard for him.’
‘Then it’s a pity h
e has such terrible taste in women.’
‘Yes. Well, we can’t all be perfect.’ He grinned and kissed her again. ‘I need to shave and change into a clean shirt, if I have one.’
‘You have two,’ she said proudly. ‘I washed and ironed them myself.’
‘Oh God. Tell me you iron better than you cook.’
‘I can iron beautifully. But if you’re going to be rude, you can sleep in the attic tonight.’
‘And have you dragging me downstairs in the middle of the night? No. I don’t think so.’
And made a swift, strategic retreat before she could retaliate.
* * *
The theatre was, if possible, even more packed than it had been on the previous evening, word of Ménage and Pauline Fleury’s performance in it having spread like wildfire. At least half the audience had turned up for a second viewing and the other half was overflowing with anticipation. By the time the stage candles were being lit, all the boxes were packed tight and the inhabitants of the pit surged like boiling soup.
‘Any sign?’ asked Ashley as Francis joined him in the wings after scanning the auditorium for the Marquis d’Auxerre.
‘No. I’ll check again at the first interval, just in case.’
From beyond the curtain, the noise level soared to a new peak.
‘Bloody hell,’ murmured Ashley. ‘This is unbelievable. What have you done?’
‘I don’t know. I certainly didn’t expect it.’ He shook his head. ‘But it’s not just the play, is it? It’s Pauline. She’s magnificent.’
Ashley cast him a thoughtful, sideways glance but said merely, ‘Yes, she is. And, but for you, she’d still be mending costumes. So I think you’re entitled to take some credit.’
‘I don’t need any credit,’ said Francis simply. ‘I just wanted to see her shine. And she does.’ Then, realising he’d probably revealed more than he’d meant to, he added, ‘I tailored this role to what I reasoned she would accept. But she could do much more; and I doubt Froissart will let her retire into the shadows again – even assuming she wants to.’
‘She won’t want to,’ said Athenais, arriving in time to hear this last remark and promptly tucking herself under Ashley’s arm. ‘It’s in her blood. For Pauline, acting is as effortless as breathing and she commands the stage. Even when she’s not doing anything at all, your eyes are drawn to her. And that, gentlemen, is a rare gift. Now – hush. They’re starting.’
If anything, the play’s reception that evening was even more enthusiastic than it had been the night before and, once again, Francis had to join the cast on-stage for a final bow – only this time the calls were not for the author but for ‘Seigneur François’. Under cover of kissing Pauline’s hands, he muttered, ‘I’m not doing this tomorrow night.’
‘Because Celia said so?’
‘Because I feel like the freak at the fair.’
Backstage, Athenais had disappeared to ready herself for her role in Don Japhet. Ashley grinned at Francis and said, ‘At this rate, you’re going to have admirers mobbing you in the street.’
‘There’s a cheery thought,’ came the dry retort. ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to make the rounds out front?’
‘No. Everyone already knows you’re here – and why. But if d’Auxerre makes an appearance I’d rather he remained unaware that I’m here, too. So off you go. Time to meet your public.’
Due to the number of men who wanted to shake his hand or buffet his shoulder and the ladies who leaned over the parapet of their boxes and called to him, what should have taken no more than five minutes took nearly twenty. But eventually, Francis returned – somewhat dishevelled – with the information that he’d caught sight of Cyrano de Bergerac amongst the throng but that the Marquis was still notable only by his absence.
‘And I am not,’ he finished flatly, ‘running the gauntlet out there again. Pauline says there’s a place back here from which it’s possible to see all the centre boxes – so that will have to do.’
Ashley gave a grunt of dissatisfaction but his expression changed when Athenais appeared on-stage in a gown that glowed gold in the candlelight. Her hair was piled up in a mass of artless curls, a few of which had been allowed to escape and drift distractingly around her neck. He wondered what was holding it up and, when she passed by during the interval on her way for a change of costume, he said, ‘Leave your hair like that tonight.’ And saw her breathing change before she nodded.
The third act was half over when his attention sharpened and he said to Francis, ‘There. Fourth box from the right. Not his usual place … and not his usual boot-lickers, either.’
Francis sighed. ‘What do you want to do?’
‘Ask Pauline to stay near Athenais. If d’Auxerre runs true to form, he’ll wait until the crush dies down so I’m going to lurk here until I see him move. Once he gets to the Green Room – if he does – I want you to keep a discreet eye on him. I’ll be nearby.’
‘And we are doing this because?’
‘We are doing this because I’m tired of playing guessing games. This is his second consecutive appearance. If he still has designs on Athenais, I want to know so that I can deal with it once and for all. I won’t tolerate her being continually frightened of the bastard.’
The cold, purposeful tone was one Francis had only heard twice before. The first time had been when he’d faced General Leslie after Inverkeithing; the second, the day they’d caught the Marquis with his hands on Athenais. Not for the first time, it occurred to Francis that The Falcon was somebody you’d rather not have as an enemy and he wondered if the Marquis had any idea what he was tangling with.
As it had been the night before, the Green Room was heaving with well-wishers. The more serious aficionados gathered around Pauline; besotted young men surrounded Athenais and the other young women of the company; and there were even a number of fashionable ladies, vying for Francis’s attention. The room was hot, noisy and reeked of an unpleasant mixture of sweat and perfume.
Gradually, however, the crowd thinned as people started to leave. With an ease born of long practice, Pauline dispersed her admirers fairly quickly; most of the besotted gentlemen drifted away, either disconsolately alone or to await their promised supper companions; and Francis remained trapped in a corner with two ladies – each of whom seemed reluctant to leave the other in possession of the field. Pauline watched how deftly he managed to flirt with both of them at once … and then, aware of inappropriate emotions, firmly turned her back.
Wondering where Ashley was and eager to shed the gold gown – which, lovely though it looked, was beginning to make her itch – Athenais caught Pauline’s eye and indicated that she intended to withdraw to the tiring-room. Pauline nodded and tossed a seemingly expressionless glance at Francis. Then, before Athenais could take more than a step, the Marquis d’Auxerre sauntered in, trailed by a pair of over-dressed young men of languid appearance. Athenais froze; Pauline planted herself in the middle of the room; and Francis shifted his position against the wall.
‘Ah,’ said d’Auxerre, subtly mocking. ‘Seigneur François. Our new literary genius. Poor Corneille must be gnashing his teeth.’
‘Unlikely,’ returned Francis, cheerfully. ‘It must be plain to the meanest intelligence that I’ve neither the wish nor the ability to rival masterpieces like Le Cid.’
A hint of colour crept along the Marquis’s cheekbones at the not-quite-veiled insult. Turning away and with the merest suggestion of a bow, he said, ‘Mademoiselle de Galzain … radiant as ever, I see. And Madame Fleury.’ A deeper, more correct bow for Pauline. ‘I wished only to congratulate you on your very welcome return to the stage … even in a piece so unworthy of your talents.’
‘Thank you,’ said Pauline, aridly. ‘But I’m sorry you think so poorly of the play. Perhaps you missed some of the finer points?’
Being called stupid twice in as many minutes made d’Auxerre clench his fists.
‘Or perhaps I simply have a more sophisticated pal
ate,’ he snapped. And with another brisk nod to the room in general, he stalked out.
Athenais gave a tiny, semi-hysterical giggle and sat down with a bump as relief drained the strength from her knees. She said, ‘He’s gone. Just like that?’
‘Looks like it,’ replied Pauline.
‘Thank God. I’ve been so worried about what he might do next – and all for nothing, it seems.’
Pauline’s glanced to where Francis was apparently enjoying the clinging arms and openly inviting smiles of his female admirers and wanted to slap him. Returning her attention to Athenais, she said, ‘Get changed – and I’ll find the Colonel. Then, if Francis can tear himself away, we can leave.’
Athenais stood up, a naughty light dancing in her eyes.
‘Why, Pauline! You sound almost jealous.’
‘Nauseous is what I sound. The silly widgeons have been drooling over him for the last fifteen minutes.’
‘He doesn’t seem to mind.’
‘Of course he doesn’t. That’s men for you.’
She stopped as Marie d’Amboise entered the room and paused near Athenais long enough to say carelessly, ‘You’re wanted in Froissart’s office.’
Athenais stared at her in surprise.
‘Monsieur wants me? Now? Why?’
En route for the tiring-room, Marie shrugged and continued on her way.
‘I neither know nor care.’
‘How odd.’ Athenais shook out her skirts and, tossing an impish grin at Pauline as she left the room, added, ‘I won’t be long. Meanwhile, if Francis doesn’t get rid of the widgeons, you’d better do it for him.’
No more than five minutes after she had gone, Ashley walked in and, taking in the fact that Francis still had a female hanging on each arm, murmured wickedly, ‘Spoilt for choice, Francis? Or contemplating decadent pleasures?’
The ladies giggled, then directed blatantly appraising glances in his own direction.
Ignoring them, he walked over to Pauline and said, ‘Is Athenais getting changed?’
‘No – but everything is fine. The Marquis came, made his bow and left. No more than that.’
