“Not all that many since I assigned them in pairs. Johnny Blair, for example, knows most of the French in London since he’s engaged to a Frog’s daughter. Johnny is discreet as long as he’s not drinking, and Horace Mickelby will keep him sober and alert. Reddy Montblanc, who’s nearly blind in one eye, is nevertheless one of the best trackers in England. He and Charles Cranmer will check the area where the assassin tried to shoot Father. And on it goes.
“As for us, two nights from now, that French captain should be here. We’ll see him ourselves. How did your talk to the society go?”
“Short and to the point, and I could see that all the old graybeards in the group wanted to pat me on the head. I wonder if Father and Mother are in Paris yet.”
“They should be soon, if they’re not already. As Father said, he has many friends there. Someone must know something or have heard something. There must be people who knew Cadoudal, and they’ll know about any family. I hope Mother isn’t speaking French.”
“She really tries,” James said, and laughed.
“She’s lucky we’re not living in the last century, with the advent of the Hanoverian kings. Can you imagine her trying to learn German?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The cock may crow, but it’s the hen that lays the eggs.
MARGARET THATCHER
IT WAS A balmy night for the first of October, but since Remie Willicombe’s mother had told him it would rain by midnight, James wore a heavier coat.
He didn’t particularly wish to go to the Lanscombe ball on Putnam Square, but he’d promised Miss Lorimer that he would come by, though he had no intention of staying. He had no intention of ending up in White’s Betting Book either. One dance with Miss Lorimer, no more.
Jason announced he was going with friends to one of his clubs, making James poke his brother and ask him why Miss McCrae hadn’t requested his presence this evening. Jason had looked at him, frowning, and said he understood that Lady Arbuckle wasn’t feeling well and Judith had stayed home to attend her.
The twins were meeting at White’s at midnight to go to the docks, to the Crooked Cat Tavern, where the French captain was said to frequent.
When James finally saw Miss Lorimer, he had to admit she looked amazingly lovely, all in lilac, her huge sleeves included, which stuck a good six inches out from her arms, the material stiffened by wooden rods, his mother had told him, and wasn’t that ingenious?
The lilac silk skirts fanned out around her, at least six petticoats keeping them afloat. Her hair was in a knot on the back of her head with a score of little ringlets falling over her forehead and cascading over her ears, like the silver particles of Titan.
He saw Corrie then, standing with her aunt across the ballroom, her gown a luminous white, the style simple, his father’s hand visible in every lovely fold and drape, and he was quite pleased until he reached her breasts, and frowned. Too prominently displayed, he thought, and surely her Aunt Maybella should say something to her. It wasn’t appropriate for an eighteen-year-old young lady.
Perhaps he’d help her improve her dancing after he’d kept his promise to Miss Lorimer. Certainly that would dilute the gossip, unless everyone knew that Corrie was like a sister to him, then dancing a waltz with her wouldn’t count.
So Miss Lorimer had decided to marry him, had she? More likely her mother’s choice, James thought cynically, as he made his way slowly toward her.
He discovered quickly enough that everyone had heard about the attempts on his father’s life.
All his father’s friends stopped him, questioned him, and raised their brows when he repeated yet again that his mother and father had gone to Brighton because his mother wasn’t well, which sounded more stupid each time he repeated it.
“Alexandra has never been sick a day in her life,” said Lord Ponsonby, “except when she
had to lie down a moment to birth you and your brother, and she wasn’t really sick, now was she?”
He agreed that no, sir, she wasn’t really sick then, and wanted desperately to flee.
“Humph,” said Lord Ponsonby. “Did you say Brighton, James? Something’s fishy here, my boy, the sort of fishy that makes me realize what a bad liar you are. Your father now-an excellent liar-would stare you right in the eye.”
James cursed under his breath. He was going to throw his brother over the balcony when he got home.
Miss Lorimer, at last, was in his sights. She was looking at him over her mother’s shoulder, eyes glittering. No, he thought, more than that. Assessing.
When he reached her, she said, “Why, it is a pleasure to see you, sir. You are James?”
“Yes, I am James,” he said. “Would you like to dance, Miss Lorimer?” and looked toward her mother, who nodded placidly at him.
“Yes, if you will agree to call me Juliette.”
“Very well, Juliette.” He took her white hand, lightly placed it on his arm, and led her onto the dance floor.