The Man in the Green Coat (9 page)

“Then you are at the Foreign Office?”

“I am. You may consult Lord Hawkesbury if you still doubt my credentials.”

“The Foreign Secretary? I should not dare! Do you still suspect me of being a French spy?”

“I cannot dismiss all my doubts,” he said with devastating honesty. “If you are, you already know all that I am telling you, so I am giving nothing away. The company you keep is just such as I might expect of a French spy. Lady Harrison's s house is known to be filled to the rafters with émigrés of all persuasions.”

“Madame Aurore has an exceptionally kind heart!” retorted Gabrielle angrily.

“Lady Harrison is your Madame Aurore then. I have beaten Baxter to the draw.”

Gabrielle forgot her anger in curiosity. “Baxter? Your servant? What has he to do with it?”

“I set him to ferret out an unknown French widow by the name of Madame Aurore. It was the only way I could think of to find you.”

“You were looking for me? Because you think I am a spy?”

He did not answer at once. Then he said, “In part. For other reasons too. And Madame Aurore will be looking for you if we stay out here any longer. Come, Miss Darcy, let me return you to her.” He stood up.

“As if I were a lost parcel! You have not told me yet about de la Touche.”

“Tomorrow. I shall call at noon to take you driving in the park.”

“Thank you, kind sir.” Rising to her feet, Gabrielle was suddenly dizzy. She swayed.

His arm was instantly about her waist. He lowered her to the seat, growling, “So you know your own strength! Where the devil is that brother of yours?”

She leaned her head on her hand. “I shall be perfectly all right in a minute. Gerard is inside somewhere, but there is no need to trouble him.”

“You are going home immediately. Our acquaintance is not sufficient to allow me to take you, so you will not attempt to stir from this spot until I bring your brother to you. Understand?”

She nodded weakly. There were times, she thought, when it was much easier to obey.

Chapter 8

“Davis, did you ever hear Lady Harrison referred to as ‘Madame Aurore’?” Mr Everett lounged with his feet on his paper-strewn desk. It seemed to be impossible to concentrate on paperwork this morning.

“Lady Harrison, sir?” asked his lanky secretary. His spectacles caught the light from the window and gleamed blankly. “You mean Sir Cosmo’s widow?”

“Yes. Did he ever call her Madame Aurore?”

“Oh no, sir! He was a very proper gentleman. But the name does sound familiar. Where did you hear it, if I might ask?”

“The person who brought Le Hibou’s latest message from France is a friend of her ladyship and knows her by that name.”

“Then the message is genuine. There are some documents for your signature, sir, if you wouldn’t mind. Here’s the order for a pension for Mrs Betsy Waterbury, for instance.”

Mr Everett lowered his feet to the floor with a sigh, and took up his pen.

“I have a feeling that you know more about Madame Aurore than you are telling me,” he said as he signed the first paper.

“In our business, it’s best if no one knows everything, sir.”

“No one but you, you mean.”

“Well I’ve got into the habit over the years of keeping it all in my head. It’s safer not to put it on paper.”

“So if you die unexpectedly, I shall be left in the lurch!”

“Let’s hope it won’t happen, sir, least till Boney’s been beat. But you could run things without me. You know the beginnings of the threads, how to get hold of the right people. I don’t know much more myself. For instance, when you told me to send a message to Le Hibou asking for more information about de la Touche’s connection with Fouché, I just told a certain person what you want, and it goes right down the line till the Owl gets it. We don’t need to know every link in the chain, not by a long chalk. We have our people here and he has his over there, and one way or another they get together.”

“Do you know who Le Hibou is?”

“Sir Cosmo never saw fit to tell me. I won’t say I don’t have an idea, but I’ve got no proof, and I’d rather not say, sir, if you don’t mind.”

“I sometimes think I’m nothing but a figurehead in this office,” complained Mr Everett.

“Oh, no, sir, not at all!” The secretary was shocked. “It’s true I know a bit more about how things get done, but you’re the one that says what gets done. It’s you as sets policy, decides what information we need and what to do with it when we get it. Like asking Le Hibou for that Russian stuff. We’re not at war with Russia. I’d never of thought we might need that stuff. It’s you that gives the orders, sir, and without that the whole network would be useless. So if you was to order me to say who I think Le Hibou is, or where I’ve heard of Madame Aurore—well, I ask you, sir, have I ever disobeyed an order?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Mr Everett admitted. “Since you have implied that Lady Harrison is above suspicion, I will leave you your secrets. I only hope that you are right.”

The secretary nodded his head indulgently and presented the next document.

Mr Everett left the office shortly before noon. As he drove his tilbury towards Russell Square, a swirl of wind enveloped him in a flurry of raindrops. He looked up at the sky and frowned.

“Damn!” he said aloud. A threatening pall of grey hung overhead. If it was going to rain, that was the end of his drive with Miss Darcy.

In spite of the unfashionable address, a number of fashionable visitors had found their way to Lady Harrison’s house that morning. Her ladyship’s young friends had aroused the curiosity of the ton, particularly in view of Miss Darcy’s Cinderella-like disappearance from the ball.

Miss Darcy was blooming, in sharp contrast to her brother’s pallid, hangdog air. Mr Everett was happy to see her looking well, but a closer look at the admirers clustered about her brought a frown to his face. Among the sprigs of fashion and the dashing blades, Sir Hubert Rathwycke lounged at his ease. Devil take the man! Dorrie had followed his advice to discourage the man’s rakish attentions, but he had no illusions that a word in Gabrielle’s ear would have anything like the same effect!

Another dismaying fact was that, though several matrons of unquestionable gentility were conversing with Lady Harrison, no young ladies formed part of Miss Darcy’s group. Her ladyship, it seemed, was an adequate chaperone but not a sufficiently elevated sponsor for a girl of unknown origins. Careful mothers would not care to risk their daughters’ reputations by calling on Miss Darcy before her respectability was thoroughly established.

Cecilia, thought Mr Everett, was the one to deal with that.

Gerard noticed his presence and came to greet him. With his bloodshot eyes half closed against the light of day, he reminded Mr Everett of his condition at their first meeting.

“How do you do, sir.” he mumbled. “You are come to take Gabrielle driving?”

“I had hoped to, but it is raining. If I might make so bold, did you by any chance take a drop too much last night?”

Gerard flushed. “I went out again after I brought Gaby home. Alain introduced me to a bunch of good fellows last night and we played cards until rather late. You won’t tell Gaby?”

“It is none of my business. But you are young and your father is not here to guide you. Be careful what you are about until you have gathered a little town bronze! It is easy to find oneself over one’s head when suddenly plunged into the amusements of London.”

“I’ll be careful, sir. To tell the truth, I feel devilish just now, and I didn’t even enjoy the drinking above half. I shan’t do it again.”

Without voicing his disbelief, Mr Everett passed on to make his bow to Lady Harrison and Miss Darcy.

Gabrielle smiled at him.

“Is it noon already?” she asked. “Gentlemen, you must excuse me. I am promised to drive out with Mr Everett.”

Amid laughing protests, the others took their leave. Mr Everett let them go before he pointed out that the outing would have to be postponed because of the rain.

Gabrielle looked out of the window. “It is scarcely raining at all,” she said scornfully. “I walked across France in worse weather. I am not made of marchpane, you know!”

“But you are not yet fully recovered.”

“A little faintness now and then! That has nothing whatever to do with rain. Besides, I suppose your carriage has a hood? I have been looking forward all morning to going to the park with you, and I vow I shall be ill if I do not have a little fresh air.”

“You have been looking forward to it?” Mr Everett’s face was slightly flushed. “With your admirers flocking about you, you must have been too busy to spare a thought for me.”

“Those popinjays! They are amusing, I grant you, but uninteresting. I do not suppose one of them has ever had a serious thought, far less done anything worthy of note.”

“You find none of them attractive? I am glad of it, for one of them at least is a notable libertine.”

“Which? Do tell me! He sounds more interesting than the rest.”

“I should not dream of telling you. Indeed I have already said more than I ought.”

“Next you will forbid me to speak to him.”

“Which would doubtless be enough to make you seek out his company!”

Gabrielle looked at him questioningly, a little hurt. “Is that what you think?” she asked. “You misunderstand me. I have no more intention of deliberately flouting your suggestions than of following them simply because you make them. I will go and fetch my cloak.”

Mr Everett could only be grateful that she had not refused to go with him. He wandered over to the window and was glad to see that the rain had stopped, though clouds still obscured the sky. He was standing there, pondering Gabrielle’s words, when a voice offered, “A penny for your thoughts, sir.”

It was Alain de Vignard. “Pardon my intrusion,” he continued. “I wish merely to ascertain whether you have any objection to my calling on your sister? And Lady Cecilia, of course! They were kind enough to invite me, but I do not wish to encroach.”

“I’ve no objection,” said Mr Everett, “if you can squeeze into their drawing room. It seems to be full whenever they are at home. Oh, de Vignard, be so good as to tell me to whom you introduced young Gerard last night.”

Alain looked at him strangely, but mentioned several names. All belonged to unexceptionable scions of the nobility. Mr Everett ceased to worry about the company Gerard had fallen into.

He was taken aback when Alain asked tentatively, “You have known Gerard. for some time, sir?”

“What? Oh, no. I met him last night for the first time. But you may have noticed that he looked to be in queer stirrups this morning. His sister is concerned about him, and I hoped to reassure her.”

Alain seemed unconvinced, but let the matter drop.

Gabrielle came back, cloaked and booted, and they set off for Hyde Park.

A light rain was falling again, but the wind had dropped and the tilbury’s hood and apron kept them dry. The streets were as busy as ever, and Gabrielle looked about with interest at the carriages of the rich; hawkers selling everything from “sweet water, penny a bucket,” to “fine, strong bootlaces”; liveried footmen running errands; and apprentices in leather jerkins striding jauntily along with their arms full of packages.

“How lively it is!” she exclaimed. “I quite understand why Madame Aurore didn’t want to live in Neuchâtel.”

Mr Everett, concentrating on passing a slow-moving stage coach with twelve passengers on its roof, did not answer. Gabrielle held her breath as a high-perch phaeton drawn by four lively horses dashed towards them. The tilbury swung aside just in time.

“Neatly done! I was sure we should be overset. You handle the ribbons in prime form, Mr Everett.”

“I do not claim to be a top sawyer,” he said modestly, “but I think I am not a mere whipster. There was little danger, however. It generally looks worse than it is.”

“I should like to learn to drive.”

“I shall be happy to teach you, Miss Darcy, when you are perfectly recovered.”

“If you refer once more to that . . . that dratted bullet hole,” cried Gabrielle, “I shall never speak to you again. I daresay I should be already perfectly recovered if I were not reminded of it every time we meet!”

Mr Everett did not respond, but drove on in silence, his face forbidding.

As they turned in through the park gates, Gabrielle asked him, “Are you angry? I am sorry if I have offended you. It is very kind of you to take such an interest in my welfare. I have not been used to such solicitude since dear Miss Wilford left us, and to tell the truth I am uncertain how to accept it.”

“My poor child!” He gathered the reins in one hand and laid the other on hers. “It is for me to beg your pardon. I seem unable to speak without ruffling your feathers.”

She smiled at him tremulously. “Let us talk of other things before I burst into tears and disgrace myself utterly. You were going to tell me about de la Touche.”

“Ah yes, de la Touche. He came from France in February and contacted the French royalist leaders here. He claims to represent a group of republicans, led by General Moreau, who are willing to make common cause with them to overthrow Bonaparte. There are plans afoot for uprisings in various parts of the country, and the British government is being asked to subsidise them.”

“And if de la Touche is Fouché's man?”

“Citizen Fouché  is a sly and subtle man. Although he is no longer Minister of Police, he keeps a network of agents at his beck and call. It is possible that he might be behind a plot to overthrow his master, but it is more likely that he is attempting to lure Pichegru and Cadoudal to their doom while at the same time unmasking any hidden opposition in France. You see, the situation is complicated. It is little wonder that they do not heed my warnings.”

“It is very foolish of them,” said Gabrielle indignantly. “Surely they realise that you would not alarm them unnecessarily. Do they not know that you are the Man in the Green Coat?”

“Well, not precisely.” Mr Everett paused to exchange bows with a lady and gentleman in a smart barouche. “They think that I am in charge of a branch of British intelligence.”