The Danbury Scandals (24 page)

And it seemed
there might be some justification for that belief because, beneath the outward
enthusiasm, beneath the cries of ‘
Vive le Roi!
’ whenever Louis passed in
a well-sprung carriage there were others of
‘Vive l’Empereur
!’

The Duke of
Wellington arrived at the end of August to take up his appointment as British
Ambassador, and moved into the beautiful mansion in the Rue du Faubourg St
Honore, which he had bought from Napoleon’s sister. Gone was the popular
acclaim of the early heady days of peace, gone were the cries of ‘
Liberateur
!’;
he was looked upon as the conqueror of a nation too proud to own defeat.
Maryanne, moving unnoticed through the crowds and with her French improving
daily, was aware of the undercurrents and felt a certain apprehension. Could
the Emperor, confined to his tiny kingdom of Elba, really return? In the autumn
of 1814 it seemed impossible and yet she could not help recalling Adam’s words
about generalship. Surely Napoleon was watched, surely the national leaders,
soon to convene in Vienna, would succeed in making a lasting peace?

But in truth
she was more concerned with caring for Adam, now slowly recovering, than with
state boundaries, more worried about how to eke out Adam’s dwindling store of
money than with whether the Louvre should keep its treasures. She knew Adam
would soon be well enough to take control of his own life and, with it, hers.
What, she asked herself again and again, did she intend to do when he was fully
recovered and no longer needed her? Would she, could she, leave him? Was she
his prisoner? But how could a strong, healthy woman be the prisoner of a
helpless man too ill to fend for himself? If she really wanted to, she could
throw herself on the mercy of the new Ambassador, who would surely arrange for
her safe return to England.

But she could
not leave. Well or ill made no difference; the thought of spending the rest of
her life still in doubt about his guilt or innocence was intolerable. She found
herself going over and over in her mind the events which had brought her to
this seething city; it was as if it had been written in the stars, immutable
from the day she had been born. That being so, what was the use of questioning
it?

When the leaves
on the trees along the grand Boulevards began to turn to yellow and russet and
drift to the ground beneath her feet as she walked, Adam began to move about,
restlessly pacing the room, cursing his weakness and the time they had wasted,
and at such times she was glad to escape and leave him to his grumpiness.

It was a
grumpiness caused by frustration. Did she not realise how difficult it was for
him to hold back from her, to refrain from taking her in his arms and kissing
her until she understood his need? His coolness towards her was an act he found
more and more difficult to sustain, but until she softened towards him, until
she confessed she had searched his belongings and truthfully told him why,
until all suspicion had melted away, he could not make love to her, he could
not even re-affirm the love he had so rashly declared in the coach. He did not
want to persuade her with words or passion, he wanted her to realise, in her
heart, in the depths of her soul, in whatever intuitive place women knew these
things, that he was not only innocent, but wronged.

He had hoped they
could put the past behind them, to forget why they left England and make a new
life together, united in trust and love, but now he realised that had been a
fool’s paradise. Until he cleared his name there would always be this chasm
between them. It was time to rouse himself.

She came back
one day to find him dressed and shaved and sitting at the table writing a
letter.

‘What are you
doing?’ she asked pleasantly, taking off her cloak and hanging it behind the
door. It was the one Jeannie had given her, very grubby and much darned. He
didn’t recognise the dress she wore under it, but it was of some cheap woollen
material with no pretension to style. She had probably bought it in the market
for a few
sous
. How she had managed these last few weeks was nothing
short of miraculous and he marvelled and, at the same time, was angry with
himself for failing to provide for her. She removed her bonnet and shook her
head so that her hair swirled about her shoulders, and turned to smile at him;
it was enough to make an angel weep, and he was no angel.

‘Writing to
Robert. He has no idea where we are and he might have news for us. Besides, I
need funds. It is time Sir Peter and Lady Adams re-emerged.’

‘Why?’

‘You have
nursed me unstintingly and it is time we moved from here to more comfortable
quarters,’ he said. ‘You need a maid and a wardrobe and I want to show you the
best of Paris before we go to Challac.’

‘You still mean
to go, then?’ she asked.

‘Of course,
nothing has changed.’

No, she
thought, nothing has changed. Although, on the surface, he spoke affectionately
to her, there was a part of him he held back. She could not imagine him
repeating the words of love he had uttered in the coach when they were
travelling. It was almost as if she had dreamed them. Perhaps she had, perhaps
the whole thing was a dream... Or a nightmare.

When money
arrived from Robert, Adam lavished it on her, taking her to all the beautiful
shops and buying her clothes and jewellery as if his purse were bottomless. He
rented a house in the Faubourg St Germain, which belonged to a returning
émigré
who had no money to bring it back to its former splendour. It had a faded
gentility and, above all, it was quiet. Adam hired servants and a carriage and
horses and generally set out to impress. She had no idea whether he could
really afford it all, but her greatest concern was their unmarried state. He
had not mentioned marriage again since she had so adamantly turned him down,
and now she did not think he ever would. He had, on his own admission, brought
her with him because she knew too much; it was his reason for wanting to marry
her, and hers for refusing. But, married or unmarried, she could never give
evidence against him; surely he should have realised that by now? And what did
she know? Nothing.

When she could
put that from her mind, she enjoyed herself, and sometimes, for an hour or two,
she could forget she was anything else but Lady Adams, could put from her mind
the fact that she was the hostage of an unkind fate, that her future happiness
was in the hands of a man wanted for murder. They sauntered along the
boulevards and sat at the pavement cafes; they went to the packed theatres and
dined at famous restaurants like Quadron Blue, Jardin Turque and Frascati’s.
They wandered along the Seine, visited the Louvre and Notre Dame and admired
the public buildings, which surpassed anything that could be seen in London.

‘I’ve heard it
said,’ Adam remarked, ‘that if Napoleon had reigned another ten years there
would not have been a city to match its splendour.’

‘But do you
think that making a city beautiful justified all those deaths, all that
devastation, all the plunder?’

‘No. I was
merely making an observation,’ he told her.

‘I sometimes
forget you are a Frenchman,’ she said. ‘It is bound to give you a different
view.’

He did not
answer and she fell to wondering once again what would happen to them if
conflict broke out again between their two countries. ‘Do you think that the
war will start up again?’

‘I pray to God
it does not,’ he said grimly.

‘If it does,
will you serve again?’

‘I may have
to.’ He smiled. ‘But we should not be thinking such sombre thoughts. Nothing
will happen. The French are just as tired of war as the rest of Europe. What
would you like to do for your birthday?’

‘Birthday?’

‘Surely you had
not forgotten that tomorrow you will be twenty-one?’

‘No, but I
thought you had.’

‘I could not
forget the day you throw off your shackles and become an independent woman.’

‘Except for my
dependence on you.’ She laughed, making a joke of it. ‘You know I will never be
able to claim my inheritance? It was conditional on my guardian approving my
marriage.’

He smiled.
‘What a good thing I am a wealthy man. What about the opera? Shall we dress up
and show ourselves to the world?’

On the evening
of her birthday Maryanne dressed in a gown of Brussels lace over silk, with
burgundy satin ribbons slotted round the high waist and hem and along the
length of the long sleeves; it set off her figure, now regaining its former
curves, and made her look almost ethereal. Around her throat she wore the ruby
pendant he had bought her as a birthday present. Seeing her coming down the
stairs towards him, Adam found himself with a lump in his throat. ‘You look
like an angel,’ he said.

She laughed.
‘But you and I know I am no angel, don’t we? The wicked Lady Adams is
pretending to be what she is not.’

‘If anyone but
you said that, I would run them through.’ He took her arm. ‘Come, let us go; I
want to show my lady off. I shall be the envy of Paris.’

‘You look very
handsome yourself,’ she said. He had eschewed the cossack trousers which were
the latest fad for black pantaloons which were moulded to his long thighs and
shapely calves. His well-tailored evening coat was undone to reveal a fine
embroidered waistcoat and a lavishly tied cravat. ‘Quite the dandy.’

After the
performance, which was all she had hoped it would be, he took her to Tortoni’s
for supper. She was in a happy and relaxed mood as she allowed the waiter to
push in her chair for her, knowing they made as handsome a couple as any who
were there. While Adam ordered their meal, her attention was drawn to a noisy
party of English people on the other side of the room.

‘You should
have seen him!’ a woman’s voice said. ‘Taking off old Boney to perfection. The
old fellow couldn’t be sure if it was his Emperor or not and he didn’t know
whether to fall to his knees, kiss him or arrest him. I don’t know how I kept a
straight face.’

Maryanne froze
in her seat, because the voice was unmistakably Caroline’s. She tugged at Adam’s
coat skirts. ‘Adam, Caroline is over there.’ She jerked her head backwards.

He smiled. ‘So
she is, but we will not let that spoil our meal.’

‘Adam, please,
let’s go. For all you know, Mark is with her.’

He craned his
neck to see over her head. ‘I do believe he is. And Caroline’s friends, the
Halesworth girls, and Lord Brandon. I heard he had been appointed to the
embassy staff.’

‘What are we
going to do?’

‘We are going
to have our meal, Maryanne. Mark does not frighten me and, in any case, there
is nothing he can do to us here.’

‘It will always
be the same, won’t it?’ she said, as the waiters came and set pate and fish and
English beef on the table, together with a bottle of champagne. ‘We will never
be able to stop running.’

‘You could stop
now,’ he said. ‘Go back to him, if that is what you want.’

‘You know it is
not. I was referring to the fact that we have to skulk in corners for fear of
being seen. What I want more than anything is to be able to look the world in
the eye.’

‘Do you feel
guilty?’

‘No, why should
I? She looked up at him, trying to guess what was going on behind that scarred
brow. ‘Do you?’

‘No.’ The word
was said quietly but he was angry. What right had he to be angry with her? She
was innocent of any crime, except doubt, but was that a crime?

‘I could almost
believe you wanted him to see you,’ she said angrily. ‘What will you do if he
does?’

‘What will you
do? Will you rush into his arms and beg forgiveness? Do you think he will take
you back?’

‘I know he will
not.’ At any other time she would have enjoyed the luxury of the
fruit-flavoured ices which the waiter set before them, but now she pushed hers
away.

‘Not even for
your fortune?’ He smiled, but it was a twisted smile which lifted the scar
above his eye and made him look sinister. ‘Do you regret forgoing that? Would
you like to turn the clock back?’

‘It is not in
our power to do that. If it were, you would, perhaps, have done it yourself.’

‘You are
right,’ he said, thinking of what he had brought her to - a life which
obviously made her miserable. ‘We must make the best of what is here and now.
You and I, my dear Maryanne, are indivisible. Are you ready to leave?’

She nodded and
he beckoned the waiter to fetch her cloak. It seemed to take an age to help her
into it and then for her to cross the room, with Adam’s hand under her elbow.

‘Evening,
Saint-Pierre, I see you are enjoying the delights of Paris.’ Mark’s words
sounded more like a threat than a pleasant enquiry and Maryanne turned towards
Adam, hardly daring to breathe. His face was white, the scar over his eye stood
out and a muscle in his throat twitched. He remained frozen like that for
several seconds while Mark’s smile died on his face and was replaced by a look
of animal fear.

Caroline seized
his coat tail and made him sit again. ‘Leave it, Mark, please.’