The Reluctant Bride (21 page)

‘I'm sorry, Major Woodhouse, but neither Jack nor Angus told me anything that could be of help to you now.' She smiled her regret, indicating to him with a tilt of her chin that she had nothing further to add and that their interview was over.

She knew all about Mademoiselle Delon and she did not need to have Major Woodhouse rub her nose in it.

‘So you claim to have never met Madeleine Delon. Please, Mrs McCartney, we have serious concerns about this operation in which the young woman is to play a major role. If you are not prepared to cooperate we will need to find other means of discovering the information we are seeking. Less pleasant means.'

Emily gasped. ‘How could I have met her, Major? She lives in France and I have never been to France—'

‘You were born in France,' he interrupted. ‘Your mother is French, as is half your family. Have you ever communicated with Mademoiselle Delon?'

Emily raised her hands and looked at him helplessly. ‘No,' she said. She was not about to lay bare the extent of Jack's deception and the books she used to send to the young woman she'd believed was a child. The wound was still too raw. ‘I was not born in France. Nor do I understand how I can be of assistance, Major. Angus is conscientious about keeping from me anything of a sensitive nature relating to his activities abroad.'

‘Jack Noble was not so conscientious'—the major fixed her with a long, level stare—‘was he?'

Damning shame stung her, flooding her face and throat with incriminating colour. ‘Jack risked his life for his country,' she whispered.

‘Your late intended risked more than that.' Major Woodhouse began his toe-tapping once again. ‘Captain Noble sent us much valuable information when he was first recruited. Until he was compromised.'

Suddenly she understood. Her breath left her in a rush. ‘You believe Jack was a spy
for France
?' She felt sick to her stomach. The man in whom she'd placed so much trust had betrayed not just her but her country? ‘That he was compromised?' Emily rose, covering her face and began to pace. ‘How? But of course, Mademoiselle Delon!' She clapped her hands to her mouth as she swung round from the fireplace to confront him. ‘Then Angus may be in danger!'

To her astonishment she saw the major was regarding her with cynicism. ‘Bravo, Mrs McCartney,' he said with a desultory clap. ‘Your concern is touching. However you've told me nothing we don't already know and I have just communicated to your husband my concerns regarding Mademoiselle Delon.'

Mademoiselle Delon.
The name filled her with loathing. ‘I, too, have told him he must take care. What is the operation, Major? Why is Angus in danger? Surely you can tell me that since you assume I know so much?'

‘Really, Mrs McCartney, you stretch credulity too far.'

Puzzled, she shook her head.

‘You know exactly what role Mademoiselle plays in this unfolding drama and don't try to pretend otherwise.'

Still she stared, silent, anxiety coalescing into terror as the major pulled out a sheaf of documents.

‘You might do a reasonable job at feigning concern for your husband, Mrs McCartney, but how will you react when I inform you that Madam Fontenay and her husband were apprehended in Paris last week.'

She stared at him blankly. The name meant nothing to her.

Raising his eyebrows, the major looked disconcerted for a second before he burst out laughing.

‘Good Lord, Mrs McCartney, but you can play a role to perfection. Not a shadow of emotion crossed that pretty face of yours to learn that your mother has been caught as a spy and that the operation in which you, she and your sister are all implicated is doomed.'

Emily gripped the back of the sofa to steady herself as she sucked in a gasp. ‘My
mother
, Major McCartney? My
sister
? My mother is at Micklen Hall and I have no sister. You are speaking nonsense to me. Explain your meaning.' The room began to swirl. She put her hands to her ears to try to block out the nightmare but the major was insensible to her distress.

‘You do not deny your mother is a Laurent, of Noble Normandy stock, I believe she's proud of citing.'

‘Marguerite Laurent,' Emily murmured. Then, her voice growing stronger, she asked, ‘Have you met my mother, Major? If you have you will discover how ridiculous this assertion is for my mother is a cripple, all but incarcerated at Micklen Hall.'

‘Marguerite Micklen is your
aunt
. Your
mother
is her sister and we have intelligence, both in the form of documentation as well as verbally – under duress, admittedly – that your real mother is Fanchette Laurent, now the notorious revolutionary Madame Fontenay who has murdered more than a dozen of our finest in the course of their duty to England.'

Terror forced itself out as rage. How dare he tell such lies? He was trying to implicate her in something she knew nothing about, simply to get her out of the way because he considered her a disloyal wife to Angus. It could be the only explanation. The Foreign Office did not trust Emily and they wanted her removed.

‘These are lies! You know it!' She turned angrily towards the fire to gather her wits.

The major gave a snide laugh. ‘Fanchette Laurent – now the notorious Madame Fontenay – fostered out both you and your sister so she could continue her revolutionary activities.'

Major Woodhouse sounded so sure of himself but her breath was so constricted she could barely get the words out. ‘It cannot be.' She was conscious of her hands tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing. She felt like an old woman with no strength to do more than protest weakly, ‘Madame Fontenay cannot be Fanchette Laurent. I have never met this woman. My mother lost touch with her sister years ago.'

‘
You
did not lose touch with your sister, did you, Mrs McCartney?'

The outrageousness of this assertion gave her strength. ‘I do not have a sister,' Emily repeated grimly.

Clearly irritated, the major rose. ‘You are well trained in discretion when it's required to save your own skin, Mrs McCartney.' He extended his arm to indicate that she must come with him. ‘Conversation is getting us nowhere. Let's see what we can find, shall we? If you have no objections, perhaps we could peruse correspondence between you and the late Captain Noble.'

The awful thought occurred to her that somehow Jack had implicated her in this nightmare.

‘I burned Jack's letters.' She would not admit that Sukey had retrieved at least half the bundle which Emily had pushed to the back of a drawer. ‘My apologies, Major Woodhouse.' She nodded, dismissal in the gesture. ‘It would seem we have nothing further to discuss.'

The major looked unimpressed. ‘Your lack of cooperation doesn't surprise me. I saw from the start that you were a reluctant wife to a good husband. Major Noble was a charismatic companion, clearly. He had your love and loyalty though he plotted against England for – what? Nothing more than material gain as far as we can surmise, seduced by the charms of your sister. Two sisters across the channel, it would seem.'

‘Mademoiselle Delon is not my sister, Major McCartney, and Madam Fontenay is as unknown to me as … the Queen of England. It is outrageous that you would to try and implicate me in a plot that would also see harm come to my husband.' Emily refused to follow the major when he rose and walked to the drawing room door. From her chair she said, ‘I admit I was a reluctant bride and I made the foolish mistake of inferring to you my lack of delight at the new situation in which I found myself. But you go too far to try and implicate me in such a … a ludicrous scenario.'

The expression on the major's face when he turned was both sorrowful and satisfied.

‘It is easy to verify that which you refute, Mrs McCartney. Records prove that your mother had two daughters whom she fostered out. Madame Fontenay
is
your mother and Mademoiselle Delon
is
your sister. In fact, the likeness between the two of you is quite extraordinary.'

Across the channel there you have a wicked counterpart. A spy who looks just like you.

Jack had teased her about it. Angus had remarked upon her resemblance, also, to Madeleine Delon. She tried to steady her breathing. As soon as the major had gone she would go to her mother – her
real
mother, Marguerite Micklen – and verify that the major spoke nothing but lies.

‘Now! Let us see these letters, Mrs McCartney.' He held the door open for her and, resigned, she saw she had no choice but to go with him.

He accompanied her upstairs to her private sitting room and waited while she took the remaining letters from her writing desk.

When she demurred as she stared at Jack's familiar handwriting, once so beloved, Major Woodhouse became impatient. ‘This is a national matter. Lives are at stake, including your husband's.'

‘These are love letters, Major McCartney,' she muttered.

Nevertheless, she began to read them – those that had survived – envisaging a young woman of twenty rather than the child of six she had believed Madeleine to be when Jack wrote of their exploits. At each reference the pain sliced deeper.

‘April 14. Madeleine and I went to the Pont du Sur to feed the ducks. They were bold and greedy and in her excitement to get away Madeleine nearly fell in. I caught her in time but she nevertheless had to change her stockings.'

Major Woodhouse rifled through his notebook to check the corresponding date in his notes, announcing with satisfaction, ‘On April 14, Noble, in company with Mademoiselle Delon, was observed by one of our agents meeting a woman matching the description of Madame Fontenay at the bridge. Something was exchanged, Mademoiselle Delon appeared to take fright and lost her footing, landing in several feet of water.'

He indicated for Emily to go on to the next letter.

Trembling, she picked up the well worn piece of parchment and began to read. ‘I took Madeleine to the fair today where she begged so prettily for a new blue ribbon. She's such a dear child, darling Emily, that I was unable to resist her sweet charms, especially as she insisted I buy one for you, also. It accompanies this letter – with all my love.'

There were many references like this. Some which were only part legible though she knew them by heart and others which no longer existed and could not be matched up with the notes in Major Woodhouse's notebook. So many contained references to Madeleine.

When she reached the end of the final letter, Emily leaned back and faced the young major.

She felt drained. It took several moments before she could speak. ‘Why did you not act before if you had the information? Jack sent these letters almost a year ago.'

He waited until the maid had tended to the small fire and left the room before replying, ‘Our suspicions were aroused some time after Noble's death. Initially Captain Noble supplied us with prompt and accurate information but as time went on his responses were slower, which caused the death of several fine men. Then the information he sent became unreliable. It was not until Major McCartney took his place and voiced some of his own concerns regarding what Jack had reported, and about the Delon girl, that the puzzle began to fall into place.' He glared at Emily. ‘There is more. A single page of correspondence found amongst Captain Noble's personal effects, which had been mislaid, was recently brought to our attention. In it he makes the clear association between you and those we are seeking.'

Where was Angus when she needed him? Shocked, Emily hugged herself. Her palms, when she pressed them together, were cold and clammy while heat prickled the back of her neck. She'd never felt so frightened and alone. ‘If Angus believes that Mademoiselle Delon is my sister and that I am implicated,' she whispered, ‘he would have charged me with it, himself. Why is he not here defending me?'

‘Come now, Mrs McCartney.' Steepling his fingers, the major stared at her over the tips. ‘You and your sister are adept at winning over the men in your lives. Your husband does not know I'm here otherwise his misplaced loyalty would have him compromising the entire operation. No, he is in Dover, soon to escort Mademoiselle Delon to the Chateau Pliny for the event of the year which, as you very well know, takes place in three days. I am here because your mother's latest husband proved surprisingly forthcoming after he was apprehended. We now know the role Mademoiselle Delon will play in the operation. Or rather, I should say, your half-sister, for we've lately learned that Monsieur Delon and his childless wife adopted the infant who was the child of Madame Fontenay when she – your mother – worked as a companion to Madame Delon. After that lady's death, Madame Fontenay re-established contact when the child was about ten and recruited her to her cause. No doubt this is not news to you, however.'

Emily's mouth dropped open. ‘It's not true,' she whispered, imagining she was the moth currently singeing its wings in the flame of the candle the major had placed on the escritoire. ‘Madame Fontenay might be Mademoiselle Delon's mother, but she's not
my
mother. How is it that I'm a part of this fanciful tale? Surely neither Monsieur Fontenay nor his wife … Madame Fontenay … claimed such a thing? And Jack's letter? If it was incomplete you must have misunderstood his meaning.'

The major shrugged. ‘You can ask Madame Fontenay that yourself when the time comes. In the meantime I need to find out from you everything I can that provides a background to the breadth and depth of the Fontenays' network so we can protect Angus at this masquerade at the Chateau Pliny. We want the information he is there to obtain, but we also want him alive.'

Angrily, Emily flared, ‘You let him go when Mademoiselle Delon poses such a threat?'

The major responded with a snide smile. ‘Your husband knows how to look after himself, Mrs McCartney. Your attempt to persuade me of your concerns are worthy of Sarah Siddons. Major McCartney will simply be at Pliny to take note of the people with whom Mademoiselle Delon communicates and to pretend to pass on the information he is given.'