Vintage Love (63 page)

He greeted them with a smile. “So you are the two.”

Kemble looked slightly impatient with the lad’s languid manner and told him somewhat sharply, “We have an appointment with Sir Harry.”

The young man showed more amusement on his rather plain, narrow face. “I’m well aware of that, Mr. Kemble,” he replied. “Sir Harry has few visitors, and rarely any as illustrious as yourself. I have long admired you on the stage.”

“Thank you,” Kemble said, somewhat mollified.

“May I ask an impertinent question?” the young man went on, seeming in no hurry to lead them from the anteroom to Sir Harry’s office.

Kemble stared at him coolly. “You may ask me anything.”

“Is that fat oaf Stephen Kemble, who always has a small part in your plays, any relation to you?”

Kemble glared. “He happens to be my brother!”

“Sorry. No offense meant.”

“And none taken,” the actor returned. “Despite the fact that he is my brother, I know him to be an oaf and a generally poor actor.”

The young official looked pleased. “May I commend you on your frankness and honesty, sir!”

“And may I ask when we are to be ushered in for our appointment?”

“Law’, I clear forgot about it! Sir Harry will be angry as blazes. Follow me.”

He marched them down a broad hallway with a shining hardwood floor to a huge oaken door that bore a brass plate embossed with Sir Harry’s name and nothing else. He knocked on the door and a rasping voice responded from within. The youth smiled at them, and opening the door, indicated they should enter.

Enid led the way, with Kemble a step behind her. Sir Harry was seated at his desk, looking rather irritable.

“I’m sorry we’re late,” she said, “but there were several obstructions along the way.”

He rose and bowed. “The streets are more unpleasant all the time. Aside from the crowds on foot, there is a veritable forest of carriages, wagons, and the like.”

“In addition,” Kemble put in, “Lady Blair was the victim of a great conflagration which destroyed the studio where she was living. She lost everything.”

Sir Harry melted into sympathy. “My dear Lady Blair, what an awful business! Do sit down, and you also, Kemble.” He pulled chairs forward for them and they seated themselves.

“I shall be wearing the latest styles, since now I must shop for a new wardrobe,” she said with an attempt at humor.

Sir Harry went back to sit at his desk. “I wish you some enjoyment of that, at least.” He paused. “Well, what is your answer to be?”

Kemble cleared his throat. “I’m speaking for Lady Blair as well as for myself. We are ready to undertake the mission.”

“Commendable!” The beetle-browed man rubbed his huge hands together, his small eyes shining with delight. “I shall today make you representatives of our sovereign.”

“France is a country in a state of martial law, if you can call what that rabble offers as law,” Enid said. “What are we to bring with us for identification?”

“To protect us from the French authorities,” Kemble added.

“Ah, yes.” Sir Harry nodded. “You need not worry about that. I shall have papers prepared at once. Yours will be false, of course, and Lady Blair’s will be genuine. I must falsify certain details in your credentials as her supposed father.”

“It sounds as if you do this often,” Kemble remarked.

“Often enough,” the immense Sir Harry chuckled. “I shall immediately set the wheels in motion for your journey to Paris. It is there you will attempt to contact Father Braun and the boy.”

“Are they supposedly in Paris?” Enid asked.

“That was our last word. Of course, there is constant change. They may have moved. It will be your duty to ferret out that information for us.”

“Whom are we to contact?” Kemble inquired.

“There will be agents directing you from the time you land in Calais,” Sir Harry replied. “A coach will be waiting there to drive you to Paris.”

“And in Paris?” Enid wanted to know.

“You will be turned over to another agent, who will put you in touch with Father Braun and the Dauphin.”

“So we will be largely at the mercy of these underlings in your service,” Enid pointed out.

Sir Harry showed his surprise. “But surely you realize that this is the standard procedure? We have these links already set up.”

“Deception is the name of the game,” Kemble said wryly. “Can you give us descriptions of Father Braun and Louis Charles?”

The master spy smiled. “I can do better than that. I can show you sketches of them. I ask you to study these drawings carefully and be sure to compare them with the actual people when you meet.”

He opened a desk drawer and produced a large brown envelope. It was stuffed with a bundle of material from which he pulled out two ivory sheets of paper, each covered with a pen and ink drawing.

He passed one to Enid and said, “That is Father Braun. He will be wearing the clothing of an ordinary layman. Priests are forbidden their robes and other clerical attire in this new France.”

She studied the line sketch and saw a jolly, stoutish man with crinkles at the corners of his eyes and a crop of hair that seemed to be gray. “Is his hair gray?” she asked.

“Prematurely so,” Sir Harry told her. “He is not an old man.”

“He is rather plump.”

“Yes.”

“How tall is he? That is important.”

The big man was pleased with her question. “He is slightly less than six feet tall. He has blue eyes, a ruddy complexion, and a starlike scar on the back of his left hand.”

“That should be enough to know,” she said, memorizing all that Sir Harry had told her. She passed the sketch to Kemble, and he handed her the one he had been studying.

“You can see the lad is a true Hapsburg,” Kemble pointed out. “He looks intelligent, despite his placid expression and his prominent nose, which is a replica of his father’s.”

Enid studied the drawing of the earnest young prince and felt a pang of sympathy for him. She asked Sir Harry, “Didn’t you say Louis Charles is blond?”

“Yes. His hair is a dark gold shade,” he replied. “He is about seven years old and slim of build, and has, or had, a pleasant disposition.”

“I cannot imagine that knowing his father, mother, and sister are in prison and are likely to be hanged would improve his state of mind.”

“I have no idea, of course.” Sir Harry shifted in his chair. “We would have had the boy here by now if our agents had not been killed.”

“And you really believe that having the future ruler of France here in our country will be of great diplomatic value?” Kemble wanted to know.

“Absolutely,” Sir Harry declared.

“Suppose there is no future king?” Enid said. “What if the revolution changes the political structure of France for all time?”

“That can never be,” the big man intoned sagely. “France, like most countries, has always had a monarchical system. It is clearly unthinkable that things would be different once this present trouble is settled. There can be no question that monarchy is the best form of government for all nations.”

Kemble smiled grimly. “That sentiment would not go down well in Paris at this moment.”

“I am in London, sir,” Sir Harry responded with dignity. “And I will stick by my prediction.”

“When do you want us to leave?” Enid asked him.

“A week from today,” was his reply.

“I can manage that,” Kemble said.

Sir Harry glanced at her. “What about you?”

“Yes. It is all right.”

Sir Harry nodded. “I like your ability to make decisions. That is also a virtue.”

“There is one more important thing I wish to ask you.”

“We shall have at least another short meeting before you leave,” the big man assured her.

“I would like to ask this now.”

“What is it, then?”

“When will you tell me the location of the prison in which Count Armand Beaufaire is being held?”

Sir Harry blinked several times before replying. “For obvious reasons, I must withhold that information until you have completed your mission.”

“Why?”

“I do not want your interest divided. It is urgent that you first put all your energies toward rescuing the Dauphin. After that I will give you the details about your friend. And, as I promised, I will do all I can to see that our network of agents effects his release.”

Enid regarded him with resignation. “You drive a hard bargain,” she said glumly.

“I have my duty,” the diplomatic officer replied pompously. “First things must come first. The main order of the day is to get that boy safely to England.”

“The count may be put to death in the meanwhile!”

“I think not. You may take my word for it that while he is presently imprisoned, his life is in no immediate danger.”

Then Kemble spoke up. “There is also a point, Sir Harry, which I fear you have not considered thoroughly.”

The big man fixed his shrewd eyes on the actor. “And that is?”

“Lady Blair has mentioned that she is known to Esmond. And so am I, for that matter, though I will have the advantage of a changed appearance.”

“Esmond, ‘tis true, is at the top of their spy system,” Sir Harry acknowledged, “but he takes little active part in the daily goings-on in France. When he is here in London, it is different. Over there he is bound by desk work and seldom ventures into the field. That is why I have minimized the possibility of your meeting him.”

“But if I do come face to face with him, then what?” Enid implored.

“You will be a British national traveling under the full protection of your government. Your papers will attest to that. You can tell him you are searching for your missing friend. He dare not touch you.”

She smiled wanly, “That sounds all very well and good. But should I meet him, don’t be surprised to hear that I’ve been eliminated in some strange and unexpected accident.”

“Now I believe you are overtaxing your imagination, my dear.”

“In any event,” Kemble said, “we have made our decision and will take our chances.”

The big man looked pleased. “I shall call on you at your flat the night before your departure. Then I shall give you your first instructions.”

Enid and Kemble left the office of Sir Harry Standish shortly afterward. When they were on the street, she asked the actor, “Well what do you think of him?”

Kemble nodded. “I know you expect me to defend him. I won’t. I’ll simply say he is clever enough to deal with you and me, either separately or together.”

“I’m irked by his refusal to tell me where Armand is.”

“But you must respect his reason for doing so. He cannot afford to have our attention diverted. It is that simple.”

Two days later they began to practice fencing. They were using the empty hall next to Drury Lane where Kemble sometimes held rehearsals. Enid darted back and forth, her keen blade a powerful, sure weapon. Their swords met and twisted, flashed and clanged. Kemble fought hard to match her, but it was useless. She was by far the better fencer.

At last he cried out, “Enough!” and tossed his sword to the floor.

Gasping for breath, she went up to him and asked, “Did I discourage you too much?”

“You defeat me so easily that there is no point in our going on,” he panted, taking out a handkerchief to mop his brow.

“Then are you satisfied?”

“You’re as good as ever. And if we find ourselves in a tight spot, you must somehow make sure you wield a blade.”

She smiled. “I’ll remember that. What about the pistol? You promised me one.”

“I have it here.” He reached into his pocket and drew out an extremely tiny pistol with a mother-of-pearl handle. “It is a beauty, so see that you take care of it.”

She accepted the weapon and fingered it with awe. “Are you sure it’s not a toy?”

“The man who gets a bullet in his hide from it won’t think so,” he assured her.

She balanced it and held it at the ready. “Remarkable.”

“Crafted in Prussia,” he said grudgingly. “Those people have a gift for such work.”

“Thank you, John. You are a dear, good man!”

He clasped her to him in a tight embrace. “Not good enough to share your bed with you, I fear!”

“We made a promise! Let us keep it!” she entreated.

Kemble brushed his lips over hers. “I shall. I won’t enjoy it, but I shall keep it.” Then he released her reluctantly.

• • •

On the night before they were to leave, they had an elaborate meal at Kemble’s flat. The only thing marring the eating and drinking was the mood that Susie and Jenny had fallen into. Neither young woman was in a good frame of mind.

Kemble leaned over to Jenny as they sat side by side at the table, and he kissed her. “Come! Don’t look so mournful! It’s not my funeral I’m going to!”

Jenny seemed about to burst into tears. “Susie says it well could be!”

Kemble glanced over at Susie. “Now, I ask you, what kind of remark is that to make?”

Susie looked down at her plate. “I cannot pretend to be happy if I’m not.”

“Think of the good possibilities in store,” Enid urged. “We may even meet Gustav and work with him!”

“Gustav is like the two of you, drawn to the bright glow of adventure as a moth is drawn toward a flame—with probably the same result.”

“You were never the melancholy one, Susie,” Kemble chided her. “That was my title.”

At that moment the bell over the front door jangled wildly, and Kemble jumped up from the table. “That will be Sir Harry with our final instructions. Susie and Jenny, go into the bedroom and close the door and be silent. Our visitor will want to see us alone.”

“So much for him!” Susie said indignantly as she and Jenny did as they were told.

Kemble opened the door to admit Sir Harry, carrying an umbrella in his hand. The huge man nodded, came into the room, and seeing the table heaped with food and wine, showed a look of mirth on his face.

“A feast has been in progress!” he cried, beaming at Kemble from under his heavy brows. “By this time tomorrow you will be in France and on your way to Paris.”

“When are we to leave?” Enid asked.

Sir Harry went over to the table and picked up one of the bottles of red wine. After filling a goblet to the brim, he quaffed half the ruby liquid in a great gulp. Then he smiled and answered her question. “Tomorrow at dawn. A carriage will be here to pick you up and take you to the
Lady Miller
at the docks.”