Vintage Love (8 page)

She said, “I must get away from England, or my mother and stepfather will try to find me and make me return to them.”

His smile was sour. “And a marriage to your Lord Dakin if he recovers?”

“I would drown myself first,” she said. “What can I do about clothing?”

“You will live here until you leave,” Black said. “I shall have a dressmaker come in tomorrow morning. She will make you a new wardrobe and order the things you’ll need otherwise. I shall deposit a hundred pounds to my bank in your name, an advance on your salary, which you may draw on as you like.”

“You are too generous!” she gasped.

“Not at all. You are invaluable to me. Much more so than an ordinary agent. You have known Napoleon. You were staunch friends despite the difference in your ages. If you are able to contact this supposed Napoleon, you can shortly tell whether he is a fraud or not. Only he and you would know the subjects you discussed and the spots you visited together. A few clever questions from you, and we will have established whether this man is genuine or not. That is why I need you, why you can do what is impossible for any other agent, no matter how clever he may be.”

“I see,” she said quietly. “And if I do confront this man and decide he is Napoleon, will I not be using our friendship to destroy him?”

“Not destroy him but save him,” the man behind the desk corrected her. “If he falls under the influence of the political scoundrel Valmy, he will be used and then murdered. I offer him escape from France and a safe passage to America to live in a proper style for the rest of his life. He will be a hero over there.”

“He could have been honored in England as a defeated and gallant enemy,” she pointed out. “But they lied to him and sent him to needless exile in Saint Helena.”

“I do not intend to lie to him,” the thin man in black promised. “This is to be the high point of my life.”

“I believe your sincerity,” she said. “And I will do as you order.”

“Now you are talking sensibly, my girl,” he said. “I shall have Mrs. Glenn show you to a room upstairs. Freshen yourself and rest. Join me down here at dinner. I will have another of my agents here whom I wish you to meet.”

“Oh?”

“One of our trusted agents,” he said. “And he has decided to throw in his lot with me.”

“Then I shall be working along with him?” she said.

“You two will be among the dozen or so of the network I’m building,” he agreed. “This young man goes under the code name of Robin. We shall find a code name for you as well. But in the meanwhile you will meet at dinner.”

Mrs. Glenn showed her upstairs to a good-sized room with its own fireplace overlooking the street below. She was as dry in manner as her employer. “It has the best view and the least north wind,” she said.

Betsy was studying the modest four-poster bed and told her, “It looks very good to me.”

“Being a fine lady and all, it cannot be what you’re used to,” Mrs. Glenn said simply. “But Mr. Black is a man of simple tastes, and his wife was a woman without social ambitions.”

“Is his wife alive?”

“Dead these five years and the only son was killed in the war with Boney,” Mrs. Glenn said. “The master has known a great deal of sorrow.”

“He seems completely dedicated to his work,” she said.

The woman nodded. “It is all he has. Though things have taken a strange turn since he gave up his post at the War Office. All sorts of unusual people have been in and out of here!”

Betsy smiled. “I suppose I am one of them.”

“No offense meant,” Mrs. Glenn said. “There’s water in the pitcher and coal for the fireplace. And I’ll bring you some clean towels directly.” With that she vanished, only to return a little later with an armful of fresh white towels.

Betsy rested for a while, and then it was time to go down to dinner. She looked out her window and saw that it had started to drizzle and there was also a heavy fog. She fixed her hair and dress to make herself as presentable as possible and went downstairs.

The drawing room was dimly lighted by ornate lamps on several tables scattered about the high-ceilinged room, and a warming glow came from the fireplace. But the room was empty, and she began to wonder if she should have waited to be summoned. She went and stood before the blazing coals of the fireplace for a moment.

Then her fears were put to rest by the sound of male voices approaching. And in a few seconds Felix Black came into the room accompanied by a tall, dark-haired handsome man with a fine military bearing even though he wore a black jacket and gray trousers.

Felix came to her with a smile on his wizened face. He said, “My dear Betsy, I would like you to meet my valued agent, Robin.”

“How do you do,” she said, impressed by his even good looks and manly dignity.

“I’m delighted,” he said with a pleasant smile. “It seems we are destined to be partners.”

“So I understand,” she said.

The young man asked, “Do you speak French well?”

Felix Black spoke up. “As well as any native Frenchwoman.”

The agent called Robin looked pleased. “That is something we need. An agent really proficient in French. Mine is so uneven I have to always pose as a Polish citizen or count. Anything to cover my accent and incompetence.”

She said, “It has been a long while. My French is still a trifle rusty. Were you in the army?”

“Yes,” Robin said. “I served under Wellington.”

“So did my brother,” she said proudly.

“Really? Perhaps I knew him,” he suggested.

“I rather doubt it,” she said. “He was killed over there.”

“I’m sorry,” the young man said. “Too many good men met the same fate.”

She said, “But you were most fortunate.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

Felix Black had poured them sherries, and now he handed them their glasses. He said, “As we three know, the war with France may not yet be over. If Napoleon is brought out by Valmy and they are able to gather enough political strength, the new king will be forced to flee, and we will have an unstable France led by the political opportunist Valmy in the name of a worn and broken Napoleon.”

The young man sipped from his glass. “I’m anxious to begin the assignment. If what you believe happened took place, then every lost day counts.”

Felix nodded over his own glass. “A year has passed since Napoleon was supposedly buried. In the meanwhile Valmy has spirited his man to Europe and has been organizing an underground. When he gives the signal, these movements will come out in the open and make the previous insurrections look like children’s parties!”

The young man turned to her. “Are you prepared for the danger you may face? It could cost you your life.”

Betsy offered the young man a rueful smile. “If we are to work as partners, you will face the same risk, will you not?”

He nodded. “I’m prepared.”

“Well spoken,” the bent old man in black who was to direct all their activity said. “I shall try to reduce the danger to a minimum. But this is a kind of warfare. And people know they are often called upon to give their lives in time of war.”

The handsome Robin turned to her again and said, “You have not yet told me the facts of your brother’s being killed.”

“No,” she said quietly. “It is something that bothers me greatly. I feel he died in vain.”

“Why do you say that?”

She sighed. “I have been told on reasonable authority that his commanding officer disobeyed orders from above and sent his company into battle when the odds were hopeless.”

“That could happen,” the young man agreed. “It is often a matter of quick judgments.”

“This officer made a reckless decision, and so my poor brother died because of it,” she said.

“What was his name?” the man known as Robin asked.

She glanced at the old man. “We have no secrets here?”

“None,” Felix Black said. “I wish you two to know each other by your real names.”

She turned to Robin and said, “I am Betsy Chapman. My brother’s name was Captain Richard Chapman.”

A strange look crossed the face of the handsome man as he said quietly, “I’m delighted to know you, Miss Chapman.”

She said, “But you haven’t told me your name?”

“No, I haven’t,” he said. “My name is Eric Walters, Major Eric Walters. I was your brother’s commanding officer. So I fear you will not care to associate yourself with me.”

THE SPIDERY Felix Black’s sallow face showed consternation as he gazed at the two over his sherry glass. He confessed, “Indeed I’m aware of that. I hoped by throwing you together, she would overcome her strong feelings on the matter.”

The handsome Walters said, “I cannot blame Miss Chapman for wishing to blame someone for her brother’s death. The utter stupidity of all war is beyond endurance! But I swear I only obeyed the instructions given me and had no choice in sending my men to battle.”

Betsy was slowly recovering from the shock of this revelation. She had been greatly impressed by the good-looking Walters and felt she could come to genuinely like him. Now all that was spoiled. This handsome, courageous man was none other than the officer she had hated for so long.

She forced herself to say, “It does not matter. Let the past rest. I can work along with you and the others.”

“Good girl!” the thin Black said with unusual warmth. “You are being sensible. I daresay someone told you this tale of confused orders in an unfortunate attempt to make you accept the death of your brother — turning your despair into anger at an imaginary villain!”

Eric Walters spoke up. “It was a day of unimaginable confusion! I recall it with torment even now. For a time it seemed we had lost the battle. But never did I give what could be interpreted as an order causing needless slaughter.”

She avoided his eyes as she said, “I was no doubt wrong in making a judgment of something of which I really know nothing. It better be a subject avoided.” Yet she knew she still doubted.

Felix Black said, “We shall not let this make any difference. We are now united in a cause as important as that battle at Waterloo. We shall press on in unity.”

“To success,” Eric Walters said, raising his glass. She made no comment but drank along with the two men.

The old master spy said, “Now I think we should move on to the dining room where Mrs. Glenn has dinner awaiting us.”

The three started across to the dining room when there was a loud knocking on the front door. Felix Black halted and said, “I had better see who is there.”

He went to the door and opened it. At once an old man with a white beard, a bulging stomach covered by a blue smock and wearing a peasants shapeless cloth hat came limping into the room. “You sent for me, master?” the oldster said loudly in a country accent.

The master spy stared at him. “You are the butcher? The one convicted of selling stolen lamb from good Kent farmers!”

The stout yokel laughed heartily. He had a large red nose which hung prominently over his white beard. “You be right, master,” he said, slapping a hand on his thigh. “And when I heard that you wanted to see me, I brought along a quarter! It’s outside in my cart!”

“You are a rogue!” the man in black told him.

The old yokel roared with laughter again. “Indeed, master, I am. But I’ve not seen the inside of a prison yet. And my meat is the best. That’s why I have customers like you! All gentry!”

Black asked sharply, “Who told you I wanted you?”

“Grand dressed fellow!” the white-bearded yokel said. “Said he was of the theater. I told him the only theater I’d seen was Punch and Judy! And he told me to come straight here, and so I did!”

Felix Black turned to Betsy who had been standing watching this scene along with Eric Walters. The old man told her, “Your friend Kingston is pretty clever after all. I sent him out to find this man, and find him he did!”

“I think it remarkable,” she agreed. “You gave him only a scant description.”

“It was a test, and he has passed it with merit,” the old spy master said. And then he startled her by turning to the old yokel and telling him, “You need pretend no longer, Kingston. I’m convinced I can use you.”

“Thank you, master,” came the reply in the yokel’s loud voice. Then to her utter amazement the yokel pulled off his false nose and unhooked his beard to reveal the familiar face of George Frederick Kingston.

She went to him and exclaimed, “You fooled me completely.”

“That is my profession,” he said airily.

She gazed at his stomach. “You seemed so fat!”

“Some padding and the smock, tends to make you look properly stout,” he said with a smile.

Eric Walters added his comment. “Masterly makeup!”

“I agree,” Felix Black said. “Kingston not only made himself up to look the part, he acted the role. All of you remember that. Think your roles from inside.”

George Frederick Kingston said, “I shall be going now.”

“Very well,” the old spy master said. “I shall want you here tomorrow afternoon at two for a briefing about your new job with me.”

“I’ll be here,” the actor said, his nose and wig in hand. “And thank you. And you, Miss Chapman. It was you led me to this place and employment.”

She smiled. “I hope you’ll continue to feel it was a good turn.”

“Never fear!” he said. And he bowed and left.

The three of them went on to dinner in the adjoining room. The dinner was as plain as the room. Cold mutton and not too much else along with weak tea and cheese for dessert made up the meal. Betsy decided she would not have to fear putting on weight with the fare.

She said little at dinner, but the two men talked a good deal. It was apparent that following the battle of Waterloo Eric Walters had switched from the army to the secret service. He and Felix Black had planned and executed a number of campaigns together. She tried not to eavesdrop, but she could not help hearing all they were saying, and they did not seem to mind. She was one of them!

It appeared that Eric Walters’s special domain had been France and Germany. He knew a great deal about the new court of Louis XVIII and its many weaknesses. He and Black were both of the opinion that the new monarchy was ridiculously unstable, and it would take no great uprising to send the new king in flight to exile.