This is the first chapter of my next book. It's still a draft, but readable. I have the beginning and the end written. Meanwhile, I'm working on the middle where Lady Katherine, Sir Simon, Henriette, and O'Reilly (not to mention their Aunt Sally and Henriette's sister Alice - who aren't in this chapter) are embroiled in a tangled mix-up in the village of Gooik and near the city of Ath. (Aren't Belgian names wonderful? It sounds like they're from a science fiction book, but they're real places.)
Chapter 1
The seagulls were having a feast on
the fishermen's scraps and calling raucously as they wheeled out to
sea in the Harbor of Boulogne-sur-mer. Commerce with England had
restarted with the signing of the treaty of Paris and the
cross-channel ferry had just landed in the harbor. Its cargo of
English gentry were anxious to see the sights of the continent so
long denied them by the wars of the revolution and the French empire.
That evil Corsican bandit was constrained to Elba, good King Louis
XVIII reigned and all was right in the world.
A spry, just into middle-aged,
English gentleman who walked with a limp and his slightly younger
wife debarked from the ship and sauntered over to customs. “Simon,”
the woman asked her husband, “Are you sure you want to do this? We could just use the diplomatic passports.”
“Katherine,” he replied, “It
will be fine, I'm just using an old cover name. We were married
during the war and I never did take you on a honeymoon, just us,
alone. It will be easier if we travel as private citizens, not having
the mayor want to talk to us as representatives His Majesty and all
that.”
Time had treated Katherine very
well. Despite her extensive adventures she was still a beautiful
woman, to whom time had only added a patina of distinction. She'd
married Lieutenant Simon Bates, now Colonel Sir Simon Bates attached
to the foreign office in some mysterious manner. They were married
shortly before he was posted as a military attache to Vienna. Vienna
was an exciting posting where their first child, David now at
Eton, was born. They managed to hear Beethoven conduct the premier of
his fourth symphony before things became undone. With the ignominious
surrender of Vienna to Napoleon they fled with their new child across
the wastes of Poland and the Ukraine to Russia. A long sequence of
diplomatic postings, Moscow, St. Petersburg, Stockholm and Lisbon
finally ended with a chance to return to England. Simon's parents had
insisted on having a chance of getting to know their grandchildren,
and giving them a chance to learn to be English. Both Simon and
Katherine found the peace and consequent idleness profoundly boring.
Life in the Essex coastal village of St. Osyth was even more boring,
if that were possible. Much to the distress of their families they
leaped at the chance to be posted to Bruxelles. They'd left their
brood with their grandfather, the Reverend Gregory Bates, in St.
Osyth and gone to find quarters in Brussels.
The French customs agent asked,
“passports and names?”
Simon replied, in the Norman French
he had mastered ten years ago, “Je m'appelle Henri
Simon Beaufort and this is my
wife Katherine Beaufort.”
The
customs officer checked his papers, then whistled and called up a
pair of Gendarme's. “You sir, are under arrest. There is a warrant
for you.”
“Simon!”,
Katherine interrupted in a testy voice, “give them your real name.
I'm tired, it's been a very long day and we need to get to the inn.”
“Yes
dear, as you say , my name is Simon Bates and this is”
The
customs officer stopped him abruptly, “There is a warrant for him
as well, with a large reward, 1000 francs, it's an old warrant but
still valid.” With the hyperinflation at the end of Napoleon's
rule, the reward was only worth about a shilling, but a shilling
saved was a shilling earned. The Gendarme's stepped forward and
grabbed Simon by the arms and escorted him away. “This way, Sir.”
Magistrate
Pigne had a problem. The prisoner was clearly one Henri Simon
Beaufort also known as Simon Bates. He remembered interviewing the
prisoner himself when he'd been a mere sergeant in the gendarmes.
There was not much of a question about his identity or, for that
matter, about his guilt. He'd been a British spy eleven years ago,
fooled the lot of them, assaulted a colonel in the intelligence,
stolen a boat at gunpoint and disappeared into the channel. A month
later, a long requested report from Paris had finally arrived. It
stated unequivocally that there had never been a 'Henri Simon
Beaufort' in the Grande Armee, and certainly not
one who had been honorably discharged with a wounded leg. To make
things worse, now he had a diplomatic passport and a wife who was
insisting that he used it to leave, now. The situation was fraught
with difficulties.
“Monsieur
Pigne, I'm sorry for the fuss. We, Katherine and I.”
“Speak
for yourself Simon.”
“Katherine,
I thought we could finally have a honeymoon. This part of Normandy is
beautiful, especially in June.”
M. Pigne
also remembered 'Henri' as a decent sort of bloke, one of the few
farmers who would fight over the honor of his wife. Gendarme's didn't
make many, if any, close friends who weren't other gendarmes, but
he'd liked Henri.
“Henri,
Simon, Mr. Bates,” he began, “It's clear there's been a terrible
mistake. These warrants should have been voided with the fall of the
empire. I'll have to apply to Paris.”
Katherine
asked, “How long will that take?”
“Dear,
We don't want to cause a diplomatic incident. Monsieur Pigne, I can
give you my parole for a couple of weeks, but then we really must
move on to Bruxelles.”
“Your
Parole?”
“My
word as an officer, I won't leave Boulongne without your permission.”
“But
Henri, you fled in the past. Why should I believe that you'd honor
your parole now?”
Simon
could see that Katherine was beginning to lose patience with the
proceedings, which could only complicate matters. He turned to her
and said, “Katherine, why don't you see that our luggage arrives at
L'Hotel d'estrangers? I'll meet you there, this won't take
long.”
“Are
you sure?”
“Absolutely,
If I'm not there for supper, you can come and bail me out.”
“Don't
hold your breath, I'll wait at least until after supper or maybe
tomorrow morning. If I decide to come at all.”
After
Katherine left, Simon turned to M. Pigne. “Look, it's very simple.
I'm traveling with a diplomatic passport, so it would only take a
short message to the local English consul to have a company of
soldiers come and remove me from your custody. But this would be
embarrassing, both for you and for me.”
“Oui,
it would be.”
“Also
it's unnecessary. Now I'd like to spend a week or two here, have a
walk on the beach in the sunset with my wife, visit the countryside,
try the cider, do some of the normal things that visiting English
used to do before the war.”
“Ah?
And”
“It
would undermine your authority to just let me go wouldn't it?”
“Yes it
would, so if I accept your parole?”
“Then
in a few days, after some 'further investigation' you can dismiss the
charges and everyone's happy.”
Pigne
thought for a short while, trying to add up the pluses and minuses of
Simon's seductive argument. Simon added, “I'll stand you a drink,
dinner, you and your good wife?”
That
settled it, dinner with a knight and his lady would improve his
family's social standing no end, so he agreed to accept, very
reluctantly accept, Simon's parole.
A few days later, Katherine brought
the exciting news to her husband, “I've found your Marie”.
Simon was enjoying his enforced rest
on parole, by staying in the town and systematically sampling the
local wine, cheese and cider. Katherine took advantage of his
diversions by arranging a
carriage tour of the surrounding countryside.
No
fool, she,
early in their marriage,
had wormed enough of the story about Marie from Simon to be upset
with him.
So in the end,
he told her the whole story, which wasn't nearly
as bad as her imaginings
had made it.
After all, she'd just thrown wine in his face, called him a puppy and
trounced out of his life, refusing
even to read his letters. So helping a personable young
French farm-woman to avoid
les Musikos, being drafted for the army brothels, while
undercover in Normandy
was
while deplorable, at
least
excusable.
Katherine
continued, “She runs Lion D'argent
in Baincthun.”
“Good
thing we stayed L'Hotel d'estrangers
then.” Baincthun was a few
kilometers outside of Boulogne.
“and
I've met your daughter, she's the image of our Alice.”
David,
Alice, Jane, and Peter now had an older half-sister.
Katherine
continued, a bit stiffly, for some old wounds never completely
heal, “She told me that she was sure she'd have a child from an
English Mi'Lor. In any case, they're coming to visit you
tomorrow.”
“Oh
God.”
“She's
a Madame LeBrun by the way. Married a Thomas LeBrun, late owner of
the Silver Lion, and is now widowed.”
“So
this girl? She's”
“Nominally
she's legitimate, apparently LeBrun didn't mind.”
“Well,
at least that's something.” There was no way to make an
illegitimate child legitimate, and while a male bastard could haunt
the outskirts of society with his father's support, no amount of
effort could rehabilitate a natural daughter.
Time had
not treated Mme. Marie LeBrun well. While the traces of her beauty
could still be seen beneath the wrinkles, the sun and difficulty of
managing an inn had left her prematurely an old woman. Losing her
husband and father within a few months of each other had not helped
either. To Simon's eyes, there was something else as well, a sort of
withdrawal from life. She seemed to have a catch in her breath, as if
it hurt. The spark of vitality that had so animated her as a younger
woman, and was such a part of her allure, was missing. Her daughter,
Henriette, was pretty enough for a eleven year old, but was quiet and
subdued, either due to natural shyness, fear of these English
strangers or both. Despite her travails Marie had done well enough
materially, Henriette was well-dressed, wearing a white silk dress
and a silver chain necklace that complimented her clear blue eyes and
striking auburn hair.
The
meeting was awkward. Marie and Katherine verbally danced around each
other, sparing for wind and wanting to talk about things that the
presence of a husband and a daughter made difficult. “Marie,
Katherine,” Simon finally interjected, “I'll take Henriette for a
walk, down to the harbor, maybe pick up a sweet.”
Henriette
and Simon strolled down to the harbor. They were both silent within
their own thoughts, which matched the gray sky and drizzling weather.
With the peace, the level of activity in the harbor was rapidly
increasing. Only three months ago there was just a scattering of
fishing boats but now there were several ships unloading cargo and
producing a level of activity that hadn't been seen since before the
revolution. While they were watching the activity, Henriette turned
to Simon and stated simply, “You're not my father.”
“I
know, Mademoiselle LeBrun, but your mother and I were good friends –
she nursed me when I was sick, maybe even saved my life, so I owe
something to both of you.”
“That
might be, but I'm French and you're English, un rosbief”
“True.”
“Mother
made me come for this visit, I didn't want to come here.”
“I
expect so, it's a bit of a bore inst it? Do you enjoy life at Lion
D'argent?”
She
replied, “It's good.”, in a tone that suggested otherwise.
“Tell
me about it, do you have friends, do you go to school?”
“I did,
but.”
“But?”
“I
finished parish school, and l'academie doesn't accept girls.”
Henriette clearly was not happy about that, she liked school.
“Oh,
that's not good, did you know I can do something about that if you
want?”
Henriette
brightened for a moment then added, “Mama needs me.” She was
resigned to living at Lion D'argent, even if meant her dreams
of better things would remain dreams.
“Ah,
that brings up a question I wanted to ask you, about your mother,”
Simon paused, “is she well?”
“I
don't know and she doesn't say anything to me, but she often visits
Dr. Moulin.” Simon knew better than to probe further. He could
always talk to the good doctor later.
“Well,
Henriette, we should walk back to the inn. By now Mrs. Bates and Mme.
LeBrun will either be firm friends or they'll appreciate a referee
calling time.”
“Didn't
you promise me a sweet?”
“We can
stop at the patisserie on the way.”
“Bon,
I'd like that,” she skipped along, staying in front of Simon as
they walked back. “Come on, I'm hungry, hurry up!”
With the
weather finally breaking into a spectacular sunset, Katherine grabbed
Simon for a stroll along the Boulevard Sainte-Beuve, up toward the
bluff to the north of the city. “You've been sitting too long
Simon, and we need the exercise.”
As they
left the gray city with the tidal flats below it extending into the
harbor and started the climb, Simon asked, “Katherine, what did you
think of Marie?”
“Frightfully
common, but nice enough. I'm glad you showed at least some taste,
Simon.”
“So you
didn't fight?”
“Not at
all, she's a farm girl, runs an inn. We don't have much in common.”
Katherine left off the unspoken, “except you.”
“That's
good, better than what I expected.”
“and
your daughter Mlle. LeBrun?”
“She's
a sweet thing, bright, but destined to be a farmer's wife. Not sure
it isn't a bit of a waste, though.”
“Simon,”
Katherine's tone was dangerous, “We're not supporting her if, or at
least not any more than you already do.”
“You
know about that do you?”
“Of
course, do you think I'm ignorant of your doings?” Simon had been
diverting the occasional few guineas to Marie's family, using his
connections with 'Captain' John Wolfe of the foreign office and some
bank that financed the sale of wool cloth, nominally to Denmark but
in reality to uniform the Grande Armee, to send the funds
covertly. Changing the subject, he added, “Did Marie seem healthy
to you?”
“She's
just old, that's all.”
“I'm
not sure, Mlle. Henriette said she sees a Dr. Moulin often. I'm going
to have to find out why.”
Katherine
was not pleased with this idea and would have let Simon know, in no
uncertain terms, what her opinion of it was, when they were
interrupted. A bedraggled man dressed in the remains of a French
uniform stood in front of them and pulled an old army pistol from
inside his tattered greatcoat. “Your money. All of it. Now.”
Simon's
reactions were swift. With his cane, one that was not simply
fashionable, but fashionable and weighted with an iron bar, he
knocked the pistol out of the mans hand and into the field, and then
quickly pushed it into the man's midriff and gave the poor man a
crack on the head that dropped him. Examining his handiwork, he
paused. “I think I know that man.” He stretched a bit, stiff and
sore from the exercise, and said in a slightly breathless voice,
“Katherine, I think I'm getting too old for this. Time to settle
down somewhere in the country. We could raise sheep or something.”
As the
object of his handiwork slowly recovered consciousness, he looked up
at his assailant. “Oh my head, what, who, wait you're Bates,
Lieutenant Bates wasn't it?”
“Colonel
Bates, and you're Lieutenant O'Reilly late of Legion
Irlandais, aren't you?”
The man started to nod his head but
winced at the pain. “Yes.
Les Battlion D'estrangers.”
“You
used to be a honest man, O'Reilly.”
“I
used to have a full belly.”
Simon
thought for a moment, considering his options,
then handed the man a couple
pounds worth of Francs and added,
“Get shaved, have a bath, something to eat, some clean clothes, and
meet me tomorrow morning at L'Hotel
d'estrangers”
“Simon!
No! Please, not again.”, Katherine was not overjoyed, this wasn't
the first time Simon had picked up an encumbrance during their
travels. It had not always ended well for the encumbrance. There was
a string of graves through Eastern Europe and Spain from various
encumbrances who had come to bad ends in the service of the British
crown.
“You'll
be there O'Reilly, won't you? Or do I need to talk to the gendarmes?”
“I
will.”
“Good,
now Katherine, let us continue our perambulation, unmolested. The
sunset is especially beautiful, I'm so glad you convinced me to take
this stroll.”
“Ahem,”
the waiter coughed, interrupting Simon and Katherine's breakfast.
“Yes?”
“Sir,
there is a personage who wishes to speak with you.”
“Oh?
Can you show him in?”
“He
is not suitably dressed for the dining room.”
Vaguely
presentable, but battered, bruised and showing
it, Charles O'Reilly, lately Lieutenant of the
Legion
Irlandais, and somewhat
earlier sergeant in His Majesties 4th
foot, patiently waited in the
courtyard. He had mixed thoughts about that
damned Englishman, Bates. He'd
have much rather not accepted charity from him. Nonetheless,
O'Reilly had to admit that a wash, a shave, a
full belly and clean, if well used, clothes restored some of his
normally optimistic lookout
on life. Bates emerged from inside and promptly
walked over. “Sorry about that, last evening, but highway robbery,
O'Reilly, that just won't do,
just won't do at all.”
“What
are you going to do about it?”
“Depends,
you know, it rather
depends on what you are willing to do.”
“I
don't like you English.”
“I'd
gathered, sergeant, but you're stuck with us.”
“So
Colonel Bates? What are you planning?”
“I
need an agent. You aren't associated with the Fenian's or any group
like that are you?”
“No.
I am, no was, a professional soldier.”
“Good.”
“Simon!,
where are you?”, it was Katherine. “I warned you not to – Oh,
it's your friend O'Reilly.”
O'Reilly
continued, “I'm not sure about you Sir Simon, how do I know I can
trust you?”
“You
don't. O'Reilly, let me put it this way, you're damned lucky I was
there and acted first. Mrs. Bates would have just blown your head
off.” O'Reilly looked at Lady Katherine and saw a blank, hard
almost hungry stare pass across her face. He gulped, he'd seen that
look before, but never on a woman, he turned to Simon and noticed
that he didn't object, indeed the same look flickered across his face
as well. O'Reilly shivered, the last time he'd seen that look, its
owner was a Prussian officer who would kill a man with as little
compunction as he would have had in swatting a fly. He looked back,
and the bland expressionless, slightly vacant look of the English
upper class had returned to their faces.
Simon
continued, “We've been keeping count and Katherine's tally is
higher than mine. She tends to be impatient, while I prefer to use
finesse.” then he paused, “So O'Reilly, what's your price?”
“I
want to go home, to Ireland, free – without a price on my head.”
“That's
a tall order, but is that what you want?”
“Yes.”
Simon
offered his hand, and O'Reilly took it, shaking on the deal. “Done.
We'll arrange it, but I must warn you it will not be easy. Might take
a little time to get it arranged. Go to the servant's entrance and
let them know that you're Sir Simon Bates' head groom, They'll find
you a place to sleep. We have an errand in town and will be back in a
few hours.”
Katherine
looked at Simon, “An errand, dear?”
“Yes,
my love, Dr Moulin. I thought you didn't want me to visit him alone?”
That
was an understatement.
“I
don't want you to visit him at all, Simon. But if you insist, I'm not
letting you go alone and make a bigger fool out of yourself than is
absolutely necessary.”
It
did not take long to find the good doctor, and they waited in his
consulting rooms while he dealt with the morning's clientèle.
“Entrez,”
he finally came to to the elegantly dressed English couple who were
paging through the ancient copies of L'Moniteur that littered
his office. Simon was sure he'd find a copy of his reward notice, but
was disappointed. The papers were too old.
“What
is the problem?”
“I
need to ask you about one of your patients, a Marie LeBrun?”
“I
don't discuss my patients with strangers, who are you?”
“Sir
Simon Bates, and my wife Lady Katherine Bates.”
“and
how do you know Mme. LeBrun so well, that you would ask about her
health?”
Simon
cleared his throat a little nervously, looked at Katherine and
replied, “I'm her English Mi'Lor. She may have told you about me.”
“Oh,”
the doctor paused, “Still, I cannot discuss details with you.”
“I
don't want the details, is she well?”
“No,
she's dying.”
“Consumption?”
“Non,
a growth, now tell me. Why are you curious about her?”
“She
is an old friend. Can you tell me what will happen to her daughter
when she dies? Does Henriette have family to care for her?”
“No,
not really, the war took her cousins, all her family. She'll be a
ward of the parish.”
“Damn.”,
given normal French bureaucratic efficiency and especially how much
worse it would be in these chaotic times, she'd starve before the
parish even knew she needed help.
Katherine's
eye's flashed, signaling her discontent, a danger signal that Simon
rarely ignored, “Simon you will not, I will not take.”
“Katherine,
what would you have me do? I owe Marie. In fact you owe Marie as much
as I do, if not more, because without her help I'd have never
returned from France. I can never repay her for that, but I can help
her daughter. Now Dr. Moulin, how long, roughly, does she have?”
He
gave a Gallic shrug of indifference. “It is hard to say. Tomorrow,
a few weeks, maybe a few months, but not long.”
Simon
pulled a letter from beneath his coat. “You can read this when we
go, but” and here again he looked at Katherine who was steadily
simmering underneath her outward cultured veneer of calm, “but it
contains my address and an offer to house Mlle. Henriette LeBrun. It
may be useful, when the time comes.” He paused, for he knew what he
would say next would deeply upset Katherine, but he felt he had no
choice, “and, please, send your bills to me. Mme. LeBrun has enough
to worry about.”
Katherine
muttered, in English, through clenched teeth, “Simon, please don't
embarrass us.”
“and
if you can, don't tell her who is paying. Please keep it secret.”
“Of
course, I'll be discrete. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get on
with my rounds.” The doctor rose and showed them out.
It
did not take Katherine long to let Simon know what her feelings were.
He listened without reaction as she explained, in detail, why it was
impossible that they should support Mlle. Henriette LeBrun and how
outraged she would feel if he tried to support her, and why this was
not a good idea, at all. Not now, not ever. When she was done, he
replied, “Katherine, believe me, if there were any honorable
alternative, I'd use it. However, there really isn't – if I just
pay for her, everyone will think she's my natural child. It will ruin
her.”
“And
if they see you two together, they'll know. She looks so much like
Alice.”
“Not
if we adopt her.”
“No,
never. I'm sorry Simon, no.”
“Yes.
I'm serious, Katherine, I really am. She is a lovely, well-mannered
child. She will need a family, a governess, a chance.”
Katherine
was silent, lost in her thoughts. Simon continued, “You aren't
still jealous of Marie are you? Whatever happened then is not
Henriette's fault. If there hadn't been this damned war, Marie would
still be married to her Henri, and you'd be pushing me to try for a
bishopric.”
After
a moment she said, “Simon, I don't know, I'm not sure I can be a
stepmother to her, to give her the care she will need.” Simon
squeezed her hand. “I'm not sure I can be a stepfather either, but
I don't know anyone else who could do better.”
