Vintage Love (59 page)

“Not soon enough. I blame myself for that.”

“You couldn’t tackle all those ruffians without going for help!” she protested. “Anyway, I’m here, and I’ll recover. That’s the important thing.”

“The other important thing is that your husband must be made to pay.”

“That can wait, really it can.” She sighed softly.

Gustav glanced through the open door to be sure that Susie was out of earshot at the other end of the studio. Then he bent over Enid again and said in a low voice, “I’m afraid it will have to, as far as I’m concerned.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I’m leaving tomorrow at dawn. I’m sailing to France.”

Enid caught her breath.
“Why?”

“I must. I can no longer be here on the safe side while others take the worst risks. I have to be there to do my duty—as Armand has done.”

“What about Susie? She’ll be devastated! She is so fearful for you!”

“She must learn to be brave. I’m a Frenchman and I have a duty to perform. I must save the lives of the innocent.”

They were silent for a moment when Gustav said, “You can live here with her. You will be company for each other. Kemble will keep an eye on you.”

“After tonight, I’m considering leaving London.”

“Then you might miss Armand if he should get back here,” Gustav cautioned.

Enid sighed. “That alone would make me risk staying here.”

“Rest,” he urged, rising. “I’m going to break the news to Susie now.”

An hour later Susie came into the bedchamber, her pretty green eyes red-rimmed from tears. In a taut voice she said, “You know!”

“Yes,” Enid admitted. “He feels he has to go.”

Susie sat down on the bed and laid her head on the pillow next to Enid’s. “What are we going to do?” she murmured.

“We’ll manage somehow,” Enid replied quietly. “Gustav has asked me to stay here with you. I shall.”

“I’ll be in fear every moment.”

“I know.”

Susie sat up and looked slightly guilty. “Of course you do! Forgive me! I hope Armand is still alive.”

“Why shouldn’t he be?” Enid said firmly. But she knew her words had no true meaning. Her show of confidence was a facade to help her friend conquer the fears she felt for her husband’s safety. Deep within, Enid was filled with an overpowering sense of despair.

John Philip Kemble, resplendent in a purple grogram jacket with white brocade and a pair of yellow breeches, paced back and forth in the studio. He and Jenny had come to call on Susie and Enid, who were sharing the flat together. Six months had passed since Gustav had left to take up more active work in the French underground.

The actor halted by one of the windows and stared out at the street below. “Rain again! And in early September!” he declared with some disgust. “I vow that whenever we have an afternoon performance, the weather works against us!”

Jenny, in a brown morning dress and bonnet, turned in her seat and told him, “You will be playing Hamlet today. That always draws a crowd, rain or shine.”

“True,” he sighed. “They are faithful! They do come!”

“That is because you give such a fine performance,” Enid said. She was wearing a bright blue linen frock which complemented her hair and complexion.

The actor bowed. “Thank you, dear Enid. You have always inspired me to do better things. My Coriolanus was created mostly on your suggestions.”

Susie appeared with a tray containing a pot of tea, biscuits, and cups and saucers. The petite actress was making a strong effort to appear brave in the face of her husband’s long absence. With a small smile she placed the tray on a nearby table and announced, “Midmorning refreshment for everyone!”

She served the ladies first and then Kemble. He stood with the teacup in his hand and directed his attention to Enid. “How have you been feeling?” he asked.

“Fine, thank you, though I still have monstrous nightmares.”

“Small wonder. That bastard of a husband of yours should be put behind bars!”

“I agree,” Susie said from the chair she had taken near Enid. “But he has been careful to remain in hiding all this time.”

“Sooner or later he will show up,” Kemble predicted. “He cannot stay away from London forever.”

Enid agreed bitterly. “He’ll return when he is good and ready, when he hopes to evade any punishment.”

Jenny offered one of her rare utterances. “For such a wicked act he must be made to pay!”

Kemble frowned over his tea. “I have heard—as I’m sure you have, too, Enid—that the brothel in which you were held hostage was closed by the authorities. And Mother Mag disappeared in the same manner as your husband.”

“No doubt to continue her infamous career as a madam,” Susie said with disgust.

“The studio does not seem the same without Gustav here,” the actor remarked. Then he went on quickly, “Let us hope he makes a name for himself in that mad country.”

“And returns safely,” Susie added quietly.

“Of course.” Kemble paused, then turned to Enid again. “What about Count Armand?”

“No word,” she replied. “Nothing.”

“Strange.” Kemble frowned.

“Not really.” Enid tried to sound casual though she was feeling sharp stabs of pain. “The rumor we hear is that he was captured and is in prison.”

“I hope not!”

“Perhaps we’ll hear more news now that Gustav is in the midst of it,” Susie suggested.

Kemble put down his empty cup and refused the offer of more tea. He gazed intently at Enid and asked, “Would you come to my flat about this time tomorrow morning? I’m expecting a visitor whom I’d like you to meet.”

“Indeed?” she said, wondering who it might be.

“I think it’s important for you to be there. That is all I’m free to reveal for the moment.”

“Of course I’ll come if you wish.” She thought it was probably something to do with Andrew.

The actor and Jenny left shortly thereafter and Enid thought no more of it. The day passed uneventfully.

The next morning Susie reminded her of the appointment she had with Kemble. After breakfast, Enid put on a dark green dress and bonnet, along with a warm gray cloak, and hailed a carriage to take her to Kemble’s place.

He was alone and waiting for her. After kissing her warmly, he said, “I have sent Jenny out to do some shopping.”

“Have you?” she murmured rather tensely as he slipped off her cloak and went to hang it up. She moved to the blazing hearth and warmed her hands. “It is chilly this morning.”

“The spring season is upon us.” Kemble came close, and taking her gently by the arms, turned her to face him. His smile was sad. “You’re not fearing I’ve trapped you into a rendezvous with me?”

“I don’t think you would do that.”

“I’m not sure you’re convinced of that, but let me put your mind at rest. I do not intend to make any undue advances toward you, much as I might wish to. That is not the purpose of my asking you here.”

“Oh?”

“Let me tell you bluntly what I could only hint at when Jenny was present. If Armand does not return, I shall attempt to win you back again. I would like you to be my wife.”

“And Jenny?”

“A passing companion. Too young and untalented for me to take seriously. In any event, I do not wish to marry an actress, though you have the looks and talent to be one.”

“It is strange,” Enid said. “Despite my fondness for the stage, I have never wanted to be part of it.”

“Let us be grateful for that, and remember what I have just said. I will not press myself on you while Armand is alive and your heart is pledged to him. But afterward, I make no promises.”

“That is fair enough.” She smiled up at him. “Since I fully believe that somewhere Armand still lives and that one day he will return to me.”

“I envy him,” the actor said with some emotion.

The discussion was brought to a close by the sound of the bell over the door fairly rocking as someone impatiently pulled the cord outside. Kemble gave Enid a knowing glance and went to the door and opened it.

An amazing-looking man stepped inside. He was taller than Kemble, who was surely tall enough, and broad of shoulders. Enid could only think of the man as massive. To make him seem even more huge, he had a large stomach that strained to break free of his confining black jacket. In fact, he was dressed completely in black. He removed his long black cape and three-cornered black hat and handed them to Kemble. Then he advanced to where Enid was standing before the fire.

Towering above her, he thrust out his own great hands to be warmed. At the same time he nodded and said, “Good morning to you, Lady Blair!”

She stared at him. “You know my name?”

“I have seen you at many London parties,” he told her in a rasping voice. His head and his features were small for one so large, and this incongruity made him seem even more overpowering. He had a low forehead, and his heavy black eyebrows beetled over small, shrewd eyes. His mouth was framed by wrinkles and he wore his graying black hair tied back simply. Enid took him to be perhaps fifty or more.

Kemble joined them with a smile. “May I introduce an old friend and former actor, Sir Harry Standish.”

The big man bowed. “A great pleasure, my lady.”

“And mine,” she said. “I cannot believe I could miss one of your dimensions at a party and not remember you!”

Kemble and Standish exchanged a laugh. Kemble told her, “Sir Harry is rather careful to keep himself in the background at social affairs. It is part of his profession. He is in the diplomatic section of our government.”

“I’m also working to establish a proper police in London,” Sir Harry barked. “It’s past time for it, as is borne out by the sordid happening in which you were the victim.”

Her sloe eyes widened. “You heard about that?”

“It is part of what comes across my desk during a day of studying the state of our city,” Sir Harry told her, scowling. “What happened to you should not happen in any civilized city.”

“I fully agree,” Kemble put in.

Sir Harry went on. “Your husband is a criminal and a pervert, Lady Blair. He should not be accepted in London society. And I shall do all I can to bar him from it.”

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“But that is not the reason for my visit here.” Sir Harry turned to Kemble. “What about some tankards of good brown ale and comfortable seats for our discussion?”

“At once,” Kemble said, and vanished to get the ale.

Sir Harry gazed down at Enid with appraising eyes.

“You are Alfred Henson’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Your father is a fine man. You should be proud of him.”

“I am.”

He scowled again. “Too bad you married that sodomist Blair!”

“It has been the major misfortune of my life,” she agreed.

“Now that fellow is off somewhere in hiding,” Sir Harry fumed, repeating what she already knew. “Well, so it goes!”

Kemble returned with the ale and they seated themselves comfortably before the fire. The glow from the burning logs played over Sir Harry’s rather stern face. He fixed his impressed gaze on Enid and cleared his throat. “As Kemble has said, I’m a small wheel in the diplomatic service.”

Kemble protested. “A rather large wheel, I should say!”

Sir Harry laughed. “Only if you take my size into account. I weigh more, pound for pound, than any two or three others who serve the Crown.”

Kemble turned to Enid to explain. “Sir Harry is looking for an actress to help him, but I told him I thought you were much better suited to his requirements than any actress.”

She gave the two men a puzzled look. “Requirements?”

“I’m recruiting these days. The king needs sound people for the diplomatic service,” Sir Harry said.

Enid was still puzzled. “I do not see my place in this.”

“You will,” Kemble promised.

Sir Harry took several sips from his tankard of ale and stared at her. “Kemble assures me you can be trusted.”

“I would hope so.”

The big man continued to study her in his intent fashion. “I hear that you write and speak French fluently, fence better than most men, and ride a horse well.”

“All those things are true, but why do you thus recite my abilities?”

He waved her silent. “Kemble also tells me you have a lover who is a member of the French nobility, a Count Armand Beaufaire. A man who has done worthy work in saving many of the nobility from the revolutionists and the guillotine.”

Enid smiled wryly. “It would seem that my friend Kemble has revealed a great deal about me.”

“Necessary, my dear,” Kemble leaned forward to assure her. “Listen and you will understand.”

“Do go on,” she told Sir Harry.

“I have explained my interest in police work,” he reminded her.

She nodded.

“It so happens that the branch of the diplomatic service with which I’m connected is not the one responsible for usual routines of the foreign service. My branch is engaged in secret missions with special objectives. We mingle with the consuls and the ambassadors, but our duties are not confined to signing papers and other office folderol.”

Kemble interrupted. “May I say something, Sir Harry?”

“Please do.”

“You surely have heard of cloak-and-dagger men?” the actor asked Enid.

She hesitated. “You mean spies such as Louis Esmond, the master spy of the revolutionists in France?”

“Exactly,” Kemble said.

Her eyes widened as she looked at Sir Harry again. “I have had the ill fortune to meet Esmond. And so you are his sort?” she gasped.

“Not exactly like Esmond, though I’m well aware of his shifty gentleman’s talents. We have crossed paths.”

“I should have told Sir Harry about Esmond, and he would have identified him for me before you and your friends did,” Kemble told Enid.

“It was a clever move of his to intrude on your party,” Sir Harry said. “He was plainly gathering information about Gustav Brideau and Count Armand, among others. Part of his work is to learn who the operators of the underground are and then have them systematically exterminated.”

“And your work?” Enid asked.

His smile was grim. “I have many tasks assigned to me. The one at the moment will, I hope, interest you.”