My Bonny Light Horseman (26 page)

Armand stands by the door of the coach and I give him one of my best smiles as he hands me up and in. I am pleased that it is Jean-Paul whom I find seated within and not Jardineaux. He sits stony faced, staring straight ahead, as I slip in beside him and plant a good wet kiss on his cheek.

"
Bonjour,
Jean-Paul," I chirp. "I hope you are well." The coach begins to move forward.

He nods. "Good morning, Mademoiselle," he says, not looking at me or, for that matter, at all well. Something is preying on his mind and I know exactly what it is.

"Good. I, myself, had a
most
successful evening last night." Folding my hands in my lap, I put on a look of absolute schoolgirl innocence.

"So I gather. I saw him come out an hour ago," says Jean-Paul, tightly. "He was ... smiling."

"Ha!" I exult. "And well he should—after all, he spent the evening with an enchanting young woman."

"More than just the evening..."

I give him my elbow in the ribs. "Come on, Jean-Paul, be a big boy now. You know why I was brought here and you were complicit in it."

He takes a breath, holds it, and then slowly releases it. "Yes, I know."

"Very well, then, Agent Valdon," I lift my hand to my hat in mock salute and say, in an officious way, "Agent Bouvier, having returned from the field, reporting." I clear my throat. "Ahem. Aforementioned Agent entertained a certain Captain Hercule Belmonte in her quarters last night and gained the following information: He is an Artillery Officer, attached to the Second Battalion of Marshal Soult's IV Corps, and has been recalled to his unit. Because of that summons to duty, Hercule believes the Grand Army of the Republic will march soon. Probably toward Germany. His men are in a high state of readiness and morale is excellent. End of report." I give him another nudge. "I hope you found it valuable, you."

In speaking French, I have begun using the familiar
tu
for
you
when addressing Jean-Paul, rather than the more formal
vous,
which he continues to use in reference to me, however.
We shall see, lad.

I intentionally used the artillery captain's first name in a familiar way to give Jean-Paul a bit of a jab. Yes, it is evil of me to do so, but I do enjoy it so. While I know he is attracted to me, at the same time he is repulsed by what I have been doing. What he
thinks
I have been doing, that is.
Poor Jean-Paul. Poor boy...

Last night, as soon as Captain Hercule Belmonte and I had gotten to my room and began shedding clothes, I poured him a goblet of Mixture Number Two, knowing I had already gotten all the information I would get out of him. It wasn't much, I was thinking, but maybe it'll show Jardineaux that I am doing what I have been told to do. It wasn't hard pumping Belmonte for all he knew, for he had plainly drunk quite a bit at the theater bar and was quite willing to babble on about what a fine fellow he was.

After I got down to my underclothing and he was completely out of his, he lay down on my bed, raised his arms to me, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed completely out.

I pulled the covers up to his neck and tucked him in so he would not get cold, cleaned up the place a bit, put on my cloak and wrapped it about me, and plopped into bed with my back to him. I slept till the morning light crept in my window and then got up, washed and dressed, with him snoring blissfully away. Then I sat down next to him and nudged him into wakefulness.

"Come, my fine Captain, you must be up and away for the sun is high in the sky, and you must be off to your regiment."

He blinked and sense came back into his eyes. He shook his head and reached up for me.

"Jacqui ... come..."

"
Non, mon cher soldat brave,
no, not now. Never in the daytime. It is silly of me, but I fear that God might see me in the light and doom my poor soul to perdition for my naughtiness." I placed my fingertips on his lips to silence his protests. "Up with you now, my brave soldier."

I hand him his linen and fuss about getting him dressed.

"There are your trousers ... Here, let me help you with your shirt. There. Good. Hurry, now, your friends will be waiting for your account of your night of love with
la petite gamine Américaine.
Let me tie your tie ... There. What a fine young man you are, I do hate to see you go."

Yes, I am sure there will be many stories you will tell of your last glorious night here in Paris with a petite gamine, none of which, alas, will be true, but, ah well, of such stuff are personal legends made.

"But I was...," he protests, as I smooth out his coat.

"But, nothing ... you were truly magnificent! A veritable stallion!" I exclaim, batting the eyelashes and letting a blush rise in the cheeks. "I shall never forget it.
Quel amour! Quelle passion!
But now I must be off to Mass to atone for my sins." I tapped the top of my dresser and gave him the big eyes. "A little something for the collection plate, Hercule,
hmmm
?"

He nodded and fumbled for his billfold and soon a twenty-franc note appeared on my bureau.

I thanked him for it and got his confused self out my door in very little time after that. At the threshold I gave him a big kiss on his cheek, a quick pat on his rump, and sent him happily, I think, on his way. I am pleased, for I do like to keep my customers satisfied.

As the coach rumbles on, Jean-Paul takes a small notebook from his pocket and pencils in a few words concerning what I have told him about Captain Belmonte.

"A useless little bit of information, no?" I ask, peering at what he has written.

"No, all information is useful."

"So I have done my job, then?"

He sets his jaw. "Yes, you have done your ... job."

"Good," I say. "I have served my country
and
I made a tidy twenty francs last night as well."

He says nothing to this, but a knot of muscle begins working in his cheek. Although I like to play this cat-and-mouse game with him, I find it ... well ... touching that he cares for me. I know that, for my part, I like him very much. Very much, indeed.

"Come now, my lad, you must cheer up. It is a lovely day and I intend to enjoy it," I say, turning to him and slipping my hand beneath the lapel of his jacket till I can feel his ribs under my fingertips. "Are you ticklish, Jean-Paul? Let's see. Coochie-coo."

I give him a bit of a tickle and he, shocked, grabs my wrist. "Stop that!"

"I'll stop when I see a smile on the face of the stern secret agent Jean-Paul de Valdon." I purse my lips and blow a puff of my breath into his ear, and, in spite of himself, he smiles.

"That's much better," I say, and withdraw my hand from his chest. "Now tell me what we are going to do today. After lunch, of course. I want it to be something exciting."

He thinks for a moment and then says, "Do you like horse racing? They are running this afternoon at the Hippodrome. Would you like to go?"

I let out a whoop and commence bouncing up and down. "Oh, that would be just the thing! Yes, oh, yes, Jean-Paul, by all means, let us go!"

He leans his head out the window and to the coachman, "Armand.
L'hippodrome de Longchamp.
"

"
Oui,
M'sieur," says Armand and turns the carriage at the next intersection.

A racetrack! And I've got twenty francs burning a hole in my pocket! Hooray!

Chapter 27

Yes, I lost all my twenty francs at the track, but it was worth it, for I had a glorious time. The Hippodrome de Longchamp was all green and beautiful and it seemed the entire
beau monde
of Paris was there in all their fine carriages and fine clothes and fine women and fine men. I spent each race at the rail screaming at the poor horse I had bet on, progressing from French—
Allez, allez, Numéro Trois!
—to Standard English—
Oh, do hurry up, Number Three!
—before lapsing totally back into the Cockney of my youth—
Move yer arse, ye lazy bugger!

My cheering of the unfortunate Number Three resulted in nothing more than his finishing dead last, but Number Nine in the fifth race did win for me and when he crossed the finish line victorious, I leaped on Jean-Paul, threw my arms around his neck, and peppered his face with kisses.
I won, Jean-Paul! I won!
Some of the Quality standing nearby raised their cultured eyebrows at my behavior, but Jean-Paul lifted his own brows and gave them the Gallic shrug and announced that
elle est Américaine
and all around us nodded in silent understanding.
Ah, une sauvage.
But I did notice with some pleasure that his arm was tight about my waist.

The races after that chipped steadily away at my winnings, but still it was a wonderful time. There was wine and snacks and pageantry and spectacle—all the things I thrive on. Yes, all in all, I conclude, a fine, fine day.

On the carriage ride back, I fell asleep against Jean-Paul's shoulder, which I counted as good, if not very elegant—I do hope my mouth did not fall open as I slept, but it probably did, and in that case I further hope that I didn't drool on him. But yes, to the good, for I need my rest to gather every bit of strength I can muster. Because tonight, Marshal Hilaire de Groote, General of the Imperial Guard, comes to collect me.

The crowd is seated, the limelights are lit, the music swells, the curtain rises, and
Les Petites Gamines de Paris
dash out to whoops of laughter and applause and launch into the first routine of the evening.

The curtain comes down and it is intermission. A little powder and rouge here and there and we go out to the bar area.

De Groote is on me in an instant. He grabs my hand and kisses it. "The wolf will prowl tonight," he says, with a low chuckle. "And he is in fine form. At what time should he scratch at Little Red Riding Hood's door?"

"At eleven, Monsieur le Loup," I whisper and put my hand on his.

"Will you have something to drink, my dear?"

"Champagne, Monsieur,
s'il vous plaît,
" I simper.

"
Garçon!
" he barks out. "
Du champagne pour la belle jeune fille.
The best!"

That
la belle jeune fille
remark makes my blood run cold for a moment, but no one here makes the connection and I relax.

"
Bien
" He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. "You will not regret this,
ma petite pêche
"

The little peach dearly hopes the same.

There are other men, quite good-looking young men who look like they'd like to talk to me, but a glare from the old Goat that clearly says
This one's mine
sends them off to other girls.

He gives me a slight, very slight, bow and says, "Till tonight, then."

I give a modest curtsy, and he turns away to join some men clustered about the bar. He says something I cannot hear, and there are gales of laughter and glances my way.

I take a sip of my very excellent champagne and look about the room and am mildly surprised and pleased to see that Monsieur Jean-Paul de Valdon is in the room tonight.

I go up to him and take him out to the foyer, out of de Groote's sight.

"You have honored us with your presence tonight, Jean-Paul," I say. "Why?"

"Just keeping an eye on you is all," he says. I notice that he glances in de Groote's direction with a certain amount of ill-concealed loathing. He should watch that, I'm thinking. He is a good boy, but he is really not a very good spy.

"Everything is going as planned. He will arrive at my room at eleven o'clock tonight," I say, giving his arm a squeeze. "I will let him in and I shall get the information. But tell me—why does he fear his wife so?"

"He has the rank, but her family has the money. He gambles and is deep in debt."

"Ah. That is good to know. Here, have a sip of my champagne. It is very good, Jean-Paul."

He does not take the glass. He reddens and says, "How can you do what you are about to do?"

I hold up a finger and shake my head. "Forbidden subject, Jean-Paul. I do what I must to help my friends and my country. I'm sure you would do nothing less."

At that his face goes rigid and he says, "
Non.
I am a traitor to my own country."

"No, you are not. You are against Napoléon, not France herself. Keep that in your mind. Know that I would not keep company with a base traitor, one who sells out his country for money or position. Know that, Jean-Paul." I give him the big moist eyes and his arm an extra-hard squeeze on that one.

He says nothing for a moment and then..."For all that you are, I think you are a finer person than I."

I don't get to respond to that, for the music is starting up again. I take his face with a hand on either side and put a kiss upon his lips. "Do not forget that you are a good man, Jean-Paul de Valdon.
Adieu.
"

With that, I bound back to the stage, back to the dressing room, and we ready ourselves for the second set.

At the end of the evening, when we all bend over and flip up the skirts, I give my tail feathers an extra wiggle.
That is for you, Jean-Paul. I hope you enjoy it.

***

The performance ends, the costumes are shed, good nights are said, and I am back in my room, making preparations.

First, I take off my clothes and get into the white bustier I had bought back in London. It looks like a frilly piece of female undergarment with much lace and tiny ribbon bows and such, but I see it also as a quite formidable piece of female armor. Although it only covers from the top of my chest—well, middle of my chest, actually—down to my crotch, it is made of good, strong cloth and laces securely up the front. It will take a very determined male to peel this thing off.

Then I put my outer clothes back on. And wait.

A little after eleven, there is a scratching at the door. I open it and there stands a large man in the uniform of the Imperial Guard, wearing a bearskin hat and a wolf's mask.