Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (22 page)

Astounded, she said unevenly, "The ambition to—to rule as your
consort?"

"Bravo!" He sprang to his feet. "Most women in your present
position would be fainting at my feet, or in screaming hysterics. Not
only do you succumb to neither revolting condition, but you stand here
proudly and bandy words with me. You are times ten the woman I had
supposed you to be. Ah— you are startled. Naturally so. Never mind. You
will learn that part of my success derives from my ability to reach
decisions with great rapidity. I have a clear mind, you see. Think on
it, and upon all I offer you, and—"

Daring to interrupt this ridiculous speech, she said, "How may
you offer what you do not possess?"

He laughed. "Must you see England at my feet before you agree?
You do not know me very well. The prize is as good as mine, I assure
you. And, in ten days or less…" He paused, eyeing her reflectively.
"You had as well know. Either way, you are powerless to interfere.
Come."

He walked to the door and held it open. Not averse to seeing
some of the rest of this mighty old castle, and consoling herself with
the fact that she had carried off the interview quite well, Charity
followed.

Claude bowed her from the room, then led the way along a high
vaulted hall paved with gleaming stone, strewn with rich furs and rugs,
lit by fine old ships' lamps hung from the massy walls, and peopled by
innumerable elegant footmen and lackeys who stiffened to attention at
their approach. Around a corner and along another hall, to a recessed
door that a lackey sprang to open.

Three men waited inside a luxuriously equipped book room.
Jean-Paul and Clem were unpleasantnesses that Charity was able to
ignore, but with them was an individual she knew to be almost as
dangerous as his master. It was all she could do not to shrink when his
glittering black eyes turned to her. He smiled with thin mockery and
bowed. "Gerard," Charity half whispered.

Claude looked with benevolence from one to the other.

"How pleasant it is," he purred, "when old friends are
reunited. You two"—he snapped his fingers at Jean-Paul and Clem—"wait
outside."

Jean-Paul's face did not change, but Clem scowled as they went
out.

A sturdy little brass-bound wooden chest, dark with years, lay
on the reference table, and Claude walked across to rest his hand on it
for a moment almost caressingly. Glancing up at Gerard, he asked, "This
not once has left your sight?"

"Not for one instant, monseigneur."

Claude nodded. He drew a small key ring from his pocket,
fitted one of the keys into the lock, and opened the lid. It seemed to
Charity that his face softened as he surveyed the contents. Certainly,
when he looked up at her, his eyes were kinder than they had been since
her arrival.

"You have an interest in history, as I recall," he murmured.
"You will find this to be intriguing."

Curious, she trod across to him and peered into the box.
Somehow, she had expected something ugly or evil; instead, she saw the
interior of the little chest to be lined with purple velvet, and on a
thickly cushioned base a thing of beauty: an exquisitely fashioned
crown, clearly of great antiquity and richly bejewelled, the gleams of
great sapphires, emeralds, rubies, and diamonds flashing even in the
dimness of the chest.

Watching her rapt face with delight, Claude took a pair of
cotton gloves from the table. He put them on and lifted the crown very
carefully. "See," he said softly, holding it up to the light.

It resembled a small helmet, the top portion supplanted by two
intricately carven golden hoops, and the sides consisting of eight
plates, variously encrusted with jewels or adorned with enamelled
paintings, the colours still clear and true despite the passage of the
centuries.

"Oh," whispered Charity, overawed. "How
very
beautiful."

"Can you date it, do you think?"

Her brow wrinkled. She said hesitantly, "I would say it is
Frankish. Tenth century, perhaps… or even earlier. It could, in fact,
very well be—" Breath held in check, she looked up. "My heavens! Never
say— It cannot be—"

Claude chuckled his triumph. "But it is, my clever little
creature."

"
Charlemagne…
?" gasped Charity. "But—but
it must be priceless!"

''Just so. I hate to part with it. I really do. Although I
shall get it back, of course. But to know this splendid work of art
actually rested on the head of the mighty Charles… Such a fall from
grace that it soon must adorn—however briefly— your poor foolish
George.''

Charity met his innocent smile with a sharpening gaze. "You
mean to present this to the Regent?"

"Oh yes." He sighed. "Such a pity that it was necessary to
tamper with the pretty thing. But clever, very clever, I must admit.
Here—let me show you." Very cautiously, he placed the crown on its side
in the chest, then turned it until the great ruby in the centre front
was face down on the velvet.

Gerard murmured, "Sir, Miss Strand can scarce be in sympathy
with your plans. Do you think it wise to demonstrate—"

"Miss Strand is our guest," said Claude. "She will not leave
us until our coup is
fait accompli
. If then. See,
my dear…" He pointed to one of the round small discs that linked the
main plates of the band, this disc alone being slightly out of
alignment with its fellows. "A small substitution we have made. Watch…"
He pressed his index fingers on the right side of the little golden
disc, pushing it gently into line. And as it straightened, Charity
thought to detect a faint flicker in the centre; nothing more, but
gooseflesh started on her skin, and Claude, drawing back, looked up at
her like a schoolboy who has just performed a brilliant feat.

"What—what is it?" she whispered.

"A little needle. So long as there is no pressure on the band,
it is withdrawn, but I learnt the size of the so dear Prince's hats.
When the crown is in place on his empty head it will fit very snug. The
right side of the disc it will of necessity be pressed into its proper
position. That small straightening is all that is required to cause the
needle to spring forward. Scarcely a threat, eh? So tiny a thing. Ah,
but you see, dear mademoiselle, it is death. The needle is coated with
a poison many times more venomous than that of a cobra. The merest
scratch will bring about all the symptoms of a seizure of the heart.
Within a few minutes of donning the crown your fair Florizel will
expire. And do you see the delicious touch of it? He will appear to
have died from natural causes!" He beamed at her, eyes bright and
triumphant.

"How
horrible!''
Charity groped for the
nearest chair and sank into it, her fascinated gaze fixed on his
pleased face. "And for what earthly purpose?"

"What else but to be of aid to my fellow man," he answered
piously. "To relieve the conditions so intolerable that now exist among
Britain's poor. Consider the riots, the unrest among the masses. And
who shall blame them? They fought an endless war. Their reward for all
the death and suffering and privation is taxation of the most crashing.
They are cursed with mounting unemployment and working conditions that
are very bad."

"And do you say that
you
mean to correct
all these injustices?"

"Let us say," he qualified with a grin, "that they must be
brought to
believe
I shall. The time it is right
for change. And so I help matters. My men are everywhere about, guiding
and, ah, consoling your unfortunates."

"You mean stirring them up for trouble!''

Claude winked at Gerard like a crafty schoolboy. "The lady
thinks me very naughty, eh
mon ami
? No, no, Miss
Strand. My people merely educate your peasants. To a point. But you
must not—what is it you say?—put the whole in my dish. I may be the
natural leader, but you would be very surprised to know how many of
your Prinny's most trusted advisers are loyal to me. To say nothing of
certain high-ranking army and navy officers who will do whatsoever I
tell them. Now—allow me to continue."

He righted the Charlemagne crown, locked the little chest,
and, removing his gloves, restored them to the table. ''Within
twenty-four hours of the Regent's death," he went on, "Liverpool, your
admirable Prime Minister, Lord Palmerston, and Lord Castlereagh will
have been assassinated, apparently by angry mobs." Smiling at Charity's
horrified gasp, he picked up the chest and handed it to Gerard. "Be
careful of it," he said. "
Extreme
careful, my dear
friend."

Gerard took the box. "Be assured, monseigneur," he murmured
and went out. The appalled Charity caught a glimpse of Clem and
Jean-Paul and of several other men still waiting there, and then the
door closed.

Claude settled himself on an adjacent sofa. "What," he
enquired smugly, "do you know of such institutions as Child's and
Hoare's, and Coutts', dear lady?"

Watching him with fascinated disbelief, Charity managed, "I—I
know they are fine banks. My brother deals with Child's."

"And you know, of course, of this rising leviathan, the Bank
of England?"

"Yes. A little."

"I wonder if this is possible—that you comprehend such
intricacies as gold reserves? Ah, I know the minds of you gentle ladies
are fashioned for simpler matters, so I shall be very brief. Your Bank
of England holds in its vaults sufficient gold to enable it to supply
smaller banks, in the event they may suffer a setback.'' He drew a fine
enamelled watch from his waistcoat pocket, glanced at it, wound it
absently a few times, then restored it to his pocket. "On the day
following the assassinations," he said, "there will be just such a
setback. Throughout the world, large businesses in which I either hold
a controlling interest, or with which I have, ah, connections, are
heavy depositors with the establishments I have mentioned. On the day
designated, every one of those concerns will demand immediate
withdrawal of all their funds. Even so formidable an institution as
your noble Bank of England will be forced to refuse aid." He smiled
happily at Charity. "Simultaneously, into the major banks of every
large city in your island, my dear, will come prominent men of business
also demanding their funds. They will speak of a Panic—and alarm will
become consternation, and consternation, in the event, a Panic. One
after another, the banks will fall. Oh yes, I do assure you they will.
The greatest banking houses, the mighty financiers will be
helpless—this, it has been contrived. One man—at last—will intervene.
One
man
will rescue the toppling economy of dear, damp England."

Her wide eyes fixed on his bland smile, Charity whispered,
"You."

He bestowed a slight bow upon her. "Not alone, of course,
although ostensibly so. I have my backers in Vienna, Paris, Berlin, in
Switzerland, and Rome. But to all intents and purposes
I
will be the saviour. And I will be proclaimed as such. Did you know
that our Prinny has arranged for me to become a legal citizen of
Britain? So accommodating. My eager supporters who even now await the
start of this train of events, will soon demand that I be named to some
public office. Such as… Prime Minister." He gestured gracefully. "Do
you see? It is just beginning, but—do you see?"

"Then… you do not mean to invade England with an army?"

Claude put back his head and laughed merrily.'' How jolly that
would be. And with myself astride a white charger twice as mighty, and
one hopes better behaved, than Copenhagen. Alas, no, my dear. However,
there
will
be an invasion of a sort. You have
seen my men—very few, but you have seen some, yes?"

She nodded.

"The reason there are so few now here, is that most are
already in place. I have, shall we say, shock troops, strategically
placed throughout England. They have gathered near military barracks,
armouries, naval installations, even around my so dear friends, the
Runners of Bow Street. They poise-ready. Awaiting the word only, not to
strike necessarily, but to, ah, dissuade any attempt at interference
with my manoeuvrings.''

"I cannot believe it," Charity said breathlessly. "I cannot
credit that you really could expect to succeed! You—you say it is only
the beginning. What, dare I ask, is the ending? King Claude the First?"

He pushed back a perfect cuticle. "Who shall say?"

"I shall say!" Leaning forward in her chair, bold with rage,
Charity cried hotly, "And I say—
stuff
. I know
little about banking, as you said, but even I have heard of the
Rothschilds. What of them?"

He smiled. "How you do impress me, dear and quite uninsipid
creature. Did I not say I have contrived?"

"I don't believe you! My brother told me that Nathan
Rothschild kept Wellington supplied with bullion all through the war;
that he managed somehow to transport it right across France. I cannot
believe he would fail now!"

Claude spread his hands. "Then you must doubt me, poor child.
Until I prove you mistaken."

He sighed, but his smile was full of mischief, and she was
shaken.

"And—and what of Princess Charlotte? Or the royal Dukes? Do
you mean to assassinate them also?"

"There is not the need. So many in this land have never
admired the House of Hanover. So many of your oppressed citizenry are
eager to embrace a truly democratic state. To be done with all the pomp
and nonsense of royalty. You will not deny that many of your
aristocrats live in dread lest the yokels follow France's lead and
launch a revolution?" He saw her whiten, and murmured slyly, "Thousands
of malcontents; the victimized, the starving; the once-proud weavers
now herded like animals into stifling factories; the country families
no longer allowed their small holdings. All waiting. All ready to burst
into flame. Needing only the spark I shall provide." He chuckled. "
Liberte…
? Egalite… ? Fraternité…
?"