Carola Dunn (15 page)

“On the contrary, sir.” Felix gave him the Dutch Gazette. “The French are doubtless back in Paris by now, those who are not our prisoners.”

“Good God! So the Duke has done it again! You are quite sure?”

“I had an eyewitness account of the final stage of the battle, a gunner who watched our cavalry join the Prussians in putting the enemy to flight.”

“I must tell Liverpool. Mr Rothschild, Lord Roworth, will you be so good as to go with me to Downing Street?”

His eyes gleaming, the banker grunted his assent.

Before he went to dress, Mr Herries sent a messenger to Lord Liverpool to advise him that he would arrive shortly with momentous news from Belgium. Despite the still early hour when they reached 10 Downing Street, Lords Castlereagh and Bathurst awaited them with the Prime Minister.

At Mr Herries’ request, Felix repeated his news. Lord Liverpool took the Gazette, glanced at it uncomprehendingly, and tossed it aside.

“The Dutch are unreliable, alas.”

“Who, precisely, is your eyewitness, my lord?” asked Castlereagh, the Foreign Secretary.

“A Horse Artilleryman, sir. The guns were silenced, I collect, to avoid firing upon our cavalry as they charged the French lines, so Corporal Hoskins was able to watch all that transpired.”

“A mere corporal! Such fellows cannot be expected to understand the course of war. I had thought you spoke with an officer. I fear you have been misled by wishful thinking, Lord Roworth.”

“All we have heard leads us to believe that matters go ill with General Wellington,” the War Minister agreed.

Though Lord Liverpool thanked them courteously for their communication, he was quite as incredulous as his colleagues. Felix would have argued, but weariness made him doubt his own judgment. For all the good his hurried journey had done, he thought bitterly, he might as well have stayed in Brussels to help Fanny.

Mr Rothschild stood silent. Mr Herries looked crestfallen.

The banker’s coachman drove them back to Mr Herries’ residence, where the Commissary-General apologized for taking them on a fool’s errand.

“Not at all,” said Mr Rothschild with unusual geniality. “It had to be done. Good day to you, sir.”

He directed the coachman to Albemarle Street, where Felix kept rooms. As they set off again, he turned to Felix. “We have done our duty in informing the government. Do you feel obliged, my lord, to spread the word?”

“Sir, if the government which depends upon your services will not believe me as your agent,” said Felix angrily, “why should anyone believe me? The information is yours, since I obtained it in your employ.”

“Very good, very good. You shall have a percentage of my profit from your diligence. I must go to the ‘Change. You will be the better for catching up on your sleep, I daresay. Come and see me tomorrow morning.”

Felix’s landlady welcomed him back to London and fussed over him. How much easier Fanny would be finding life if Madame Vilvoorde had been the same kind of woman! Yet despite her ministrations he missed Trevor, who was a superior valet as well as a starchy, self-important grumbler. Nonetheless, after a bath to remove his travel dirt, he fell into bed and slept the clock round.

In his dreams, he saw Nathan Rothschild in his customary pose at the Royal Exchange. Leaning against the first pillar on the right by the Cornhill entrance, hands in pockets, the banker stood motionless, stony-faced, while cannon thundered about him. Gaudy-uniformed officers rode up to him, received their orders and a purse of gold, and galloped away. One of them was Lord Fitzroy, but his features merged into Frank Ingram’s suffering face. Then Felix noticed that Rothschild had imperceptibly turned into the Duke of Wellington, ‘Change into the Duchess of Richmond’s ballroom. Slender Billy waltzed by with Fanny in his arms.

Waking, Felix was vaguely surprised not to have a crick in his neck. He lay luxuriating in the comfort of his bed, until he remembered with annoyance that Trevor was absent. He struck a light and checked the time.

Without his valet’s assistance, he’d not be fit to present himself at his club much before midnight. There he would find friends and a neat supper--but he was by far too hungry to wait. (Was Fanny eating properly?) He flung on a dressing gown and went to rob his landlady’s larder. And somehow, after cold mutton pie, plum cake, and a long draught of ale, it was all too easy to tumble back into bed and make up for a bit more lost sleep.

In the morning he set out for the City with an indistinct memory of his employer offering him some reward for bringing the news of victory, even though it had not been believed. Perhaps he’d get enough blunt to order a new coat from Weston before he called on Lady Sophia. A spring in his step, he walked towards New Court.

He quickly learned, from newspaper hawkers and from snippets of conversation overheard, that Waterloo was on everyone’s lips. Late last night, while he slept, Colonel Percy had reached London with Wellington’s despatches and two French eagles.

Wishful thinking, hah! he thought. So much for ignorant corporals and credulous bankers!

He voiced the thought when he was ushered into Mr Rothschild’s private office. “I wager they will take your word for anything at all after this, sir,” he added.

“No matter. They gave me time enough to do my business.” His gaze not wavering from the ledger before him, he slid a sheet of paper across the desk. “Here is your bonus.”

Felix took the bank draft, read the figure on it, and blinked twice. “Sir, you have put down too many noughts.”

His employer looked up. “My lord, are you accusing me, a Rothschild, of mistaking my figures?” he asked with cynical amusement.

“No, sir. Yes, sir. But, sir...”

“The figure is correct. Your speed and your discretion allowed me to make a great deal of money on ‘Change yesterday, of which I promised you a percentage. I pay well for work well done.”

“I’m not about to argue with that!” He stared in awe at the draft. “How can I thank...”

“Enough,” snapped Rothschild impatiently. “Don’t tell anyone or all my agents will be at my door. You have been abroad for me for a year or more, have you not? Take a month off. Go and see your family. Nothing is of more importance than the family. Good day to you, my lord.”

He returned to his ledger. Felix put nineteen thousand pounds in his pocket and walked out, treading on air.

Nineteen thousand! And all because the Government had chosen to disbelieve him. In the midst of his euphoria, he wondered how much Mr Rothschild had gained from his early intelligence of victory.

Of course, the Rothschilds did not deal in shillings and pence. The last gold shipment Fanny’s faithful admirer Moses Solomon had brought to Brussels had raised the total sent to the army to over a quarter of a million pounds, Felix knew. That did not include the foreign subsidies. His reward might well be a small percentage of yesterday’s profit.

Felix touched the draft in his pocket. Perhaps he had earned it after all.

Now he was well to pass, surely Fanny would not refuse his financial assistance. He’d send her some money before he went down to Westwood.

What would his father say when he presented the draft? Rothschild was right, nothing was more important than the family. Felix had once heard the banker’s little son ask how many nations there were in the world, only to be told, “There are only two you need bother about. There is the family, and there are the others.”

The windfall would pay off a good part of the mortgage that strangled Westwood. Then the estate might provide enough income to pay for a Season in London for Felix’s sisters, even marriage portions. He tried to picture his father’s astonished delight, Connie’s transports, but another thought intruded: The reward made it possible to leave his employment and offer for Lady Sophia.

With money in his pocket he was a more than acceptable suitor. Nor would he be taking anything from his family, for her dowry was large enough to restore the family fortunes and they’d greet the daughter of the Marquess of Daventry with open arms. She might turn him down, as she had many another unexceptionable match, but the chance to make the Goddess his wife was at last within his grasp.

He was pondering whether to try his luck with Lady Sophia before dashing down to Westwood when he reached the courtyard. Crossing it towards him came Moses Solomon.

“My lord,” cried the young courier, “how was M-miss Ingram when you left Brussels? Is her brother recovering? Has she anyone to help her n-now you are gone?”

Felix told him of the captain’s fever and Hoskins’ arrival. With a troubled frown, Moses went into the bank, and Felix continued slowly out into St Swithin’s Lane.

Hoskins was a soldier. How long would he have leave to stay with the Ingrams? Suppose, even now, Fanny was struggling to care for Anita and Frank, alone and short of funds in the chaos of a city overwhelmed with wounded men. Her haggard face rose before him, so drastically changed in so short a time from her usual stoic cheerfulness. He recalled Anita’s drooping mouth and farewell kiss, Frank’s deathly pallor.

Almost against his will he turned back into New Court.

Moses was already in Mr Rothschild’s office. He looked up startled as Felix strode in. The banker merely raised his eyebrows.

“Sir, I’m going back to Brussels, on personal business. May I use the ketch?”

The dark eyes seemed to search his soul, then Rothschild nodded. “Certainly. You may carry my letter to Wellington. It is not urgent; you need not leave until tomorrow morning. Your month’s leave begins when you return.”

With the greatest reluctance and a glance of burning reproach, Moses handed over the letter.

“I’ll convey your regards to the Ingrams,” Felix told him, grinning, but not without sympathy.

Since the rest of the day was at his disposal, he thought of calling on Lady Sophia, not to propose immediately but to prepare the ground. Then he might spend the evening at Brooks’s, where he’d meet friends and everyone would be celebrating the news from Waterloo.

A pleasing prospect, yet one that somehow failed attract him. Driven by his own sense of urgency, he called for one of the bank’s horses and rode back to his lodgings to repack his saddlebags.

How could he possibly enjoy himself while Fanny was suffering?

Chapter 11

Scarce two hours later, Felix turned off the Dover road, cantered through country lanes, and rode up to Nettledene. Leaving his horse at the stables, he strolled to the walled garden where the groom had said he would find the mistress of the house.

He pushed open the door in the wall of Kentish ragstone, overgrown with creeping jinnie and orange lichen. The air was full of the heady fragrance of sun-warmed herbs: thyme, lavender, mint, rosemary, a dozen he could not name. Rosemary--the scent of Fanny’s hair when he had taken her in his arms to comfort her.

Among the beds of herbs, her back to him, moved a tall, graceful woman dressed in lavender-green, a straw hat hiding all but a single lock of dark red hair. He paused to admire the scene. After four years and two children, Miriam must be thirty, yet her splendid figure was as tempting as ever. Isaac was a lucky devil.

A little boy, about Anita’s age, with hair the bright copper colour of a new penny, ran up to her and tugged urgently on her sleeve.

“Mama!” He pointed and she turned, shading her eyes. The sun had touched her pale porcelain complexion with colour.

“Felix! Amos, you remember Uncle Felix. What a wonderful surprise! I hope you can spare us more than an hour or two this time.”

“I fear not,” he said regretfully. “I am come to ask a favour.”

“What can we do for you? Isaac is in the library. At least come into the house to see him and take some refreshment before you dash off.” She picked up a watering-can, took Amos’s hand in hers, and came to meet him. “Mr Rothschild keeps you busy. You have been in Brussels ever since we last saw you?”

“Yes. Hello, Amos. How is your little sister?”

“She’s on’y a baby,” he said with scorn. “She’s too liccle to play catch prop’ly. She tried to eat my horse.”

“A wooden horse,” Miriam said hastily, “a present on his third birthday. Leah is crawling already, driving poor Hannah to distraction with her poking and prying. Tell me, did you leave Brussels before the battle? The morning papers announced a victory, but they had no details as yet.”

“I brought the news to Mr Rothschild,” Felix said as they left the garden and turned towards the long, low manor house. “Liverpool, Castlereagh, and Bathurst refused to believe it until Wellington’s despatch arrived. As a result, Rothschild made a fortune on ‘Change. He gave me a share, Miriam, a most generous share.” Accustomed to confiding in Miriam and Isaac, he told her, “I can afford now to think of asking for Lady Sophia’s hand.”

“Lady Sophia Gerrold? Whom you met in Vienna? You called her a Goddess, I recall, but I did not realize you were hoping to marry her.”

“She was in Brussels, too.”

“You said she is very beautiful.”

“She is, but more important, she is everything even my parents could look for in a future countess, the daughter of a marquis, well-bred, dignified, elegant...”

“Spare me the rhapsodies,” she said, laughing. “I am prepared to believe that Lady Sophia is a pattern-card of perfection in every conceivable way.”

Not in every way, he conceded silently. But she was young, she would learn. He himself had been five and twenty when Miriam had taught him to appreciate people for themselves, not their station in life. Unfortunately, his parents had different notions.

They had thoroughly disapproved his going to work for Nathan Rothschild. It was up to him to please them with his marriage.

“Have you come for advice on proposing?” Miriam asked.

Felix snorted. “From Isaac? When he had recourse to a matchmaker? Not likely.”

They went into the house. As always, Felix felt instantly at home. Miriam’s wealthy father had provided luxury, but her mother’s taste for formal elegance had been defeated by her own desire for comfort, a result of impecunious years of travel on the Continent with her uncle. More important, the atmosphere of the house seemed permeated with the generous warmth of her personality. Felix was reassured that he had made the right decision. Fanny would be welcomed here.