Bad Miss Bennet (33 page)

‘Ten thousand pounds to make an honest woman of you.'

Perhaps if Wickham had really loved me. If he had lived. I pushed these thoughts from my mind as I changed for dinner that evening –
poulet marengo
at the Café des Colonnes followed by the Paris Opera. Women have so few choices in this life and mine had been blighted by lack of money and a false husband. Yes, I admit I am rash and often foolish but I have a determination to succeed in securing the things I crave. Despite my dalliance with the Count I have not despaired of making a good marriage one day. In the meantime I would enjoy my life. If only awkward incidents would not intrude on my plans. Sighing, I followed the Count out to the carriage.

He held my hand as we lurched over the Parisian potholes, kissing my fingers and admiring my delicate oval nails.

‘I cannot wait to see Vienna,' I prattled, ‘the Hofburg and the Schonbrunn palaces, the Vienna Woods and the music. I hear that Schubert's melodies are divine.' I had been reading all I could on the subject. The Count released my hand.

‘We are not going to Vienna immediately. I have an invitation to visit the Princess of Wales in Italy, at her villa in Pesaro. You may accompany me if you will.'

‘Italy?' I had a vision of the mildewed canals of Venice. ‘I hear it is very unhealthy in the summer.'

‘Nonsense!' he chuckled. ‘The Villa Caprile is perched on a hill overlooking the gulf. I believe it is a most healthful spot. It is a great honour; as an Englishwoman I thought you would be overwhelmed.' I gulped, thinking of my instructions from the embassy.

‘Yes, yes, of course,' I replied hastily, ‘although the princess is not highly regarded in England … but the people love her.' I thought this statement covered all eventualities.

The carriage drew up at the opera house and I fantasised briefly about my own carriage. It would be lacquered jet black with my monogram in gold, upholstered in aubergine leather with cushions of matching silk. Perhaps the Count could be persuaded to pay for it.

The embassy would be delighted to know that I was to visit the Princess of Wales, but of course they already knew and I soon received another note detailing how I was to send dispatches back from Pesaro. A local man who supplied the villa with eggs would be my courier.

The Count arranged for me to replenish my wardrobe before we left for Italy. Selena fulfilled her desire to drag me around the milliners of the city. The modistes of Paris were on a level far above their English counterparts. I chose a lilac pelisse worn with dove grey kid gloves and grey satin slippers, a black lace parasol, a straw bonnet trimmed with cherries and leaves, a gown all of palest grey lace over silver, and yards and yards of muslin which is worn everywhere here, often over a scarlet silk underskirt. I had my monogram embroidered on parasols, gloves and reticules in gold thread and raised white threadwork. The Count never questioned the cost of all this finery and I repaid him in the time-honoured way.

‘I must have a fur muff,' I told my friend, ‘what shall it be – seal or chinchilla?' It was now spring officially, but I satisfied my lust for fur with a large chinchilla creation. I liked it above everything.

In between bouts of shopping Selena and I ate dainty coloured macaroons and sipped
café au lait
in the Palais Royal while discussing our futures. Earlier I had introduced the Count to my friends and he had been courtesy itself. He had discussed Waterloo and the fate of Napoleon with Miles. The two men agreed that the little corporal had fared very well.

‘He should have been shot,' declared the Count.

‘Yes,' agreed Miles, ‘the Russians would have shot him.'

It was only when the Count casually mentioned the number of duels he had fought in Paris that Miles looked somewhat disturbed. When the Count had departed Miles gave his opinion. ‘The fellow must have rats in the garret. Four duels! He is a mad man … damme if he ain't!'

Selena advised her husband to avoid any situation where he might be challenged. ‘What would become of me with Lydia gone away and you dead in the Bois de Boulogne?'

Miles promised to do his best but duelling continued to be the main pastime of the men in Paris. The remnants of Napoleon's army continued to challenge everyone at the slightest opportunity, especially English officers.

In the meantime my wardrobe continued to expand and I familiarised myself with the Count's well-muscled body with its fine silky hairs. He was an athletic and considerate lover but given to petulance when fully dressed. I observed that he disliked sudden changes to his daily routine. His manservant suffered the brunt of this but I took care not to give him grounds for complaint.

We embarked on the journey to Italy, splendidly attired on my part, but with a sense of foreboding curdling my stomach. Over confidence in my abilities as a spy alternated with moments of sheer terror. After all, I told myself, the Prince Regent had not been difficult to manage and his estranged wife was said to be terminally stupid. It would surely be possible to obtain some information to send back to the embassy. On the other hand, the Count was another bowl of schnitzel entirely – or whatever they ate in Vienna.

Chapter Thirty-One

Pesaro, Italy

The journey to Pesaro passed well enough. I was surprised that the springs of the coach were not etched on my rear, I had made so many journeys across the continent in the past year.

The Villa Caprile was a delightfully elegant house on the San Bartolo hill above Pesaro. It had three tiers of terraces adorned with box hedging and fruit trees, a grand frescoed salon which stretched the entire length of the house and two tiers of apartments surmounted by a cupola. Little pathways led from the house across the surrounding hills linking it to nearby villas. The whole aspect was charmingly Mediterranean and as satisfyingly different from England as could be.

The princess greeted the Count effusively and as I sank into a deep curtsey she assured me in her fractured English that she was delighted to welcome me to her home. I doubt she would have welcomed me had she known that I had slept with her husband.

I soon discovered that I was one of only two representatives of Britannia at the villa. Most of the princess's English staff had departed due to a combination of despair and frustration. As they were responsible for providing evidence of her bad behaviour to furnish the Prince Regent with divorce proceedings, this was an unfortunate situation. I was now the only person able to provide the information because her English secretary, Joseph Hownam, refused out of loyalty to say anything detrimental about his employer.

The household presently consisted of low class Italians led by the man called Pergami who served as chamberlain, bodyguard and lover to Princess Caroline. Various members of his family attended to the cooking, the laundry and the buying of provisions. The princess herself was a small, dumpy, Germanic woman with very little education or polish, although she played the pianoforte very well. I christened her the musical dumpling.

We had barely settled ourselves into the guest apartment when we saw evidence of the princess's eccentric behaviour. After having disgraced herself in Milan and Rome where she had thrown wild parties and brought a donkey to the dinner table crowned with roses, she had resolved to lead a more bucolic lifestyle. Her new passion was for amateur theatricals using the small, open air theatre in the grounds of the villa.

‘You must meet the neighbours, my dears,' she declared. ‘The area is a paradise of poets and artists. We shall give delightful performances in our little theatre. There will be parts for all of you.'

The Count looked most uneasy at this announcement. He was trying to come to terms with the presence of Pergami at the dinner table. The princess had given him the title of Barone. The Count decided to ignore the man and instructed me to do likewise.

‘I think the Count could only be relied on for military parts,' I assured our hostess. ‘He is uncomfortable out of uniform.' This was said jokingly but the princess did not grasp this.

‘Oh dear, I intend to give extracts from French plays, starting with Racine's
Phèdre.'
I wondered if she saw the Count as an oversized Cupid with his blond hair and blue eyes.

‘You will come down to bathe with me in the morning?' Princess Caroline addressed me directly. I was not sure whether this was an invitation or a command.

‘I would be delighted, your highness' I murmured, although I dislike immersing myself in salt water, so bad for the skin. At least the princess's hygiene habits had improved in recent years.

When we left for the bay early on the following morning I spied the Count riding off in the direction of the cardinal's villa. Cardinal Albani was the princess's most important neighbour. I wondered if the Count intended to compare notes with him.

As we basked on the deck of the little boat the princess suddenly turned to me. ‘The Prince of Wales is a very poor lover.' My eyes were closed and I was caught off guard. ‘I know,' I replied languidly then added, ‘that is, I have heard rumours to that effect.'

She nodded. ‘He is a disgrace as a husband, a lover and a prince, but when my daughter is queen I shall return to England in triumph.'

‘In the meantime,' I ventured, ‘your life here is a very pleasant one. Could you bear to leave it?' The princess looked astounded,

‘I am the Princess of Wales and I shall be the mother of a queen. What could be greater than that?' Did the poor woman not realise that Prinny intended to divorce her as soon as he had sufficient ammunition? Mindful of this I tried to turn the conversation to Pergami. The princess sang his praises like a lark. He was the most faithful retainer and bodyguard. He could take over all duties if necessary but at the moment Captain Olivieri was her equerry and her Italian secretary.

‘Captain Olivieri?' I enquired. ‘I do not believe I have met him.'

‘He is away in Milan on a commission for me but he will return in a few days. He is most dashing and handsome.' She leaned forward confidentially. ‘Tell me my dear, is the Count a good lover?' I found my mouth opening and shutting like a fish in astonishment. One did not expect such coarseness from a princess. Seeing my expression she shrieked with laughter, ‘Come, come, you are no blushing virgin. You may confide in me.'

I smiled weakly, suddenly feeling very warm although I was only partly clothed. I was supposed to extract this type of information from her, not volunteer it. I made an evasive reply but she had moved on to another topic.

‘On our wedding night the prince was very drunk on brandy and spent the entire night collapsed in the fireplace. It was not what I had been led to expect.' I could picture the scene in my mind's eye only too clearly. Mr Wickham had often returned from carousing with his fellow officers too drunk to discharge his marital duties.

Later, I asked Adelaide about Pergami. She had already acquired a smattering of Italian and she was able to listen in to the kitchen talk.

‘Of course he's her lover; Pergami's mother boasts of it. It's the only remark she ever makes. I wouldn't be surprised if that Captain Olivieri obliges her as well. They say she's insatiable.'

I lost no time in approaching Hownam again. The egg man courier was due at the villa in a few days and I would be expected to deliver a report. The quiet naval officer was as usual writing letters to England on behalf of his mistress. He twisted his hands and looked miserable when I asked him directly about Pergami.

‘You must decide for yourself. I cannot betray her … I owe everything to her generosity. I am the son of a footman, did you know that? The princess paid for my education and obtained a commission for me.' I felt for the unfortunate man. We were both in a wretched position and the cause of it all was lack of money, the curse of humanity.

‘I have been tasked with sending information to England,' I confessed.

He shrugged. ‘Everyone in this place is spying for someone.' He also confessed that he was dying of boredom and was unlikely to stay more than a few months at the villa. ‘I have no life here at all and I must return to England, but I will not give evidence against her, do with me what they will.' I had to admire his loyalty, however misplaced. The musical dumpling was not a figure to inspire devotion or so it seemed to me, but I was not in her debt.

It occurred to me that Hownam might know something about the mystery surrounding Von Mecks and the Cambridge emeralds. When I taxed him with this he admitted that he had been in the princess's service when Von Mecks arrived.

‘He was a plausible fellow, handsome, aristocratic and continental – just the type guaranteed to appeal to the Princess of Wales. However, he acted in a low and underhand manner. I was powerless to prevent the loss of the emeralds. He went off with them like a thief in the night.'

‘Surely it was all above board?' I remarked. ‘The Prince Regent had a right to ask for them. They were to be given to the Princess Charlotte, were they not?' Hownam nodded in disgust. He appeared to be taking the whole matter personally.

‘The princess was perfectly agreeable to hand over the jewels, especially after Von Mecks had buttered her up and flattered her to death, but that was not good enough.'

‘Yes?' I enquired. Hownam snorted.

‘What did he do? He stole the jewels from the princess's chamber and made off in the night. Obviously, he had confederates and fast horses waiting across the Continent. The whole affair was arranged by the British Government in a disgraceful manner.'

None of this, however, explained the murder.

‘You know how Von Mecks met his death? I asked. Hownam shuddered and turned away.

‘I know nothing of these sordid affairs. I simply serve the princess.' I reflected that he could hardly be as innocent as he pretended.

‘Does the name of Getheridge mean anything to you?' He shook his head, made an excuse and left the room.