THE DISTANCE FROM THE village of Mantes-de-Jolie to Paris was less than thirty miles, but the road remained rutted and difficult to negotiate in places, so even though they changed teams wherever they could do so, their progress was slower than Meriel would have liked. To add to their difficulties, it came on to drizzle before they had reached Saint Germain. What had been a bright blue sky at noon changed within two hours to dismal gray. It was a spring rain and not a particularly chilly one, but neither Meriel nor Gladys Peat could long remain comfortable while they watched the two riders hunched in their saddles with only their turned-up collars for protection from the elements. After less than fifteen minutes of this, Meriel let down the window and shouted for them to come into the chaise.
“No need for that,” Sir Antony shouted back. “’Tis little more than a heavy fog. We shan’t drown.”
“Don’t be foolish, sir,” she retorted sharply. “I don’t wish to be responsible for your death from inflammation of the lung.”
“If the postboys can tolerate it, we can.”
“The postboys, in case you have not taken note of the fact, carry sensible bright yellow oilskins in their saddle pouches and have long since donned them. Do stop being ridiculous, sir, and come in out of the rain.”
“I’m agreeable, sure enough,” shouted Carruthers, laughing.
A grimace crossed her face before she could stop it. She had little desire to share the close confines of the chaise with the thief. Nevertheless, she could not demand that he ride alone in the misty rain. Swallowing her annoyance, she shouted to the postboys to halt the chaise, and commanded that both men tie their horses to the rear and come inside at once.
“This is most kind of you,” said Carruthers, making himself as comfortable as possible on the forward seat, which, unlike its English counterpart, was little more than a hard, narrow bench. “We’d have been drenched within the hour.”
She nodded, saying nothing, but was amused rather than otherwise when he continued chatting as though she had replied to him quite civilly. He talked of the weather and of the probable gaiety of Paris in the spring. Then he went on to ask questions about London, confessing that he had been absent from that city for nearly a year. When Meriel informed him in polite but unencouraging tones that she had not seen London in rather longer than that, Sir Antony spoke up at last, saying that he could no doubt provide Mr. Carruthers with town gossip that was, if not the latest, at least more recent than a year old.
He sounded amused, Meriel thought, which was strange, since he was clearly uncomfortable, perched as he was upon a seat which was far too narrow for a man of his size. He had leaned into his corner, and as he talked, he continued to shift from time to time as though he searched unsuccessfully for comfort.
Meriel recognized a number of names as the two gentlemen chatted. What surprised her was not so much that she knew the same people as Sir Antony but that Carruthers also seemed to know them. Then, as she pondered the matter, she decided that, to be successful, a thief must certainly know who possessed those objects most worthy of his attention.
Nevertheless, long before they reached the last turnpike, on the bustling outskirts of Paris, she had been drawn adroitly into the conversation and found herself laughing and talking with both gentlemen as though she had known them forever. She had become accustomed to chatting with Sir Antony in such a fashion, but it was astonishing to her that she could feel comfortable talking with a man like Carruthers. With even more amazement, however, did she hear herself suggesting, as they turned out of the narrow, cobbled Rue St. Honoré, between tall iron gates, into the courtyard of the magnificent Maison de Prévenu, that both Sir Antony and Mr. Carruthers must certainly step inside long enough to warm themselves before the fire and to meet her sister.
Even before they had descended from the chaise, the tall red doors of Maison de Prévenu had been flung wide and liveried servants hastened down the broad limestone steps to hold umbrellas over their heads and to help the postboys unload the trunks and portmanteaux strapped to the front and rear of the chaise. As they entered the vast two-story front hall to be greeted by a bowing dark-coated butler and several minions in jackets of pale blue over cream-colored breeches, Meriel heard a sudden rush of clicking heels on the marble floor, and almost before she had time to turn toward the sound, found herself enveloped in lavender-scented sea-green chiffon as her sister Nest flung her arms about her.
“Oh, Meri, I can scarcely credit that you are come at last,” she cried, standing back again to look at her. Poised thus, she could be seen to resemble her younger sister only with regard to her fair complexion and light hair. Her face was rounder, as was her figure, for she was no longer as slim as Meriel remembered. Indeed, beneath the flowing yards of translucent green chiffon with which she had draped herself, it could be seen that she had grown rather buxom.
“My goodness, Nest!” Meriel exclaimed, looking her over in return. “You have changed beyond recognition, but ’tis most becoming.”
Nest laughed merrily. “So dearest André tells me. He likes his women soft, he says, and he cannot deny that I have grown very soft indeed.” She turned toward the two gentlemen, her eyes dancing. “But you have not introduced your handsome escorts, my dearest. Indeed, you did not even warn me that you would have an escort. I remember distinctly that you said you would be traveling with only dearest Gladys Peat—and how wonderful it is to see you again, Gladys,” she added, diverted. “You must follow Michel, the blond one there, upstairs, and he will show you where I have put the Lady Meriel. Now then,” she went on without pause, “who are these delightful gentlemen?”
Laughing, Meriel shook her head. “You do not change after all, Nest, but remain as wonderfully shatterbrained as ever. First you demand their names and then you chatter like a magpie so that no one else can put a word in edgeways. The large, rather lazy-looking gentleman is Sir Antony Davies, and I promise you, his demeanor owes nothing to exhaustion. ’Tis the way he always looks. He appointed himself our courier somewhere along the way and, in fact, has traveled with us since Barmouth. The other is Mr. Roger Carruthers. He is a—”
“An ardent admirer of your magnificent self, madam,” interjected Mr. Carruthers, stepping forward with exquisite grace to kiss Nest’s hand. As Meriel watched indignantly, he raised his head, retaining the still-slim little hand in his, and gazed into Nest’s sparkling blue eyes. “You are as beautiful as I have heard, madam, and I confess I had believed such a thing must be impossible.”
“Dear me, what a charming man,” said Nest with a chuckle, withdrawing her hand from his at last with patent reluctance. “I daresay you have heard any number of things about me, sir, but I promise they are not all so true as that.”
Even Sir Antony chuckled at these audacious words, and Nest turned to him at once, her smile wide upon her lips, displaying fine white teeth. The two front ones overlapped a tiny bit, but this flaw only added to the charm of her smile. “How do you do, Sir Antony?” she said demurely. “’Tis a prodigious pleasure to make your acquaintance. I hope you and Mr. Carruthers will visit us often during your stay in Paris. Have you acquaintances here?”
“A few, madam. I shall be staying with Lord Whitworth, I believe.”
“The British ambassador? Oh, that will be amusing for you. Such a charming gentleman, if only he were not so dreadfully plagued by the necessity of adhering to English policy, poor man. He could have a deal more fun, I daresay, if he were not continually shoved into the awkward position of having to defend England’s actions. I prefer to think of myself as French these days, I can tell you.”
“But you are not English, anyway,” Meriel pointed out, amused by her sister’s uncharacteristic descent into political discussion.
“Well, I might as well be, for all the understanding these people have of the difference between the Welsh and the English. Of course there are some who realize the Welsh have been rebels since the beginning of the relationship between our two countries and who therefore think of us as kindred spirits—like the Americans, you know—but for the most part they think of me as English, do what I might to persuade them otherwise, and that, I promise you, can be embarrassing. But we should not be standing here in the hall. My belle-mère will scold me for running out to you like an underbred hoyden, but I could not wait. I no sooner heard the carriage wheels on the cobbles outside than I was up and in a dash to greet you. But now you must come upstairs to the salon and refresh yourselves.”
But the gentlemen declined, Sir Antony declaring that since he had ordered his man to go straight on to the embassy, he must likewise stir himself to join him there, and Carruthers mentioning the need to find a place to rack up. When it looked to her as though her impulsive sister would invite him to spend the night at Maison de Prévenu, Meriel interrupted without a qualm for her poor manners, bidding both gentlemen adieu and assuring them that she and Madame de Prévenu would be happy to receive them if they should chance to be at home when either Sir Antony or Mr. Carruthers might call.
When the two men had gone, Nest looked at her sharply. “That was rude, Meri dear. Mr. Carruthers could certainly have stayed here with us, as you must know. There are any number of guest rooms, and if you are thinking it would not be the thing, that is only because you have not recalled to mind the fact that Madame Depuissant, my mother-in-law, is also in residence right now, as is André’s brother, Pierre. So you see, it would be quite convenable for Mr. Carruthers to remain with us.”
As she talked, she led the way up the broad carpeted stairs to a gallery and into a high-ceilinged salon decorated in bright shades of green and gold. Following behind her, Meriel paused on the threshold of this magnificent chamber to say tersely, “Nest, that man is no gentleman. He is a thief.”
“What?” Nest turned in a swirl of green chiffon to face her. “Nonsense, Meri. What can you possibly mean?”
“I mean precisely what I say, as I always have done. He is a thief. He tried to steal Sir Antony’s diamond pin and a number of other trinkets, which was how we chanced to become acquainted.” She described the meeting briefly, then added, “I am mortified at the thought that I actually invited him into your house. I cannot think how I came to do such a thing.”
Nest chuckled. “Quelles sottises! You needn’t apologize for that. Indeed, ’tis most exciting, for I have never met a thief before. Do you hear, belle-mère?” she inquired, turning now with a flourish toward the plump black-garbed lady who was seated with her knitting upon a gilt chair near the cheerfully crackling fire. “We have entertained a thief in our front hall.”
Meriel had not noticed the woman before, and realizing that she must be the dowager Comtesse de Prévenu, hurriedly dropped a curtsy. “How do you do, madame? I beg your pardon for chattering so. I did not realize anyone else was here.”
The plump lady nodded, lowered the tangle of cheerful pink knitting to her spacious lap, and smiled graciously, then gestured to a matching chair on the opposite side of the green Aubusson hearth rug. “Seat yourself, mademoiselle,” she said in English. “There is no fault. I am well accustomed to my daughter-in-law’s impulsiveness. Was yours a pleasant journey?”
“A trifle tedious, perhaps, but the company was pleasant.” As Meriel took her seat, she noted gratefully that her sister had rung for refreshment, and she gave but half her mind to her exchange of amenities with the dowager as she listened for sounds that would herald the arrival of the tea tray. It came at last, however, and once she had taken the edge off her hunger with tea and delicious little iced cakes, she was able to pay closer heed to the older woman.
At first her impression was that Madame Elise, as that lady preferred to be addressed, was a cushiony white-haired gentlewoman whose greatest interest would be her knitting or perhaps her grandchildren. But then, when Meriel asked Nest what on earth she had meant by referring to the ambassador’s duty to defend England’s actions as a burden, she noted a shrewd gleam in Madame Elise’s gray eyes.
Before she could think more about that look her attention was claimed by her sister, who said pettishly, “Well, of course one must expect the ambassador to say that England is doing right, but really, Meri, it is too bad, when everyone knows that England is the one pushing France to the brink of war.”
“Oh, Nest, surely you know ’tis that Bonaparte creature who is at fault. He wants only to conquer the whole of Europe, that is all.”
“He wishes to be called Napoleon, not Bonaparte, and he is not a creature,” retorted Nest indignantly. “You have never seen him, after all, so you cannot know how handsome he is and how charming he can be. Otherwise, I protest, I should never forgive you for saying such things as that.”
“Nest, for pity’s sake, that man is naught but an upstart soldier playing the part of a king—Napoleon the First, I imagine he thinks himself. As for his being handsome, why, we have heard even in the north of Wales that the man is as plump as a puffin. And so charming is he, miss, that he has imprisoned your own husband!”
Nest hunched one plump shoulder. “Everyone says he will release André very soon, and as for his being naught but a soldier, I am sure his birth was perfectly respectable. He was not born into the first circles, perhaps, but only because his papa was Italian, and I am persuaded that no one regards his background at this present, in any event.”
“Well, nevertheless, if the current situation is an uneasy one, it is not England’s fault. Why, Napoleon has taken over Switzerland, Holland, and Belgium, and any number of other countries without yet being satisfied. He but hungers for more and more.”
“His greatest wish,” Nest retorted passionately, “is to unify Europe. Why, only a month past, he lost his temper completely because Lord Whitworth simply refused to cooperate in his attempt to bring peace to the Continent. In front of everyone who is anyone, Napoleon shouted that England is determined to make war on France, that they will drive him to do as they wish, but he also declared that although they will be the first to draw the sword, he will be the last to sheathe it. Oh, Meri, it was a magnificent speech. All who heard it talked of nothing else for weeks. At the end Napoleon bellowed, ‘Woe to those who show no respect for treaties!’ and stalked from the room. By the time he reached the street, however, those who saw him reported that he was perfectly composed, so great is his command over even his most violent emotions.”
“Oh, Nest, how could you be so taken in?” Meriel demanded. “Mr. Carruthers and Sir Antony spoke of that same confrontation only this afternoon, and Sir Antony at least is very well-informed. You may believe it if he says that Napoleon’s composure afterward only served to prove that the whole business was contrived from first to last in hopes that such a violent threat of war would force England to back down on her refusal to turn the island of Malta over to the French. In fact, as you must know, the opposite has occurred, and Britain has now made conditions that must be patently unacceptable to him, that France must evacuate Holland and Switzerland and consent to a ten-year occupation of Malta by English forces. That is scarcely what he can have hoped for.”
“I daresay it is no more than he expected, however,” Nest said, regaining her temper with an effort and speaking more temperately. “You do not understand, Meriel, for you hear only England’s side of the matter. Once Napoleon’s objective is attained, Europe will become a federation of free and sovereign states—”
“Under his rule,” Meriel inserted dryly.
“True, but there is nothing wrong with that, for the federation will benefit from all the liberal principles of the French Revolution. The only obstacle to success is England, which for years has been directed by a greedy, reactionary government that never ceases to stir up war against poor France by means of bribery and intrigue. As long as France is obliged to defend herself against the attacks of first one, then another foolish hireling of Whitehall, certainly Napoleon must fluctuate his actions according to the requirements of the moment. You must admit, Meriel, that you cannot defend Mr. Addington’s actions so easily as I defend Napoleon’s.”
Staring at Nest, as astonished by her glib tongue as by her attitude, Meriel scarcely knew what to reply. She had little wish to defend Prime Minister Addington, a man whose abilities she had scorned since his earliest days in office, but neither could she agree, after having heard Sir Antony’s views on the subject, with her sister’s notion of the relationship between England and France. Fortunately, Madame Elise chose this moment to remind them of her presence.
“Mes enfants,” she said gently as she picked up her knitting needles and set them to a speedy, rhythmic clicking, “you do yourselves no good by these discussions. Friends—and certainly sisters—ought to leave the discussion of politics to those who can do some good by such discussion. Bien sûr, you are neither of you in a position to understand the other without long and arduous dispute. Instead you should be elated to find yourselves in each other’s company and should be planning what first to do to celebrate your reunion after so much time.”
Meriel bit her lower lip, then looked up at Nest, who was seated across from her near the dowager. A rueful smile began to tug at her lips, and she said contritely, “Papa always said we could argue about anything, but I daresay he never would have thought ‘everything’ could possibly include politics.”
Nest replied with a chuckle. “To be sure. I daresay everyone back home would stare to hear me talk of such things, for although you always liked to know what went on in government circles, I am persuaded I never did so before in my life. But it is impossible to be a member of the Depuissant family without becoming aware of how things stand in the political arena. They are, all of them, involved to some extent. Why, even Mama Elise, you know, is a genius when it comes to inviting the right people to a dinner party. And with all the factions rampant in this town, that is no mean achievement, I can tell you, for we mix as much with the ministers of government as we do with the beau monde de Paris, as you will soon see.”
“Have you,” Meriel asked casually, “ever met a gentleman by name of Monsieur Alexandre Deguise?”
“Oh, to be sure,” Nest replied. “Monsieur Deguise is a charming gentleman. Rather elderly and precise, you know, but a man quite at home at any social affair. How come you to know him, Meriel?”
“Oh, I do not, but I met an acquaintance of his in Rouen when I was looking into that school for Gwenyth, you know, and received a letter of introduction to him.”
“Gwenyth in school in France,” Nest said, laughing. “It is so difficult for me to credit such a thing. Why, I can scarcely imagine her any older than when I left. Let me see, she must have been but nine or ten then. Now she is a young lady, I daresay.”
“Well, not a lady yet,” Meriel said with a grin, “but she intends to become a lady of quality and entertain royalty at her soirees. Thus Auntie Wynne insists that she should have the benefits of a Continental education.”
“Oh, how is Auntie Wynne?” Nest demanded. “Tell me all about her.”
So Meriel launched into a lengthy description of family affairs, bringing her sister up-to-date on all the other members except, of course, their elder brother, Jocelyn. “For I tell you, Nest, I still have not had so much as the briefest note from him or from anyone else about him.”
“Oh, he’ll turn up when he’s of a mind to do so,” Nest replied comfortably. “Now, tell me more about Davy. He sounds the veriest imp.” Tears glistened suddenly in her eyes. “Oh, Meri, four years is such a long time. How I wish you could have brought them all with you!”
“Well, you and André will simply have to visit Plas Tallyn.”
“I think you’d be more like to see us in London,” Nest told her with a twinkle. “André is not much of a traveler at best, and he would find Wales entirely too flat.”
“If he does,” Meriel said, laughing, “he will certainly be the first person to do so.”
“Oh, Meri,” Nest gurgled, shaking her head, “you know perfectly well that I meant he would be bored. No one could forget our magnificent mountains. But the social life at Plas Tallyn leaves a deal to be desired, and André does like his social life.”
“He must like politics as well, or how came he to be imprisoned?”
“Oh, that.” Nest shrugged and reached forward to the low table between them to refill her teacup. “He merely said something foolish, and it chanced to come to Napoleon’s ears at a moment when he refused to be amused.”
“What on earth did André say?”
Nest flushed slightly. “It doesn’t bear repeating. Indeed, I am not certain myself what was said, for I wasn’t present, and although I have heard any number of tales, I refuse to credit any of them.”
“It is said,” put in the dowager evenly, her tone at variance with the lightning movement of her knitting needles, “that my son cast aspersions upon Napoleon’s faithfulness to family and country and that it was the first rather than the last that annoyed him. He is a great man for family, you know.”
“I have heard that he approves of large families, certainly,” Meriel said carefully, “and that he once said the greatest woman on earth would be the one who bore the most children. But I have also heard it said that he would keep women locked up within their homes, that he does not approve of their socializing at all, so I probably know as little about him as my sister says I do. Surely no man would be so foolish as all that.”
“I daresay my son would agree with you upon that head, mademoiselle, but Napoleon does indeed have such notions. He believes that in no other way can a man be certain that his children are his own. And it was in a discussion of this matter that mon cher André made whatever comment it was that he made.”
“Merciful heavens!”
“We will hope so,” Nest said, grinning at her. “Napoleon Bonaparte does have an odd notion or two, but since he insists that he means to abide by the liberal policies so hard won by the Revolution, policies which gave Frenchwomen an influence they did not hold before, not to mention separate property rights, he cannot make too great a point of those notions. My money is my own here, Meri, which it would not be in England, you know, and Napoleon would like to change that. At our very own dinner table, he once said that women should stick to knitting.” She smiled at the dowager, who only shook her head.
“He thinks you can knit?” Meriel said teasingly.
Nest chuckled. “He has never seen me do so, certainly, but he believes all women are born knowing such things. But he has never said they should not leave their houses, Meri, only that they should not do so without their husbands’ consent or receive visitors of whom they do not approve.” Her eyes twinkled. “A husband in this country attempting to control his wife to that extent would not get very far, I can tell you, and so I am sure André must have told him.”
“But if that was all …”
“Oh, I daresay it was not. André speaks his mind always, and Napoleon is not one to brook opposition to any of his views, even such absurd ones as those.”
“Then André may be in prison for a long time,” Meriel said gently, “and surely you must also watch your behavior, my dear.”
Nest laughed merrily, exchanging a droll look with her mother-in-law. “You must know, Meriel, that even Napoleon’s own wife does not agree with him on such issues, and he has sufficient command of good manners to avoid pressing them when he has been invited to a dinner party. He may wish to instill such notions into a new generation of French men and women, but he is not so doltish as to belabor them where it will do him no good. I have nothing to fear from him, I assure you, other than perhaps a pinch in a dark corridor. As for André, if Napoleon were not at this moment in residence in Boulogne, looking to his latest collection of warships, I am persuaded that André would have been here to greet your arrival. But tell me more about the fascinating Sir Antony. Is he your latest flirt, Meri dear?”