The Man in the Green Coat (5 page)

“Then it will take forever, and you must not mind if I eat in the middle, for I assure you that as soon as Gerard returns I shall devour everything he brings me. Very well, it begins in Louisiana, in 1780 or thereabouts, when Papa met Mama. He was English, she French. My English grandfather despised the French and forbade Papa to return to England as long as he lived—my grandfather lived, that is. So Papa and Mama went to live in France with her family, and Gerard and I were born there.”

“So you are citizens of France.”

Gabrielle frowned. “Are we? I suppose you could say so. We were brought up to think ourselves English, and generally spoke English at home, for Mama spoke it very well. We had an English governess too, who stayed with us even when we went to Neuchâtel. She did not leave us until I was seventeen. Her sister’s husband died, you see, and she went home to live with her.”

“When did you go to Neuchâtel?” asked Mr Everett, uninterested in the vagaries of governesses.

“In 1792. Papa decided that in spite of his democratic principles it was too dangerous to stay in Paris. He was right too, of course. Poor Madame Aurore’s husband went to the guillotine, and she would have, too, had Papa not rescued her. When Mama died on the way to Switzerland, Madame was the greatest comfort to him, and to us too, for I was but nine years old, and Gerard eight.”

“So this Madame Aurore lived with you thereafter?”

“Not for long. She thought Neuchâtel vastly stuffy and bourgeois! She went to London, to join the other French aristocrats, but we have always kept in touch and she sent us all the latest English novels and gossip. So even though we passed for French, we still felt English. Papa always spoke of returning to his native land once his father was gone."

“Who was his father? I take it Darcy is your real name?”

“Yes, of course! But that is all I know, for Papa always refused to talk about his family. He said we should learn all in due time if it became necessary. Darcy is not an uncommon name, I think?”

“No, there are any number of families of that name. You are not seeking shelter with your family, then. Where shall you go when you leave here?”

“To Madame Aurore, in London. She has always pressed Gerard and me to visit her, even if Papa could not go. And when Papa left, he told us to go to her if we felt it necessary to leave without waiting for him.”

“Your father left?”

“Yes, and he was gone longer than we expected,” said Gabrielle hurriedly, obviously glossing over that part of her tale. “And then we heard of Bonaparte’s quarrel with Lord Whitworth, and I was sure there would be war again. And then Marthe died. She was our nurse when we were little, and then our housekeeper. I thought if we found a new servant, we might be exposed as English, and of course Neuchâtel had been part of France for years by then. So we left. And that is where I should have started my story if you had not asked for all that ancient history!”

“I apologise, Miss Darcy. Perhaps we had best delay the rest of the telling, for you look a little pale. Would you like to lie down?”

“I shall be perfectly all right as soon as I have eaten. Oh, there you are at last, Gerard! I had almost given up.”

Gerard held open the door, and Baxter carried in a tray loaded with covered dishes.

“Thank you,” said Gabrielle with satisfaction. “You may take away all the covers, for I shall certainly eat everything. It appears that Mrs Colby has a proper appreciation of a deprived appetite!”

“One has only to look at her to expect it,” Gerard pointed out. “I am hungry again, Gab. Can you not spare me a roll ?“

“Just one, then, if you will butter mine for me.” She took a large forkful of steaming omelette. “Mmm, delicious. Will you have anything, sir?”

“No, I thank you,” said Mr Everett, laughing. “Unlike the two of you I am not suffering from starvation, and I had an excellent breakfast not two hours since. I shall leave you to eat in peace while I step out for a breath of fresh air, but I shall return presently, if I may, for I greatly desire to hear about your travels. Baxter shall stay to serve you.

Her mouth full of fried ham, Gabrielle nodded. Nor did she reply when Gerard commented disconsolately that he supposed they were stuck here for several days while she convalesced.

“I believe I shall go for a walk,” he said at last. “I cannot sit here watching you make a pig of yourself.”

“Yes, do go, for seeing your long face is almost enough to make me lose my appetite. Go and buy yourself some decent clothing.”

Gerard brightened. “That is a good idea. I feel like a tramp in these after wearing them for three days.”

“You look like one. Now go away and let me eat, there’s a dear. Baxter, be so good as to fetch me some more chocolate. My brother has drunk the half of it.”

The two departed, and Gabrielle set to in earnest to provide Mrs Colby with proof that her cooking was appreciated. When Baxter returned with a pewter pot of hot chocolate, she was leaning back against her pillows feeling somewhat overfull but much stronger.

“Thank you,” she said as he poured her a cup. “Have you been with Mr Everett very long?”

“Aye, miss.”

“Where does he live?”

“Mostly London, miss.”

“Has he family there?”

“Aye, miss.”

“Children?”

“No, miss.”

Gabrielle decided that she could not ask outright whether Mr Everett was a married man.

“Will he stay Icing in Dover?”

“Can’t say, miss.”

“I expect he has business here?”

‘Spect so, miss.”

She looked at the gloomy, close-mouthed little man with irritation. How could she find out anything about her rescuer if he would not cooperate? She was not sure if he was merely taciturn or if he was being deliberately secretive.

“Where does Mr Everett live when he is not in town?” she tried.

“In the country, miss.”

Gabrielle gave up, finished her chocolate, and requested the removal of her tray.

Alone at last, she managed to pull a couple of pillows from behind her and lie down. The sun shone through the tiny but sparkling clean window and she could hear the mewing of seagulls and a distant dog barking. Drowsy, she closed her eyes; the sounds faded, and she slept.

A light tapping on the door roused her.

“Come in,” she called sleepily.

“Did I wake you?” asked Mr Everett, coming in. “I’m sorry. I came up earlier and when you did not answer my knock I was worried, so I looked in. Since you did not hear me then, I thought you would not this time if you were still sleeping.”

“I must have been ready to wake up. What time is it? Past noon? I’ll tell you what I should like above all things: a cup of tea."

“If I send for a pot of tea, will you tell me the rest of your adventures?” he asked, smiling.

“If you don’t, I won’t!”

Tea was procured, along with a tankard of ale for Mr Everett and a plate of currant cakes (“The mistress says they’s to build up the young lady’s strength,” confided the maid). Gabrielle sat up and, between sips of hot tea, took up her tale.

She explained her decision to dress as a boy, and described the agonising ride which had persuaded them to continue the journey on the diligence, however slow.

“You must not laugh,” she said severely, seeing his lips twitch. “It was excessively painful, much worse than I feel now. It is not that we had not ridden before, but never for so long, only around the lake usually. And of course, I had always ridden sidesaddle.”

“I should not dream of laughing,” he assured her. “Go on.”

“There is really not much more to tell.” Gabrielle had rapidly reviewed the rest of her story and decided that the part about the spy was not hers to tell. She could not think how, but somehow it might endanger other patriotic Englishmen still in France. “We walked a great deal of the way, because the stagecoaches did not go the way we wished to go.”

“Since it did not kill you, that is doubtless why you are in such excellent health and recuperating so quickly.”

“I daresay. It took forever. In Tourcoing we heard of the declaration of war, so we took horses to ride to Dunkirk. We were nearly there when a group of French soldiers began to follow us, and when we rode on, they fired. Fortunately it was nearly dark, so we managed to get away and sailed here on the next tide. And that is all there was to it.,’

“Now why do I think you are concealing the best part of the tale?”

She flushed and raised her chin. “You may think what you please,” she said tartly. “Do you call me a liar?”

“I should not dare. I expect you would call me out, for you are certainly a redoubtable female. No, not a liar, but certainly a prevaricator. You must believe me when I say I am thankful for your ability to hold your tongue, for I am the Man in the Green Coat.”

Gabrielle gaped. “But you can’t be,” she said inanely. “Your coat is grey!” He grinned. “Oh, I didn’t mean that. Of course it is a code name, like Le Hibou. But. . . you? Why did you not tell me before, as soon as Colby told you I was asking for you?”

“You may think me very imperceptive, but I was not sure how far I could trust you. Tell me, what do you know of Le Hibou?”

“Very little.” It was her turn for suspicion. “If you are who you say you are, you must know all about him. Why do you ask me?”

“
Touché!
However, I can call on Colby to vouch for me. He has known me for years as the Man in the Green Coat. There is no one to vouch for you.”

“No, only a bullet in my side! I assure you I did not have it placed there on purpose to deceive you. And Dr Hargreaves can swear that it was real, if you doubt it.”

He leaned forward and took her hand. “I know that it was real. Let us not quarrel, Miss Darcy, for I am more and more convinced that we are on the same side. Forget the Owl for the moment, and give me the message.”

“It is from the Owl. In truth, I know so little, I will tell you all. Papa told us to ask for passage at Dunkirk in the name of Le Hibou. Gerard went into the town to make arrangements, while I hid in a barn. There were soldiers everywhere searching for a wounded spy, and though not so sore as the first time, I was tired from riding all day. The spy was there in the barn, a little man in a brown coat and leggings, just as they had described him."

“John Waterbury,” murmured Mr Everett. “Poor John.”

“He heard me and thought I was his Betsy. When I spoke to him in English, he gave me the message. Then he died.”

“And the message?”

“‘Le Hibou says, de la Touche is Fouché’s man.

“Fouché’s man!” Mr Everett jumped to his feet and began to stride up and down the narrow chamber, a dangerous exercise in view of the low ceiling and the numerous articles of furniture. “Le Hibou is back from Russia then. I must return to London at once.

“What does it mean?” asked Gabrielle. “I know that Fouché was once Minister of Police, but who is de la Touche? And who is Le Hibou? And come to that, who are you?”

“I cannot explain now, ma’am. I must leave immediately. Pray excuse me, and allow Baxter to come in to pack my things.” He turned to the door.

“Wait! I had almost forgot: he—the spy—asked that you take care of Betsy.”

“You may be sure I shall do so. If you remember anything else, it will have to wait until the end of the week, when I shall return to escort you to your friend’s house. This news is urgent, and too important to be entrusted even to Baxter.” Without another word, he was gone.

Gabrielle looked after him in exasperation. “If he expects me to remain here awaiting his pleasure,” she muttered, “he is in for a surprise!”

Chapter 5

My Lady Harrison was in a puzzle. As her abigail delicately brushed the merest soupçon of rouge onto her plump cheeks, she squinted sideways at the three invitations lying on her dresser. With the London season drawing to a close, half the ton was trying to squeeze in the entertainments they had postponed earlier, before the Fashionable World dispersed to the country to take up more rural pastimes.

“Devonshire ‘Ouse,” pondered Lady Harrison. “Of course it is a grand
triomphe
to be invited by the Duke of Devonshire. I shall go to Devonshire ‘Ouse. Only it is to be a musical evening, and you know, Marie, that I am not musical. It promises to be very tedious.”

“Madame ought not to have accepted so many invitations,” said the maid severely.

“I turned down at least as many others,” pointed out her ladyship. “I ought to go to Mrs Levis’s card party, for her husband was a very old friend of poor Sir Cosmo’s, but I vow I cannot afford to play more than silver loo and the stakes are always high at Mrs Levis’s. I shall go to Lady Boniface's drum. She serves an excellent supper.”

“If madame will stand, we will attempt the fastenings of madame's gown.”

Lady Harrison sighed. “I know, Marie, I cannot afford Lady Boniface’s supper either. Devonshire ‘Ouse it is.”

A discreet knock at the door of the dressing room called the maid away, postponing the moment of truth. Her ladyship took a few surreptitious deep breaths in preparation for the ordeal. Marie was very clever with her needle, but even she could not let out old gowns beyond a certain point, and where the money was to come from for new ones was more than my lady could tell. What poor Sir Cosmo would have said if he could see how she had to scrimp and save on the generous jointure he had left her! But it was her own fault for taking in as many of her penniless countrymen as the house would hold, as Marie had pointed out to her more than once.

“What is it, Marie?” she asked.

The abigail turned to her with a disapproving face. “
Rien,
madame, it is nothing.”

“Now tell me at once. I will not have you concealing things from me. Is that new mantua-maker dunning me already?”

“Certainly not, madame. It is a pair of good-for-nothings who have heard tell of your so generous heart and are come to take advantage.”

“Who? Who is it?” Lady Harrison jumped to her feet and scuttled to the half-shut door. She pulled it open, to the confusion of the powdered footman standing without, who averted his eyes from the generous figure that matched his mistress’s generous heart. “Who is it, Roger?”