Vintage Love (34 page)

What would have happened if she’d been given positive proof that Eric had been executed? She was not sure. She knew there was a large possibility she might have turned to Valmy in her sorrow and given him her full love. Even knowing that he was not a good man, she would have been satisfied with his charm and knowing that he cared for her.

She tried to imagine what his reaction had been when he’d returned to find her gone and discover the havoc she’d created in her escape. Would he only be angered and frustrated — feel nothing but rage and fear that she would use all she knew against his cause? Or would he feel more? Perhaps the pain of losing someone truly loved? For she felt, despite all, that in his perverse way he had loved her.

“Will you be my wife?” he had pleaded with her.

The words came back to her all too vividly. There had been love of a sort between them, but basically they were enemies. And now they would be pitted against each other once again for the final struggle.

Kingston smiled at her. “A penny for your thoughts?”

“Offer me no less than a pound and I’ll tell you,” she said with a sad smile.

He grimaced. “Expensive thoughts! I’ll have to be content with my own.”

The carriage halted before the plain red brick building which housed their pension. Kingston paid the driver and helped her in with her parcels. Their landlady greeted them with smiles and the news that luncheon was ready and Monsieur Walters already at the table.

Later they joined him at the long table in the pension’s dining room. He looked tense but managed a smile for them, asking, “How did your shopping tour turn out?”

Kingston beamed at him. “I tell you she has a knack for bargains. You’ll be lucky to have her as a wife, my boy.”

“I consider myself lucky in any case,” Eric said. “But to know that she is a smart shopper as well as a beauty is truly good news.”

“Kingston exaggerates,” she said. “I just happened to find some very low-priced things I could use.”

“Too bad the rain started,” Eric said, glancing at her over his plate of delicious-looking sole.

She said, “We were able to get a carriage almost at once, so the rain didn’t bother us.” She paused, then asked, “Any word?”

Eric nodded. “Yes.”

There was something in his tone which warned her of trouble. She said, “Tell me.”

He glanced at them. “It is not the most pleasant subject for the luncheon table.”

“Please tell us,” she urged him.

“Yes. We’re not all that delicate,” Kingston said.

Eric hesitated and frowned. “You know that I have been expecting word from Raj Singh?”

“Of course,” she said. “It’s strange he hasn’t turned up before this.”

“No. It is not,” the man she loved said with a grim look on his pleasant face. “Raj Singh was found with his throat slit in an alley last night.”

“Poor man!” she exclaimed with sorrow.

“He was trying to ferret out where Valmy was to have his headquarters here,” Eric said. “He thought he had a contact. His contact was the enemy. So now he’s truly dead.”

“A sad loss for our side,” George Frederick Kingston said.

“Without question,” Eric agreed. “I learned of his death through one of Captain Gray’s men who had been with him for a while and came back to meet him only to find him dead.”

Betsy asked, “Who is Captain Gray?”

“The skipper of the vessel waiting off the coast to take Napoleon on board,” Eric said. “He’s a fine American gentleman, if a little impatient.”

“Is he here in Paris now?” Kingston wanted to know.

“He’s been here several days. He planned to take the former emperor to the coast in the company with several of his men. But he’s becoming upset about the long waiting period. Valmy is behind in his schedule.”

“Likely because of Napoleon’s delicate state of health,” Betsy said. “The brief glimpse I had of him showed him to be much too ill to travel far in a day.”

“His condition would slow the caravan,” Eric agreed.

“So what do we do now?” Kingston asked.

“Wait for Valmy to arrive. I expect further instructions from London before then,” the man she loved said.

Betsy speculated, “I wonder what the state of Felix Black’s health may be. He was also ill when we left London.”

“Not good, I’m afraid,” Eric said.

“Thin bloke,” Kingston recalled. “Not an ounce of fat on his bones, I would say.”

Eric said, “We’ll simply have to learn to have that patience which Captain Gray is so short of. We may have a long wait.”

After dinner she went up to the room she shared with Eric to read. She was seated by a rose-bowled lamp on a small table enjoying her book when Eric came into the room. She could tell at once that he had something of importance on his mind.

She put aside the book and rose. “What is it?”

“You must come downstairs,” he said. “I have asked our landlady for the use of her parlor. We are having a meeting.”

“We?”

“Several of us.”

“Very well,” she said, wondering if he were joking or if others of the secret agents had made their appearance.

They went down the shadowed stairway together. She said, “The rain seems to have ended.”

“Yes, it has,” he agreed. “We’ll probably get some good weather for a few days. Valmy should arrive shortly. He will make better time without the rain.”

They reached the parlor door, and he opened it. Inside stood Kingston, Dr. Edward Barry O’Meara, and a dignified man in naval uniform. They all gave their attention to her.

Eric said, “My fiancée, Miss Betsy Chapman, also a member of our organization.” He turned to her. “You know O’Meara. This is Captain Gray.”

Captain Gray bowed and shook hands with her. He had a weathered, thin face and gray side-whiskers. He said, “I have heard of your beauty, miss. If I had a man capable of carving mastheads, you would adorn my bow.”

“That is a most gracious compliment, Captain,” she said with a smile.

It was Barry O’Meara’s turn to step forward. He said, “I told you we’d meet again.”

“I’m glad to see you,” she said.

The Irish doctor gave Eric a knowing look and went on, “You’ll also be glad to know that thanks to the persuasion of Felix Black, I have come to believe in the sincerity of your group. And I have agreed to work along with you rather than against you.”

“That is indeed good news,” she said. “We can use such a strong new member after losing Raj Singh.”

“Most unfortunate,” Captain Gray agreed.

Eric brought a chair forward for her to be seated and said, “Let us all make ourselves comfortable, gentlemen. We have a great deal to discuss.”

Dr. O’Meara sat next to her and asked, “Is it true you have seen the emperor?”

“Yes.”

“How is he?”

“In poor condition,” she said. “He has the liver disease. And he has aged in a shocking manner.”

O’Meara shook his head sadly. “And this is the man Valmy would put on the throne!”

“Not so,” Eric told the Irish doctor. “He means to put himself on the throne. Napoleon is just his means of getting there.”

“So what now?” O’Meara asked.

“I have information Valmy and his group arrive in Paris tomorrow,” Eric said. “But I have no idea where his headquarters will be.”

“Raj Singh was working on that,” Captain Gray said.

“So we must begin again,” Eric commented.

Betsy asked, “Since this planned revolution is of much consequence to the present ruler, shouldn’t he and his government be informed?”

O’Meara jumped up in anger. “I’m against that! If we can’t manage it on our own, then there’s no hope. Put Louis and his troops on the alert, and Paris will become an armed city. They will descend on Valmy, and both he and Napoleon will be whisked off to prison and presently executed.”

Captain Gray sighed. “If we propose to save the former emperor, it does not seem likely we can afford to notify the authorities here.”

Eric said, “The chances are they wouldn’t take us seriously if we told them of the threat. They are singularly naïve about such things.”

“So we must work alone?” Kingston phrased this as a question.

“I say so,” Meara said, siting down again. “If we can get the emperor away from Valmy, it will be like leaving a shell without a fuse.”

Eric agreed. “Without the emperor there can be no successful new revolution.”

He had barely finished speaking when the door of the parlor opened and a familiar figure in shabby dark clothing came in. It was Felix Black, master spy, thinner even than before and leaning on a stick as he walked feebly to the center of the room.

“Good evening,” he said. “I trust my arrival has not upset you too greatly.”

Eric rose to greet their leader. “We are delighted to see you!”

“Of course!” Betsy chimed in.

Felix Black smiled in his bleak fashion. “I felt I could not be out at the end of this last chance. So like a veteran huntsman hobbling to his last following the hounds, I have come to Paris.”

O’Meara offered him a chair, “Please sit down, sir.”

Captain Gray’s stern face had even lighted up. “Good to see you again, Black. I’m having a bad time here. That Valmy is keeping us all waiting.”

Felix Black seated himself carefully and placed his black top hat on the floor beside his chair. Looking for all the world like a grim schoolmaster, he studied them in turn.

“You’ve all survived, save Raj Singh,” he said. “My congratulations.”

“It has been touch and go several times,” George Frederick Kingston informed him. “I shall never consider a stage spy drama exaggerated again. More happens in reality!”

The old master spy nodded approvingly. “You have been an apt student, Kingston!”

“Thank you, sir,” the actor said looking pleased.

Felix Black fixed his eyes on Betsy. “And so you saw the emperor for a few moments?”

“Only for a very brief time, sir,” she said.

“You believe he is truly Napoleon?”

“Yes.”

“The report says you found him ill and prematurely old.”

“That is true.”

“Is he well enough to carry through Valmy’s plan?”

“That is hard to say,” she told the man in black. “I would be skeptical of any other man. But Napoleon is no ordinary mortal.”

Felix Black nodded grimly. “I agree with your judgment of the situation. It is all too likely that he will survive long enough to be shown to the people and to get Valmy in power. Then Valmy can have him executed without anyone aware that he is removing a dying man from his path to glory!”

O’Meara said angrily, “I’d like to get my hands around Valmy’s fine throat for just a few moments!”

“I’m sure you would do well,” the ailing master spy said. “But the chances of your having that opportunity are unfortunately few.”

Eric asked, “What do you think will happen next?”

“Valmy will arrive tomorrow,” Felix Black said. “You will pick up the threads which were severed with Raj Singh’s death. You will work through the night if need be to learn where Valmy is taking the emperor.”

“Yes, sir,” Eric nodded.

“You O’Meara will make a round of the taverns where Valmy’s agents are known to gather and find out what you can by eavesdropping,” Felix Black said.

“Cannot I have a more active role?” O’Meara pleaded.

“You will find your assignment active enough if you should be recognized,” the master spy said. “You know what happened to Raj Singh.”

Captain Gray spoke up. “My men have picked up word here and there. They say there have been underground political meetings in the back rooms of some of the taverns.”

“Valmy’s men have been busy preparing the way,” Felix Black said.

“What are my duties to be, sir?” Kingston asked.

“Assist Major Walters in any way you can,” Black told him. “You two seem to work well together. And now if you will all be on your way, I have some private conversation I would make with Miss Chapman.”

Eric rose and Betsy also got to her feet and faced him Concern in her voice, she said, “Do be careful!”

“I will,” he promised. “You will be safe here with Black.”

“I’ll be waiting your return,” she said.

They all straggled out, with Dr. Edward Barry O’Meara the last to leave. He offered her a wry look before, he closed the door after him. Now she and the old master spy were alone.

Felix Black tapped his cane on the floor to catch her attention and said, “Do sit down, Miss Chapman.”

She sat. Then she said, “What do you want of me?”

His sharp old eyes were fixed on hers. “Several things. Also I have news from England.”

She sensed that he had some important thing to tell her. She asked, “What news?”

“Your stepfather is dead!”

“Dead!” she echoed.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m certain you will not shed too many tears. Your mother is said to be making a most becoming widow again. And the chances are that your stepfather’s timely stroke may have left her with enough money and land to go on living comfortably.”

Betsy said, “She surely would not have been able to if he’d lived and gone on gambling. He was steadily wasting away the family fortune.”

“Without question,” he said. “So though the elderly and lecherous Lord Dakin survives, you need not fear returning to England. Your stepfather will not be around to arrange a match.”

“He would have small success if he were,” she said with some spirit.

“You have grown in character, my girl.”

“I think you may fairly call me a woman now,” she said.

“I agree,” he said. “And you have put aside your old difference with Major Walters. Indeed I understand that you two now plan to be married.”

“That is true.”

“What a matchmaker I am,” the thin man in black said and then suffered a long and terrifying coughing spell.

When it was over, she said, “You seem not to have regained your health, sir.”

“My health is worse,” he said “bluntly. “I’m dying. I told you that.”

“I remember.”

“And so Napoleon is dying along with me,” he said with a sigh. “Well, there is irony in that. Better for him to die a natural death in America than to be assassinated by the agent of a man pretending to be his champion.”

“I agree. The question now is whether we can stop Valmy without spreading word to the authorities.”