Once inside, Darden sprang down nimbly from the horse and pulled Marguerite down with him. She fell into his arms in a tumble of skirts, but he allowed her no time for complaint. He set her onto her feet, grabbed her hand, and took off at a half run through the interior courtyard. Marguerite could hardly keep herself upright, much less prevent herself from stumbling.
But Darden, intent on his destination, didn’t notice.
She could hear a commotion behind them at the gate.
“Brax! I’m here!” Marguerite turned and shouted, but Darden pulled her along even faster. They were now inside Westminster, long abandoned by monarchs and now used by Parliament. He led her up and down vast staircases and through long hallways, his rapid and determined stride combining with the clicking of her heels into a cacophonous echo in the palace. Marguerite’s breathlessness became disorientation as they moved farther into the building.
“Stop,” she pleaded, pulling back on his hand with both of hers. “Honestly, Darden, if you must do away with me, make it quick and public. Don’t bury me in some secret palace room.”
He paused only long enough to look at her incredulously. “Don’t be ridiculous. Come on.”
And so the frantic pace resumed.
He stopped before a double set of doors, painted cream with the Hanover coat of arms emblazoned on it. Darden knocked in a series of short raps, and yet another door was opened by unseen hands. Was Marguerite to be entombed in here?
Darden pulled her in. The large paneled room, dominated by an enormous oval table surrounded by men in chairs, was brightly lit by chandeliers from above and dripping candlesticks set on the table and on other shelves and stands around the room. The tapers illuminated piles of rolled-up drawings, correspondence, and other papers. The room looked like it may have once served as a court of some kind, with partitioned-off tiered seating to either side of the room and an old, unused judge’s seat at the far end.
All activity stopped at their entrance. Had they interrupted some kind of state meeting?
“Hastings!” exclaimed a familiar, authoritative voice. “Why in the world did you bring her here? Have you gone raving mad?”
“Not at all, my lord. The lady needed protection, and I decided the Queen’s Chamber inside Westminster was the most secure location from her enemies in London.”
“I see.” It was Mr. Fox, now standing and appraising Marguerite and Darden with frank disapproval.
But the foreign secretary had no time to chastise anyone or seek a full explanation, for Brax Selwyn entered, casually waving a pistol. “And what have we here? Marguerite, my sweet, you know I would never let you be trapped by the ever-lackluster Darden Hastings. But I admit to being a bit confused about the gentlemen he has surrounded himself with.”
Brax eyed the room lazily. “Sirs, was there a meeting you neglected to inform me about?”
Darden took a step toward Brax. “The only neglect has been committed by you, to your own duty and honor, Selwyn.”
Brax lowered the pistol. “Not true, Hastings. I’ve always been acutely aware of my duty to my own honor. And I fear that my honor has been impugned this very day. For example, your kidnapping of my lady love is in itself enough to call you out for. Although you seem to lack a pistol.”
“I don’t need one to handle the likes of you, you beetle-headed churl.”
“Really, Hastings, you’ve no manners at all. No wonder Mrs. Ashby prefers my more refined company to yours.”
Darden didn’t reply, clamping his lips tight and glaring at the other man.
“After all,” Brax continued, “when the British government suspected there was a spy in their midst—you—it was someone with skill and cunning—me—whom they chose to help expose you. Although you somehow seem to have walked directly into your enemy’s camp.”
Darden found his voice again. “You’re as thick as you are vainglorious. You—”
Charles Grey stood up from his seat across the table from Fox. His chair scraped noisily on the herringboned wood floor, silencing Darden in midsentence.
Grey spoke to Brax as though addressing an errant schoolboy.
“Lieutenant Selwyn, your behavior is disgraceful and I advise you to keep silent before you reveal things you shouldn’t.”
“Sir, I’m afraid I’m a bit confused. Don’t you find it at all disconcerting that your spy Darden has just dashed in here with the waxworker, who has served us so bravely? How does this make me disgraceful? Especially since I always try to be exceedingly graceful.”
“Perdóneme,” interrupted a man near the front of the table. “Could someone please tell me who all of these intruders are?”
In the commotion, Marguerite hadn’t noticed him. He was dressed in a strange military uniform and possessed a florid complexion over a wide, flat face.
“Apologies, Your Excellency,” said Fox. “Captain Hastings and Lieutenant Selwyn, along with Mrs. Ashby here, were instrumental in helping us with the wax figure of Ferdinand, which was unfortunately lost. They’re here because”—he turned to the trio near the door—”Why, exactly, is it that you’re here?”
“I’m here to protect Mrs. Ashby from Captain Hastings. I believe he brought her here by mistake while en route to dispose of the precious lady. He’s yours to arrest, my lord, and I will take Mrs. Ashby away for continued protection.” Brax reached for Marguerite with one arm while the other still held a pistol, but Darden stepped in front of her and blocked him.
“You won’t touch her, ever again,” he growled.
“And I won’t let you harm her, Hastings. You may have once been my friend, but I’ll shoot you, and you know it.”
“I’ll break your neck first.” And with the rapid movement he’d used not an hour ago on Marguerite’s wrist, Darden shook Brax’s wrist and forced him to release the gun. It clattered to the floor.
Fox calmly walked over and picked it up, inspecting it in his open palm as though it were a fine piece of jewelry.
“Interesting,” he said as he walked just as calmly back to the table and laid the weapon on a stack of papers. “And now, gentlemen, since there are no longer any armaments available to you, perhaps you would be so kind as to let us resume our meeting. Lieutenant Selwyn, perhaps you would care to come by Admiralty House in the morning so Lord Grey and I can address your, er, future, with you.”
“My lord, what is there to discuss? I’ve done everything you wished in order to secure the promotion you promised, in fact guaranteed, would be mine for completion of the wax scheme. Yet here I find you seemingly taking sides with the captain.”
“It wasn’t a promise, actually, more of an … incentive … to have you do as we wished.”
“And I did as you wished. I made sure that wax figure was made and loaded aboard the ship and I spied on Hastings for you. At great peril to myself. Presumably I have met all the requirements necessary for my captaincy. Which reminds me, I do find it rather distasteful that Hastings was promoted ahead of me.” He wrinkled his nose as though the very idea smelled putrid.
Fox remained impassive. “Lieutenant, traitors are not promoted in His Majesty’s kingdom. And communicating secret government activities, even if they are fictitious, does constitute treason.”
“What do you mean by ‘fictitious,’ my lord?” For the first time since she had known him, Marguerite heard uncertainty in Brax’s voice.
She cut in, her hands held out helplessly toward Darden. “I don’t understand this. I thought you—Mr. Fox told me that you were the one—”
Fox patted the top of a chair. “My dear, I can explain. Please, sit down here next to me. Lord Godoy probably deserves a proper explanation of what happened, as well.”
Marguerite sat in the chair Fox proffered. Darden remained standing, his eyes fixed on Brax.
The flat-faced man nodded. “Sí, an explanation of tonight’s events would be helpful. I assume most ministry meetings are not interrupted by pistol-carrying madmen?”
Fox coughed.
“No, of course not, my lord. May I present to you Mrs. Marguerite Ashby, a waxworker of some repute and the protégé of Madame Tussaud?”
The man’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Ah, I have heard of Madame Tussaud. She escaped French revolucionarios.”
“Mrs. Ashby, you have the distinction of meeting Manuel de Godoy, the Duke of Alcudia and the prime minister of Spain. He is more commonly recognized as the Prince of Peace, since he was instrumental in negotiating the Treaty of Amiens among other European agreements. And indeed, we hope to have peace with him again.”
Marguerite stood and curtsied as deeply as she could before resuming her seat. Godoy smiled his pleasure at her mark of respect. She looked backward at Brax, whose face was inscrutable.
What could he possibly be thinking at this moment?
“And also here are Lord Spencer, Lord Erskine, and Mr. Windham. Lord Grey you know. And of course you are well acquainted with Captain Hastings.” Marguerite nodded politely at each man in turn, with barely a glance back at Darden.
“Lieutenant Selwyn you perhaps thought you knew, but there is much about him that has been hidden from view.”
The foreign secretary then gave details of an incredible story.
In the previous year, Pitt had joined the country into a coalition with Austria, Russia, Sweden, and some German states, in an effort to repulse Napoleon’s grand desire to dominate Europe. Since then, Napoleon’s territorial cravings had resulted in his establishing the Kingdom of Italy and placing his stepson, Eugène de Beauharnais, in charge as viceroy of that country. Bonaparte had also annexed the Kingdom of Naples and appointed his brother Joseph viceroy.
“As you can see, there will be a Bonaparte on every European throne if he is not stopped,” Fox said.
“But we have an advantage of which Napoleon is not aware: there is a serious rift inside the Spanish monarchy, between King Charles IV and his son, Ferdinand. We suspected this was coming, since Napoleon always plays false with his supposed allies. He sold the Americans the Louisiana territory after promising to hold it for Spain, and now the Spaniards have been further demoralized by their crushing defeat at Trafalgar. In due course, Boney will undoubtedly invade them and pluck the country off for himself. And then there will be another Bonaparte on another throne on the Continent.
“We were approached through correspondence by the Duke of Alcudia about his desire to leave their French alliance and join us. Or, perhaps, to enter a state of neutrality. Obviously, these negotiations had to be conducted in the utmost secrecy, since they may involve an overthrow of Spain’s king.”
“Of course.” Marguerite was barely following what Fox was saying. How could Darden and Brax have anything to do with this?
“It was our concern that a turncoat is getting information to France about our activities.”
Marguerite sat pole straight in her chair. The story unfolding before her was too confusing to completely understand.
Who was friend in this room, and who was foe?
Fox said that Darden had been performing tasks of a confidential nature for Pitt for years, having been brought to the prime minister’s attention by Nelson. Before his untimely death, Pitt was considering Darden for a posting inside the government because of his good work and unflagging loyalty. When the new government came into power, Darden was deemed too valuable to dismiss with the rest of Pitt’s adherents.
Especially since he’d brought to Grey his suspicions that Brax Selwyn was secretly negotiating with one of Napoleon’s operatives in England, promising valuable information in exchange for a pension, or perhaps even a generalship in the emperor’s army.
“I don’t understand,” Marguerite interrupted. “Why would Brax tell Darden he was doing this?”
Brax answered for himself. “This is a ridiculous lie. It’s Hastings who has been committing these treasonous acts, not I.”
But everyone in the room ignored him as Darden finally made eye contact with Marguerite. “I told you,” he said quietly. “The man was totally indiscreet. It required very little flattery to swell his ego to the point that he was dropping me liberal clues about his activities.”
Fox continued the story over Brax’s protests. Both Darden and Brax were recommended for the position of captain following Trafalgar. Grey concluded that since Brax was known for his great desire for promotion, that it could be used to draw him out. Grey wanted to make Brax’s promotion dependent upon a “special” assignment, one involving great intrigue against France.
Fox turned a raised eyebrow to Marguerite. “He seemed especially interested in the assignment knowing you would be involved.”
Marguerite could feel her face flushing but said nothing. She didn’t dare look Darden’s way.
“And what man would not be enamored of an assignment involving this woman?” Brax asked. “She is the sun and moon combined into one ethereal spirit. It hardly makes me a traitor.”
Fox ignored him. “So we developed a false scheme whereby we were seeking a wax figure of Ferdinand made to be seen in Valencia, to convince Napoleon that Ferdinand was still in the country while we were planning to bring the duke here to cement a treaty that would assure Spanish neutrality with England and our ally, Portugal.”
“False, my lord? How so? I did actually make the Ferdinand figure. I stowed it aboard the ship myself.”
“Of course you did. With Selwyn’s help. To make the deception as complete as possible, we wanted him to see for himself that the Ferdinand figure was on its way to its destination. We even had Hastings follow you to ensure everything went as planned. Then that idiot brother-in-law of yours nearly ruined everything.”
“Why, sir? If your deception was complete by that point, what difference did it make if Nathaniel stole the figure?”
“Because we promised it to Lord Godoy. He intended to make a goodwill present of it to Ferdinand, the heir apparent. We risked great insult to our friend the prime minister by not appearing with it as promised. But we are fortunate in my lord’s graciousness in understanding our little difficulty with it.”
Again Godoy smiled his gratification at what Marguerite thought was obsequious flattery.
Fox went on. “We figured Napoleon would realize soon enough that his agent was feeding him false information. We hoped it would cause Selwyn to do something bold and foolish to prove himself to Napoleon. We just didn’t realize it would be something to imperil you, Mrs. Ashby.
“A French courier was intercepted after leaving Selwyn’s quarters recently, and we learned that Bonaparte wanted his English agent to get rid of the waxworker as a test of loyalty. Captain Hastings went into a complete dither over it. Lord Grey and I didn’t think Selwyn meant to do you any real harm, given his obvious affection for you. We thought he might kidnap you long enough for Napoleon to think he had disposed of you. Ahem—we may have been wrong on that score.”
Marguerite turned to Darden. “So you were always trying to protect me?”
“Always.”
“And so all of this … conspiracy … was never intended to bring me harm.”
“Never.”
“I see.”
She sat down again while the men in the room waxed eloquent about their shrewd and clever planning. Amid the laughter and self-congratulation, two people remained silent—Marguerite and Darden.
Having finally heard enough, Marguerite stood and pushed her chair back. Its loud scrape against the floor quieted the rest of the room.
“Gentlemen, I would like to add my own conclusions to this most extraordinary story I’ve just heard.” She gazed into each man’s eyes, save Darden’s, as directly as she could.
“I am astonished, simply flabbergasted, that you were so willing to ill-use me in your political games. Had Captain Hastings here not seen fit to come to my rescue—which I thought I needed from him, not by him—I might well have become another casualty in the ongoing English-French hostilities.
“How dare you commandeer the life of an innocent Briti
sh subject without her consent, then sit here basking in your own self-reflected light over it? You’re no better than Napoleon and his army conscriptions. I am finished with you, sirs. Never call upon me or my exhibition again.”
Surprisingly, Fox rushed to conciliation.
“Mrs. Ashby, please, you must understand that what we did was for the good of the country. You were never in any real danger.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. But you are not a gentleman, Mr. Fox. Nor are you, Lord Grey. And you!” She turned toward Darden. “You are beneath contempt.”
“My lovely Marguerite, finally you’ve reached the correct conclusion about Hastings.” Brax’s carefree smile had returned.
“Do be quiet, Brax!” Marguerite’s voice was harsher than she had intended. The beginnings of a headache were darting around inside her left temple. She pressed two fingers against the pain, to no avail.
Grey blundered in where Fox had left off. “Mrs. Ashby, if you desire further compensation for your troubles, be assured that we have funds at our disposal to—”
Marguerite looked at him incredulously. “First you admit that you gambled with my life, and now you accuse me of blackmailing you? Truly, sir, my brain is afire with your inconsideration and heartlessness.”
The room went silent again. She shut her eyes, willing away the pain and trying to think.
What do I want from this situation, really? Mostly to be left alone. Forever. But what of Brax?
He’s a traitor. And doubly so, because he convinced me that Darden was the disloyal one.
Brax deserves death. Doesn’t he?
She really wasn’t sure.
She opened her eyes again.
“Lord Grey, you offer me recompense for my troubles. This is what I desire: Do not punish Lieutenant Selwyn with a traitor’s death. Be more lenient with him.”
Grey and Fox both shook their heads gravely, but it was Fox who spoke. “My apologies, Mrs. Ashby, but we offered you that concession once before, for your brother-in-law. We won’t do it again. Besides, Selwyn’s crimes were far more intentional than Nathaniel Ashby’s.”
A Royal Likeness Page 44
