Almost a Lady (38 page)

“Colonel Montaine, madame. He said he’d wait, madame.”

“So I should hope,” Meg said, rising from the stool. “Bring me the ivory negligee, Estelle. If the colonel insists on disturbing the peace of my evening, then he must take me as he finds me.”

Dishabille was perfectly acceptable dress for an informal evening at home, and the colonel would find he had rudely interrupted a lady enjoying such an evening. A dainty lace cap and a pair of satin slippers completed her outfit, and thus attired, Meg made a stately descent of the stairs.

She caught her breath at the phalanx of soldiers ranged in the hall, then lifted her chin and sailed past them into the salon.

“Colonel, delighted though I am to see you, I must protest at such a martial display in my hall.”

The colonel bowed and gestured towards the sofa. “Madame Giverny, you will be pleased to seat yourself.”

She frowned. “Unless I am much mistaken, sir, this is
my
house. If I choose to sit, I will. If I choose to invite you to do so, I will. However, I find I do not so choose.”

“You may not leave here tonight, madame,” he stated.

Meg indicated her negligee with an airborne hand. “I had no intention of doing so, Colonel. As it happens I have not been feeling too well. I was intending to take a light supper in my boudoir and retire early.” She turned back to the door. “I trust you have no objections to my doing that.”

“Madame, I insist you remain in this room,” Montaine said, trying not to show his discomfort at the lady’s composure. He had expected to catch her preparing herself for her assignation, not lounging around in a negligee complaining of ill health.

Meg very slowly turned around. She gave him a look that would have stopped a charging elephant in its tracks. “Colonel Montaine, do you have any reason for treating me with this discourtesy? Have I committed some crime? Has General Bonaparte authorized such an outrage?”

“You were expecting to meet with General Bonaparte this evening,” Montaine said, at last given an opening.

Meg shook her head. “Not to my knowledge, Colonel.” She went to the fireplace and pulled the bellrope. “You must be mistaken, but I have to tell you, sir, that it is an even greater mistake to treat
me
with such rudeness.”

Montaine was now truly uncomfortable but he was sticking to his guns. He’d started this, and whatever the consequences, he had to complete it. He moderated his tone. “Madame Giverny, forgive the discourtesy, believe me I meant none. But I must ask you to remain within doors this evening.”

She gave a light laugh. “Colonel, that is no hardship. As I’ve been trying to explain, that was my intention all along . . . Ah, Denis, it appears that the colonel wishes to be my guest this evening.” Her eyebrows flickered in disbelief at the entire ridiculous business and the head footman bowed his understanding.

“Make Colonel Montaine comfortable. I shall take dinner in my boudoir, as I had instructed earlier.” She glanced at the colonel. “Do make yourself at home, Colonel. My staff will take care of you, I’m sure. I shall be in my boudoir.”

It was such a masterly performance that for a moment Montaine was unable to think of a response, but then he remembered the general preparing for an assignation in a deserted cottage. He knew it was a trap, knew it in the core of his soul. Madame Giverny must not be given the opportunity to send a message to her partner, whoever he might be.

“I am desolated, Madame Giverny, but I must ask you to remain in this room.”

“By whose instructions?” she demanded, her hand already on the door latch.

“By the authority invested in me by the Republic of France.”

Nothing could counteract that invocation,
Meg thought. She inclined her head in faint acknowledgment. “Then I trust you will do me the honor of dining with me, Colonel Montaine . . . Denis, I will dine downstairs after all. In the small parlor, since we are being informal, is that not so, Colonel?”

“I am honored to accept, Madame Giverny.” What else could he do? Montaine bowed and assumed the role of invited guest in the house of the woman he had intended to hold under house arrest.

Chapter   26

C
osimo was aware of the passage of time merely as a mental process. He had no timepiece and the inglenook was almost pitch black, but he knew that it was soon after nine o’clock when he heard the first hoofbeats. But it was not one horse. He listened intently. Three, he thought. Had Bonaparte brought an escort after all? Or was this an advance guard intended to sweep the place before the general’s arrival? If so, he could only hope they would leave when they found nothing.

He reached up into the chimney and his fingers found purchase on a shallow ledge. He pulled himself up until his legs were in the chimney, then leaned his back against one side of the shaft and flattened his feet against the other. It was hideously uncomfortable but he was confident he would be invisible to anyone below.

The door opened and a shaft of lamplight penetrated the inglenook. Cosimo held his breath; even his heartbeat had slowed so that it was barely perceptible. Footsteps moved around the single room downstairs. He heard others on the ladder to the loft, then the sound of feet overhead. Only one man spoke and he issued instructions in a curt undertone. A lamp was thrust fully into the inglenook, the light sweeping the deep recess. Cosimo was motionless, hanging just a few feet above the bent head of the searcher with the lamp. Then the light receded and he inhaled slowly.

It didn’t take long to complete the search of the cottage. Another curt order was issued and they trooped out to search the grounds and outbuildings. But they left one man behind. Cosimo heard the scrape of a chair, the clink of a sword as the man sat down heavily.

His muscles were shrieking from the cramped position but he ignored the pain as he had long ago taught himself to do, and concentrated his mind on the present problem. Was Bonaparte going to come at all? Or had the plot been discovered?

He couldn’t imagine how that could have happened. Only he and Meg knew of it.

Meg.
If he was cowering in a chimney to avoid detection, what was happening to her? If they suspected enough to search the cottage ahead of the general’s arrival, then Meg too must have fallen under suspicion.

But maybe this was just a routine search. They would leave, certain that the location was safe, and Bonaparte would arrive as planned.

He heard the door open again and listened as one of the men said they’d found nothing but a goat, a handful of chickens, and a nest of spiders in the privy.

“All right, we’ll take up positions around the building and down the path,” the man in charge said. “Keep the general covered from the moment you see him. Charlie-boy’s not in here and not outside, so I’m guessing he hasn’t arrived yet. When he does he’ll get the surprise of his life,” he added with a grim chuckle.

“Aye, Sergeant.” There was a short silence, then the same voice said, “You really think the general’s in danger, sir?”

The other man snorted almost derisively. “God knows, but Colonel Montaine’s got some bee in his bonnet. You know what a fusspot he is, always muttering that the general takes unnecessary risks. Well, he’s convinced himself this time that Bonaparte’s love nest is a nest of vipers and the lady waiting with her legs spread is as poisonous as Cleopatra’s asp.”

“The lady ain’t here, though, is she?” commented his companion.

“No, and she won’t be, neither. Montaine’s got her sewn up tight as a nun’s arse.”

Both men laughed coarsely and left the cottage, banging the door behind them.

Cosimo let himself down slowly, clinging to the shadows in the rear of the inglenook. They wouldn’t search again. They’d be watching from outside and if they saw no one enter they would assume the place was as empty as they believed it to be. At this point he had but one thought. Bonaparte was going to keep the appointment. All was not lost. He would complete his mission.

He reached down to remove his boots, sliding the short dagger out of the sheath nestled against his calf. Then he crept soundlessly on stockinged feet to a position behind the door. A small unglazed window was set into the wall to his right, the shutters fastened back to let in the evening air. He cradled his pistol in his right hand, balanced the knife in his left. He could throw as well with either hand, but was a better shot with his right. When Bonaparte rode up he would have a clear sightline. He would fire first, and then throw the knife. He was confident enough in his marksmanship to know that both weapons would reach their target.

His inner sense of time warned him that it was close to ten o’clock, and his instinct told him that his quarry would arrive early, eager for his tryst. Cosimo waited, motionless in the shadows behind the door. He could hear nothing of the men outside but they too were waiting in hiding.

He heard the sound of hooves, at first so faint he guessed they must be several hundred yards away down the path. His grip tightened on the pistol, his eyes fixed upon the moon-washed garden beyond the window.

Bonaparte rode up on an unremarkable gelding. Clearly taking anonymity to heart, Cosimo reflected, before he banished all thought from his head, concentrating only on his target.

Bonaparte dismounted and looped the reins over the stone gatepost that marked the opening in the hedge that bordered the cottage garden. He set foot on the path.

Cosimo raised his pistol, sighted over the heart, where for all his anonymity Napoleon wore the golden eagle of France pinned to his coat. The assassin’s hand was steady, his eyes narrowed as he cocked the weapon.

And then it happened. Meg’s image blocked his view of his quarry. He blinked, shook his head, but it wouldn’t go away. He could kill Bonaparte now. He would not survive himself, he had known that from the moment the guard had taken up positions outside. They would shoot him down before he set one foot on the path. But that was a price he had always been willing to pay.

But not Meg.

Montaine had her somewhere. There was no evidence against her at this point, but if Bonaparte was assassinated tonight, and the assassin identified as Madame Giverny’s majordomo, Meg’s life was not worth a sou. And before she died, she would suffer as Ana had done, and he would be unable to organize her escape as he had done for Ana.

Slowly his hand fell to his side.

He could not do it.

This time he must fail. The previously unthinkable was now a fact. There was something more important to him than the successful completion of a mission so vital the lives of hundreds of thousands of people depended upon it. He could sacrifice his own life, not willingly but because it was necessary, but he
would
not sacrifice Meg.

He moved backwards into the inglenook and once again hitched himself up into the shaft. The door of the cottage opened and Bonaparte entered. He went to the table and lit the lamp, his back to the chimney, and Cosimo in the shaft closed his eyes on the knowledge that with one thrust of his knife he could accomplish his mission.

Bonaparte climbed the ladder to the loft and waited there. Cosimo heard the thump of his boots as he took them off. He heard the general come down again, his stockinged feet slithering on the rungs of the ladder. Time stretched. Bonaparte went back into the loft and put on his boots again. He came down and went outside, leaving the door open. He went out onto the path and looked up and down. He came back into the cottage.

This went on for over an hour until finally the frustrated lover extinguished the lamp and stalked out of the cottage, slamming the door in his wake.

Cosimo lowered his feet to the ground and waited. He waited until the sounds of the general’s horse had faded into the night, and then he waited until the watching guard had left. Even then he remained still and silent for another half an hour until he was certain there was no human presence anywhere in the vicinity. Then he slipped out of the inglenook, pulled on his boots, and left the cottage, closing the door softly behind him. If the old couple noticed any sign of disturbance, they would assume it had been caused by the visitor they
had
expected.

It was well past midnight as he started to walk back to the olive grove where he had left his horse. He could make no assumptions about Meg’s whereabouts. Montaine could be detaining her anywhere. So he would have to go back to the house. They had very little time to make the rendezvous with the
Mary Rose
. The fishing boat that would take them to Hyères would leave on the dawn tide and not return for two days. The
Mary Rose
couldn’t risk standing in too close to Toulon for more than twenty-four hours. All this had been planned down to the last detail with his crew, and they would follow his instructions to the letter. But he couldn’t leave without Meg.

He put his horse to the gallop until they reached the outskirts of Toulon and then he reined him in to a sedate trot. A mad horseman galloping hell for leather through the nighttime streets of the port would be remembered. He turned onto the street behind the church and drew rein. All the lamps in the house were burning, and there were guards at the front door.

So Montaine had Meg in there. Relief was a tidal wave, invading every pore and cell. Unlike anything Cosimo had experienced before. He rode around to the mews and put his horse in a stall, loosening the girth but not unsaddling him. At the rain butt he washed as much of the chimney soot as he could from his face and hands, then he let himself into the house through the kitchen door. A group of servants huddling around the range looked at him, startled, as he entered.

“Oh, M’sieur Charles, such goings on,” the housekeeper said. “Madame is in the salon with that colonel, and he won’t let her go to bed. Denis said she’s told him he don’t know how many times that she has the headache, but he’s insisting she stay. Isn’t that so, Denis?”

“Yes, M’sieur Charles,” the footman affirmed. “And all these soldiers. It’s not right in a good household.”

“The times are not right, Denis,” the majordomo observed somewhat loftily, keeping himself out of the lamplight as far as possible, knowing that his hasty cleanup in the stable yard wouldn’t pass muster under a bright light. “I’ll find out what’s going on myself. You people should be in your beds. The fires will have to be lit again in four hours.” On which instruction he disappeared into his own apartments in the basement.

The long case clock in the salon struck one. Meg yawned, leaning her head against the high back of the elbow chair in the salon. She regarded her companion with an ironic lift of her eyebrows. “Colonel, would you explain to me why I must sit up all night?”

Montaine, who was yawning himself, dragged himself upright on the sofa. “I await a messenger, madame.”

“I wish you’d tell me why you have to await him here, in
my
house,” Meg protested. She stood up and walked to the windows, drawing back the curtains to look out on the street.

Where was Cosimo? Was he alive . . . imprisoned in some dungeon? Lying mortally wounded somewhere?

She could do nothing to answer the questions. She knew what she was to do if Cosimo didn’t make the rendezvous in the stables by midnight, but she couldn’t do it. Not with this great lump of a colonel in the room, watching her every move. She could feel his eyes on her back even now.

And then the door opened. “Madame, may I offer you some fresh coffee . . . a cognac for the colonel, perhaps?”

Cosimo stood there, immaculate in his black majordomo’s garments, a tray in his hands. He offered the colonel a courteous bow as he stepped forward and placed the tray on the sideboard.

Meg didn’t miss a beat. She glided across to the sideboard. “Thank you, Charles. That’s very thoughtful. You passed a pleasant evening, I trust?”

“Very, thank you, madame.” He reached for the cognac decanter and flicked his eyelids at her.

“Colonel, you’ll join me in a cognac?” Meg said, not certain what the flick meant but certain she was supposed to act upon it.

Montaine was bored, anxious, and frustrated enough to throttle someone. The hospitality offered him thus far had been rudimentary and cognac now had its appeal. “Thank you,” he said shortly.

Cosimo held a tiny vial over the goblet and four brown droplets fell into the glass. He poured cognac over it liberally and gave the goblet to Meg. “Coffee for madame,” he stated, pouring a cup, and despite the desperation of the situation and her own turmoil she had to swallow an appreciative grin. Cognac, doctored or otherwise, was not on offer for her tonight, just a plentiful supply of stimulant.

“Colonel.” She set the glass at his elbow and sat beside him on the sofa. “Perhaps we should play backgammon to pass the time. Charles, would you bring the backgammon board?”

Montaine shrugged and reached for his glass. “I’m an indifferent player, madame.”

“At this hour of the night, sir, so am I,” Madame Giverny stated acidly, as her majordomo set the backgammon table in front of the sofa and then a chair opposite the colonel. “But if I’m not to fall asleep where I sit, I must do something.” She moved to take the chair, and took a sip of her coffee.

Montaine took a much larger sip of his cognac and leaned over the board. The majordomo went to stand in attendance beside the door.