The Spider's Touch (12 page)

“That should not surprise you,” Eleanor said. “His Grace of Ormonde is a loyal servant to his Majesty King James.” When she continued, her manner demanded a response. “The people are ready for their deliverance from the German usurper,
monsieur.
”

“Perhaps,
madame
, but why do you come to tell
me?”
Gideon knew what her answer would be, but he wanted her to stop playing at cat and mouse.

“We have come to tell you that, if you mean to exert yourself in the cause of our rightful king, then the moment has come. At this very hour, his generals are planning to retake his kingdom. We must not discard this chance! Too many opportunities have already been lost. We still have the generous support of his Most Catholic Majesty Louis XIV, but he cannot live much longer. When Louis is gone, it is not at all clear that a regent will give the same support to our cause.”

“I am not a Roman Catholic. Nor do most of my countrymen wish to be.”

Eleanor gave an irritated shrug. “That does not matter in the slightest,
monsieur
. His Majesty will respect the wishes of his people. He only desires their welfare. But naturally he expects the right to adhere to his own faith, which is strong.”

“He will not insist on bringing Great Britain under the authority of Rome?” In James’s declaration, he had promised to seek bulls of absolution from the Court of Rome for anyone who would have to perjure himself to come to his aid. The bulls were promised to be executed “in due Form of Priestcraft” at “only reasonable fees.” Gideon wondered how the Pretender could imagine that those phrases would fail to offend his Protestant subjects.

“You have his Majesty’s word. What more could you wish?”

Gideon could have replied that he wished for much, much more. For proof that the quest she wanted to engage him on would succeed. But he was not fool enough to believe that any such venture would come with a guarantee.

“What does his Majesty want of me? I am an outlaw in England. I cannot move around the country freely in his or in anyone’s service.”

“And, yet, you managed to conceal yourself very effectively there, and to leave without being captured,
n’est-ce pas?
He asks only that you will bear a message for him, and perhaps visit some of his faithful subjects to alert them when the plan is ripe. They
must
be ready when the time comes. The whole country must rise as one, yet we do not know when that moment will be.

“The Duke of Ormonde is the person who must decide, and he has not called for the rising. Nor has he informed his Majesty when he should make for the coast. You could be of great use to his Grace in spreading the word. His Majesty would like you to put yourself at the Duke’s disposal and to report back to him about the Duke’s intentions.”

When Gideon did not respond immediately, Eleanor turned to her husband again. A private look passed between them, and the Marquis de Mézières pulled out another sheet of parchment. He handed it silently to Gideon, who recognized the Pretender’s declaration, the one he had read every day since arriving at St. Mars.

The Marquis de Mézières pointed his short, broad finger at the paragraph that had kept Gideon staring up at his ceiling night after night.

A full pardon could be his. Indemnification from the charge of murdering his father. A crime he had never committed, which had robbed him not only of the father he loved, but of everything else.

A chance to return to England. To reclaim his home.

For the hundredth time, Gideon asked himself how else he would ever regain it and heard only silence for a response.

Eleanor spoke with all the passion she had barely managed to hide, “His Majesty sends us with the message that he is perfectly convinced of your innocence, and that, should you agree to help restore him to the throne that is rightfully his, he shall return all that is yours to you.”

Gideon’s heart swelled with a gratitude he could not deny. How could he help but warm to a prince who believed in his innocence? Who knew what it was to have his patrimony stolen out from under him? The similarity between his situation and James’s was so strong that it had to provoke his deepest sympathy.

But Eleanor had not finished speaking and her next words chilled him.

“And, in addition,” she said, “he promises that in return for your help he will make you a duke.”

So. James did
not
understand. No more than he had understood Gideon’s father’s loyalty. Which reminded Gideon that if he engaged himself upon a task for the Chevalier, it would be entirely at his own risk. That was what his father had done, and it had led to his death. Gideon had no value to James beyond what he could achieve in fulfilling James’s own goals. He would promise anything to anybody—and had repeatedly, to regain his crown. All his adherents were mere pawns in this game.

And, yet, there were other feelings. One in particular, which would always cloud his choices. Guilt—because he had refused to embrace the cause for which his father had died.

With a sense of fate, he raised his eyes. “You may tell
...
his Majesty
...
that I will do what he has asked. I will carry his messages, as long as his cause remains feasible. I do not engage myself to die in his service—not yet at least—but I shall go to England to gauge the progress of his cause and report it to him. You may assure him that his secrets will be safe with me and that I shall never betray either him or his agents.”

Eleanor had started to glow with the success of her mission and began impulsively, “You will not regret the decision you have made,
monsieur
. There is no more generous master than our sovereign James III. Why—”

Gideon raised his hand in a gesture that was firm but polite. “Forgive me,
madame
, but my message is incomplete.”

He saw a flash of anger in her eyes. Eleanor was not the sort to accept anything less than full compliance with her designs.

Gideon continued, “You must make it clear to his Majesty that I shall not enter upon any activity that puts our countrymen at needless risk, nor will I continue with his missions if I believe his cause has become hopeless.”

She bridled. “Then how do we know you are to be trusted?”

The marquis laid a restraining hand on her wrist. She feigned to ignore it, but Gideon could see that her husband’s reminder had had its effect.

“I have given his Majesty my word, as my father did before me. If James—and you—” he said, with emphasis— “truly believe in my innocence, you should have no doubt of its worth. The conditions I’ve put forth are the same that my father’s were.”

When she did not unbend, he added in a soothing voice, “I have no affection for Hanover George,
madame
. I doubt that any of my countrymen do. Some pretend it undoubtedly to raise their family’s status—some things will never change. But I am attached to the welfare of my countrymen and I will not do anything to bring a scourge upon them.”

“You insult our king,
monsieur!”

“
War
is the scourge I mean—not James. If the throne cannot be easily won—if my countrymen’s hearts are not firmly with James—then I will not wage war against them. James said in his declaration that he wanted no blood shed on his account. He called for a peaceful uprising. Do you understand me,
madame
?”

Gideon was not particularly surprised to find that she did not, but she tried not to show it. His answer had to satisfy her for the moment, for she was not a person to waste even the slightest opportunity. Her sense of diplomacy, which must have been learned at a Stuart’s knee, soon reasserted itself.

“I am certain we shall all understand one another very well,
monsieur
. Now, shall I inform you of the first steps his Majesty wishes you to take?”

So—James had been reasonably certain of obtaining his services. But that was not surprising. He knew very well how to motivate men. What might have astonished him was Gideon’s reluctance to act when he had so much to gain. James undoubtedly would have put it down to cowardice, instead of to its real motive—uncertainty about what was right and just.

“I shall be only too happy to hear it,
monsieur et madame
. But, first—“ Gideon abandoned all notion of his solitary meal— “If you will do me the honour 
...
”

* * * *

Once Gideon had decided to go, it took him only one day to prepare for his journey. After riding to the coast of Brittany, he left his horse with his groom to be returned to St. Mars, and took ship for Boulogne, where bales of smuggled English wool lined the docks. There, following the instructions given to him by Madame de Mézières, he transferred immediately onto a French sloop, captained by a man by the name of Larouche.

The whimsical channel was eerily calm, so they managed to sail with that day’s tide. The small sloop was hardly any bigger than his own yacht, which was moored beyond his use at Deal. Once they were underway, Gideon resigned himself to an enforced idleness for the duration of the voyage. He wrapped a heavy woolen cloak about him and gazed over the bow at the pale grey water, inhaling the chill, salty spray as he pondered the task the Pretender had given him.

On his person he carried two notes, one curled and inserted into the stem of a pipe, the other folded and sewn into one of his buttons. His mission was to speak to the Duke of Ormonde and discover when he planned to start the uprising. Jacobite agents had been busy recruiting men from London to the Highlands of Scotland and priming them to be ready when the signal was given. Rabble rousers had been at work, inciting the mob. The Pretender needed to know when and where he should land. Exiled as he was at Bar le Duc in Lorraine and dependent on his half-brother, the Duke of Berwick, for news, when Berwick had been sent from Paris in the service of his sovereign Louis XIV, James was desperate for direct communication with his subjects in England. He knew that he could not ask men to risk their lives in his cause unless he was prepared to lead them himself. But with a price of one hundred thousand pounds on his head, he could not afford to land when he might fall into the hands of his enemies.

Gideon could understand James’s frustration. His own property had been taken from him unjustly and bestowed on another man. Whatever he had felt about his inheritance before—whether he had taken it for granted—no longer mattered. He had discovered his unwillingness to abandon what was his. And so, like many of the Pretender’s followers, he had decided to put ambition before safety in the hope of gain. But he had refused to pledge unconditional aid. He would have to see for himself first what the mood of the people was, and this could not be got from the news-sheets, no matter how many riots were reported.

The captain of the sloop steered a course for a spot well south of Dover, where the castle’s huge cannons protected the coast. The little vessel was swift. The French could design them to out-race any larger ship that might set out in pursuit. In a matter of just a few hours they came to anchor in a bay off Kent, far enough from shore not to be seen, to wait for dark before meeting the smugglers from the English side.

This close to home, Gideon found his impatience very hard to contain. The hours that remained seemed interminable. At the same time, they would be insufficient to decide his course. He had given his word to James Stuart to assist him if his cause was right. What might constitute
right
would not be easy to judge. Whether a king’s right to his throne was something no mortal could take away, as his father had believed, or whether it could only be bestowed by the people he ruled, was too great a matter for any man to determine alone. And, yet, there were principles that Gideon was sure he would always uphold, things that in his mind would always supersede the divine right of kings—compassion for his people being the highest amongst these.

Too many times in the century just past, wars had been fought over kings’ rights and men’s beliefs. In the end, had any of them been worth the misery they had caused?

He wished he could simply cherish a quest for its own sake and not constantly question its worth.

Seeking relief from his quandary, Gideon turned from the gunwale just as Captain Larouche walked over for a chat. He puffed on a pipe and, as if he had noted Gideon’s impatience, offered him another from his pocket.

 “Here,
monsieur.
If you smoke one of these, the wait becomes more tolerable.”

Gideon declined. He had never taken the habit of smoking or snuff. Another reason why Isabella Mayfield had not found him attractive, he supposed, since carrying a snuffbox was so very fashionable. But the smell of smoke had never appealed to him, and he did not care for the way the oily snuff soiled his fingers and clothes. Besides, he distrusted anything that was reputed to dull the senses.

With a shrug of indifference, the captain peered at the moon and frowned. It was much too large and shone too brightly for their purpose tonight.

“If your business causes you such worry, then why do you do it?” Gideon asked him, aware of the man’s discontent.

The captain darted a hostile glance his way. “We are not all allowed to choose our walk in life,
monsieur
. Most of us follow the paths our fathers laid down.”

Startled by this simple truth, Gideon wondered if that was all he was doing. Following the path his father had tread. If that was the case, it would only lead to his death.

He was about to ask Captain Larouche about the need to follow a predetermined path if it might lead to dishonour or death, but in that instant, a light flashed from shore.

Larouche quickly smothered his pipe. “We must ready ourselves for visitors,
Monsieur
Brown. The men will unload before they take you aboard.” He gave Gideon one last glance. “If you have not entered your country this way before, you will find that they work with their faces blackened. You should darken yours, too.”

As the captain left him to prepare to receive the boats that would be coming out, Gideon pulled his black half-mask from his pocket. His tricorn and the voluminous collar of his cloak would hide the pale yellow of his hair.