Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (23 page)

"Never!" Charity denied stoutly, her voice rather hoarse
despite her efforts. "England's pomp and nonsense, as you call it, is
dear to the hearts of us all, because it is an inherent and vital part
of the history that binds us together. Our people may grumble at times,
and heaven knows there are social reforms that are decades overdue, but
we
try
! Our leaders
try
to
improve matters. And our people have only to leave these isles to see
how much better we are served than are the citizenry of most other
nations. Not for one moment would the average Briton stand for a
Frenchman on our throne! Do you not know what happened only seventy or
so years ago when a Scot—a gentleman with a thousand times more right
than you—attempted to seize power? No, I tell you! No Frenchman will
rule my country!"

Gently laughing, he applauded. "Well said, my valiant one.
Mon
Dieu
, but I admire you more with each moment that passes.
But be reasonable, I beg. A Frenchman ruled you after the Battle of
Hastings—no? Your people have endured a stupid, extravagant, Germanic
hand for many years. Why not a brilliant one of royal birth from
Brittany? Have I not pointed out that I do not seek the throne? Not
until the time is right… By then, with an English lady at my side, with
the admiration and gratitude of all, I shall be quite acceptable to the
populace. And I assure you I know how to deal with dissent. Thus,
sooner or later, shall I assume my rightful place in the history of the
world

Had any other man uttered so grandiose a statement, Charity
would have laughed outright. But here, in this great fortress,
surrounded by the evidence of his wealth and power, she did not laugh.
Staring at his poised confidence, she thought, "He believes it all! How
utterly ridiculous that he really
believes
he
will succeed!"

And on the heels of that thought, came another: "It
is
ridiculous… isn't it?"

Charity slept poorly that night. Guy had not returned to join
them, and she had dined alone with Claude, managing somehow to maintain
a calm demeanour, constantly astounded that this egomaniac could
address with affability a lady he had wrenched away from home and
family; that he could profess concern for her welfare despite the
ghastly fate he planned for her; that he could seem so relaxed even as
he plotted a disaster that would shake the world, and evince no trace
of regret for the callous murders his plans necessitated.

Tossing restlessly on her bed, her fears for her own welfare
became secondary to the nightmare that might all too soon engulf her
country. Any thought that Claude would realize his ambitions, she
dismissed as nonsensical. Her greatest dread was that his scheming
might bring about a public revolt. England had known the bitter tragedy
that is civil war; she was still recovering from a long and horribly
costly conflict with Bonaparte. That she should be plunged into another
bloodbath was too terrible to contemplate. That wretched, smiling
little savage must be stopped. But how?
How
?

There must, she thought, be
someone
in
Whitehall who had not dismissed Diccon's warnings as valueless. When
they had escaped from Dinan and Tristram had reported to General
Smollet, he had been ridiculed and only reprieved from a court-martial
by resigning his commission. Yet surely the General would believe this
time?
If
the word could reach him! It was
terribly evident that there was very little time. That deadly crown
might— She sat up, appalled. Had Claude given the wooden chest to
Gerard not for safe-keeping, but to be conveyed at once to the Regent?
"Oh… my God!" she moaned.

A very small companion, who had watched drowsily, roused at
these sounds of distress and made her little pilgrimage with high-held
tail and grating purrs to render what solace she might. Charity
gathered the kitten close, lay down again, and resumed her worrying
until, quite exhausted, she dropped off to sleep.

She did not awaken until Meg brought in her breakfast tray at
eleven o'clock. An investigation of her wardrobe revealed many charming
gowns, cloaks, and shoes. She regarded them without enthusiasm, but her
long rest had restored her fighting spirit. However bleak the prospect,
she would die sooner than allow Claude to know how deep was her
despair. She selected a morning dress of white muslin with pale pink
buttons fastening to a high squared neckline. Meg threaded a pink
velvet ribbon through her curls and brought forth a lacy white shawl
embroidered with tiny pink flowerets. Charity pinched some colour into
her pale cheeks and went into the hall.

Lion was lounging on a bench, engaged in desultory
conversation with a lackey. He looked at her with cold dislike, his
eyes warning her not to betray their friendship. She was so intent upon
him that she did not close the door fast enough, and Little Patches
dashed out.

Guy came along the hall. "Pray, what is this great brute of a
creature?" he said, amused, and bent to appropriate the kitten and hold
her up for inspection.

Charity had prayed to see him. She explained Little Patches'
presence hurriedly. Lion stood and began to saunter off. Glancing back
over his shoulder, his lips formed one word. It seemed to Charity that
the word was "Careful." He must be warning her against Guy. Certainly,
he could not know that this particular Sanguinet was her very good
friend.

Guy was captivated with the kitten, and he carried her as he
conducted Charity through the vast halls to a quiet central garden,
shielded from the bitter northeast wind. The air was cold enough to
cause Charity to pull her shawl closer about her shoulders, but the
sunlight and fresh air were invigorating. Glad to be out of doors at
last, Little Patches raced madly about, attacking waving blooms and,
much to Guy's amusement, throwing up both front paws at a gardener who
toiled inoffensively at a nearby flowerbed.

Wandering to a safe distance from the kneeling man, Charity
murmured urgently, "Guy, have you seen the Charlemagne crown? Do you
know what Claude intends?"

His hazel eyes slanted to her. "To my sorrow. He has told you
of his foolish ambitions, then?"

She nodded and, placing one hand on his arm, murmured
beseechingly, "He
must
be stopped! I know it is
dreadful to ask your help, but—"

"And useless,
chérie
. If such a one as
Colonel Leith could not convince the wooden-heads in Whitehall, what
chance has a Sanguinet? Ah, do not look so despairing. My brother has
large dreams, but they cannot succeed, you know."

"They could succeed in the murder of the Regent and the
setting off of an uprising. We British are fighting people, Guy. And
when Claude told me of all his meddling with the banks, at a time when
England is—"

"Banks?" he intervened sharply. "How is this? I know nothing
of banks.''

"He means to cause a—"

"Pardon, monsieur. Mademoiselle Strand, Monseigneur desires
your immediate presence in the book room. You will please to follow…?"

The lackey's quiet voice had sounded almost in Charity's ear.
Her heart jumping into her throat, she reached for the kitten.

"May I keep her for a little time? She is a pretty creature.''
Guy spoke calmly, but his eyes and his smile said, "Be brave."

Following the lackey, however, Charity did not feel brave.
When she had been trapped at Claude's chateau in Dinan, she had been
with Rachel and Agatha, and very soon had come Tristram and Dev, with
Raoul adding his dauntless support. Now she was all alone. She forced
her drooping chin higher.

No, she was
not
alone. She had Guy and
the boy Lion! She walked into the book room proudly, only to stop,
stunned.

Two men stood laughing softly at some private joke. Claude was
one, his hand resting in a friendly way on the shoulder of the other. A
tall, dark, and much disliked Englishman…

Claude looked up and saw Charity. "Ah, so here you are, dear
lady," he said, all joviality. "Come and meet a countryman."

Mitchell Redmond turned, still smiling. Abruptly the amusement
was wiped from his face. His lips parted, and for an instant he looked
dumbfounded.

With scathing contempt, Charity said, "That any Englishman
could be so
low
, so treacherous, is beyond belief
!"

Recovering his wits, Redmond groaned, "Oh, egad! I am judged
and found wanting." And as Charity's small head tossed higher, he went
on with a bored smile, "Do pray present me, Monsieur Sanguinet. Who is
this, ah, patriotic lady?"

Who
was
she? The conniving traitor knew
perfectly well who she was! Her mouth opening to scourge him, Charity
saw the swift gleam of warning in the grey eyes, and she was again
shocked. What on earth…?

Glancing curiously from one to the other, Claude murmured,
"You were about to say, my dear…?"

Her mind reeling, Charity managed a chill, "That I have no
wish to meet this turncoat."

"Ah, but I must insist. Mr. Rivers has rendered me so great a
service, the least I may do is reward him with an introduction to so
charming a lady. Rivers, this fiery creature is Miss Charity Strand."

Redmond bowed, but made no move to take Charity's hand, nor
she to extend it. Claude was saying something about her relationship to
Tristram, and she was vaguely aware of Redmond making a sneering
response, but she scarcely heard, her every effort bent upon concealing
her emotions. It was obvious that Redmond played a part, in which case
he had either come here to attempt a rescue or to spy upon Sanguinet.
Numbly, she thought, "
Redmond
!" The last man in
the world she would have expected to take up the challenge.

But he certainly had not come alone. Tristram must be close
by, and Dev—and perhaps her brother. A rush of joy and weakness
threatened her with tears. As from a distance, Claude's voice
penetrated her introspection.

"Miss Strand? Are you still amongst us?"

She forced her eyes to meet his. "Unwillingly, sir."

He chuckled. "Is she not a delight? So sharp a tongue, in
despite her unhappy situation."

"Do you admire such in a lady, monsieur?" drawled Redmond,
very obviously bored.

Claude turned his head slowly. There was no amusement in his
eyes now. "I admire courage," he said, "especially in a female. I do
not permit impertinence. Especially in an Englishman of whom I know but
little."

Frowning, Redmond pointed out, "You know that I come from
Admiral Deal."

"So you tell me."

"Jupiter! You are hard to convince, monsieur! I put Diccon to
rest for you. I brought you his journal. If that does not win your
confidence—"

Claude made an impatient gesture. "Oh, enough! Enough! Have I
not admitted that I stand indebted to you?" He stepped closer to
Charity and led her to a chair. "You are upset, my dear. Is it because
this turncoat has murdered your old friend?"

Redmond had not killed Diccon, that was certain, but he had
evidently managed to convince Claude he'd done so. Lord, but he trod a
dangerous path, this man she had judged so contemptuously! She
answered, "I had not thought one so brave as Diccon would be slain by
such as your friend."

"But he is not my friend, you know." Claude darted an amused
smile at Redmond. "A valuable tool, merely."

"Alas," mourned Redmond. "I lose on every suit. However,
ma'am, console yourself. I was not alone in ridding the world of the
pest that called itself Diccon. Merely the lucky one."

Charity raised a hand to her eyes and had no need to feign a
trembling. "Monseigneur," she whispered, "
must
I
re-main in the same room with this creature?"

Claude bent over her and with a hand on each arm of her chair,
asked, "Do you truly find him so repulsive? He is very fair to look
upon—no?"

Redmond looked smug, and Charity had to struggle to conceal
her admiration. "He is an abomination," she exclaimed, her lip curling.
"Pray excuse me from breathing the same air!''

"Oho!" Laughing, Claude stepped back, "Run along then. Now do
you see how well I am mastering your strange English sayings? But
friend Diccon's writing I cannot unravel, so Rivers must stay to help
me. I shall send for Gerard, to—"

Two hearts missed a beat. With his hand on the bell-pull,
Claude paused. "No, he is gone, of course—what am I thinking of? Ah, I
have it! My so dear kinsman shall be pressed into service." He eyed
Charity mockingly. "You will not object to that, I fancy?"

When Charity was shown into the central courtyard, however,
Guy was nowhere to be seen. She could have wept with chagrin. She
must
discover what Claude meant when he said that Gerard was gone. Was the
infamous crown really on its southward journey? Her desperate anxieties
were eased slightly when Lion came to take her for a drive around the
island. As he escorted her upstairs in order that she might put on a
warm cloak and hood, she said, low-voiced, "I must speak with Monsieur
Guy. Can you get word to him?"

He stared at her, and she was obliged to caution him lest his
surprise attract attention."What fer?" he hissed, striding along the
corridor beside her. "He's dog's meat. The same rotten breed as the
other.''

"No. He is a good friend, but you must not let any other
person know of this. Oh, Lion, I am trusting you. I
beg
you will be true to me."

"Don't need to," he muttered, then, opening the door, added a
surly, "Hurry up, miss. I got more important things to do." And he gave
Meg a disgusted look which pleased and amused that sour handmaiden.

How Lion managed it, Charity could not tell, but when they
drove out, Guy Sanguinet rode escort. The closed carriage proceeded
around the island in bright, pale sunshine and bitter cold. Charity saw
several ships in the landlocked harbour: a fine schooner, probably the
vessel that had brought Mr. Redmond here; three ocean-going barges, and
a yacht that she recognized at once as Claude's luxurious
La
Hautemant
. She breathed a sigh of relief. If Gerard had
sailed for England, he almost certainly would have travelled on that
vessel. Her optimism was soon shattered, however. When Guy ordered the
coachman to pull up and invited her to walk along the cliffs, he
pointed out
La Hautemant
, and asked if she
remembered the yacht. "Claude bought a new and more modern vessel last
spring. He calls her
Se Rallumer
. She's very
fast."