Authors: Madeleine E. Robins
Petty Treason (36 page)
And yet Miss Tolerance felt uneasy with the idea. Anne d’Aubigny had done murder; should she be permitted to escape punishment? A reasonable jury might well decide that she had acted to defend herself against further violence. A reasonable jury might well feel that she had been punished in advance of any crime, and ought not suffer further. And the law—Miss Tolerance stopped.
The law permitted my husband to make a mock of our marriage vows!
Was the law likely to make concessions on a charge of petty treason?
The law permitted my husband to make a mock of our marriage vows!
Was the law likely to make concessions on a charge of petty treason?
What if Anne d’Aubigny went free? Miss Tolerance could not believe that she, with sullied honor and no standing in society, found herself in the position of judge and jury. But, as the widow had said, she did understand what it was to be mistaken in the man she loved.
“Miss Tolerance?”
“You would never do it again,” she said, half to herself.
Anne d’Aubigny appeared shocked by the notion. “I will give you my oath! I would never—”
Miss Tolerance held up her hand. “Yes, I know. I hope you will forgive me; I need to consider the matter. When do you plan to leave?”
Madame d’Aubigny’s lips trembled. There is a ship sailing in a few days. The
Lucy Singer
, for Madras.”
Lucy Singer
, for Madras.”
“Then I suppose I must make my mind to tell the law what I know before that time, or lose the opportunity to do so.”
In the silence of the room the fire popped and the chimney whistled faintly. Anne d’Aubigny regarded Miss Tolerance steadily. At last she said, “I understand. And I thank you for your consideration, Miss Tolerance.”
As well you might
, Miss Tolerance thought. She took a sip of her wine in a silent toast to the Widow d’Aubigny and her future.
, Miss Tolerance thought. She took a sip of her wine in a silent toast to the Widow d’Aubigny and her future.
M
iss Tolerance spent the evening in a reflective mood, quietly playing cards with her aunt. She had felt some guilt over her neglect of Mrs. Brereton in the past week; she might excuse that neglect by saying, truthfully, that she had no gifts as a nurse, but the fact was that it had been easier to be away on Anne d‘Aubigny’s business than to stay home fretting uselessly. If she had thought to wait upon an invalid, however, she had the wind taken out of her sails at the sight of her aunt, elegantly dressed and coiffed, with the Cent deck in her hand and an agreeably rapacious look in her eye. Mrs. Brereton’s fine complexion had regained a good deal of its well-tended clarity, but there was still a papery quality to the skin about her eyes, and a tentativeness in her manner, as if her illness had reminded her of a mortality she had successfully ignored for many years. But the worst of Mrs. Brereton’s illness was past, and the d’Aubigny matter was resolved. Miss Tolerance was happy to be able to sit talking amiable commonplace and playing piquet for paper points.
iss Tolerance spent the evening in a reflective mood, quietly playing cards with her aunt. She had felt some guilt over her neglect of Mrs. Brereton in the past week; she might excuse that neglect by saying, truthfully, that she had no gifts as a nurse, but the fact was that it had been easier to be away on Anne d‘Aubigny’s business than to stay home fretting uselessly. If she had thought to wait upon an invalid, however, she had the wind taken out of her sails at the sight of her aunt, elegantly dressed and coiffed, with the Cent deck in her hand and an agreeably rapacious look in her eye. Mrs. Brereton’s fine complexion had regained a good deal of its well-tended clarity, but there was still a papery quality to the skin about her eyes, and a tentativeness in her manner, as if her illness had reminded her of a mortality she had successfully ignored for many years. But the worst of Mrs. Brereton’s illness was past, and the d’Aubigny matter was resolved. Miss Tolerance was happy to be able to sit talking amiable commonplace and playing piquet for paper points.
“But ought the
Times
not make some mention of the role you played, my dear?” Mrs. Brereton declared a blank and laid down five cards. “It was your investigation brought all to light.”
Times
not make some mention of the role you played, my dear?” Mrs. Brereton declared a blank and laid down five cards. “It was your investigation brought all to light.”
“There is no ought about it, ma’am. And Mr. Heddison is far
more adept a player than I am; he made sure that the credit, and the reward as well, I do not doubt, will go to the Great Marlborough Street Public Office. I don’t doubt he plans to deal with Mr. Boyse on his own, with as little public notice of the corruption in his office as possible. I would lament more, but I have been handsomely paid by my client.” Miss Tolerance saw no reason to mention the Duke of Cumberland’s attempt to bribe her. She suspected her scruples would make no sense to Mrs. Brereton, and dreaded the discussion that would ensue. “And what use is public notice to me? Versellion’s trial put me in grave danger of becoming a familiar figure. How could I do my work if every man on the corner recognized me as I passed?”
more adept a player than I am; he made sure that the credit, and the reward as well, I do not doubt, will go to the Great Marlborough Street Public Office. I don’t doubt he plans to deal with Mr. Boyse on his own, with as little public notice of the corruption in his office as possible. I would lament more, but I have been handsomely paid by my client.” Miss Tolerance saw no reason to mention the Duke of Cumberland’s attempt to bribe her. She suspected her scruples would make no sense to Mrs. Brereton, and dreaded the discussion that would ensue. “And what use is public notice to me? Versellion’s trial put me in grave danger of becoming a familiar figure. How could I do my work if every man on the corner recognized me as I passed?”
“So you will keep your involvement a secret?”
“I propose merely to say nothing unless asked, and then to exercise discretion. I believe that is ten points to you, Aunt.”
“So it is.” Mrs. Brereton smiled. “Cole tells me that the whitewashing in your cottage is finished. Will you return?”
“I certainly shall. What excellent news! I will ask Frost to have my clothes carried back tomorrow.”
“You need not go, you know. The yellow room is not needed. You are not discommoding anyone.” Miss Tolerance thought she discerned a note of anxiety in her aunt’s voice.
“You are very kind to offer it, Aunt, but you know I like my privacy. And you are always taking on new women—to say nothing of the fact that you haven’t replaced Matt. Do you mean to do so?”
“I haven’t yet found a boy that suits the house; molly-whores are tricky—”
“I miss him too,” Miss Tolerance said quietly. “But my point is really that you will need that room again. I ought not to occupy it if I cannot put it to use the way the rest of your staff does.” She put a gentle hand on her aunt’s. “You need not a fear a resumption of our former coldness, Aunt. I am sorrier than I can say that we allowed a stupid quarrel to estrange us. And indeed when I have my own place we are the better friends for it.”
“So you say,” Mrs. Brereton said. “Well, I know better than to argue with you. Perhaps I will give the yellow room to Marianne. And my ruff is—” she peered at her hand and totaled the cards in her best suit. “Twenty-four.”
“I’m sure Marianne will like it,” Miss Tolerance said. She declared twenty-seven points.
“‘Twill make it more convenient when she needs to ask a question about how things are being done.” Mrs. Brereton watched her niece from the corner of her eye. “You were right: she has a good sensible head upon her shoulders, and managed the house while I was sick, as well as keeping up with her callers. She deserves some sort of notice.”
Miss Tolerance smiled with real pleasure. “I am delighted to hear you say it, Aunt. I think Marianne will be a great help to you.”
“You might have been,” Mrs. Brereton said, with the air of one who expects to be scolded but cannot keep from making a remark.
“I might have,” Miss Tolerance said mildly. “But my heart would not have been in it, and you and I should have quarreled.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Brereton, “we have had quite enough of
that
.” She laid down a set of four. “Match that!” she said with pleasure.
that
.” She laid down a set of four. “Match that!” she said with pleasure.
T
he next morning Miss Tolerance saw the return of her belongings, and a few pieces of borrowed furniture, to the little house behind Mrs. Brereton’s. Despite the fresh whitewash there was still a smell of charred wood, an unpleasant acrid scent that pinched the nostrils and soured the throat. The house was very cold and damp; Miss Tolerance lit a fire and bustled about, putting things away, making note of what she would have to replace. Looking at her list she thought for a moment of Cumberland’s bribe, which would have bought her new furniture instead of used, with a nice nest egg remaining. She was sitting by the fire with some darning when Keefe brought a letter to her.
he next morning Miss Tolerance saw the return of her belongings, and a few pieces of borrowed furniture, to the little house behind Mrs. Brereton’s. Despite the fresh whitewash there was still a smell of charred wood, an unpleasant acrid scent that pinched the nostrils and soured the throat. The house was very cold and damp; Miss Tolerance lit a fire and bustled about, putting things away, making note of what she would have to replace. Looking at her list she thought for a moment of Cumberland’s bribe, which would have bought her new furniture instead of used, with a nice nest egg remaining. She was sitting by the fire with some darning when Keefe brought a letter to her.
The paper was heavy white laid stock, with her address written in a Continental fist tightly looped and back-slanted. The handwriting was unfamiliar to Miss Tolerance.
“How did this come?” she asked.
“A boy—a crossing-boy by the look of him—brought it. Didn’t wait for a reply, just took to his heels and run. Now you come to say it, miss, it don’t look like the sort of message normally received from a street urchin.”
“Paper this fine usually requires livery and a senior footman,”
Miss Tolerance agreed. “Perhaps someone prizes his anonymity too much to advertise the letter’s origin. And it may be new employment for me. Thank you, Keefe.”
Miss Tolerance agreed. “Perhaps someone prizes his anonymity too much to advertise the letter’s origin. And it may be new employment for me. Thank you, Keefe.”
She waited until the servant was gone before she turned the letter over. It was double-sealed with red wax, without frank or stamp. If it was a new inquiry, why address it to her here instead of Tarsio’s? She shook her head:
I really must let go my squeamishness about my privacy.
She ran her fingernail under the wax blots, lifted them, and read the letter with astonishment. It was written in the same back-slanted hand, poorly spelled and altogether confounding:
I really must let go my squeamishness about my privacy.
She ran her fingernail under the wax blots, lifted them, and read the letter with astonishment. It was written in the same back-slanted hand, poorly spelled and altogether confounding:
Dear Miss Tolerance
I am sorry we could not continue our excelent coversation, but as you better than anyone else will be aware, circumstanses make it necesary that I remove myself from Londron for a time. I hope you were not too distresed by my absense when you called—but I hear that poor Beauville met you there and gave you some exerxise. You must not repine at having killed him. He was really a very useles man: not one thing that I set him to do did he do properly. The French will not miss him and nor will I.
I supose you are congratulating yourself for your clevernes at having unraveled the whole busines. Indeed, you did very nicely to a point, but you must not expect to know the whole. Like you, I am a woman with my way to make, and like you, my goals change with my employers. I have done most, if not all, that I hoped to do, and can leave England with a light heart.
And that I must now do, as Mr. Smith has been at my door these five minutes, and says the yaght must sail by the next tide.
Please believe me that I remain your admiring friend,
Camille Veronie Touvois
Miss Tolerance’s hands trembled. She had the powerful impulse to throw one of her remaining pieces of crockery across the room. When the immediate impulse had passed she read the letter again, marveling at Madame Touvois’ nerve—although a far earthier term occurred to her. After several minutes in this uncomfortable
state of admiration and rage Miss Tolerance asked herself why Camille Touvois had sent the note at all. What was its purpose? To thumb her nose at a bested adversary? Would someone bent on escaping English law stop to write such a note, the emotional equivalent of one nursery-child crying “Nyahh!” to another?
state of admiration and rage Miss Tolerance asked herself why Camille Touvois had sent the note at all. What was its purpose? To thumb her nose at a bested adversary? Would someone bent on escaping English law stop to write such a note, the emotional equivalent of one nursery-child crying “Nyahh!” to another?
Miss Tolerance read the letter again, putting aside her outrage and simply parsing the words. On this reading the import of the last paragraph struck her: “Mr. Smith has been at my door these five minutes, and says the yaght must sail by the next tide.”
“You may call me Mr. Smith,” Cumberland’s aide had told her.
Smith was a common enough name. That had been the point of the man’s transparent lie.
So: were the Smith she had met and Madame Touvois’s Smith one and the same? Touvois hinted at it—else why add that last paragraph? If her Smith and Miss Tolerance’s were the same man, then Camille Touvois would be leaving the country under the Duke of Cumberland’s protection. But that could not be. Whatever his faults, the duke would not ally himself with the French—and in her first paragraph La Touvois had made it plain that she and Beauville had been in the pay of the French.
Could Touvois have cozened the Duke of Cumberland into protecting her? Miss Tolerance wished that she had not left matters so badly with Sir Walter Mandif; she would have liked to show the letter to him and see what he made of it. She read the letter again.
“No,” she murmured. Whatever she thought of Cumberland, he was not a stupid man. He would not have been tricked by some act of Camille Touvois’ into believing her a wronged innocent. Touvois’s name and the list of her crimes had been blazoned in the newspapers. If she were indeed under the duke’s protection—which the letter certainly implied—Miss Tolerance could imagine only two reasons for it. The first was blackmail. But what hold could Touvois have upon him? The Sellis matter, her first attempt to destroy Cumberland and his reputation, had been exploded by a Whig jury which had been sufficiently unbiased to acknowledge that the duke had not slain his valet.
What else might be held over Prince Ernest’s head to compel him to protect Camille Touvois? A bastard child? Just another FitzHanover among the many. More florid sexual indiscretion? Possibly—but Cumberland had been rumored to have fathered a child on his youngest sister, the Princess Amelia: what worse could be said of him? Sodomy? Not impossible to believe, but to have survived this long with no whisper of it seemed unlikely. Brutality of the sort practiced by Etienne d’Aubigny? Mrs. Vose would have known that answer. Smith had said that matters had turned out very well for his master; that Mrs. Vose’s death cast Cumberland in a sympathetic light. A very convenient death, if it not only gained him sympathy but hid a brutal nature as well.
Would Cumberland not hate Camille Touvois, who had constructed the plot to discredit him with Mrs. Vose’s death? Or would he perhaps have been grateful to her? Miss Tolerance read the second paragraph of the letter again:
Like you, I am a woman with my way to make, and like you, my goals change with my employers
.
Like you, I am a woman with my way to make, and like you, my goals change with my employers
.
Miss Tolerance drew a breath.
Could Camille Touvois be telling her, in so many words, that the French had indeed been her masters in arranging the Sellis affair, but that Cumberland himself had paid her to arrange the
affaire Vose?
affaire Vose?
Miss Tolerance rose and began to pace the length of the room, weighing obligation against risk. The answer she reached was always the same. Miss Tolerance looked about her and recalled that the box in which she had kept her pens, inkwell and paper had been destroyed in the fire. She threw on a shawl and crossed the garden to her aunt’s house to beg a sheet of paper and pen, and sat down at once to write.
An hour later, after several false starts, she had completed a letter to the Prince of Wales. It was not entirely outrageous of her to write to Wales; she had met him at Versellion House, and Cumberland himself had told her that Wales not only remembered her, he had been impressed by her enterprise. Wales might feel that the letter she proposed to send to him, detailing everything she knew and everything she conjectured about his brother Cumberland’s involvement with Camille Touvois and Josette Vose, was presumptuous.
But she could not in good conscience keep treason a secret. She had promised that she would not make Cumberland’s secrets public; she had not said she would not tell the duke’s brother.
But she could not in good conscience keep treason a secret. She had promised that she would not make Cumberland’s secrets public; she had not said she would not tell the duke’s brother.
I would not approach Your Highness with this matter but that I feel most strongly it has a bearing upon the security of the Nation.
If Prince Ernest has indeed authored a plot to make himself sympathetic, the better to achieve backing for the War Support Bill or his own ambitions, he has done so at the cost of at least two lives. If my conjectures are wrong, I shall be glad of it. But I felt I must lay the whole before Your Highness, in hopes that whatever steps you think best should be taken. If Your Highness has need to speak further upon this matter, I am at your service. You have my earnest promise that I shall not speak of this matter except to yourself.
Having finished the note, sanded and sealed it, Miss Tolerance took it across to Keefe and asked him to have it brought to Carlton House.
“I’ll take the note myself, miss,” Keefe assured her. “I can use a bit of air.” Miss Tolerance, noting that it looked to snow soon, thanked Keefe very much. She returned to her cottage.
Nothing, it seemed, had been what she thought it.
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