Supervising Sally (14 page)

‘Have you met him with a Madame Antoine?'

‘I've seen him with several women, and their husbands, but we haven't been introduced.'

Zachary was thoughtful. Should he confide in Phoebe? But she was a sensible girl.

‘Lord Drayton is concerned at the state of his sister's marriage,' he said abruptly. ‘We have heard Sir William has been paying too much attention to Madame Antoine, who is a young widow, while his sister cares for little but her
building plans. He suspects Sir William wants a divorce, and has tried to implicate his wife and the architect. He has not been well lately, and Beatrice fears the scandal in the family, if there is a divorce, will kill him. Will you tell me if you discover any suspicious circumstances?'

‘I won't spy on Sir William!' Phoebe said. ‘How dare you ask me to do such a thing? He is my employer, but even if he were not I think spying in such a way is despicable!'

‘I'm not asking you to act the spy! You misunderstood me. All I ask you to do is tell me if the two of them are spending time together. If there is anything to worry about I will take care of it.'

‘You mean you will interfere, and in the process probably lose me my position. No, my lord, you can do your own spying. I will not help you!'

She dug her heel into the mare's flank and cantered after the group of young people. Zachary cursed himself for his carelessness. Beatrice had begged him to try and discover the true state of affairs, and he had thought Phoebe might be in a position to help, but he had misjudged her badly. Well, he would have to rely on his own observations. He went to many of the parties which Sir William might be expected to attend, and he would watch him and the lady they suspected of engaging Sir William's affections.

Phoebe tossed restlessly. She had come to bed hours ago, but could not sleep. Did Sally's father really intend to divorce her mother? She knew little about it, and the topic was discussed, if at all in her presence by her mother's Buxton friends, in hushed, disapproving tones, though Phoebe had detected an air of excitement in the gossip. She had understood divorce was an expensive and difficult process,
involving Acts of Parliament, but she did not think it was easy. She had heard of a couple of cases, and no one could have avoided the gossip when, five or six years ago, Lady Charlotte Wellesley had eloped with Lord Paget. They were both well known and the affair had caused much comment. She was sister-in-law to the great soldier, Wellington, created a Duke less than a year since, and he was the eldest son and heir of Lord Uxbridge. Phoebe thought most men asked for divorce when the ladies concerned had run away with their lovers. Lady Benton had not done so. And surely she would not take her architect as a lover, so what possible grounds might Sir William have? Of course, Napoleon had divorced Josephine in order to marry Marie Louise, but that was in France, where he had been ruler and probably able to arrange matters how he wished.

If it happened, would Lady Benton be dependent on Mr Cowper? Would her dowry be returned to her? Would Sir William have to make her an allowance? Phoebe turned the pillow, trying to find a cool spot. She did not know the answers, and told herself it had nothing to do with her anyway. She tried to rid her mind of the questions, only to find herself thinking of the earl. Would he be so offended by her attitude that he would refuse to acknowledge her? His responsibility for Sally had ended when he delivered her to her father. They would meet only at parties, and he did not appear to attend many of those. He was probably too busy with whatever diplomatic work he was involved in. Would she have an opportunity to dance with him, or would he ignore her if they met? Though gratified her hand had been in such demand her dance card had been full, she would have abandoned every partner if only she could have danced with him.

She sat up and punched the pillow angrily. Her indignation surfaced again. Whatever Sir William intended, she was
determined she would not act the spy at the behest of the Earl of Wrekin. How dared he suggest it to her!

Zachary was exceptionally busy during the next few days, and when he did have an hour or two to spare did not feel inclined to spend them at any of the parties or balls to which he had been invited. Instead, he took his horse and made solitary rides into the countryside. He avoided the fashionable
parc
, for he did not feel at all sociable. He was also, he admitted, reluctant to meet Phoebe again so soon. He had been a fool to try and involve her, and if he had reflected for longer he would never have spoken to her about his suspicions. It was no wonder she had been disgusted with him. Perhaps, if he avoided meetings for a while, she would have forgotten, or at least forgiven him. He did not explore his motives for wanting her to resume the friendly accommodation they had reached, after his first hostility towards her. It was true he still thought she was too young to be given the responsibility of controlling Sally, but he had to admit that so far she had managed the girl well, probably better than an older woman whom Sally would undoubtedly resent.

He also wished to avoid Lady Mickleton, who had arrived in Brussels a few days before and sent him an urgent invitation to dine with her. She had clearly not accepted that he had no further interest in her. He would refuse all her invitations, but could scarcely help meeting her at balls and other social occasions. At least there, she would not be able to make the kind of scene she was prone to in private.

He rode out early one morning, just after dawn, his thoughts on a letter he had received from Beatrice the previous day. She told him she had heard from Clara in the middle of February. While still absorbed in her building
plans, Clara had mentioned that her architect had dismissed his nephew and assistant, though he would not tell her why. She was annoyed because he needed someone to do the simpler jobs, and while he had to do them himself her plans were delayed. Zachary wondered whether the young man would have the temerity to come to Brussels in search of Sally, and knew he would have to seek out Phoebe to warn her.

Sally had not appeared unduly cast down by the foiling of her attempted elopement, and he was certain the pair had been given no opportunity at the time to make plans to meet again. But there were letters, though he shrank from the notion of advising Phoebe to monitor Sally's correspondence. He grinned ruefully. She would regard it as another form of spying and undoubtedly refuse to do it.

Beatrice had gone on to ask how the girls were enjoying Brussels. Mrs Kingston, she reported, was well but was missing Phoebe, and she had invited the lady to stay with her for a few days. This Mrs Kingston felt unable to do at the moment, as she did not feel it right to leave Jane while her husband was away. Had Zachary met Mr Bradshaw in Brussels? She had found his encroaching ways in London aggravating, and trusted her brother had been able to dispense with his company.

Zachary grinned again. As he attended so few social occasions, and it seemed as though the Bradshaws were only invited to the largest, least select affairs, he had only seen them in passing, nodding acknowledgement, but able to avoid conversation. He hoped Phoebe was not being bothered by them, but he knew that if they had the slightest opportunity they would presume on their relationship. Phoebe was able to move in the best circles, thanks to Sir William, and they would doubtless expect her to be able to introduce them to people they might otherwise never meet.

He must, he told himself firmly, stop worrying about her. She was a competent young woman, perfectly capable of managing her own life. She might even meet some suitable man here in Brussels, one who would ignore her lack of fortune, and her deplorable relatives, and marry her.

His hands tightened on the reins and his horse, taking it as a signal, began to gallop. He gave the animal its head for a while until the beast began to tire, then he pulled it to a walk and turned back towards the town. He had work to do.

He had lodgings a little way from the embassy, and returned there for breakfast, and to change from his riding clothes. Then he walked towards the embassy, forcing himself to forget Phoebe and Sally and their concerns, and concentrate on the work he had to do.

There were more people about than normal in the ground-floor rooms, milling about and chattering. The excitement in the air was palpable. One of his colleagues saw him and walked across.

‘Have you heard?'

‘Heard what? What's happened?'

‘The Emperor, Bonaparte, has escaped from Elba and landed in the south of France a week ago. No one knows for sure where he is, but they say he is marching towards Paris.'

Z
ACHARY WAS WALKING back to his lodgings late that afternoon when he was approached by the Bradshaw sisters. They were clinging to one another, and the word that came into his mind was fluttering. Although they were in their mid-twenties, and looked it, they insisted on dressing like debutantes. This afternoon, though, it seemed they had dressed with less care than usual. Hermione's hat was askew, and her hair was escaping from beneath it in untidy strands. Dorothy, he noticed, was wearing gloves of different colours.

‘Oh, my lord! We were coming to find you, hoping you would be at the embassy,' Hermione said, catching her breath and almost choking on the words.

‘Is anything the matter?' he demanded, immediately thinking something had happened to Phoebe, and these women were, if not related, connected to her. Though why might they think he would be concerned?

‘Napoleon! That monster! He's coming here!' Dorothy stammered.

‘Of course he isn't,' he tried to reassure her.

‘But they are all saying he's escaped from that island, and is back in France. What shall we do?'

It was a question they had been asking themselves all day
long at the embassy. ‘We don't know where he is, but he will soon be captured again. The French people have had enough of war. There is no need to do anything.'

‘We want to go home.' It was clear they were not listening to his reassurances, and he had heard of a few families who were already packing their bags and leaving Brussels. At the embassy they all thought this an unnecessary and premature reaction, and Zachary was aware that any encouragement to flee might start a general panic. This would, while not a disaster, perhaps convince the French that Napoleon was still to be feared.

‘What does your brother say? You should depend on him. Does he wish to return to England?'

Hermione gulped. ‘He's in Ghent,' she almost sobbed. ‘He went there yesterday, to see this man Bauwens again. He said he'd stay there for a few days because the man is somehow being difficult. Oh, my lord, what shall we do? Should we send for him? Or ought we to pack and go there? It's halfway to Ostend, we could be on our way home.'

Zachary tried to be patient. ‘The news will have reached him by now, I am sure, and if he is concerned he will certainly come back here to you. If you try to go to him you might miss him on the road. It would be best if you waited here until he tells you what to do.'

Dorothy smiled tremulously and clasped his hand. ‘Oh, my lord, I knew we were right to come and talk to you. And we really don't want to have to leave, we are having such an interesting time here.'

He extricated himself with some difficulty from her convulsive grasp. ‘I suggest you forget all about Napoleon. He'll soon be back on Elba, or in an even more secure place. Now, ladies, I must bid you farewell, I have work to do.'

Hermione was looking far more cheerful. ‘If that is what you advise, then we will certainly do so,' she said, simpering.

‘Will you be going to the Atkins ball tonight? I think we might go there, Dorothy, as his lordship reassures us there is no danger.'

‘I will have to see how my work goes,' he said hurriedly. He had no intention of being inveigled into asking either of them to dance. He had found, on an earlier occasion, when out of duty he had done so, that he had to ask both of them, and as well as being poor dancers who forgot the steps and confused everyone else in the sets, they had no sensible conversation.

Why, he pondered, as he walked away from them, did he expect intelligent conversation during a dance? Most girls he favoured with invitations had little to say apart from gossiping about their friends and others at the ball, or the weather, or what they had been doing to amuse themselves. Phoebe didn't. She made intelligent remarks.

He wondered how she and Sally were reacting to the news of Napoleon's escape. They would not be in a panic as the Bradshaws were, he was convinced, but would Sir William seize the opportunity of sending them back home? He had been forced to accept their presence, but this might provide a perfect excuse to be rid of them. He had no further responsibility for them, but if they were being sent back to England, would Sir William be able to find suitable travelling companions, or a reliable escort for them? He turned his footsteps towards Sir William's house. It would do no harm to go and ask.

Phoebe and Sally were eager for reliable news. Rumours of Napoleon's escape, his recapture, his vanishing, had been circulating all day in Brussels, and they had heard all sorts of versions from callers and the servants, who had been out either shopping or simply gossiping with other servants.

Sir William, when he came back to the house in the afternoon, had been abstracted, but when Sally had asked him if he knew any details, he frowned and shook his head.

‘It won't affect us,' he told them, and went off to his study, saying he had letters to write.

‘So he won't try to send us home,' Sally said.

‘Did you think he might?'

‘Yes, but he would have to come with us, and he doesn't want to do that while Madame Antoine is here. I dare say if she decided to flee to England he would want to go.'

‘She isn't English,' Phoebe said, recalling what the earl had asked her to do. ‘Why would she want to flee there?'

Sally grinned at her. ‘You ought to listen to the servants,' she said. ‘Jeanette told me her father was English, and she was born there. Her mother was Belgian, but fled to England with her parents when the French captured Brussels. She'll have relatives there.'

They ought not to be gossiping, Phoebe thought, but was reminded of the suggestion of the earl's that she spy for him. Did he know this? Angrily she told herself it was neither her nor his business, and tried to distract herself with a book. It was no use. Sally kept wandering to the window, watching people in the street, though what she could discover from that Phoebe did not know.

Sally did, however, see the earl's approach.

‘Now we'll know what's really happening,' she said with satisfaction, and went to sit down by the fire and pick up the copy of
La Belle Assemblée
she had been looking at. ‘The Earl of Wrekin is coming in.'

Phoebe suddenly felt hot. They had not seen him for several days, and she had been feeling neglected, though she told herself she had no cause for it. When they attended balls she was never short of partners, though she was always hoping he would be there and would ask her to dance.

Jeanette, without coming to ask if they were at home to visitors, showed him straight into the drawing-room. Sally began to ask questions before he had taken a seat.

‘Jeanette, please bring tea, and some of that cake Cook made this morning,' Phoebe said. ‘Sally, have patience. His lordship will tell us why he is here in a minute.'

Sally looked at her, a disgusted expression on her face. ‘Phoebe, you want to hear the news as much as I do.'

The earl laughed. ‘And so does every person in Brussels. I can only tell you what I have heard, that Napoleon is landed in the south of France. But you need not be concerned. He will soon be recaptured.'

‘Then we don't have to go home?'

‘Why should you? It's a long way from the Mediterranean to here. Does your father wish you to go?'

‘No, he says there is no danger, nothing to fear. But Henry – that is, Sir Henry ffoulkes, he's one of the cavalry officers stationed here with the army – says most of the army was dispersed after Toulouse, after Napoleon abdicated a year ago. There is just a small army here.'

‘That's true. Some of our best troops were sent to America, or the Indies, and many of the men were discharged. But Bonaparte has no army at all.'

‘The Duke was here in August, wasn't he?' Phoebe asked.

‘He surveyed the defences on his way to Paris to take up his ambassadorship there, yes. There is a line of defence between us and France. It was just a precaution, as some Frenchmen think they should still be in control of Flanders, and it is likely the people who are negotiating at the Congress in Vienna will not agree.'

‘So we can forget Napoleon.'

‘Indeed we can, and you may attend the ball this evening with no qualms. Miss Kingston, will you save me the supper dance?'

That evening, at the ball, there was little else talked about but Napoleon's escape. Phoebe was startled to discover there was considerable sympathy for him amongst the French who were living in Brussels.

‘He was good for France,' one lady told her. ‘What did the Bourbons ever do for the people?'

‘But the wars he started, the thousands of men who were killed, that would not have happened if he had not wanted to conquer other countries.'

‘He only fought the people who threatened him. He did many good things. The ordinary people are – how do you say it? – better off than they used to be. He stopped the excesses of the revolution. There is now good law in France.'

‘I don't understand it,' she told the earl later when they had danced and were eating supper. ‘Some of them sound as though they want him to become emperor again.'

‘It is mainly those people who are living here. The monarchists went back to Paris when Louis was restored to the throne. But there is no need to worry, he won't come here.'

‘I'm not concerned about that. Sally is friendly with some of the soldiers in the army stationed here, and surely, even if he could gather together some of his old supporters, our men would stop them. And the Belgians do not want to come under French rule again.'

‘How is Sally behaving?' he asked, and Phoebe thought he was trying to change the subject. Of course, working at the embassy as he did, he would be privy to information others did not have, but he might not be free to divulge it. What she had been hearing was mainly uninformed speculation.

‘She is not repining for Cowper,' she told him. ‘The attentions of the young men here, particularly the ones in scarlet coats, seem to have distracted her most successfully.'

He laughed. ‘And what about you? Are there any young men paying you attention, distracting you?'

Phoebe was startled. ‘I am not on the catch for a husband, my lord. I'm a mere companion, and attend social functions only because Lady Drayton insisted I kept a close watch on Sally.'

‘But surely you would like to be married, with your own home, and not have to return to the Bradshaws' house once Sally is settled?'

Phoebe shuddered. ‘I will not do that. I intend to find another position. Sir William, or Lady Drayton, will give me a character.'

Phoebe's next partner came to claim her, and she did not see the earl again. The Bradshaw sisters were present, but apart from stopping for a brief word, Phoebe was too much in demand to spend any time with them, even had she wished to. She had too much to think about, and had almost forgotten the day's rumours. The earl's remarks had discomposed her. Of course she would like to have a home of her own, surely all girls would, but she saw little prospect of it. Just because she was a good dancer, light on her feet, and unlikely to make a fool of herself by not knowing the movements, so that she was a popular partner, did not mean any of the young men who asked her to dance would even consider asking her to be their wife. She had no dowry, came from a modest, if decent background, unlike many of the men and girls here in Brussels, most of whom were wealthy and from aristocratic families.