Jack Chiltern's Wife (1999) (12 page)

‘Why are we going this way?’ she asked when he stopped the carriage at mid-day. ‘Is it a short cut?’

‘No, not a short cut, but beautiful, don’t you think?’

‘We have made a detour in order to admire the scenery?’

He smiled, fetching out the bread and cold chicken which had cost him a small fortune at the hostelry they stayed at the night before. ‘No, this is the only way.’

‘To Lyons?’

‘No, to our destination. You will soon see …’

‘But you said we were going to Lyons.’

‘Later, perhaps. After I have made certain inquiries. Now eat up, we will soon be there.’

After they had finished their meal they set out again and began to climb into the hills. To save the horse, they both got down to walk. The road became steeper and more broken and Jack began to fear for the carriage, as it jolted out of one pothole into another. There was a single roadmender half-heartedly throwing rocks into the worst of the holes and even as they passed him, he stopped and sat down on the side of the road to drink from a flask, watching them out of sight.

Halfway up the hill they came to a village, surrounded by a broken wall. At the gate Kitty turned to look about her. The view over the valley below was breathtaking: rocky outcrops, stands of trees, shimmering lakes and terraced vineyards.

‘Our destination,’ Jack said, pointing at a large château which overlooked the town from the tree-clad hills above it.

The old carriage rumbled over the cobbled streets of the little town with Kitty and Jack walking at the horse’s head. It seemed a typical hillside community, with lopsided wooden houses, a church with a very tall spire, a mill, a town hall, a fountain in the middle of the central square and an inn with a stableyard.
She could not imagine many wayfarers passing through; the only road out of it, apart from the one climbing up from the valley, seemed to lead to the château.

‘What is this place?’ she asked. ‘And who lives at the château? Is James supposed to be here?’

He smiled; never content with one question, she must always ask several at a time. ‘The village is called Haute Saint-Gilbert and the château is the home of my mother’s sister and her husband, the Marquis and Marchioness de Saint-Gilbert, or I should say the
ci-devant
Marquis and Marchioness, since titles have been abolished and he is simply a citizen like everyone else. And, yes, we may very well find your brother here.’

‘What is he doing here?’

‘You must ask him that.’

As they climbed the last steep hill of their long journey, she began to wonder what Jack would do next. Would he hand her over to her brother and leave her? Six weeks before she had not wished for anything else, but now she realised she would miss him dreadfully. He had become necessary to her existence and without him she would crumble to dust and be borne away on the wind.

He had kept her sane when nightmares troubled her; he had provided her with food and warmth, had entertained her with discourse and laughter, instructed her on the countryside, pointing out places of interest. He had been her guide on her very own Grand Tour. And now it was coming to an end.

He had protected her from prying eyes, lied gallantly to ensure her safety as well as his own and, if he had sometimes been tyrannical, it was a tyranny of love not hate. She loved him. She knew hardly anything about him and yet she loved him. He was married and yet she loved him. Her footsteps slowed as she realised the enormity of her discovery and the hopelessness of it.

‘Come, I would have thought you would be all eagerness to be there,’ he said, stopping to wait for her to catch up.

‘Of course I am,’ she retorted. ‘But this slope is so steep I hardly know how to climb it.’

‘Nonsense! You have walked up far steeper ones in the last three weeks.’ He reached out to take her arm. ‘Here, let me help you.’

She wrenched herself from his grasp, unable to bear his touch for fear of giving herself away. ‘I’m all right.’

He looked sideways at her, wondering what had come over her. She was ill at ease, walking with her head down, as if she did not want to look at him or speak to him. He sighed. ‘What have I done wrong now?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Then I wish you would look more cheerful. Your brother may see us coming and will surely think I have been ill-treating you.’

‘Don’t be silly. Why should he think that?’

‘You have a face like thunder and I do believe I could strike a tinder from the sparks in your eyes.’ He stopped and took her chin between his fingers and thumb and forced her to look at him. ‘Or are they tears?’

‘Of course not. Please release me.’

He dropped his hand and pulled on the horse’s harness. ‘Come, Samson, just a few more yards and your work is done, then you may rest as long as you want.’

Kitty looked up as he spoke and realised they were within a stone’s throw of the château, every bit as imposing at close quarters as it had been from the village below. It looked like a fairytale castle with steeply sloping roofs and several turrets and a huge oaken door which stood open to reveal a paved courtyard and a fountain. Jack led the horse and cart through it.

A door opened to one side and a young lady flew out of it and ran towards them. ‘Jack! Jack!’ He stood with his feet apart,
holding out his arms and she flung herself into them. Laughing joyously, he picked her up and swung her round and round, revealing a frou-frou of lace petticoats and silk stockings, while Kitty watched, her heart growing as heavy as lead.

This must be his wife. She was so young, hardly more than eighteen, and Kitty’s notion that he had not talked about her because he did not care flew away. He had not spoken because he cared too much to share his thoughts with a mere stranger. This lovely girl was petite and pretty and beautifully dressed in pale aquamarine silk, with ribbons in her very pale hair.

Kitty became acutely conscious of her rough peasant skirt and blouse and the darned shawl which she had draped about her shoulders. And, unlike the girl’s satin pumps, her shoes were so thin that even the smallest stone imprinted itself on the soles of her feet. She could not bear to look and turned away to pat Samson’s nose.

‘Oh, Jack, you do not know how I have longed to see you again.’ Kitty could turn away, but she could not shut out the sound of the young lady’s voice. ‘But how did you manage it? Are you going to stay this time?’

‘Questions, questions, questions,’ he said, setting her back on her feet. ‘Why are women so full of them?’ Reminded of Kitty he turned to her, only to realise she had disappeared. ‘Where is the pesky woman?’

‘You mean the
citoyenne
. Why, she went round to the back of the carriage. I must say, Jack, it is the most dilapidated vehicle I ever did see. And as for that animal …’ Her laughter pealed out, making him smile.

‘He brought us safely from Paris,’ he said. ‘Three hundred miles, as Kitty will vouch if I could only persuade her to come out of hiding.’ He went round the carriage and found her trying to pull her basket out from under the seat where it was wedged fast. ‘Leave that,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘A servant will see to it. Come and meet Nanette.’

‘Nanette,’ he said, drawing her forward. ‘This is Miss Kitty Harston.’

‘Kitty Harston,’ she repeated in astonishment. ‘You mean Jamie’s sister?’

‘I do, indeed.’

She stared at Kitty, taking in her rough clothes and tangled hair, obviously doubtful as to the truth of the young woman’s identity. ‘But I thought you were a peasant. Whatever are you doing here?’

‘Now, that is hardly a welcome,
ma petite
,’ Jack remonstrated. ‘We have come a long way and we are dirty and tired …’

‘Oh, please forgive me, Miss Harston. I was so taken aback I forgot my manners. And Jack has forgotten his, too, for he has not introduced me. I am Nanette de Saint-Gilbert.’ She smiled at Jack. ‘And for my sins I am Jack’s French cousin.’

‘His cousin.’ The day was overcast but it seemed as though the sun had come out and flooded the courtyard with its warmth. This lovely girl was not Jack’s wife.

‘Yes. You do speak French, do you not?’

‘A little.’ Kitty curtseyed. ‘How do you do,
ma’amselle
.’

‘Come in. Come in. A bath and a meal first, I think. Papa and Mama are out visiting, but they will be back directly, and we will save the story of your journey until they arrive and we can all hear it together.’ She took Kitty’s arm as she spoke and led her into the house.

‘Mon frère …?’

‘You have just missed him. Jamie went to Lyons this morning. There is to be a meeting tomorrow.’

‘When do you expect him back?’ Jack asked, as he followed them into a vast marble-floored vestibule with an enormous fire which burned a log as big as a tree trunk.

‘I don’t know. The day after, perhaps. He was a little vague.’

Jack groaned. The man was as elusive as a butterfly. What was he up to? What meeting? If he was stirring the mutterings
of discontent into more rebellion, he must be stopped. It was too late to do anything tonight and he was dog-tired. Tomorrow he must find him and make him understand that people who went off at half-cock without proper orders were a danger to themselves and everyone else. James must take Kitty home.

Nanette clapped her hands and servants appeared from everywhere. One was despatched to see to the fires in bedrooms, another to make up the beds, two others to fetch hot water and another to summon the cook for new instructions. The Revolution did not seem to have touched this out-of-the-way place; everything spoke of opulence. The furniture, the hangings, the carpets, the huge fires, the myriad of crystals in the chandeliers, the paintings on the walls, the carved oak staircase, the long windows, all spoke of great wealth.

Kitty was led upstairs to a huge bedroom which had a magnificent view of the town nestling on the hillside. From here she could also see that there was another road down the mountain, small and winding and hidden for most of its length by trees.

Servants bustled in to fill a bath before the fire, which was already warming the room. Kitty suspected that it was kept alight and only needed stirring up and more fuel added.

‘Take your time,’ Nanette told her, as a male servant arrived with her basket. ‘Let me have the gown you mean to wear, I will have it pressed for you.’

‘Thank you.’ Kitty, who had very little choice in her basket, picked out a short-sleeved dress of blue muslin, with a deep frill at the hem and a fichu of white lace to fill its low neck. She handed it to Nanette, together with a fine lawn petticoat trimmed with lace, the same undergarment she had been wearing in Paris. She shuddered as she touched it, remembering again the humiliation of having it flung over her head, but pulled herself together and smiled at her young hostess.

‘You don’t know how much I have been looking forward to being clean and civilised again.’

‘I suppose that reprobate cousin of mine insisted on you dressing like that? It really is too bad of him.’

‘I believe it was necessary.’

‘Then you shall tell me all about it later.’ She turned for the door with the clothes. ‘I admire your courage,
ma’amselle
. I am quite sure I should never have endured it. Marie will help you dress and conduct you downstairs when you are ready.’

The water was hot and scented with jasmine. Kitty soaked herself for nearly half an hour, until every vestige of grime from her journey had been washed away. The maid washed her hair and she sat before the fire to dry it, musing on the events which had brought her here. Less than two months before, she had been sitting in a bath and having her hair done before dressing for the Viscount’s ball.

Young and naive, she had set out in a mood of excitement, looking forward to the dancing and the supper, of meeting one or two local eligibles, perhaps even the man of her dreams. He would be handsome and gallant and fall in love with her on sight. Instead she had been kissed by Edward Lampeter, whom she had known since childhood and who was definitely not the man her fantasies were made of.

It was strange how something as innocent as a kiss could lead to this. A château in the middle of France in the company of a married man. She had no money, only two dresses and a filthy skirt to her name and that name tarnished forever. Would she, given her time over again, have stayed at home?

No, a thousand times no. If she had stayed she would be betrothed to Edward by now, her future mapped out for her and she would not have met Jack. Chiltern or de Saint-Gilbert or Faucon, it did not matter; she loved him whatever his name. But she did have two regrets: Judith had died needlessly and Jack was married. Both gave her nightmares.

Marie, the maid Nanette had assigned to her, returned with her petticoat and dress and laid them on the bed. ‘Shall I brush
your hair,
ma’amselle
?’ Her voice impinged on Kitty’s reverie and she shook her sad thoughts from her. She must think of happy things, of James and their coming reunion. He was obviously staying at the castle and expected back so it would not be long now.

She sat in her shift and petticoat while the maid did her best with her hair, which was inclined to be wayward and would not stay where it was put. Since Judith had cut it, it curled all over her head like a mop. ‘Do you wish for powder?’ the servant asked. ‘It might help it to stay down.’

‘No, thank you. A ribbon band will suffice.’

Her reflection in the glass revealed a much thinner Kitty Harston than the one who had set out on what she had so naively called high old adventure, but it suited her, made her look older. She supposed she had matured. In a few short weeks she had changed from a schoolgirl into a woman. She stood up and allowed herself to be helped into her gown, then slipped on some pumps which Judith had packed for her and picked up her fan. ‘I am ready.’

K
itty was conducted downstairs and along a wide corridor to a large room which overlooked terraced gardens, just beginning to show the green shoots of spring. It was luxuriously furnished, making her wonder again how it had escaped the ministrations of the
sans-culottes
.

At first she thought she was alone, but a slight sound made her turn and she saw Jack standing by a bookcase with an open book in his hand. He had shaved and changed into black superfine breeches with white silk stockings and buckled shoes. His black velvet coat had diamond buttons; his jabot of fine lace cascaded over his embroidered blue waistcoat and ruffles of lace fell over his wrists. His hair, washed and brushed to a black sheen, was unpowdered and held back by a velvet ribbon. She was surprised that he had such finery in his small valise. Did it mean he meant to come here all along?

He bowed formally.
‘Ma’amselle.’

She curtsied.
‘Monsieur
. I may call you
monsieur
now and not citizen?’

‘You may call me Jack, as you have been doing for the past few weeks.’ He put the book back on the shelf and walked towards her, surveying her from her dainty feet to her mop of dark curls and smiled. ‘The cygnet has become an elegant swan and I am overwhelmed.’

It was true. He had always thought her beautiful in a gamine sort of way, an innocent, but now she took his breath away. Here was no schoolgirl, but a woman of startling attractions. The oval shape of her face, the expressive eyes, the firm mouth and clear-cut brows, the heavenly curved body filled him with desire.

He had not been unaware of it when he held her in his arms each night, trying to keep her warm, to comfort her when nightmares invaded her sleep, but it was easier to think of her as a child. He could only thank God for the rough clothes, the lack of hot water to wash, the cold, and her fear of the bad dreams that had brought out the gentler side of his nature. Why had she come into his life when she had? The timing of it was all wrong. What future could they have?

‘Kitty …’ He took a step towards her, just as the door opened and Nanette came into the room, and whatever he had been going to say remained unsaid.

Nanette, innocently unaware that she had interrupted anything, crossed the carpet and took both Kitty’s hands in her own and held them out to look at her. ‘Why, you are quite lovely,’ she said. ‘Jack, how could you bear to disguise her in that horrible garb she arrived in?’

‘It had to be done,’ he said. ‘Paris is a hotbed of revolutionaries. No one is safe.’

‘So Jamie told me, which was why he decided to come back with Papa after his visit to Paris last year.’

‘And found the delights of Haute Saint-Gilbert so beguiling he forgot he was supposed to meet me in Paris,’ Jack said. ‘It was damnably inconsiderate of him.’

‘He said there was plenty of time,’ she said, blushing and looking down at the toe of her slipper, peeping out from the hem of her gathered satin skirt. ‘He did not expect you so soon and he was not to know his sister would come looking for him, was he?’

Jack smiled, noticing the flush in her cheeks. ‘Oh, I see. That is the way the wind blows, is it? And what does my illustrious Uncle Louis think of that?’

‘He is perfectly at ease with it. James is the grandson of an English viscount, after all, and he is a very presentable young man.’

‘With no prospects.’

Kitty could not let that go. ‘
Monsieur
, I protest. Prospects are not everything, if two people are in love. He will come into something from our grandfather, even if it is not a great deal.’

‘I was not referring to material wealth, so much as his penchant for hurling himself into every adventure that comes his way with no thought for the outcome,’ Jack said; then, to Nanette, ‘Where is he now? What is this meeting all about?’

Nanette shrugged. ‘I do not know.’

‘You think he is in danger?’ Kitty asked. ‘Oh, I don’t think I could bear it if anything happened to him.’

‘What is going to happen?’ said a booming voice from the door.

All three looked round to see a portly man in a square-cut blue frockcoat, short brocade waistcoat and cream cashmere breeches. His hair was long and heavily powdered.

‘Papa, look who is here,’ Nanette said. ‘Jack has brought Jamie’s sister to stay with us.’

‘His sister, eh?’ The Marquis advanced into the room and stood facing Kitty before inclining his head towards her. ‘
Enchanté, ma’amselle.’

Kitty curtsied. ‘My lord.’

‘Hush, child, there are no titles now. I am citizen along with everyone else.’ He turned to Jack and held out his hand. ‘Good to see you, boy. How goes it in Paris?’

‘Bad, I’m afraid. Anarchy. Hangings and beheadings and likely to be worse before it is better.’

‘That is precisely why I keep my head down. I give the peasants most of what they want and they leave us alone, it is as simple as that.’ He paused. ‘You were speaking of that pup Harston, I believe?’

‘Yes. Miss Harston has travelled all the way from London to find him and now it seems he has gone off on some errand of his own. She is concerned for his safety.’

‘Oh, he is safe enough under my patronage. He has only gone to his club.’

‘And what club would that be? It wouldn’t be counter-revolutionary, would it?’

The Marquis laughed. ‘Now, you know me for a patriot, Jack. Would I countenance a counter-revolutionary under my roof?’ He turned to take Kitty’s hand and pat it. ‘Now don’t worry, my dear, he will be back tomorrow and you will be reunited with him. But I am curious to know why you found it necessary to venture so far in search of him.’

‘Here is
maman
,’ Nanette said, as her mother came into the room, saving Kitty from having to reply immediately. ‘Mama, this is Miss Kitty Harston.’ She giggled and pointed at Jack. ‘And this is citizen Jacques Faucon, a perfect stranger to me.’

The Marchioness, unlike her husband, was very tall and thin, and made taller by the two feathers which she wore on a band in her hair. The hair itself was thick and dressed in fat round curls. Her brown taffeta was striped horizontally with red satin ribbon. A white silk shawl covered her shoulders and upper arms. She wore a quizzing glass on a ribbon about her neck and now picked it up to examine Kitty.

‘How do you do, my dear. You are very welcome. As for you …’ She turned to Jack. ‘Still playing at charades, nephew? What was it last year? A colonel in the … What regiment was it? I forget.’

He grinned and went to kiss her on both cheeks. ‘It was the National Guard, Aunt Anne-Marie.’

‘And now you are dressed like a turkey cock. Such finery in this day and age. Dear me, you are taking a risk, are you not?’

‘I have changed since I arrived, Aunt. You would not have had me at your table dressed as a
sans-culottes
, unshaven and dirty.’

‘No. I do not believe in this universal lowering of standards. France was always a civilised country and I deplore what is happening to her. But I believe supper is ready, so we will adjourn to the dining room and you can tell us all about it.’ She offered her arm to her nephew and he escorted her in to supper, while the Marquis followed between the two young ladies.

The food was better than anything Kitty had tasted since leaving England, but it was certainly not a banquet. ‘I am sorry for such poor fare,’ the Marchioness said. ‘But even here, we have been beset by shortages and it does not do for our servants to report to those who govern us that we live a life of luxury. We have had to tighten our belts.’

‘It is quite delicious,’ Kitty murmured, tucking into roast chicken in a light creamy sauce and several kinds of vegetable. If this was belt-tightening, what was it like in the old days?

‘Now, Jack,’ the Marquis said. ‘Tell us everything. How did Miss Harston meet you and persuade you to bring her here?’

While they ate, Jack told the tale very simply, saying nothing about their habit of sharing a room, making their journey sound almost commonplace. Kitty was quizzed about her reasons for leaving home and, though she tried to explain, she sensed their condemnation of her conduct for which she could hardly blame them.

They did not understand about her stepmother and she didn’t think they believed that nothing had happened between her and Jack, especially as she blushed crimson whenever she mentioned that journey. He had done nothing but hold her, but if he had kissed her again, caressed her as a lover, she might very well have allowed her own burgeoning passion to get the better of
her. Young ladies of quality were not supposed to feel passion, were they?

But he hadn’t made any advance at all. Oh, she knew he loved his wife and guessed that he was not the sort of man to take his marriage vows lightly but, apart from that kiss on board the cross-Channel packet, he had given no indication that he found her desirable, that he had even been tempted. His compliments were always teasing and not meant to be taken seriously. He looked on her as an overgrown child and had kissed her to teach her a lesson. The knowledge did nothing for her self-confidence.

‘And you lost your maid,’ Nanette said. ‘It must have been dreadful. However did you manage to dress?’

‘Dressing was not the problem—after all, I could only wear peasant clothes. The worst of it was the manner of her death. I am afraid it still gives me nightmares.’

‘Ma pauvre
,
’
Nanette murmured. ‘No wonder you wanted to find James. He will be here tomorrow or the day after and will be very surprised to see you, I think.’

Jack smiled. James would be astonished and, if he guessed aright, not particularly pleased. Having to take his sister home would curtail whatever he was up to, political or personal.

‘And you, Jack,’ his aunt put in, ‘what are your plans? Will you spend some time with us?’

‘I think I will go into Lyons tomorrow and bring James back,’ Jack said, smiling at her. ‘The sooner he takes his sister home the better.’

Kitty’s heart sank. He wanted to be rid of her after all; though she loved her brother dearly, he would be no substitute for the man she really loved. A married man. She must never allow herself to forget that.

He had gone by the time she rose next morning and he did not come back that night. Although her host and hostess were polite and pretended to make her welcome, she felt undercurrents
of disapproval, of tension. She was sure they would be glad when she left. If only Jack had taken her with him, they could have shared whatever danger was out there … if danger there was. In the isolated château above the peaceful village, it was difficult to imagine there was conflict all around them.

The following day Nanette suggested a walk and Kitty was happy to agree. She felt stifled in the house and decided a little fresh air might make her feel better. They put on hats, coats and half-boots and set off up the slope behind the château into the forest.

The days were becoming longer and warmer. The scent of hyacinths filled the borders near the house; early clematis was already covering the walls of the château and the bougainvillea and jasmine were in bud. On the slopes, the vines were green and down in the valley the fields were beginning to reveal shoots of corn, peas and beans.

‘You know,’ Kitty said when they had been walking in silence for several minutes. ‘I never did know how Jack and James came to know each other. I thought James was in Italy. Is that where they met?’

‘No, it was in Paris last year. Jamie told me about it.’ She took Kitty’s arm as she spoke. ‘He is very resourceful and brave, you know.’

‘Jack?’

She laughed. ‘Jack, too, but I meant Jamie. He saved Jack’s life. Didn’t Jack tell you?’

‘No. I didn’t even know he was in France last year. I met him in London and assumed he had been there some time. He did speak of his home in Wiltshire and I thought …’ She stopped. She had already made too many false assumptions about Jack Chiltern and here was another proved wrong.

‘Oh, he comes and goes all the time. I am not quite sure what he does, it is better not to ask, but I think he has been helping
emigrés
to escape. He was caught last year, did you know?’

‘No.’

‘He was denounced and the Guard went to arrest him at our town villa in the rue Saint-Honoré, where he had been staying with Papa. Papa had gone to Paris to see the King and speak to citizen Danton. He thought he might act as an intermediary but the King was arrested …’

‘What has that to do with my brother?’

‘Jamie was in the street when Jack was brought out of the house. He told me he was on his way to visit him. He had an introduction from a mutual friend and he thought Jack might show him the sights. He also intended to write a first-hand account of what was happening under the Revolutionary Government for the English newspapers.’

It was typical of her brother to discount the fact that the city was full of unrest and violence and seize on what he saw as an opportunity to make a name for himself. ‘Then what? Did James rescue him?’

‘Not right away, there were half a dozen guards and they were all armed. He followed them to the Conciergerie prison and later bribed a guard to lend him his uniform. When Jack was brought out to be taken to his trial, Jamie said he had been ordered to take charge of the escort.

‘He pretended to treat him roughly and knocked him to the ground. Then, when he hauled him up again, he whispered who he was and cut his bonds with a knife he had in his belt. Before they reached the Palais de Justice, they overpowered the other two guards and dived into the river. I believe shots were fired, but neither was hit and they crawled out half a mile downstream.’

‘Goodness, what a tale! I wonder why Jack did not speak of it?’

‘I expect he found it difficult. You see, the woman who denounced him was his wife, Gabrielle.’

Kitty stopped walking and turned to face Nanette, her face betraying her shock. ‘Oh, no! How dreadful! Surely she would not do such a thing?’

‘I think Jack is convinced she was forced into it. You see, Gabrielle’s father, the
comte
de Malincourt, was one of the
ci-devant
King’s most useful courtiers and was privy to a great many of his secrets. After the Revolution began in eighty-nine, he was in danger of arrest and Jack persuaded him to take his family to England. They lived in one of the Earl of Beauworth’s properties in London.’