Supervising Sally (17 page)

‘Well, you have it in your own hands to prevent his sons from inheriting,' Phoebe said, ‘so if they do you can only blame yourself. You could marry and produce sons of your own.'

Zachary continued to reassure everyone who asked that they were quite safe to remain in Brussels, but not everyone believed him. Lady Mickleton was one who did not.

‘You want to be rid of me, whatever you say,' she said, when they met at a ball.

‘If I did I would hardly be reassuring you it is safe to stay.'

‘That is just your trickery. But I know you don't want me, you have barely spoken to me since I arrived. You are too absorbed with that insipid little chit.'

‘With Sally Benton?' he asked, astonished.

‘Oh, don't try to pull the wool over my eyes. Not her, it's her little companion I mean. I wish you luck getting her into your bed. She looks a cold fish to me.'

‘I have no desire to get Miss Kingston into my bed!' he told her. He had rarely been so angry. ‘But I always knew you had a common mind.'

She looked as though she wished to hit him. ‘I am going home tomorrow. I do not intend to be caught here when Napoleon arrives.'

The population was changing with more rapidity than he and others at the embassy could keep track of. Many of the English had departed from Brussels, some, like his uncle, for the safer shores of England, others for towns further to the north, like Antwerp, or closer to the coast, like Ghent or
Bruges, from where they could, if necessary, flee to Ostend and a ship home. There were newcomers from Paris, people who had been enjoying the social life there instead of in Brussels. Many of these were French Royalists, too afraid of the former emperor to stay with King Louis.

With them they brought news and rumours, but they had no clear notion of Bonaparte's whereabouts, except he was somewhere between the Mediterranean coast and Paris. ‘I am not remaining to discover it,' more than one person said to Zachary.

Fortunately they had more reliable news at the embassy, and it was worrying. After some of the King's troops had changed sides at Lyon, many people were beginning to wonder about the rest of the support Bonaparte might still garner. The man clearly had some sort of aura that compelled people to support and obey him. Zachary could appreciate how, in the past, weary from the bloodshed and excesses of the revolution, the French would have welcomed a strong man who could restore order, and even, through his military conquests, give them back some pride in themselves. Did that also apply today? There were many unemployed, disaffected soldiers who might imagine his coming would give back to them employment and self-respect. And after being so thoroughly defeated by the Allies, did they smart and long for a chance of revenge?

Taking a break from his duties, he decided to invite Sally and Phoebe to ride with him, and soon they were trotting sedately in the
parc
, nodding to their acquaintances and stopping to chat with several.

‘I long for a fast gallop, not this tedious saunter,' Sally muttered to Phoebe, and then groaned. ‘Oh, no, look who's coming! We won't be able to escape them, they're heading straight for us.'

‘You can at least be polite,' Zachary told her, though his
own spirits had drooped when he saw the Bradshaw sisters, seated demurely in a barouche, being driven along towards them.

Their coachman, poked in the back by Dorothy's umbrella, halted so that his passengers could talk to the riders. Zachary inclined his head, raising his hat, while Phoebe greeted them and Sally, with an air of surprise, said she thought they had gone home to England.

‘Oh, no,' Hermione said, and giggled. ‘Dorothy has an admirer, so of course we don't wish to leave now.'

Zachary made appropriate remarks, and looked on appreciatively as Phoebe, without a blink, asked for more details. Sally, reprehensibly, had turned aside to hide her expression, and was staring fixedly across the
parc
.

When they were able to get away Phoebe sighed. ‘I was hoping, now Reginald is back from Ghent, they would go home. I couldn't see any reason for them to stay.'

‘I understood the Pottertons, their hosts, left some days ago?'

‘They have, and Reginald was able to move them to a hotel before all the people from Paris came.'

‘At least they haven't been urging us to take them in,' Sally said.

‘When did they do that? And why should they expect to be able to foist themselves on you?'

‘It was while Reginald was away,' Phoebe began to explain, but Sally cut in indignantly.

‘They expected us to share, so that they could have one of our rooms. I told them we hadn't enough space, and there would certainly not have been a room for their odious brother. He had the impertinence to tell me, the other evening, that I wore too many jewels for a chit my age. I could have hit him!'

Zachary had at times deplored Sally's lack of taste when,
on important occasions, she had loaded herself with, it seemed, all the jewels she possessed, but he had refrained from comment, and could understand her chagrin. He was aware that Phoebe had exercised a great deal of tact regarding Sally's wardrobe, for Beatrice had told him so in her letters, but he could hardly expect Phoebe to be successful in moderating every single aspect of Sally's attire.

When he had escorted them home he went back to his lodgings. He had been aware of the admiring glances Phoebe had attracted from riders and strollers in the
parc
, and discovered his own attitude towards her was changing.

She was sensible, competent, pretty and, so far as he could judge, even-tempered. She was not, however, he told himself severely, someone he wished to make his wife.

A few days later, Annie, without pausing to knock, rushed into the drawing-room where Phoebe was writing letters while Sally played idly on the pianoforte. The maid still had on her hat and clutched a shawl round her shoulders. The basket with the meat and vegetables she had been out to buy swung from her arm, and with a gasp she set it down on the floor.

‘Annie, what is it?' Phoebe demanded. It was unheard of for Annie, normally so calm and sensible, to behave in this fashion.

‘Miss Sally, Miss Phoebe,' Annie gasped, and clutched her hands to her bosom.

‘Annie, you've had a shock. Come and sit down and tell us what's happened. Have you been attacked?'

Sally left the pianoforte and came to push her maid into a chair. ‘Sit down, put your feet up on this stool, and take a deep breath,' she ordered. ‘The French Army isn't at the gates, is it?'

Annie had recovered a little, and she clutched Sally's hand convulsively. ‘Miss Sally, we must pack at once. We have to get out of here!'

‘Calm down, Annie. What have you heard?'

‘Oh, Miss Phoebe, it's all over the town! More soldiers have joined that wicked man, and he's marching to Paris. They'll murder us in our beds if we don't get back to England!'

‘Paris is a long way from here,' Phoebe said calmly. ‘I don't think we need be concerned for the moment. Let's wait until we have advice from Sir William or Lord Walton, and if they advise we move they will make suitable arrangements.'

‘But it may be too late!' Annie wailed.

‘Nonsense. What would you have us do, Annie? Set off to walk to Ostend, without money or passports?'

‘We'd hire a carriage, Miss Phoebe,' Annie said, offended. ‘I'm not daft enough to tell you to walk!'

‘Good. So we will wait for Sir William to tell us what to do and make suitable arrangements. Now, don't you think Cook will be wanting that meat?'

Annie, with a toss of her head, rose to her feet and picked up the basket. ‘I do hope you don't regret this, Miss Phoebe,' she said, as she marched out of the room.

Sally looked after her. ‘I don't want to be sent home,' she said in a small voice. ‘Phoebe, do you think it's true?'

‘We'll soon hear. I think it's likely. After all, where else would he go? If he wants to take power again, and surely that's the whole point of his coming back to France, he has to win control of Paris. If he can drive out the king, people will probably support him.'

‘He won't get much further,' Sally said. ‘We have the army here, and Henry says that even with Slender Billy in charge the French cannot get past the defences.'

‘Slender Billy?'

‘You must have heard what they call the Prince of Orange.

It was his nickname in the Peninsular, Henry says. I wonder why the Princess Charlotte broke off their engagement?'

She soon went back to her pianoforte, and Phoebe began to worry about the birthday party she was contemplating for Sally's birthday, in the middle of April. She must speak to Sir William soon to see whether he would sanction a ball for his daughter, and trust Sir Henry was right and the army currently in Flanders would be strong enough to hold back any French forces Napoleon was able to send against them.

Zachary felt he had enough to do, monitoring the information filtering in from agents in France, without having to deal with his sister's increasingly urgent and plainly spoken letters. This one was even more peremptory than the earlier ones.

She had been informed, she told him bitterly, that Jonas now had two sons, though whether he had actually fathered them she preferred to doubt. In his entire deplorable career she had never before heard a whisper of any progeny, and she had hoped he was unable to produce any. She had heard, she added waspishly, that the sort of unmentionable indispositions men of his sort frequently suffered could render them incapable of reproducing. And she was reliably informed that he had on several occasions had to take some sort of disgusting cure.

He winced at her language. She had made no attempt to wrap up her suspicions. He admitted they could be true. If Jonas had, during his debauched career, never sired offspring, the chances of him producing two sons within such a short time were remarkably slim. Clorinda, from his few meetings with her, did not look to be the faithful sort, and he could not imagine she would be content with the attentions
of an old man like Jonas. He, at the moment, was thoroughly infatuated, and she was taking full advantage of this to promote the fortunes of her sons.

Beatrice was blunt.

He put the letter aside. In his heart he knew Beatrice was right. He had a duty to his family. He had enjoyed a dozen years of freedom from family responsibility, with pleasant enough liaisons with women who understood there was nothing serious in them, whenever he wished. He was a good, conscientious landlord, but he doubted it would be enough for him to spend his life caring for his estates. Appointing reliable stewards and overseeing their work was all he wished to do, though he would be distressed if he ever lost any of his inheritance. Working for the diplomatic service was satisfying. He took his seat in Parliament and spoke there occasionally, when something he thought important was being debated. An insidious thought crept into his mind. Marriage would not prevent him from following his career. Of course, he would have to abandon his discreet amours, but with the right wife he doubted they would interest him. The problem, as it always had been, was to find the right wife.