The Mask Revealed (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 2) (32 page)

Alex, who had been scribbling away, now put the pen down. He turned from the paper to his now serious-faced brother and puzzled wife.

“We can waste no more time,” he said. “We must act quickly. I was already hoping to act on Monday, if we could, but now we
have
to.”

Angus nodded.

“It shouldna be a problem,” he said. “I can get the key cut tomorrow.”

“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Beth said. “Why does a letter from someone called Martin to his Aunt Mary mean we have to act quickly? And if you’re hoping to do something at the musical evening, don’t I need to know about it?”

Alex picked up the paper and handed it to Beth.

“Read it,” he said. “And while you’re reading it, bear in mind that Martin is Henri, Aunt Mary is Horace Mann, Cornelius is Prince Charles and Annabelle is Louis’ daughter. I’ll leave it to you to work out what the surprise present is.”

Beth read. After a while she looked up.

“The invasion plans,” she said softly.

“Aye. Of course, this is the first draft of his letter to Mann. He’ll put it in code before he sends it. But there’s nae doubt now that he intends to go to England, very soon. He has the information he wants and is just waiting for the details.”

“How do we know he hasn’t already written to Mann, giving an outline of the plans?” Beth said.

“Because he said it’s a surprise present. Ye said ye think his motivation for spying is financial?”

“Yes. I’m certain of it after today, although of course I couldn’t ask him directly.”

“Aye, well, the letter bears out your suspicions,” said Alex. “He’s building up the anticipation with Mann in the hope of obtaining an even greater reward. If he was a patriot, he’d already have revealed his suspicions, giving George time to prepare, and would send the other information on as he received it. But he isna. He’ll get a much bigger reward if he waits until he’s in possession of all the facts before he goes tae England and drops it on them like a bolt from the blue. By keeping it to himself he reduces the risk of someone pre-empting him and taking a share of the cash. That’s to our advantage. If we can take him out now, we can be sure he’s no’ shared his prize wi’ anyone. The other thing we’ve learned from this is that he is, as I’d hoped, in regular contact with Mann. Which will make the letter I’m writing more believable.”

Beth went across to the writing desk. The half-finished letter, which appeared innocent and gossipy, not unlike the missive Angus had just recited, was not in Alex’s normal clear writing, but in a flowing, flowery hand, embellished with many curlicues. To one side was another letter in the same script, recommending that Sir Anthony and his wife be granted hospitality and safe passage in all the Italian states. It was the letter Sir Anthony had requested on the last minute in Florence, written and signed by Sir Horace Mann himself, his clerks being otherwise engaged learning a bawdy song.

“So if I’m right, you intend to plant this forgery in Henri’s room on Thursday while he’s at the concert,” Beth said. “And then what? Make sure King Louis learns of it?”

“Something like that,” Alex said. “Actually, that’s the other reason I’ve invited Anne on Monday. If I’m occupied wi’ her, it’ll give you reason to be a wee bit disgruntled and seek out Henri’s company. I’m relying on you to keep him with you until Angus has had time to plant the letter.”

She ran her hand lightly over the elaborate script.

“What will happen to Henri when Louis finds out he’s a spy?” Beth asked. Her tone caused the two men beside her to exchange a worried look over her head, which she missed, her attention still on the note.

“Does it matter?” Alex said carefully.

“Yes. No, I suppose not,” she answered, her head still bent over the letter.

Alex moved between her and the desk. She stepped back, looked at his chest.

“Beth, he’s the enemy,” her husband said softly.

“I know that,” she replied.

“But you like him.” It was a statement, not a question, although she treated it as such.

“Yes. Yes, I do. I didn’t want to, and I know what he is, but he’s intelligent and interesting, and caring as well. He’s risen from nothing to get to where he is, and he gave his sister a dowry and looked after his mother until she died.”

“Look at me,” Alex said, his voice still gentle. When her lashes remained downcast, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Look at me, Beth.”

She looked at him.

“The man’s a murderer,
a ghràidh
. He garrotted a man, and would have killed Angus and Katerina as well if he’d kent they were there.”

“Wouldn’t you have done the same, if you’d been him?” she asked.

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes darkening. His fingers curled, cupping the narrow shoulders.

“No. You’re wrong,” he said, not answering the question she’d asked, but the one she hadn’t dared to. “I’m no’ like him, Beth. We may both be charming when we want, and we may both kill when necessary. I dinna ken whether he takes pleasure from the killing or no’. Maybe not. I know I dinna. But I’m doing what I’m doing for the cause I believe in, Beth, as are you. If Henri was a committed Hanoverian, I could at least respect him, though it’d no’ prevent me acting against him. We’re on opposite sides. But this man ye compare tae me is willing to put the lives of thousands of people in danger for money. No’ for a cause, or his faith, but just tae line his own pockets. He’s greedy. And your intelligent, interesting and caring wee man will no’ shed a tear for those who die so he can live in a fine house and drive a fancy carriage. Dinna compare me wi’ a man who earns his living by procuring young girls for his over-sexed master. Christ! D’ye think he cares what happens to them after Louis tires of them? That he’s condemning them for life to being prostitutes, or courtesans if they’re lucky? I’d die before I’d do that to any young lassie! He’s paid by Louis to be charming, Beth. That’s why he’s good at it. Dinna let that blind ye to what’s beneath.”

His voice and his hands on her shoulders were gentle, but he was very angry, and disappointed too, she thought.

“You’re right,” she said, moving back and breaking his hold. He was, but she couldn’t help liking Henri on one level, even while she deplored what he was. He
was
paid to charm, but she suspected he liked her anyway, for herself. “So, what will happen to him then?”

Alex’s shake of the head was so minuscule she didn’t see it, as was intended. Angus did, as was intended.

“He’ll be thrown in the Bastille, I should think,” said Alex. “He’ll be kept there until Louis tires of finding his own mistresses. By then James should be on the throne, and Henri will be no more danger to us.”

“Don’t you think Louis will do more than just imprison Henri, if he knows he intends to leak the invasion plans?” Beth said.

“Aye. But we canna let Louis discover that. Because if he has the slightest suspicion that anyone other than those he’s told ken about his scheme, he’ll call the whole thing off. This letter,” he waved at the desk, “deals with far more mundane matters. But when Louis finds it, he’ll ken Henri has been contacted by Horace Mann and that he’s attempting to recruit him as a spy. Louis will lock him up until Henri’s convinced him that he hadna any intention of accepting Mann’s offer, that’s all.”

Beth tried to hide her relief.

“Good,” she said. “So, I think I can manage to stop him going back to his room on Monday evening. He probably won’t want to anyway. He’s looking forward to the concert as well.”

“I wouldna mind having a wee chat wi’ him, though,” Alex said. “Just to try tae find out a bit more about the man. I’ve hardly exchanged a word wi’ him. I’d like to get an idea of what he’s like myself. D’ye think ye can get him by himself for a wee while, so I can come upon ye by accident, as it were, and engage him in conversation?” His tone was casual. He clearly didn’t think it important whether she could do this or not.

“I can try,” Beth said, smiling. “Although I think Angus would be likely to have more success, being as Henri is already so well disposed towards him.”

“I’d love to,” Angus replied lightly. “Such a shame I’ll be otherwise occupied planting evidence.”

“Did you really memorise that whole letter, word for word?” Beth said, impressed.

“Aye, I did,” he answered matter-of-factly. “I can hold short pieces of writing in my mind, if I read them through a few times. When I close my eyes, I can see the page as if it was in front of me. But that’s nothing. Alex can mind everything everyone’s ever said tae him, and recite whole books if he needs to.”

“Can you?” Beth said, amazed. She had been married to this man for nearly six months, and learned something new about him every day.

“No’ whole books, no,” said Alex, settling down to finish his letter. “But I’ve an awfu’ good memory, aye. Ye need it, in this business.”

* * *

If Beth, not being possessed of the formidable recollective powers of her spouse, had forgotten what a crashing bore Lord Bartholomew Winter could be, she was reminded forcefully of it on Monday evening.

Against all his principles and indeed his avowed declarations, he had been railroaded into accompanying his wife and Miss Maynard to the Catholic devil King Louis’ concert, and both Sir Anthony and his wife noticed what a fine semblance he made of enjoying himself immensely from the moment he entered the salon. He could have rivalled Garrick in his acting abilities, Sir Anthony noted wryly in a whispered aside to Beth before he disappeared into the crowd with Anne.

Unlike Lord Winter, Miss Maynard felt no need to feign a pretence of being happy. From the moment Sir Anthony handed her into the carriage he gave her his full attention, and Beth was under no illusion that regardless of his other motives for engineering her presence at the concert this evening, he was going to make sure she had a night to remember. As Anne blossomed under his outrageous compliments, Beth wilted under the interrogation of the Winter family, who wanted to know all she had learned in her previous visits to the palace, although she had already told them everything that was relevant.

“So how would one attract the notice of the king?” asked Lady Winter, having examined and commented with a creditable semblance of knowledge on Bernini’s bust of Louis XIV, the painting of
The Sacrifice of Iphigenia
over the marble fireplace, and the ceiling paintings of Diana, after whom the salon was named.

“We have no wish to attract the notice of such a man, Wilhelmina,” sniffed Lord Winter. They were speaking in English, Lord Winter being of the firm conviction that the French would not have troubled to learn the language of the enemy, and that therefore anything they said would not be understood by the Court.

“No, of course not,” she said hastily. “I was merely curious.” Nevertheless, she tilted her head towards Beth, waiting for an answer.

“His Majesty has only spoken to me twice, Lady Wilhelmina,” she pointed out. The room was crowded, but there was no sign of Henri as yet. Sir Anthony was clearly visible in the distance due to the combination of his height and vivid magenta costume. He was waving his hands over a huge display of unseasonal forced roses. Anne Maynard, dressed in drab brown, clung to his arm, her plain face upturned to his, enraptured. Beth tried to be pleased for her.

“Nevertheless, dear child, you must have some idea of what would induce him to pause and converse with one for a few moments. What manner of man is he?”

“He appears very regal, as I’m sure you noticed in the chapel.” Wilhelmina probably knew how many eyelashes he had, she had scrutinised him so closely. This was not what she wanted to know. “He is intelligent, and of course inspires awe, as a monarch should,” Beth continued, aware, as her companions were not, that many of the courtiers did in fact speak excellent English, “but he was very friendly and charming towards myself. More than that I could not ascertain, in two meetings.”

“Three
,
” came a familiar voice at her shoulder, and she started violently, to Louis’ obvious amusement. When she raised herself from her hasty curtsey, his eyes were sparkling. Marguerite was nowhere to be seen.

“Your Majesty,” Beth said in French. “Allow me to present my friends, Lord and Lady Winter. They have looked forward to meeting you.”

“So I heard,” he said, making Beth wonder how long he had been hovering unnoticed nearby.

“Your Majesty does us too much honour to invite us here tonight,” Lady Winter gushed in execrable French.

“Indeed, perhaps we do,” Louis replied coolly. Quite some time, then. It was the first time Beth had heard him use the royal pronoun. He turned to her again. “I am delighted that you have decided to stay on for a few more days, although I hear you will be returning to England before too long.” He smiled and managed to be instantly amiable to Beth whilst remaining hostile to her companions.

“Yes, Your Majesty, as soon as Christmas is over. We have already been away for longer than we intended, and my husband is anxious to see to his business affairs.”

“I will wish you a safe voyage home, then. I hope we will meet again, before too long.”

“So do I, Your Majesty.”
In London.
Her fervency was intended, and did not go unnoticed. He raised her hand to his lips, and did not change his mind this time, to Beth’s relief. Then he nodded to her companions and vanished into the throng. Lady Winter watched his progress raptly. Lord Winter sniffed.

A bell was rung and the guests proceeded to the much larger salon, dedicated to Mars, where the concert was to take place. The orchestra had settled themselves in the musicians’ galleries, which were supported by columns and which flanked a central fireplace in which a huge fire burned merrily, warming the room. Three enormous crystal chandeliers blazed with candles, adding considerably to the warmth of the room. Rows of chairs had been laid out for the audience, who were now taking their seats.

She still could not see Henri, which was starting to concern her, and had no choice but to sit next to Lord Winter. His wife sat on his left. Sir Anthony held back so he would not have to sit by Beth, and was pointing out the décor of the coving, which showed chubby naked children training for war. He intercepted his wife’s anxious gaze, and smiled quickly, nodding his head to the left. She followed his gesture and saw the man she had been looking for. Catching her eye, Henri smiled with genuine warmth and made his way over, taking the seat in front of her. Introductions were made, another bell was rung. The audience quietened, and the performance began.