His destination was the fashionable Faubourg Saint-Germain, an area renowned for its countless inns and cabarets but replete as well with fine houses and imposing hotels. It was Daniel's second visit to the address so he had no difficulty in finding it. As before, he was met with a welcoming signal. A candle burnt in an attic window to assure him that the coast was clear. He needed no more invitation. Riding down the side of the house, he dismounted in the courtyard at the rear and tethered his horse beside the stables.
The maid was waiting for him. As soon as he reached the rear door, she opened it for him, her pretty face glowing in the light from the lantern in her hand. She looked at the visitor and exchanged a conspiratorial nod with him before leading the way up the backstairs. After shutting the door behind him, Daniel followed, blessing the day when he had first made the acquaintance of Madame Berenice Salignac and learnt how often her husband was away from his lovely young wife.
The maid reached a landing and checked that nobody was about before she conducted him furtively along it. When she came to her mistress's boudoir, she gave a coded tap on the door then stood back. When he heard the expected three knocks from inside the room, Daniel dismissed the maid with a smile of thanks before opening the door and going through it. Berenice had moved back to the middle of the room where light from the fire and from the flickering candelabra combined to show her at her best. Daniel feasted his eyes on her.
Removing his hat with a flourish, he gave a low bow before putting his hat on a chair and tossing his cloak over the back of it. When she offered her hand, he held it lightly between his fingers and bestowed a loving kiss upon it. Berenice noticed his glove.
'Oh!' she exclaimed. 'That looks like blood.'
'It is,' he said, examining his knuckles, 'but you need have no fear, my love. It's not mine. It belonged to a man who was foolish enough to try to stop me reaching you this evening.' He pulled off his gloves and dropped them on a little table, holding out both hands for inspection. 'There you are — not a mark on them, as you see.'
Berenice was fully reassured. Still in her early twenties, she was a shapely woman of middle height with exquisite features and complexion. Her blond hair, parted in the middle, fell down both sides of her head in ringlets. Though she was entertaining her lover, she was not wearing night attire in readiness. Her costly blue satin dress had a close-fitting bodice with a trained skirt worn open in the front. The sleeves were short to the elbows with turned-up cuffs and deep ruffles emerging from below. Hitched up at the back to give a bustle effect, the skirt revealed a decorative petticoat. Shimmering jewellery enhanced an already complete portrait of feminine beauty.
Daniel had learnt the rules on his previous visit. Berenice Salignac liked to take her time and savour each moment. They began with wine, poured from a decanter, then sat beside each other on an ornate settee. Daniel kept up a steady stream of compliments in the fluent French he had taken pains to master. He was no longer the sturdy boy from a Dorset farm but a tall, slim, handsome, urbane gentleman, not far short of thirty, with a soldier's bearing that was offset by his natural charm and tenderness. He had courted Berenice studiously for some weeks before she had finally succumbed to his advances.
'You have neglected me,' she said, pouting slightly.
'I'll make amends for that this evening,' he promised.
'Where have you been?'
'I told you, my love. I had business to attend to.'
'What kind of business?' she pressed. 'I know that you are a merchant with interests all over the world but your work surely does not take precedence over me.'
'Nothing could ever do that, Berenice,' he said, taking the opportunity to plant another kiss on her hand. 'But let's not waste time talking about trade. The only person with whom I'm interested in having commerce at this moment is the one I adore.'
Her eyes flashed coquettishly. 'How do I know you adore me?'
'I could give you at least ten good reasons.'
'What's the first?'
'That would be telling,' he said with a teasing smile. 'And I'm not sure that you're in the right mood to hear them.'
She stamped an impatient foot. 'I want to be told, Daniel.'
'Let me refill your glass.'
'No,' she said, grasping him by the wrist. 'Stay here and recite these ten good reasons for me.' She lowered her voice to a purr. 'There may be a reward in store for you.'
He sealed the bargain with a laugh then he began. As he worked his way unhurriedly through the list, he was allowed to take a liberty each time, unhooking part of her dress or delicately removing an item of jewellery or even taking off a whole garment. At the end of his recitation, she stood before him almost naked, exuding a bewitching fragrance and making a visible effort to hold back her passion.
'Now, it is my turn,' she said, helping him off with his coat. 'I must tell you the source of my adoration for you.'
Berenice did so with deliberate slowness, undressing him at intervals, heightening their mutual pleasure by delaying its release until they both reached a point of explosion. Daniel could wait no longer. Picking her up in his arms, he carried her to the bed and placed her gently down beneath its richly embroidered canopy. No more words were needed. Their writhing bodies continued the dialogue in a much more expressive language. Berenice surrendered herself completely and he responded with characteristic vigour, kissing her, caressing her and filling her with the urgency of his love. She matched his ardour at every stage, letting out a cry of ecstasy when she reached the peak of her pleasure and taking him into Elysium with her. They lay panting happily in each other's arms.
'Your husband is stupid,' he said at length.
'Stupid?'
'How could any man spurn such joy?'
'Armand has not spurned it,' she said coldly. 'He is probably sharing the same joy with his mistress at this very moment. I am a wife in title only. My husband sees me as no more than an attractive piece of furniture.'
'Then he is blind as well as stupid.'
'It was so different when we were first married.'
'Were you happy then?'
'I was treated with respect.'
Berenice omitted to mention that she had been the mistress of Armand Salignac before becoming his wife after the untimely death of her predecessor. The extravagant promises with which she had been showered beforehand wilted under the tedium of domestic life. As his lover, she had been mysterious, desirable and only infrequently available. As a wife, she was there all the time, diminished in every way by sheer familiarity. Her mystery had soon vanished.
'I should never have married a soldier,' she sighed.
'He's wealthy and highly esteemed at Court.'
'But he's never here to enjoy that wealth or to take me to Court where I can share his esteem. It's where I belong, Daniel — among the ladies at Versailles, earning smiles and glances from the King.' 'Even I cannot compete with King Louis,' he admitted.
She hugged him. 'You outshine any man!'
'Does that mean I can come here again?'
'Yes — as often as possible.'
'What about this blind, stupid, uncaring husband of yours?' he asked. 'He cannot stay away from the house forever. Surely, he will return to his wife soon.'
'If he does, it will only be to pack his trunk.'
'Is he off on another campaign then?'
'Armand will leave next month,' she said bitterly. 'Knowing him, I doubt if he will even bring me back a present from Vienna.'
'Vienna?' Daniel's ears pricked up. 'Why is he going there?'
'Armand swears they will capture it in a matter of weeks.'
'Indeed?'
'According to him…'
Berenice talked about her husband with a candour she had never shown before. When she had first met Armand Salignac, she freely conceded, she had been impressed by his military prowess, his social position and his easy sophistication. He had been loving and attentive to her. Once married, however, he cared less about Berenice a
nd more about his career in the French army, subordinating her to the fringes of his life while he sought glory in the field. When the campaigning season resumed in April, he would desert her without a hint of regret.
Cradling her in his arms, Daniel listened intently until a more menacing sound was heard. It was the rattle of a coach, turning off the cobbled street and rolling down the side of the house to the courtyard. The lovers sat up guiltily. Without warning, Armand Salignac had returned home.
They leapt off the bed as if it had just been set on fire. While Berenice ran to the door to check that it was locked, Daniel went to a window that overlooked the courtyard. He watched in horror as the coach came to a halt and a servant rushed to open its door. A bulky figure stepped out. It was clear from the deference shown to him that he was the master of the house. Daniel did not hesitate. Snatching up his clothes, he dressed himself with a speed born of practice. A hasty retreat was his only option.
Berenice reached for her own apparel, alternately cursing her husband and apologising profusely to her lover. When she glanced in a mirror, she saw how ruffled her hair was and trembled with fear. Her husband must not be allowed to see her in that state. Having put on his own clothes, Daniel helped her into her dress, trying to calm her and insisting that she was not to blame for her husband's unexpected return. The important thing was that she was not compromised in any way. He was still assisting her when there was a thunderous knock on the door.
'Berenice!' shouted her husband. 'Berenice — let me in!'
It was no time to stand on ceremony. Taking a last kiss from his lover, Daniel opened the window and clambered out on to the roof. As he searched for a way to get down to the ground, he could hear the cuckolded husband, pounding on the door with a fist as if trying to knock it down. Escape was his priority but it would not be easy. When he looked at the courtyard, now illumined by torches, he saw that ostlers were loosening the harness on the horses so that they could be led forward out of the shafts. Daniel's own horse had attracted the attention of a servant who was opening the saddlebags in the hope of identifying the animal's owner.
An alternative route was needed and that meant scrambling across a steep roof made slippery by vestigial frost. It was a perilous manoeuvre. If he lost his balance, he would plummet down to certain death. Picking his way over the tiles with extreme care, he went up to the apex and cocked a leg over it. Daniel was able to rest briefly and consider his best course of action. From his elevated position, he could see, in the gloom, the guttering that ran along the base of the roof. Long, square, cast-iron drainpipes conducted rainwater to the ground. He had to trust that one of them would hold him.
Taking his weight on his hands, he pulled himself forward along the ridge tiles until he came to the part of the house that overlooked the garden and which was obscured from the stables by a high wall. It looked like the safest place to descend. On a raw evening like that, he still faced hazards. A biting wind had sprung up and a sudden gust whipped off his hat before sending it downwards in a spiral. For an anxious moment, Daniel feared that it would land in the courtyard and be spotted by someone but, unseen by him, it swung sharply to the left and came to rest in a flower bed.
With the wind plucking at his cloak, he inched himself slowly back down the roof until his boot eventually made contact with the guttering. Daniel worked his way along it until he came to a drainpipe then he knelt down and put a first tentative leg over the parapet. He did not dare to look down. Getting a grip on the drainpipe, he brought his other leg over then swung his body across. The drainpipe was old and rusted and, even with his gloves on, he could feel how cold it was but it had a brute solidity that cheered him.
Descent was slow and laborious. Even in daylight, it would have tested his mettle. Groping in the darkness, with his cloak flapping in the wind like a pair of oversized wings, he needed all his strength and concentration. It seemed to take an age and Daniel began to wonder if he would ever reach the bottom of the pipe. He clung on tightly and persevered, sweat oozing from every pore in spite of the cold. At long last, his toe finally brushed the ground. He let go of the pipe and stood there until the fierce ache in his limbs slowly subsided.
Accepting that he had lost his horse, Daniel searched for his hat then turned his mind to the problem of quitting the city. Before he loped off, he blew a farewell kiss up to Berenice Salignac. He carried away fond memories of her. Though it had ended abruptly, his visit to the house had been, in more ways than one, very profitable.
Edward Marston
Soldier of Fortune
Berenice had waited until her lover had gone before she even thought of admitting her husband to the room. When she finally unlocked the door, he burst in and looked everywhere, opening wardrobes and even peering beneath the bed. It gave her time to recover her composure. Abandoning his search, Armand Salignac turned on his wife and glowered at her. Still wearing his hat and cloak, he was a big, heavy man in his forties with a neat black moustache and bristling eyebrows. He fixed an accusing stare on Berenice.
'Somebody was here,' he declared. 'I can feel it in the air.'
'You are much mistaken,' she said with righteous indignation. 'And I resent the way you tried to batter down my door.'
'Had you opened it when I first knocked, there would have been no need to bang on it so loudly. Why did you keep me waiting?'
'For the reason I've just given you, Armand. I was annoyed. As your wife, I surely have the right to privacy in my boudoir without having someone attempting to break in.'
'You were not alone in here.'
'Of course, I was,' she retorted, taking in the whole room with a sweep of her arm. 'Do you see anyone else besides me? Would you like to look up the chimney to make sure that nobody is hiding there?'
'Do not trifle with me, Berenice,' he warned.
'Then treat me as a husband should. There was a time when you begged me to spend a mere hour in your company and you were duly grateful when I did. Yet now,' she went on, 'you charge in here like a troop of cavalry and browbeat me as if I were guilty of the most unspeakable crime.'
'Infidelity is a heinous offence in my eyes.'
'You did not think so when you were married to your first wife.'
'She would never have betrayed me,' he asserted.
'No more would I,' said Berenice at her most poised. 'When I took the solemn vows of marriage, I swore to abide by them. It is a pity that you did not do the same.'
'We are not talking about me, Berenice. This concerns you and a secret visitor who entered the house this evening.' He took her by the shoulders. 'Tell me the truth, woman — did you or did you not receive a guest in this room?'
'No,' she replied calmly.
'You're lying!'
'Leave go of me, Armand.'
'I can see it in your eyes.'
'Let go of me!'
Pushing his hands away, she stepped back and gazed defiantly at him. Until that moment, she had not realised how much she loved Daniel Rawson. To save him, she would be ready to lie and prevaricate until her tongue turned black. Her husband could see that he was wasting his time. Doffing his hat, he removed his cloak and tossed it over his arm. He shrugged his shoulders apologetically.
'Excuse me, Berenice,' he said with an appeasing smile. 'I think that I was misinformed. My behaviour was boorish.'
'It was unforgivable, Armand.'
'I will inflict myself on you no longer.'
'Thank you.'
Swinging on his heel, he went out of the room. Berenice closed the door gratefully, turned the key in the lock then put her back against the timber and emitted a sigh of relief. They had survived. Daniel had escaped and she had withstood her interrogation without a tremor. She and her lover would meet elsewhere next time.
Her sense of triumph was premature. Armand Salignac was a resolute man. Having failed to wrest a confession out of her, he sought the truth from another source. Discarding his hat and cloak, he went downstairs to the steward's quarte
rs. Celestine, his wife's pretty maid, was cowering in a corner as she was being questioned by Gaston, the steward, a tall, thin, sharp-featured man of middle years.
'What has the creature told you?' demanded the newcomer.
'Very little,' said the steward.
'Has she admitted that someone was here this evening?' When the other man shook his head, Armand Salignac rounded on the girl with his eyes blazing. 'You'll tell me everything, Celestine, do you understand — every single thing!'
'There's nothing to tell,' she bleated.
'How dare you lie to me!' he roared. Turning to the steward, he snapped his fingers. 'Strip her naked and whip her until she talks.'
'No!' screamed the girl, shrinking back and covering herself protectively with both arms. 'Please don't hurt me!'
'Then stop deceiving me. I'll not tolerate it. What was the name of the man who visited Madame Salignac this evening?'
'I do not know his name.'
'Ah!' he said with a smirk of grim satisfaction. 'So there was somebody here. We are making progress. Go on, Celestine,' he coaxed. 'Tell me the fellow's name.'
'I do not know it,' she said, tears streaming down her face.
'You must know it. You let him into this house. Letters would have passed between them and you would have carried them. Forget your loyalty to your mistress,' he told her. 'You have a greater loyalty to me. I want his name and you can either yield it up to me or, as God's my witness, I'll flay the skin off your back with my own hand.'
Celestine was trapped. She had been a willing accomplice in the betrayal of her master and he despised her for it. Her only hope of mercy lay in telling him what he wanted.
'Well?' he said quietly. 'What is the man's name?'
'Daniel Rawson,' she whispered.
CHAPTER TWO
Holywell was the favourite residence of John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough. Situated near St Albans in Hertfordshire, it was a place of refuge from the rigours of waging a war, a country home where he and his wife, Sarah, could enjoy the domestic life that his military duties so frequently interrupted. When they first took full possession of the estate, they had rebuilt the house and laid out the gardens and walks, planting fruit trees in abundance and creating floral colour everywhere. While he was abroad, Holywell was rarely far from of his mind and Marlborough was always sending gifts back to the house. As he and his guest dined that day, they had eaten off china shipped home by him years earlier from The Hague. They were now sharing a post-prandial drink.
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