Daughters of the Storm (18 page)

Gouverneur Morris was right: Paris existed for pleasure.

Tonight, William had no time to enjoy the spectacle. Standing under a convenient light, he consulted a piece of paper. He crossed the gardens, turned into a street of well-maintained houses set back from the road and tapped gently on the door of the largest. It swung open immediately. He was conducted upstairs into a room that appeared to run the width of the house.

William was tired and cold after his walk. He made for the fire, seated himself in a chair and stretched out his hands to the blaze. No expense had been spared in the furnishing of this room, which was decorated with several excellent paintings, draped silk window-hangings and tasteful furniture. But something puzzled him about it that he could not put his finger on. Then it struck him: the room was an unsettling mixture of masculine and feminine, as if the two were doing battle, and the result was disconcerting.

The connecting doors opened and he realized that he was under scrutiny. William rose and bowed. The gentleman standing there acknowledged the greeting with an inclination of his head and William saw he had a plump and dissipated face, heavily scored by indulgence. It was the visage of a vicious man, but also a weak one, and therefore dangerous.

‘You were careful?' Philippe Égalité, Duc d'Orléans, demanded.

‘I obeyed your orders to the letter,' replied William.

‘Good,' said the duke. ‘Are you enjoying your stay in our city?'

‘Indeed, Monsieur le Duc, it has become my home.'

A ringed hand waved in the air. ‘Which brings me to the point of this meeting. It is, of course, of the utmost confidentiality.'

William bowed his assent.

‘I am informed that you are here, shall we say, at the pleasure of your government.'

‘I am here, Monsieur le Duc, to sell land.'

The duke stared at him and William caught the suggestion of a shrewd intelligence.

‘That is only part of your work. Or am I mistaken?'

The duke poured a glass of wine and offered it to William.

‘I rather feel I am not mistaken. You see, I know about agents.'

‘Naturally my work requires me to gather a good deal of information,' William commented.

‘I see. Tell me, Mr Jones, what is your opinion of the situation? It is always refreshing to hear the views of someone who is not quite so prejudiced – or perhaps not quite so close to events.'

William gave a brief if guarded outline of how he perceived the king's position and the prevailing mood in Paris. The duke listened.

‘What you say is accurate,' he finally concurred. His heavy eyelids drooped. ‘How does your government feel on the subject of émigrés?'

William was beginning to see why he had been invited to this interview.

‘I should say it depends who they are, Monsieur le Duc.'

‘If they brought a great deal of money with them, presumably the way in is made easier?'

William nodded. ‘I should think, sir, that if anyone of very high rank was to contemplate a new life in my country, then they should inform my government first.'

‘Would you be a suitable channel?' The question darted out, rapier quick.

William paused. ‘I have no authority to approach my government in any official capacity, but of course it is always of interest to me in my general capacity as an observer to know of these matters.'

‘You may tell your government that there are persons of high rank interested in taking refuge in America, particularly if the situation becomes dangerous.'

William caught a hint of panic in the silky tones. The duke had sailed very close to the wind with his so-called egalitarian ideas, but he obviously did not trust his confrères.

‘In return,' the duke continued, ‘my agent, de Laclos, will be available to help anyone who should so desire to make use of certain information or to make contact with persons of importance.'

William nodded. He understood that if he made the duke's wishes known in the right places, his path in Paris would be smoothed in certain quarters. Not that it would work necessarily to his advantage. To be in the party of Égalité was to ally with dangerous elements. William realised he would have to cover his tracks skillfully.

‘Otherwise,' the duke broke into these reflections, ‘you will find I am not a sensible person to have ignored.'

‘Indeed not,' said William. ‘One cannot but be cognisant of the very great influence of Monsieur le Duc.'

‘I shall be in England for a time, but I will be in constant touch with my people.'

William had a mental vision of this slippery, power-hungry man throwing out his lures to the English government. He doubted if Mr Pitt would relish the idea of such an inconvenient cuckoo in his nest. William bowed himself out more than a little repelled by what he had seen. Not so much by the duke's betraying his position, but rather by the unappeased ambition.

The Comte de Choissy had insisted that, on his return to Paris, William should take up residence under his roof once again. William had wondered if the count wished to make use of him, and, if so, in what way, but he had accepted gratefully. He had a particular reason for doing so. He sat down in his bedchamber to draft his report. The business of composing and then transliterating his words into cipher demanded total concentration, but he found it soothing – an excellent way of making sense of what he had seen and heard. Often he did not know what he would say until he lifted his quill. Then the sound of his pen scratching over blank paper and the lines of black ink exerted their own discipline.

Jones to Washington

George Washington, Esqr.Paris Philadelphia 28 February, 1792 On the twelfth day of this month the property of all émigrés was declared forfeit. This is a harsh measure designed to inflict maximum hardship on those considered traitors to the country by their act of abandoning France. It leaves persons who have so acted and who now reside in such towns as Mainz, Koblenz and Baden without sources of income. Thus, it is reasoned, they will not be able to spend money on counter-revolutionary activity. In my opinion, however, this makes the likelihood of war more certain as many will feel that they now have nothing to lose.

I have today been approached by a person of high rank as to the possibility of taking up residence in America. This person is close to the royal family. In my opinion they would constitute a danger and an embarrassment and should not be encouraged. I will not name them in case this report gets into the wrong hands. I will enclose it later if you indicate that I should, or if it becomes necessary to take the matter further from here.

As to the city itself, there is no doubt that unrest is growing, fuelled by disruptive elements which are moving around the city. I have today followed one such...

His pen moved on, splattering the paper with occasional blots of ink which he sanded off. Once finished, the report would be sealed into oiled cloth and sent through the network of agents to Rouen and on to Le Havre. Failing that, he would send it via a chain of agents who would take it from letter-drop to letter-drop to La Rochelle, where it would be conveyed on to one of the ships waiting to cross the Atlantic.

At last William finished. He stood up, yawned, and rang the bell to summon the valet. Tonight Héloïse was holding a soirée, and most of Paris would be attending, anxious to partake of her first-class food and wines and to lose money in her gaming room.

The valet was efficient and before long William was dressed in a black velvet evening suit with an extremely handsome black and silver waistcoat. He stared at himself thoughtfully in the mirror. Tonight he wished to take special pains with his appearance, and he directed the valet to brush back his fair hair a little more severely from his brow and to tie it with a black ribbon. His face accosted him in the mirror.

Was it a face that Miss Sophie Luttrell remembered? Or would place her faith in? William's reflections were less than cool when it came to this subject. In fact they presented him with an infuriating tangle in which impatience to see her again mixed with an annoyance at wishing to do so. The feelings that he had discovered himself to be nurturing while on his travels and, in particular, on his sickbed had no place in his cool, considered plans. Those calculations had involved returning to America, capturing the hand of Elizabeth Fitzjohn, the biggest matrimonial prize in Virginia, and settling down. But try as he might, the memory of Elizabeth's appeal dimmed beside Sophie's.

As a personable bachelor he had already enjoyed several flirtations and had looked forward to some discreet dalliances in Paris. He had been careful, therefore, to say nothing definite to Elizabeth before he left America. He was glad now that he had not. William was not accustomed to doubting his emotions, nor to deviating from his plans. It unsettled him, and he knew it would be wiser never to see Miss Luttrell again.

He dismissed his valet with a word of thanks and picked up his handkerchief. He was sorry for the pain he would cause Elizabeth. She would grieve as she gazed over the neat farmland that stretched between her house and his own. William flushed. He did not care to think that she might consider him wanton or irresponsible. No, he did not care for that at all. But she would not be abandoned for long. There would be other suitors only too glad to pay court to the rich and good-looking Elizabeth Fitzjohn.

Meanwhile, there was Sophie and the problem of the protective Mr Luttrell. He had no idea where the situation was leading, only that he had fallen in love with an English girl with a ravishing smile. Could he persuade her? Should he persuade her to love him? William did not know.

*

Surrounded by a high, statue-studded wall, the Hôtel de Choissy was set well back off the main road. Tonight there was the usual crush of vehicles fighting to gain entrance into the courtyard that evening, but once inside the guests paused to admire the immense staircase before ascending to the first floor where they were greeted by the sound of stringed instruments.

Héloïse had organised everything with her customary efficiency and William stood admiring the scene while he sipped at a glass of champagne. Massed on crystal candelabra where they worked their flattering magic, the candles helped to smooth out complexions and soften harsh outlines. The de Choissys had spared no expense in the construction of their house, and only the finest of materials had been employed. One of Héloïse's first moves as the Comtesse de Choissy had been to call in the decorators, and the freshly applied gilding on the carved panels glistened against the new white paint of the panelling. A huge oval mirror hung over the mantelpiece and a series of smaller mirrors on the walls. On the floor lay the finest Gobelin carpet that William had ever seen – a fantasy of flowers and fruit in the rich, opulent colours that only French craftsmen could create. The windows were draped in white Lyons silk, folded into fashionable pelmets and decorated with tassels and braid that picked up the porcelain blue in the carpet. There were some well-hung paintings: some were obviously de Choissy ancestors who looked down at the company with indifference, while others depicted landscapes and classical fantasies. The whole effect was very French, very sophisticated and very pleasing – and Paris would enjoy speculating on just how much the new countess had cost her husband in refurbishing bills.

Héloïse was receiving her guests with de Choissy beside her. Once again, William was struck by her elegance, but also by the strain that registered at the corners of her mouth and eyes. He responded to her greeting and congratulated her on the room. Héloïse relaxed visibly.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘I found it very absorbing to work on.'

William was about to reply when a sixth sense told him to look round.

There she was. A glowing vision of beauty. Arranged
à la hérisson,
and lightly powdered, Sophie's hair clustered in large, frizzed waves over her white shoulders. Her dress which was of her favourite green was trimmed with white needle lace and, ably aided and abetted by Mile Bertin's clever seamstresses, it enhanced her height and slimness. The results told William that here was a woman who understood and enjoyed the value of such attentions. Sophie was no longer a simple country girl from England, and he saw that her beauty had grown. Her expression, too, spoke of a change. Her eyes still shone, but hidden in them was a new subtlety and maturity – and a new seductiveness. Behind her stood Ned. He had filled out and acquired a more fashionable air. He did not look pleased at the encounter. William braced himself.

The Luttrells made their greetings and enquired after his health and travels. William furnished them with a brief outline. Sophie told him a little of her news, mainly that they had both found themselves staying in Paris much longer than originally planned. It was true that Ned had gone back to High Mullions for two months during the summer of 1790 to help Sir Brinsley supervise the harvest and to give Lady Luttrell a first-hand account of her daughter's welfare. But all last year he had remained in Paris with Sophie.

‘I could not bear to leave and my parents were happy to let me stay, provided Ned returned to keep me company,' she told him.

William asked after the Marquis and Marquise de Guinot.

‘They are in good health,' said Sophie, ‘but a little worried by the latest political developments. In fact,' she added with a slight frown, ‘I worry sometimes that we are too much of a burden to them.'

‘I've been considering that, my dearest Sophie,' said Héloïse, appearing at her elbow. ‘And I have decided you must come here and live with me.'

William saw the special look that Sophie gave Héloïse. Truly, these cousins seemed very close, and he understood that loving the one meant loving the other too. Sophie linked her arm in Héloïse's, and for a moment they looked extraordinarily alike. Then Sophie turned to Ned and the likeness shattered.

‘Ned, what a clever idea. I think it would suit my uncle and aunt much better.'