The Man in the Green Coat (7 page)

“Yes. Every quarter he sends me a certain amount for small expenditures, and I send him my bills, and he is supposed to pay them, but there is never enough money. It is all my fault because I cannot refuse shelter to my friends. But I shall pay you back, Gerard, I promise, on the first of July.”

Gerard and Gabrielle exchanged glances. “Certainly not,” Gabrielle said gently. “If you offer us shelter, you must let us help with expenses, or we cannot accept your hospitality.”

“But we cannot have burnt a hundredth of those candles since you arrived! And besides, you are practically family.”

Gabrielle patted her hand. “Come, dry your tears, dear Madame Aurore. I have no head for figures, but Gerard has always kept the family accounts. He will go through your expenditures, if you should like it, and find out just why you are in such difficulties.”

Gerard pulled a face but nodded.

“I’m sure I never spend a penny on my dress, nor on furnishings,” wailed Lady Harrison, wiping her eyes, with disastrous effects on her rouge. “As you may very well see for yourselves, and it is excessively mortifying to appear so shabby when people call.”

Gabrielle stood up. “Speaking of dress,” she said, “you promised to show me a picture of a ball dress that will suit me to perfection, so that Marie and I may start sewing.”

“Yes, indeed! It is in the latest Ladies’ Magazine, in my dressing room. The apricot crêpe lisse will be perfect, with a white satin petticoat. Was it not fortunate that we found the matching slippers?” Prattling gaily of fashion and fabric, her ladyship forgot her sorrows as she led the way above stairs.

Chapter 6

Lady Cecilia Everett’s drawing room was crowded with morning callers. Muslin-clad debutantes scarce out of the schoolroom chattered like a flock of sparrows, while matrons in silks and satins exchanged the latest on-dits in lower tones. Gentlemen leaned on the backs of sofas, joining in, or posed in solitary splendour, displaying either a new waistcoat or a superior degree of lovesickness.

Usually Mr Lucius Everett was highly gratified by this evidence of his half-sister’s popularity, but today he desired a word in private with his stepmama, and in consequence wished the crowd to the devil.

He stood leaning against the doorpost, his eyes fixed critically on Dorothea Everett’s ethereal beauty. For the first time, he wondered what her many suitors found to admire in that air of fragile docility, which he had always thought highly appropriate in a young lady.

Judging by the sample in the drawing room, Dorothea’s friends were all equally well-bred, insipid females, though none compared with her in looks. Her suitors ranged from infatuated youths, who found her gentleness unthreatening, to a wealthy earl in his forties on the lookout for a conformable bride. For leavening, he noted, there were one or two out-and-outers, with rakish reputations. He was not worried. A word in Dorrie’s ear and she would unquestioningly drop their acquaintance.

There was something to be said for docility, after all.

At last, the last visitor took his leave. Mr Everett strode across the room, bowed to his stepmother and kissed her hand. She was no more than three or four years older than he, but he made it a point to treat her always with punctilious courtesy when anyone else was present, even her daughter.

“Good morning, ma’am. I trust I did not wake you when I came home last night? Morning, Dorrie. You are a little pale today. Do not wear yourself to a shadow with gadding about!”

“Oh no, Luke!” She looked up at him apprehensively. “I am very well, truly.”

“I did not like to see Sir Hubert here, nor Lord Aintree. You must not allow them to dangle after you. I know you will do your best to discourage them.”

“Yes, Luke.”

Satisfied, he turned back to Lady Cecilia. “I need your help, ma’am,” he requested. “You are better acquainted with the ton than I. Do you know of a lady who goes by the name of Madame Aurore?”

“Madame Aurore? A Frenchwoman? I have never heard of such a person, but I am not widely acquainted with the émigré community. Dorothea, pray go and fetch my embroidery.”

“Yes, mama. Luke, if you have the time, I should like to speak with you before you go out.”

“Of course, little sister. I have an appointment with the Foreign Secretary at two, but there is plenty of time before I need leave.”

As Dorothea closed the door behind her, he once again turned to his stepmother, with raised eyebrows.

“Luke, are you sure this Madame Aurore is a lady? Such an odd name!”

“I believe it to be a nursery name, such as young children might call a friend of their parents. I most sincerely hope you are not about to tell me of someone by that name who is less than respectable!” Mr Everett’s brows were drawn in a forbidding frown.

“Oh no, Luke, I have never heard it in any context, I promise you. Can you tell me no more about her?”

“Only that she is a widow who came to this country some eight or nine years ago.”

“A widow!” exclaimed Lady Cecilia with evident relief.

“Cecilia, you thought me entangled with an unknown charmer, confess it!” Luke laughed, and she smiled in reply.

“Of course, there is no reason you should not be ‘entangled’ with a widow, but you would surely have a little more recent information about any ‘charmer.’ However, it is past time that you fell in love, Luke!”

His mouth took on its usual stern line, and his searching eyes held hers. “I was in love once,” he reminded her.

She dropped heir gaze and blushed, but said sharply, “Calf love, and well you know it, Luke Everett. We were children. Do not pretend to me that I blighted your life when I married your father. I believe you have persuaded yourself of it, and used it as an excuse for wearing the willow!”

“No, you are fair and far out there. But I was in love with you when my father wooed and won you, and I have not quite forgiven him.”

“Have you forgiven me?” she asked softly.

“Long since, Cecilia. What future was there for you with a boy of sixteen? I could wish that it had not been my father you married, but if you had married someone else, we should not have become such good friends.”

“We are friends, are we not? I am glad of it. If only you would recognise your father’s good points, for in spite of his faults, he has many.”

“We will not discuss him, if you please. Cecilia, keep your ears open for news of my entangling charmer. For all she’s an elderly widow, I am anxious for news of her.”

“Is it something to do with the Foreign Office?”

“Now, you know I cannot tell you that!”

“Then it is! I shall be very discreet, I promise. Ah, Dorrie, have you found it?”

Dorothea came in carrying a tambour frame and a basket from which dangled lengths of coloured silks.

“Here, mama. It was in your chamber.”

“Thank you, child. I believe I shall not do any now, after all. I must see Cook before we go shopping, so I will leave you to talk to your brother. Shall you be home for dinner, Luke?”

Lady Cecilia sailed out, looking dignified and matronly but still reminding him of the girl he had loved so many years ago. He shook himself mentally and turned to his sister.

“What can I do for you, Dorrie?”

“Lord Thirsk wants to marry me!” She sat pale and still, her hands clasped in her lap, but her voice was full of suppressed agitation.

“Do you want to marry him?”

“Mama says I must, because he is very rich. He could provide for my brothers and sisters, and then you need not work any more.”

Luke moved to sit beside her and took her cold hands in his. “Dorrie, I may once have resented having to give up a life of pleasure, but I enjoy my work. It is interesting in itself, and of use, I hope, to the nation as well as to my family. If you married Golden Ball himself, I should not give it up.”

“Then I do not have to marry him?”

“Of course not, goose. You need not marry anyone you don’t want to.”

“But if you did not have to pay all the bills, you would have more money for yourself.”

“I do not pay the bills, Dorrie. I can see it is time things were explained to you, for otherwise who knows what you will imagine!”

“I know Papa is a terrible gambler and lost lots and lots of money.”

“Yes, but fortunately it was not in his power to dispose of our lands. Since he has been devoting himself to them, they pay for necessaries. But there is nothing to spare, because of the old debts that must be paid.”

“So you pay for my brothers’ schooling and horses, I know that. And for my come-out, and my sisters’, and our dowries. You would be better off if I never married!”

“Nonsense! Do you think I want an old maid for a sister?” teased Luke. “Cheer up, Dorrie, and believe me that I have all I want in life, and that being able to provide for you all is a matter of pride and pleasure as well as duty. So now you can consider Lord Thirsk’s offer without thinking of anything but whether you wish to marry him or not.”

“He frightens me.”

“Then you shall on no account marry him. Have you told your mother this?”

“Oh, no. She is not afraid even of Papa in one of his rages. She would not understand at all.”

“Then I am very glad that you told me. I will speak to Lord Thirsk and he shall not bother you again.”

“Thank you, Luke! You are truly the best of brothers, even though you are sometimes just as frightening as Papa and Lord Thirsk!” She kissed his cheek and skipped out, leaving him wondering whether his fainthearted sister would ever find a suitor who did not make her tremble.

He had always thought Lord Thirsk a thoroughly inoffensive gentleman, and as for himself—only Napoleon’s spies had any cause to fear him!

Was Gabrielle Darcy a French spy? Ever since he had returned to Dover two days ago and found her gone, his suspicions had reawakened. Why else should she flee before his promised return?

He had little reason to trust her. The message throwing doubt on de la Touche's royalist credentials might serve Bonaparte’s turn whether it were true or not. And the French intelligence service could have picked up hints of the existence of Le Hibou and his own alter ego, the Man in the Green Coat.

But he had seen with his own eyes Dr Hargreaves removing a bullet from her side. Who the devil was Madame Aurore? Would he ever see Gabrielle again?

It should not be for want of trying, vowed Mr Everett, and sent for Baxter.

The taciturn manservant had many talents besides those of a gentleman’s gentleman. If anyone could run to earth an elderly French widow of uncertain antecedents, then Baxter was the one.

And still more important, the mysterious woman would never know she had been found.

* * * *

Some hours later, the Honourable Lucius Everett emerged from Lord Hawkesbury’s office and made his way to his own.

His elderly secretary, a tall, thin, meek-looking man, took one glance through wire-rimmed spectacles at his grim face and asked, “They didn’t believe it, sir?”

“They do not choose to believe it, Davis.”

“But the message was from Le Hibou! He has always been the most reliable source we have, since before you joined the service even. His lordship was grateful enough for the information we received from Russia last month.”

“The message purported to be from Le Hibou. I am just sufficiently uncertain of its actual provenance to argue convincingly.”

“You were convinced last week, sir, when you returned from Dover in such a hurry.”

“Something has happened since which I cannot but regard as a cause for suspicion. The person who brought the message out of France . . . Hush! There is someone at the door.”

The door was flung open and a large gentleman breezed in. Taller than Mr Everett, he was not precisely stout, but rather bulky in an unhealthy manner; flabby, with the look of muscles gone to waste. His bushy eyebrows, joined in the centre in a straight line, contrasted oddly with his nearly bald head.

“Everett, there you are!” he exclaimed jovially, if unnecessarily. “I hear you’ve been closeted with the Secretary for hours. And young Monsyer Cadoudal and the French General too. Pichegru, isn’t it? Hawkesbury been giving you a hard time, has he?”

“I am not at liberty to discuss the matter, Sir Oswald. You must excuse me, I have a great deal of work to accomplish.”

“Piled up while you were gone, did it? Popping in and out like Punch and Judy, off to Dover and back again, they say. Daresay if the truth were known, you were just off on a repairing lease to your country place, eh, you sly dog?”

“Who told you that I went to Dover?”

“Oh, I’m not complaining, mind. ‘Pon my soul, a man deserves a break now and then when he sticks as close to his last as you do, Everett. Just like Sir Cosmo. You remember my father, Davis? Always nose to the grindstone. I like to pop in now and then to see how the old man’s office is managing without him. Of course, I’ve all sorts of obligations meself—head of the family, estate to run, and so on. Matter of fact, my place ain’t so far from yours, Everett. Near Sevenoaks, isn’t it? Surprised we don’t see you in Kent more often.”

“I spend very little time at Wrotham, Sir Oswald. Now you really must excuse me, if you please.”

“Of course, of course,” replied the baronet testily. “I hope you will dine with me tonight? Just a small card party, you know, nothing special.”

“Thank you, but I have promised to escort my sister tonight. Another time, perhaps. Goodbye, Sir Oswald!”

Mr Everett and his secretary converged on the unwanted visitor and at last succeeded in forcing him to retreat through the open doorway.

“Nosy,” said the secretary disapprovingly, closing the door with a decided click. “You didn’t know his father, sir, but it was quite otherwise with him. Many’s the time I heard Sir Cosmo described as a pillar of the Foreign Office.”

“Hence, no doubt, the son’s unjustified belief that he is welcome here. Davis, send someone to find out where my sister goes this evening, and to inform her that I go too!”

* * * *

Lady Cecilia was pleased to learn that her stepson intended for once to do his duty by his sister. Dorothea, however, regarded him with mingled alarm and delight when he joined them in the drawing room before dinner. She thought he looked magnificent in knee breeches and ruffled shirt, but his expression was not appropriate to an evening of merrymaking.