Mademoiselle At Arms - Elizabeth Bailey (best 7 inch ereader TXT) 📗

Two days later, it was quite another Melusine who confronted a young lad on a sunny morning, at variance with her bleak mood.

‘Say then, Jacques, you have followed him?’ she demanded of the black-garbed footman.

Jack Kimble nodded eagerly. ‘Aye, miss, like a shadow. I done just what you asked.’

Melusine was quite aware of the effect she had on the young lad. She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. She had need of a devoted cavalier and Jack had proved eminently valuable.

‘That is good,’ she said with satisfaction, ‘for I was compelled on Saturday to abandon the chase.’

Kimble’s eyes widened. ‘Was you following, too, miss?’

‘Certainly I was following. Only that I was prevented by one of those soldiers that caught me in the big house.’

‘Militia, miss,’ Kimble corrected her. ‘They weren’t no soldiers.’

‘They wear a uniform, do they not? They march and fight with swords and shoot with guns, no?’

‘Well, yes, miss.’                                                                                                                      

‘Then they are soldiers. And me, I know very much of soldiers. One must be on guard. Now do not make me any more arguments, but tell me at once where that pig is gone.’

Jack blinked. ‘Pig, miss?’

‘The one who calls himself Valade, idiot,’ snapped Melusine impatiently.

‘Oh, the Frenchie. On Saturday he went to that there Mr Charvill’s house. In Hamilton Place that is, like I told you before, miss.’

‘Yes, that is Mr Brewis Charvill, as you have found out for me.’ She struck her hands together. ‘Parbleu, that pig, he will ruin all. Did he see him, this Monsieur Charvill?’

‘I don’t rightly know, miss,’ confessed Kimble. ‘At least I couldn’t say for sure. He went in there, and he was in there for a good half hour. But I never seen Mr Charvill, and when the Frenchie come out, I followed him again, like you told me. But he only went home again to Paddington.’

Melusine swung away and moved to stare dully out of the window of the little chapel vestry onto the mews outside. At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked. The house had in fact been converted into a convent, but the fact could not be advertised, not even in the Catholic enclave that existed in this part of town. The nuns wore their habit, and said all their offices, and went about their tasks unobtrusively, relieving the poor and needy and tending the sick. They troubled no one, and as long as they did not noise themselves abroad and make a nuisance of themselves in this Protestant country, no one troubled them.

The vestry was perhaps the only room in the place, except her allotted curtained off portion of the dormitory chamber that served for her cell—and she could not scandalise the nuns by having a man in there, be he never so much a servant—where Melusine could be sure of privacy. It was situated off a little hallway that led also to the kitchens and the back door to the outside. It was convenient for Father Saint-Simon, who could enter this way and prepare in the little room before going up the narrow stair to the chapel above where the nuns waited.

There was little more here than a sideboard, a chest for the vestments, and a simple wooden chair. But it was generally unused, and so was a suitable spot for these secret meetings, when Melusine plotted and delivered her instructions to Jack Kimble. He was officially in the nun’s employ, but Melusine had commandeered his services immediately on the discovery that he had conceived a passion for her. Leonardo had told her it would happen, and warned her to make use of it. It troubled her conscience a little, but Melusine had learned well of Leonardo and she trusted his word

Besides, no one could expect that a jeune demoiselle, in a foreign land, might carry out quite alone the difficult task with which she was faced. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major. Although she had refused to answer his impertinent questions. He was every bit as much a pig as this Emile.

The image of Major Alderley came into her mind. She was obliged to concede that his features were pleasing, his strength and vitality attractive; and there was no denying how well this uniform of a militia suited his figure, which was lean and powerful both. The picture in her mind altered and she saw again the way Gerald had looked with consternation upon the bruises he had inflicted on her wrist. Something softened in Melusine’s chest. No, this was not reasonable. A pig, yes, a little. But not so much a pig as that man.

A smile trembled at the corners of her mouth as she recalled Gerald’s ridiculous upbraiding of his own reflection in the mirror. Decidedly this was imbecile. But Melusine was a little inclined to like this side of the major. Although she did not understand why he persisted in this pursuit of her affairs. A pity, en effet, that she dare not truly desire him to rescue her. An unhappy little sigh escaped her. He was a man tout à fait capable, this Gerald. In truth, she would quite like to have him rescue her.

Melusine gave herself a little mental shake. But, no. Of what was she thinking? She must rescue herself. Conquer the difficult situation in which she found herself. Through no fault of her own. But through the fault of that pig, who dared to call himself Valade and masquerade in society under her birthright. Sometimes it seemed that she would never recover it. And if this soi-disant Valade had already gone to Monsieur Charvill—

‘Very well,’ she said to Jack without turning round, ‘but now is Wednesday. What does he do these three days?’

She had come daily to the vestry, hoping to meet the lad and hear his report. But on Sunday he had been obliged to attend to certain matters for the nuns. And on Monday and Tuesday she had failed to find him here. What had been happening all this time?

‘Do you tell me he has not again left his apartment?’

‘Only to go to some party or other Monday night,’ Kimble said. ‘But I ain’t been idle, miss, I swear it.’

Melusine heard a note of triumph in his voice and turned, a questioning look in her face. ‘You have something more to tell me?’

Jack grinned. ‘Yes, miss.’ He reddened a little, and shuffled his feet. ‘I thought as how it couldn’t do no harm, and as it turns out, it done me a bit of good.’

‘Yes, but what is it, Jacques?’ demanded the lady.

‘Well, I thought as how someone in the house in Paddington might see me hanging about outside like. So Monday, when I see one of the maids come out with a basket, for to go fetch summat for that other Frenchie—the female as I told you about, miss, as is forever coming and going with the nobs.’

‘Madame la Comtesse,’ put in Melusine, for she had learned much by pumping le pére Saint-Simon, who was acquainted with all the French exiles. The Father did not know of course about her connection with the Valades. He thought her only an orphan in search of her English relatives.

‘Well, this maid,’ went on Kimble eagerly, ‘and me, we gets to talking, see, and that’s how I knew he were off to this party. Anyways, we gets friendly and chats each day, and yesterday I mentions about that Mr Charvill, and the maid ups and says that Frenchie and his missus is going out of town to visit him.’

‘Comment? But already he has made this visit—in town.’

‘Just what I thought, miss. So I asks the maid a few questions like, and it seems it ain’t Mister Charvill they’re going to visit again, but General Charvill.’ He stopped suddenly, dismay creeping into his face. ‘What’s wrong, miss? Ain’t I done right?’

Melusine’s mind was reeling, but she reached out and seized his wrist. ‘No, no, Jacques, you have done very right. But, when? When do they go?’

‘Today, miss. That’s why I come to tell you.’

‘Dieu du ciel! But this is catastrophe.’

Kimble gaped at her and Melusine struggled to pull herself out of the shock.