A Royal Likeness

by Christine Trent

  When he was about a mile from shore, too far away for anyone there to see his lantern, he stopped rowing and looked up in the sky toward Calais, France.

  Where was the promised signal?

  He waited patiently in the boat as it sloshed rhythmically in the water. Was he doing the right thing? He was risking everything for this. His honor, his position. Was the recompense worth it? More importantly, what if Marguerite found out? That seemed worse than any penalty for treason.

  The twinkling of a light from above the Calais landscape caught his eye.

  The signal.

  A hot-air balloon had been arranged for this day and time to pick up his message. The occupant dangled a light down, indicating his presence.

  The man in the boat opened his bag and pulled several flags from it, using them with naval precision to convey his message to the balloon’s occupant. He hoped that between his own lantern and the slowly emerging sunlight, the balloon’s occupant would be able to read it. When he was finished, he extinguished his lamp, his signal to the other party that he was done. Moments later, the balloon did the same.

  His work was finished.

  The only questions that remained were what would Napoleon do with the information, and how would he be rewarded?

  Marguerite’s trepidation was palpable as she arrived at Admiralty House. Why this summons? She’d done her work and been paid. Did they plan to tell her of Darden’s capture?

  I don’t want to know. I just want to be left alone.

  A scowling lieutenant stiffly greeted her at the entrance and escorted her to Lord Howick’s office. The lieutenant stepped aside to permit her in and followed behind her to salute his superior before shutting the door on his way out. Fox was sprawled on a settee; Brax and Lord Grey stood to welcome her formally.

  Fox smiled. “Mrs. Ashby, a great delight to see you again.”

  “Thank you, sir. To what do I owe the great honor of being here? I presume you were pleased with the Ferdinand figure and that it is adequately doing its job?”

  “Not quite. Actually, that is why we wished to see you. Please sit down.”

  Marguerite sat in a tufted, leather chair while Fox rose and turned his back to splash some amber liquid into a glass from atop a nearby sideboard.

  He proffered the glass to her. “I believe, Mrs. Ashby, that this will be a brandy visit, not a tea visit.”

  Marguerite believed that wholeheartedly. She took a brief swallow, letting the powerful liquor melt her insides, which were nearly frozen with fear. Grey and Brax stood by mutely.

  “We’ve had a rather interesting occurrence. Something we weren’t expecting in our plan. We thought at first that someone arranged this intentionally, but it appears that you, Mrs. Ashby, may have some involvement.”

  “I, Mr. Fox? I’ve done nothing since helping Lieutenant Selwyn with the Ferdinand figure except work in my exhibition.” She looked to Brax for explanation, but he avoided her eyes.

  “Yes, I see. Nevertheless, we’ve apprehended a man, little more than a pirate, really, who temporarily captured our ship as she was heading down the Thames toward open water. Some of her crew were able to escape and reported to us right away, so he didn’t hold the ship more than a few hours. However, he had unwrapped the figure and presumably it scared him, for he threw it overboard and we were unable to recover it.

  “Odd fellow. Kept bellowing about his letter of marque. We have no record of one. But what’s even more interesting, Mrs. Ashby, is his name. Which he shares with you.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The man claims to be a Nathaniel Ashby. Do you know him?”

  Nathaniel! What was that slothful, preening, pompous son of Maude Ashby’s doing?

  “Unfortunately, I do. He’s my brother-in-law. Or rather, I suppose he was my relative, until I lost my husband in 1803.”

  “And did you know he had purchased a ship and was trying to terrorize both the English and French coasts? We now have reports that he attempted to take a French garrison on his own. I might applaud his bravery if he hadn’t been so abominably stupid about it.”

  Marguerite held her tongue, despite wanting to ask what Nathaniel had done. If he was involved, then of course it was done in a brainless way.

  “Because that idiot assaulted our ship and lost the figure, we wasted precious hours in reaching Ferdinand’s followers on the Spanish coast. They waited at the appointed time, but naturally our ship did not show. Suspecting some kind of trap, they left before we could arrive to tell them what had happened. Now our credibility is ruined and our secret alliance will more than likely crumble.

  “We’re holding him at Fleet Prison. We plan to charge him with treason. Or at least piracy. But I find it decidedly interesting that he is your relative by marriage. When was the last time you spoke to him?”

  “Just after my husband died. He and his mother decided that I should move to the family home with them, where they could supervise me.”

  “Supervise you? Weren’t you a mature widow?”

  “Yes, but it was possible that I was a mature widow carrying my husband’s son, and they wanted to make sure I wasn’t.”

  “Fascinating. And did you go live with them?”

  “Certainly not. I became Madame Tussaud’s apprentice shortly thereafter and went to stay with her in London, then Edinburgh, Glasgow, and Dublin.”

  “So you haven’t had contact with him since entering Tussaud’s service?”

  “No.”

  “Very well. We didn’t truly think anything was amiss with you, Mrs. Ashby, but you can understand that we needed to ask you about the man.”

  “Yes, sir. Tell me, what will happen to him now?”

  “He’ll rot in prison for a while until we can bring him to trial. Whether we charge him with treason or piracy makes no real difference, I suppose. The penalty is the same.”

  Marguerite shook off Brax’s offer to escort her home and hired a hackney to take her to the Fleet, stopping along the way to purchase a small basket of oranges from a fruit vendor.

  “Yes, madam, he’s being held here,” said the warden. “You can visit him, but I just took someone else down there to see him.”

  A guard led the way with a lantern through a maze of dark, dank, crumbling brick hallways. Foul water seemed to be oozing from every crack and crevice in the building. Marguerite put one of the oranges to her nose and took a deep breath of its sweet, citrus smell to try to block out the revolting smell of the prison. With her free hand, she lifted her skirts to keep them from trailing over the grimy, wet floors, which were far worse than any London street.

  “Here.” The guard stopped in front of one of many barred iron doors inset in the hallways. He unlocked it and threw the bolt back. The clang echoed in the hallway. He opened the door to let her in, saying, “I’ll be back for you in fifteen minutes, miss.”

  When she saw what was waiting for her in the cell, Marguerite momentarily considered turning on her heel before the door shut behind her.

  In the tiny cell with its straw pallet, chair, and a small wooden table with a lone candlestick atop it, stood Nathaniel Ashby. He had a scraggly beard struggling to fill in, a bruised eye, and the dried remains of blood below his lip. He was downright filthy. But it wasn’t Nathaniel’s appearance that made her want to flee the room.

  It was Maude Ashby.

  Marguerite hadn’t set eyes on either of them in several years, but her mother-in-law still set her teeth on edge. Maude was as regal and brittle as ever, but was dressed in widow’s weeds. Mottled spots of color rose in her cheeks at seeing Marguerite.

  “You!” was her former mother-in-law’s first word to her, spat on the ground with venom. “Well, if it isn’t the unsung heroine of Nelson’s great victory. How dare you come here! Did you come to see poor Nathaniel in his sorriest state? I’m sure you’re simply rapturous over my poor boy’s misfortune.”

  “That’s not true. Actually, Nathaniel nearly caused me great misfo
rtune.”

  “How ridiculous. You’ve had no contact with him whatsoever since you ran off like a servant girl in the face of my kind invitation to live with us. And didn’t you go traipsing off to Edinburgh?”

  Marguerite ignored the irrational barb. “I’ve been to many places, but now I reside in London. And apparently one doesn’t need to have contact with Nathaniel Ashby to be troubled by him.” She turned to the prisoner and held out the basket.

  “I’ve brought you some oranges. I thought you might like some fresh fruit.”

  Nathaniel took the basket and inhaled its scent. “Heavenly. Thank you, Marguerite. I knew you’d eventually come to me. I just didn’t plan for these deplorable circumstances. But now that you’re here—”

  “Nathaniel, did you know what was on that ship when you took it?”

  “What? No. I was merely patrolling the shores, saw some suspicious activities, and decided to investigate. Two people were loading a suspicious-looking package aboard, and I thought they might be smugglers.”

  “Patrolling the shores? Were you invested with that responsibility?”

  “No. At least, not yet. I was waiting for my letter of marque to come through.”

  Maude screeched her way into the conversation. “Son, what did I tell you about that? That you’d come to no good. I lost your brother thanks to his marriage with this strumpet, and I’m not even out of grieving over the loss of your father to his weak heart. Now what will happen to you?”

  “Mother, I tried to explain to them that it was a mistake. They just didn’t listen to me.”

  “Of course they didn’t listen to you. Sailing about like a pirate. Whatever is wrong with you? You’re lucky they didn’t shoot you outright. Your conduct is probably treasonous. Do you realize what the punishment is for treason?” Maude’s voice was turning into a wail. “What would your father say if he was here right now? What will Society think?”

  “Mother Ashby,” Marguerite began. “I hardly think Society’s opinion is of first priority.”

  Maude turned her rage on Marguerite. “And do you think you’re of some significance in this debate? Had you done as I asked after Nicholas died and moved into Ash House, you and Nathaniel probably would have married and then he wouldn’t have gone off on this … this … adventure.”

  So I’ve gone from detested daughter-in-law to the reason for all of her other son’s problems.

  Marguerite turned her attention back to Nathaniel. “I believe I can help you, but you must listen to me very carefully.”

  “Oh, certainly, Nathaniel, I can help.” Maude was mimicking her now. “I am the sorriest excuse for a relative ever, but I will now wave my hand and rescue you from the terrible trouble you’re in.”

  Maude’s behavior was too much, even for Nathaniel. “Mother, do shut up and let Marguerite speak.”

  Her indolent son’s irritated outburst stunned Maude into silence. Marguerite was certain only seconds were available before Maude’s storm clouds gathered again, so she’d best speak hurriedly.

  “Nathaniel, I was one of the people ’smuggling’ the package on board. When you saw that it was a wax figure, didn’t it occur to you that there are very few waxworkers in England?”

  “No, I just thought it was gruesome. Since it wasn’t of any value, I had it tossed overboard.”

  “But it was of great value to the British government in the war effort. That’s why you’re in such a bad predicament.”

  “How could a wax figure have any importance? And are you saying that you’ve been serving as some kind of spy since Trafalgar?” Nathaniel’s voice was full of admiration.

  “I can’t say. But I may be able to speak to certain officials on your behalf to convince them that you were acting quite unintentionally when you stole the figure from them.”

  “Oh yes, I always have little knowledge of what I’m going to do next when I’m on my ship.”

  And Marguerite knew that was probably true enough.

  Maude’s face was a mixture of confused emotions. Marguerite could understand it. A woman Maude disliked more than most might hold the key to her son’s freedom.

  Through tightly clenched teeth, Maude said, “I suppose we must thank you for your generosity. If you truly think you can bring influence to bear in getting my son released.”

  “I will do my best. But hear me, Nathaniel. You must make me two promises if I’m to do this for you.”

  “Anything. Name it.”

  “First, you must give up whatever it is you’re doing on the seas. It’s dangerous and foolhardy.”

  “Yes, yes, I was ready to give it up anyway.”

  “And second, you must promise never to contact me in any way. As of this moment, I hereby repudiate the Ashby family entirely. I don’t want to know anything about any of you ever again. The best part of you died with Nicholas.”

  Nathaniel’s face fell. He spread his hands in supplication and one of the oranges tumbled out of the basket and onto the soiled, stone-paved floor. “But, Marguerite, surely you don’t mean that. We’re kin. I had always hoped we might … reconcile to one another and be friends. Very good friends.”

  Without looking at her, Marguerite knew Maude was probably ready to thrash her son.

  I’ll save you the trouble, madam.

  “Unfortunately, I cannot risk my work and my reputation by association with your tainted past. I’ll take my leave now. And remember, do not ever attempt to write or see me ever again.”

  Thankful that the guard had reappeared, Marguerite followed him without looking back at whatever odious expression Maude Ashby might be wearing. She headed back once more for Admiralty House to plead Nathaniel’s case before Lord Grey and Mr. Fox.

  The next afternoon, Brax reported to Marguerite that Nathaniel had been released that morning, upon the government’s reconsideration of his actions.

  In a strange way, Marguerite was pleased to have done Nathaniel this service. He was just a pitiful idiot, after all, without the wherewithal to plan out an act of treason. And as a result she could wipe the Ashbys from her mind forever.

  The man read the coded message in dismay. He’d worked so hard to get to this point, and everything was going awry.

  Napoleon was furious with him. The wax figure that he’d signaled was headed for Valencia had never been seen, and Ferdinand was still in Madrid. The emperor demanded to know whether his agent in England was a complete imbécile. Did he or did he not know what the English were doing?

  I was already irritated by Spain’s apparent duplicity and planned to deal with them appropriately. My concern is that I must also attend to you.

  The thought of being “attended to” by Napoleon Bonaparte was enough to send a small prickle of alarm up the man’s spine. He returned to the letter.

  Even more disturbing to me are sightings of British diplomats in Naples. Reports come to me that they have been seen near the Palace of Caserta, but no meeting has been requested with my brother Joseph. How are the British creeping about my kingdom without making themselves known?

  More importantly, why didn’t you know about it and report it to me?

  Then I must ask myself, was this a feint by the British? Is this another purported wax figure wandering about in an attempt to distract me from more important war matters?

  I grow weary of your unreliable reports. I am also exasperated by this waxworker, whom you continue to assure me is an innocent in these schemes. I do not think so.

  But I offer you an opportunity to redeem yourself and solve several problems for me. So that I am no longer annoyed by these person / wax figure sightings, you are to take care of this waxworker. It doesn’t matter to me what you do with her, but make sure I don’t have to deal with the results of her efforts again.

  The man crumpled the note and threw it in the fireplace. This had become a decidedly messy business. He hadn’t bargained for this. But obey he must.

  31

  Nathaniel was once again lodged at Ash Hous
e, a new man. He had officially disbanded his crew, although most of them had wandered off anyway when their captain was arrested. The ship he would sell off as soon as possible. Now clean-shaven and in new clothes, with most of his interrogation injuries healed, he was ready to face life afresh.

  He applied more of his cologne, a blend of rosemary and bergamot. They said Napoleon was using fragrance by the gallon. He sniffed about himself appreciatively.

  If it was good enough for Bonaparte, surely it was enough for Nathaniel Ashby.

  He clipped on his timepiece and made one final check in the mirror.

  “You’re a handsome devil, Ashby. How can she resist?” he asked himself aloud.

  Ignoring his mother’s questions as to where he was headed, Nathaniel left Ash House for the mews to saddle a horse and be on to his destination.

  Or rather, his destiny.

  For surely Marguerite said all that nonsense about never contacting her again as a feint for his mother, whose irrational hatred of her daughter-in-law was really quite incredible. No, such self-sacrific could only mean that Marguerite was trying to secretly save him for herself without Mother knowing.

  Once he realized that Marguerite was in London, it was a simple matter to find out where the newest waxworks location was. What a sweet irony that she was living so close to his home while he was out proving himself on the high seas.

  He patted the small bundle tied around his waist. It held his journal of thoughts and plans, which he’d thankfully been able to save when the navy had shown such poor taste in yanking him from his ship. He preferred not to think about his subsequent questioning, which was also of dubious propriety.

  But that was all behind him. Marguerite’s devotion would be trebled when she read his profound ruminations. Any doubts she might have had about his worthiness as compared to Nicholas would be swept away like the tide.