MV02 Death Wears a Crown (13 page)

The rest of the evening passed quickly, a glittering blur of polite conversations and whispered gossip. Murat did not approach Victoire again, and no other officer singled her out for anything more than compliments to be passed to her husband upon his return.

* * *

Claude Montrachet faced Colonel Sir Magnus Sackett-Hartley across the single plank table that, along with two stools and a mattress, had been installed in the rented house. “I say you are wrong.”

“You are taking too great a risk,” said Sackett-Hartley, “No matter how great the gain could be, you stand to lose your men, and that is not a wise trade.”

“It is necessary,” Montrachet insisted stubbornly. “If we do not act, we will lose the advantage we have gained.”

Sackett-Hartley threw up his hands in dismay. “What advantage is that? This house? Our quarters at the inn?” he demanded. “You seem to think that just because we have been able to reach Paris and have not been discovered in little more than a week, that we are therefore secure. I don’t think we can afford to make that assumption.”

“You are too cautious,” said Montrachet. “I have been able to attend several grand functions already. Now that I have another horn, I have access through the little consorts who provide entertainment for those around the Corsican. There would be no difficulty in getting a few more of our men into such an occasion. It would be an easy matter to conceal a weapon, and then wait for Napoleon’s arrival.” He folded his arms—he no longer wore a sling—and glared.

A slow drizzle was falling, not enough to make noise, but everything had turned dank and cold; the low fire in the single hearth made little headway against it.

“Very sensible, killing the man in the middle of all his officers, with all his supporters around him. That’s supposing that it would be possible to attack him at all, for someone would likely throw himself in front of the fellow to protect him. Whether we succeeded or not, how should any of us escape?” Sackett-Hartley was not impressed with what Montrachet proposed. “Or do you think we would have the opportunity to tum our weapons on ourselves?”

“That is a possibility,” said Montrachet stiffly.

“If you think that it would be possible, you are forgetting the company—they may wear satin and gold braid, but they are soldiers, those men around him, his generals.” He faced Montrachet, growing more annoyed. “Napoleon is guarded by his Grenadiers, the Consular Guard, even at balls. And there is that Mameluke, as well, the one from Egypt who is always with him. They say the man sleeps across the door of Napoleon’s bedchamber. Do you suppose that anyone could get off more than one shot in such a gathering?”

“I think there would be sufficient confusion to make it worth the attempt; it is better than waiting for the perfect opportunity to present itself,” said Montrachet firmly, “You credit these upstarts with too much sense and purpose. If anything should happen to Napoleon, there would be such confusion that I venture to guess that we could all escape before we were detected. If you are not willing to try, you and your lot can continue to hide at Le Chat Gris, and slink back to England when I and my men have done what we have sworn to do.”

“We don’t know enough, not yet,” said Sackett-Hartley, switching to English as his emotions grew more heated. “We don’t know what the Ministry of Safety knows, we don’t know if our allies have been able to remove all mention of the men with us. If anything remains in the files, it will be an easy thing for Fouche’s people to recognize and detain all of us. And you know what that will mean.”

Montrachet’s lip curled with contempt. “Why do you assume we must fail? If your uncle had been as timorous as you are, he would have been useless.”

Now Sackett-Hartley was angry. “My uncle succeeded because he would not be led to foolish bravado. He had daring, but that is not recklessness. You are mistaking a grand gesture for a triumph, and that way lies ruin for us all.”

“Do you think so?” Montrachet laughed. “What a fool you are.”

“Because I am circumspect? You think I am a coward because I will not be so imprudent as to undertake the hazardous action you have decided you want?” He paced the length of the room. “You have not heard from our allies, and yet you think you can proceed without their help. I do not agree, and I will advise those seven men with me to have nothing to do with so ill-conceived a scheme as yours.” He turned on his heel and started toward the door. “I am not going to help you bring us all to execution, not if there is anything I can do to prevent it.”

“The Frenchmen will see it my way,” said Montrachet confidently.

“Ask them,” Sackett-Hartley recommended.

“You may be sure that I will,” said Montrachet, and watched as Sackett-Hartley slammed out of the ancient house. When the Englishman was gone, Montrachet drew up one of two three-legged stools in the room and sat down. He reached inside his coat and drew out a large, sealed envelope. Smiling, he opened the envelope and drew out the thick folds of paper that had once been in Fouche’s flies. With mental thanks to General Moreau, he unfolded the pages and smoothed them out on the plank table. Taking his time about it, he started to read.

* * *

When Murat, now serving as Governor of Paris, came to the Vernets’ house, Odette presented him with a variety of little cakes, a paté in the Norman style, and two kinds of cheese, along with a deep red Cotes du Rhone that had an aftertaste of raspberries. She knew he was quite busy preparing the city for the Coronation Napoleon had ordered, less than two months off, and wanted to show him her best. There were rumors that even the Pope would attend.

“This is quite good,” Murat approved as he helped himself and glanced at his hostess. He was in uniform, but not one of the very grand dress ones he often chose to wear to impress others. “And if I know how things are with you, you’ve sacrificed supper for the next two or three days to provide this for me.”

Victoire gave him a shocked stare. “How can you say that?”

“I can say it because it is the truth.” He poured wine for both of them. “Give me a little credit, Madame Vernet. You and I have been through too much together for you to deceive me on this point. Between our narrow escape on the Nile, the problem in Italy, and that intrigue two years ago, there is a tie holding us.” He cut a slice of cheese. “I noticed your ballgown the other evening.”

“What was wrong with it?” Victoire asked, chiding herself for giving away so much.

“Nothing, if one did not observe it carefully. In fact, it was a most ingenious creation. I admire your skills and your audacity. But if you continue to use old lace and old velvet, someone other than myself will notice eventually, and that will not redound to your advantage.” He took a bite of the cheese. “This is excellent.”

“What do you mean, old lace and old velvet?” she challenged.

“I might not have noticed,” said Murat in an abstracted tone. “But my grandmother made lace, you see, and I remember those patterns she used to do. The lace you wore was like that, and much heavier than what you would buy today. Therefore, I surmised that you had raided your mother’s closets, as it were, and had made up the dress that way.”

“There are people who still make the old lace patterns,” said Victoire without conviction. “They sell them more cheaply because they are not in vogue, and I like them quite as well as the current modes.”

“There are dolts out there who might believe that farrago, but I am not one,” said Murat. “It won’t fadge, my friend.” His smile took the worst sting out of what he said. “I know your circumstances are straitened. If you think—”

Victoire interrupted him. “Did you mention this to anyone?”

“No. Why should I? But I remarked upon it to myself because it confirmed what I have suspected this last year and more—the station granted your husband forces you to live beyond your means, Madame, through no fault of your own, and you are suffering for it.” He put his wineglass aside. “And that saddens me; I am concerned for you.”

“It vexes me,” said Victoire, abandoning her affronted manner. “But what am I to do, Murat? The fact of the matter is that Vernet’s salary does not cover the expenses of being an Inspector-General, and my inheritance is barely adequate to keeping this house. With the cost of everything rising, what are we to do?”

“Vernet is not in a position to borrow, is he? I understand he is a younger son.” Murat helped himself to one of the little cakes.

It was apparent to Victoire that Murat had made himself familiar with the facts of their lives. “His father could not afford to leave him much, and what there was is entailed. It provides him a little income each year, but—”

“Fouche does not like to hear high officials have run into debt. He fears that makes them subject to bribes and other temptations.” Murat had a bit of pate. “Is this your recipe, or did your housekeeper supply it?”

“The recipe is my mother’s,” said Victoire.

“It is wonderful.” The compliment was sincere but it was also clearly a delaying tactic while Murat achieved the best position. “Fouche has asked many of us to see that some officers resign rather than risk having them compromised. They were of lower office, still ... I don’t want to alarm you, but it could happen to Vernet if matters continue as they are.”

“I am aware of that,” said Victoire, watching Murat narrowly. “Why do you mention this? If you want to offer Vernet another position, I warn you that he will not accept. This is the work he wants to do, and unless—”

“I don’t need him on my staff, even if he were inclined to accept such an offer, which I doubt he would,” said Murat at once. “He is at best an adequate horseman. Though it served him well enough against that traitor in Egypt. No, that was not what I intend for him, or, more correctly, for you.” He looked directly at Victoire. “I propose to extend you a loan, a sizeable one.”

Victoire straightened in her chair. “A loan, Murat? In exchange for what?”

“Oh, don’t poker up like that, Victoire,” said Murat with a chuckle. “I’ve had too many opportunities to compromise you already to need to bribe you now, were that my intent.”

As much as Victoire wanted to be offended, she could not manage it. She pressed her lips together, but a smile escaped out the corners. “All right, you are not trying to corrupt me,” she allowed. “I’ll give you that much.”

“Good,” he approved. “Now, about the loan. It will be private, between you and me. I will not ask any collateral, and there will not be demands imposed on you later. You have my word on that. But there is something I expect in exchange, and I do not expect you to refuse me. I do want to be kept informed if there are any activities against me.”

“But I do that already,” said Victoire, thinking back two years ago. “And I would continue to do it; you do not need to offer me money.”

“But you need money. And your husband is an honest man. There are too few of those in the world.” He had more of the wine. “Listen to me, Victoire. There are too many men coming to the government who are there for their own advancement before any attempts at justice. Those men who, like your husband, are trying to maintain the ideals on which the Republic was founded are being driven from position by these hyenas, or are succumbing to other influences through bribes and coercion. Therefore it is necessary that Vernet and those few like him be supported in their work. And to that end, I will underwrite his work through the loan I extend privately to you. If you like, you need not tell him about it, or say that it was a legacy from a relative.”

“I do not like to lie to Vernet,” said Victoire stiffly.

“It is up to you, however you handle it,” said Murat. “But do not refuse out of hand, not with the changes that are coming to France. France needs men like your husband, and I would not like to try to find my way through this Consulary snakepit without an occasional timely warning from a friend I can trust.”

“You are bribing me, in fact?” she asked, intending to be playful but not succeeding.

“That isn’t what I would call it; I have said it is a loan,” Murat told her as he cut another slice of cheese.

“But you say nothing of repayment. You mean that you will not require me to repay you? You are actually making a gift which you are rendering tolerable by calling it a loan?” Victoire asked, color mounting in her cheeks.

“Madame Vernet, both you and I must hope that your husband’s services will bring him better fortunes than what he now enjoys,” said Murat. “And you are not without resources of your own.”

“You expect me to break my father’s trust in order to repay you?” Victoire demanded. “Murat, this is ludicrous.”

“I expect nothing of the sort,” said Murat bluntly. “I expect you to be the sensible woman you are and agree to take the money. I will put it in writing that I will ask nothing of you than what you already provide. I will stipulate that you must leave my heirs the money in your will, if that makes you feel less burdened by the loan.” He poured a glass of wine for her. “Victoire, you are not a married hussy who seeks to make her husband’s promotions on her back, and you are not a puppeteer pulling his strings. You are a good wife and for that alone I would admire you. But I owe you my life, for Egypt and two years ago. How can I, in honor, see you floundering and not do what I can to help you?”

She accepted the glass of wine he handed to her. “I would hardly call it saving your life.”

“I would, and I was there,” said Murat dryly. “Little as you may think there is reason for it, you have my gratitude for heroism that most soldiers would envy.” He touched the rim of her glass with his. “If you want to be my friend, let me discharge some of the obligation I have to you through this loan.”

Victoire sighed. “The trouble is, you make it all seem so sensible,” she protested. “I shouldn’t listen to you—we both know that—but I cannot help feeling persuaded by all you say. Those years of education have stood you in good stead, Murat.”

“A rueful compliment if ever I heard one,” said Murat, smiling a little. “Tell me you will accept my loan, then, and then let us settle for a comfortable gossip. I haven’t been able to do that for weeks.”