The Reckoning (20 page)

‘
When we were children, you never saw a stranger from
one year's end to the next,' Edward pointed out. 'People
stayed put where they were born, and we all knew where we
were. But nowadays, what with all these turnpikes and canals
and fast travel, everyone seems to be going to the Devil at
fifteen miles an hour! The old ways, the old traditions are
going by the board – young people have no respect for their
elders any more –'

‘
Ah, speaking of young people,' the visitor interrupted
what was evidently, even to him, an accustomed tirade, 'I
wonder if I might pay a brief visit to the nursery? Would you permit? I promised the boys I would say goodnight to them if
I could.’

It was the most extraordinary thing for a stranger to ask,
and yet from this stranger, somehow unexceptionable.

‘
Of course,' Héloïse said, with barely a blink. 'There is just time before supper. I will take you myself.' As Moineau stood
up, she caught sight of his hand. 'Oh, you are injured!'

‘
It is nothing, Madame – merely the result of that ruffian's
unwise decision to try to smash my knuckles with his nose!’

It was very hard to express concern, Héloïse discovered,
while trying not to laugh. 'Nevertheless, you will let me bathe
it,' she managed to say.

‘
I will not allow you to be troubled. It is only a graze. It will
heal very well if it is left alone,' he said pleasantly, but quite
firmly. 'And I will not take you away from your fireside
either, Madame. A servant can conduct me to the nursery. I
shall not be above a few minutes, I promise you.’

Héloïse rang the bell, and William answered, which was a good thing, for he was too stupid to think his mission an odd
one. He escorted Moineau away, presenting Tiger with a
severe problem, for the hound clearly wanted to keep the
newcomer in sight, but did not like to leave Edward. He
solved it by going to sit at the drawing-room door and
pressing his nose to the crack for the first hint of Moineau's
return, his tail beating a soft, practice tattoo on the carpet.

The other three looked at each other with bemused expres
sions, like people waking from an exhibition of mesmerism.

‘
Well,' said Edward inadequately, 'what a curious fellow!'

‘
I'm not sure you ought to have invited him to supper like
that, Marmoset. We know nothing about him,' said James
with a belated fit of conventionality.

‘
We know he saved Nicky's life,'
 
Héloïse reminded them.

‘But who is he? Where has he come from? Jamie's right, we
don't know anything about him. He's like some kind of
tramping-fellow, with his hat and his pack.'

‘
He's not a labourer,' James said. 'Didn't you see his
hands? No callouses. They're clean and soft as a gentleman's.
And he speaks like an educated man.’

‘But he's not a gentleman,' Edward said shortly.

‘Well I like him,' Héloïse said defiantly.

‘
So do I, in a curious sort of way,' James said. 'He reminds
me of my old tutor when I was
a
boy – Father Fox, you
remember, Ned?’

Edward raised an eyebrow. 'He's nothing like Father
Renard. Father Renard was a tall man, dark-haired –'

‘I didn't say he
looks
like him, I said he reminds me of him.
Anyway, how much do we need to know about him? He saved
Nicky and Henry, as Héloïse points out. The least we can do is
feed the poor fellow. I wish we could reward him, but
somehow I don't feel we could offer him money. I think it
would offend him.’

Edward looked thoughtful, 'I wonder how he's been
supporting himself. He doesn't look hungry, does he? And he
was very interested in the constables and law enforcement
and so on.'

‘What are you saying?' Héloïse frowned.

‘Well, m'dear, didn't it cross your mind that he might be a housebreaker?'

‘
And you let him go upstairs alone?' James said, clearly
amused. 'He could be stealing the silver this very minute!'

‘
We don't know what he's got in that pack, do we?' Edward
said, annoyed.

‘
You shall not look in it, upon my life,' Héloïse cried,
beginning to be upset, 'Housebreaker, what nonsense! He is a
good man.'

‘
In any case, he's not alone upstairs,' James retracted. 'He's
got William with him, and even William would think it odd if
he started to rifle through drawers and stuff our priceless
treasures in his pockets. Do you suppose that's why he wears
such loose trousers, Ned?'

‘James, stop it!'

‘I'm only teasing, my love.'

‘
I know, but I don't like it. It is not
comme it faut
to abuse a
guest behind his back.’

Both men looked a little ashamed.

‘
By Jove, yes, he is our guest after all,' Edward said after a
moment.

‘
He's a queer cove, but I don't believe there's a particle of
harm in him,' James said. 'There, love, will that do?’

They waited. The silence was punctuated only by the sound of the clock ticking, and the patter of rain on the
windows. The grey clouds had fulfilled their threat. A log,
burned through, fell in on itself with a little sigh, and the
strike mechanism of the clock engaged with a clunk like a
penny dropped into a bucket. Then Tiger pricked his ears and
started singing; his tail beat faster and louder on the floor,
and then he stood up and shuffled backwards as the door
swung open and Moineau came in. The clock whirred and
began to strike, and Ottershaw appeared behind him to
announce that supper was served.

‘
The boys seemed quite recovered from their adventure,'
Moineau said as they walked across the hall to the dining-
room. 'They're regaling Benedict with the story. He's wild
with envy!' he added with a chuckle. 'I hope I didn't keep you
waiting?'

‘
Not at all,' Héloïse said, thinking how natural it sounded
for him to be talking about her children. She wondered if he
had ever had children of his own; and if so, what had
happened to his wife.

In the dining-room, one end of the long mahogany table
had been set, and an array of cold dishes laid out. There was a round of roast beef and a ham in cut, its moist, pink-brown
face wreathed in parsley; a pork pie whose raised crust looked
as though it were decorated with a golden plaited rope, and a
blue Chinese bowl full of Barnard's special pickles; a moulded
dish of brawn, whose jelly covering quivered and gleamed in the candle-light; a dish of spiced eggs on a bed of spinach; a
plate of cherry tarts, a basket of bread rolls, and a pyramid of
fruit.

‘
It's just a simple supper,' James apologised as they took their places. 'If we'd known we were to have a guest, I dare say there'd have been a custard or two and some other kick
shaws, but I'm sure you'll take us as you find us.’

But Héloïse
 
had noted the gleam of appetite in their
visitor's eyes as they lit on the table, and she wondered briefly
and guiltily how long it had been since his last meal. Yet,
impolite or not, it was hard not to keep remembering that
they knew nothing about him. Who was he? What was he
doing here? There was something about his carriage which
suggested the army to her, and by his name, at least, he was
French. Was he another of those sad creatures, like poor
Sophie's Major Larosse, who had fought against their own
countrymen in order to destroy Bonaparte?
Edward said the grace, and at the end of it Moineau, along
with Héloïse, crossed himself. The mirrored movement
caused them both to look up at each other, and they both
smiled.

‘
So, Mr Moineau,' Héloïse said as James began to carve her some ham, 'it is time I think for your story. It is very impolite of us, but very natural, you will agree, to wonder who you are
and where you come from.'

‘
I did not suppose I could escape for ever without telling
you something of myself,' he said with an engaging grin.

‘
Though I by no means flattered myself that you would want
more than a very little of my story! I shall begin, Madame,
and you shall stop me when you have had enough.’

Héloïse nodded, delighted with him, though she could see
that James, and more particularly Edward, were still uneasy.
They couldn't quite determine how to categorise him, and
didn't know, therefore, how to respond to him. But men were
strange, stiff creatures, she thought. Women and children and
animals would love this little man unquestioningly.

‘
My name is Antoine Philippe Moineau,' he began, 'and I
was born in a village called Nouzonville –'

‘
In France?' James asked, lifting another delicate slice and
laying it fastidiously on Héloïse's plate.

‘
Of course, in France,' Héloïse answered for him. 'What
sort of a question is that, my James?'

‘
Well, I guessed you were French from your accent, sir,'
James said with a defiant look at his wife, 'and from the north
of France, of course.'

‘
While you, madame, I can tell, are
une vraie Parisienne,'
Moineau said mischievously. 'There is a certain air, a
certain –'

‘
But we were not speaking of me, monsieur,' Héloïse
nipped the diversion in the bud. 'We were speaking of
Nouzonville. That was your family's home?'

‘
My father was the
notaire,'
said Moineau. Héloïse flashed
a quick glance of relief and triumph at the others: an
attorney's son counted as gently-born. The glance was not
lost on Moineau, but he continued without pause. 'He had
land, too, good farm-land. I was brought up in a pleasant old
house, stone-built – small, but comfortable. We were a large
family, and as a younger son, I had a great deal of freedom. I
spent more of my childhood playing in the woods, and helping
the shepherd tend my father's sheep on the hillside, than at
my lessons. But what boy would not do the same, if he could?’

James smiled at that. 'Certainly not me! Roaming abroad
with the village boys was my delight. It rarely falls to the
eldest son's lot,' he said with a glance at Edward.

‘
I suppose you were expected to follow your father into the
law?' Edward asked.