The Heroic Baron (5 page)

His conscience nagged at him for thinking of her at
all. Alain threw the last pebble and headed back towards
High Street. From High Street, the town rose in a pleasant hodgepodge of houses and shops. The tower of St.
Leonard’s church halfway up the hill drew his attention.
He resolved to stop and say a prayer to quiet his heart.

The interior of the church was dim and soothing. Alain ran his hand over the smooth stones of the
arches. The church had been built in Norman times under the edict that every town must have a stone church.
The church had lasted for centuries. Alain sank into a
polished wooden pew. He hoped his resort would last
half that long. He hoped people would come to it to escape the rigors of everyday life.

He fervently believed that all people needed time to
discover themselves beyond the drudgery of daily routines. The advent of the new world would make that
possible by creating machines that used time more efficiently than manual labor. People would be free to do
something besides work. They’d be able to spend time
educating themselves and studying their world through
travel and books. They would come to Hythe and have
the summer adventures he’d had with his friends,
roaming the hills or swimming in a river. What would
the French girl think of his grand vision for the future?
Would she enjoy hiking through his hills and splashing
in his rivers or would she, like Alicia, shun such boisterousness for more sedate activities?

That was patently unfair, Alain reprimanded himself.
He didn’t even know the girl and he was constructing a
personality about her. It should not be a mark against
Alicia that she preferred needlepoint and flower arranging to vigorous walking and swimming. It was those
delicate qualities that had endeared her to him. He’d
grown up with a sister who was all hoyden and horses.
Alicia with her fragile brand of gentility was an exquisite novelty to be cherished. Alain knelt swiftly and offered a prayer for the dearly departed.

“You are the most blessed man in England!” Daniel
exclaimed, pushing away from the table and patting his
flat stomach. The dessert plate in front of him was
nearly devoid of any signs it had held a hefty serving of
peches et creme gratin. “I couldn’t even tell the
peaches were from last year’s preserves. I wouldn’t
have known the difference at all if your chef hadn’t sent
his regrets”

Alain dabbed at his mouth with a linen napkin,
chuckling at the recollection of Armand Panchette fretting over the lack of fresh peaches for the evening’s
dessert. The good man had been so worked up over
wanting to make the dessert special as a thank you for
delivering his brother and family safely from France. “I
insisted Monsieur Panchette didn’t need to put himself
out on dessert, but he’s a perfectionist and a man who is
aware of his obligations. He said it was a matter of
honor.”

“I’d say he upheld his honor quite well”

A knock on the dining room door interrupted their
conversation. Harker entered, looking somewhat put
out. “The monsieurs Panchette would like a word with
you, my lord.” His opinion of interrupting the baron at
dinner was evident in his tone.

“Send them in. I’ll be glad to speak with them,”
Alain said, willing to overlook the oddness of the request in light of it being Armand’s brother’s first night
here. He expected the brother, Arnaud, wanted to thank
him more formally, although he had told Arnaud earlier
it was not necessary.

The two brothers entered. Armand still wore his huge
white apron. Arnaud twisted a cap nervously in his hands. Armand’s son, Gascon, followed. The two men
bobbed and nodded until Gascon stepped forward.

“My lord, my father and uncle wish me to speak for
them since their English is poor,” he began, waiting for
Alain’s permission before continuing. “First, my Uncle
Arnaud wishes to thank you again. He is deeply indebted to you. We all are, which is why we hesitate to
ask for one more favor.” At this, the boy swallowed
hard, his overlarge adolescent Adam’s apple rising and
falling with his efforts.

Alain exchanged a quick look with Daniel. “I cannot
promise anything beyond listening to your request, but
that I will do gladly”

The boy translated for his father. An animated conversation broke out between the threesome. Finally, the
boy turned back to Alain. “My uncle Arnaud’s wife has
a cousin who has run afoul of some dangerous people
in France. He works in the household of a man named
General Motrineau in Paris. It would be a great relief
to have him here with us. We fear he may be arrested
and imprisoned.” The boy gave a thoroughly Gallic
shrug of the shoulders to indicate the hopelessness of
imprisonment.

Alain twirled the stem of his empty wine glass. “I
must know more about the situation. Who is this
cousin? What is his position in the household? What
sort of people has he fallen in with?”

Gascon translated and the men nodded their heads in
vigorous agreement. Another lengthy conversation ensued in low, fast voices. Alain’s French was good but he
couldn’t keep pace with the rapid exchange.

“My lord, the man we speak of is Pierre Ramboulet. He is a secretary for General Motrineau. He has become disillusioned with Napoleon’s regime and has
fallen in with Les Chevaliers de la Foi, a secret society
dedicated to the Bourbons.”

Alain gave the boy a quizzing glance. “How does
one simply `fall in’ with such a league, if they are indeed secret? How is it that he cannot extricate himself?” Alain found it quite telling that the boy shifted
from foot to foot at his questions and turned pleading
eyes on his father.

This conversation was not long. “You guess correctly, my lord, that our cousin is not an ordinary
member of Les Chevaliers. He moves in the inner circles. Lately, there has been worry that his involvement
may have been betrayed to Motrineau, who has
Napoleon’s ear.”

Alain nodded sagely. “You want me to rescue him?
This will be much more difficult than simply spiriting
away a family of bakers whom no one of note will
miss.” He spread his hands on the pristine damask table
cloth. “You are asking me to abet an individual who is
actively committing treason against the French government. This is serious business indeed. I will need to infiltrate the general’s home, ascertain said individual,
and make arrangements for a discreet departure. If he
suspects betrayal, he already knows he is being
watched.” Alain sighed heavily. “I will think on it.” He
nodded his dismissal to the Panchettes.

Daniel fairly burst when the door shut behind the
family of pastry chefs. “You can’t be seriously considering it!”

Alain grimaced. “I hadn’t planned on doing such a thing again but I have to say it was a grand adventure,
something to fire the blood. I hate to see a man languishing for his convictions when I could free him.”

“Or languish in the cell right next to him,” Daniel
said cynically.

“Still, Daniel, I can’t say that I support the politics of
free expression and equality for the masses and do
nothing when a man risks imprisonment because he
voiced his beliefs.”

“The man wants to bring back the Bourbons!”
Daniel retaliated hotly. “It’s not as if Les Chevaliers
want to establish a parliament and have men voting for
themselves”

Alain shook his head. “He is still a man with an
opinion and he should not be imprisoned because of it,
regardless of what it is.”

Daniel fell silent in the wake of Alain’s convictions.
Acknowledgement registered on his face. “Then you’ve
decided. You’re going to go?”

Alain’s voice was firm when he spoke. “Yes”

There was a new man among the regulars gathered in
General Motrineau’s drawing room for his evening
soiree. Out of the corner of her eye, Cecile caught him
staring at her while she tuned her violin. He was
younger than the others and exuded a sense of vitality
at odds with the stiff reserve of the other menalthough the others lost their starchy formality once
they’d drank enough wine, Cecile reflected sourly.
Their often ribald comments later in the evening bore
little resemblance to the serious conversations they
conducted on military matters. Tonight she hoped the men would be on their best behaviors. Many had
brought their wives.

Cecile laid her violin on the pianoforte bench and
smoothed the skirts of her pale blue satin gown. The
gown was demurely attractive with its soft ecru lace
trim around the sleeves and neck. The general had chosen well, as he always did, when it came to gowning
her. He did not dress her in gaudy clothes but in styles
that befit a young lady her age. Cecile tugged at the
neckline. Despite the general’s excellent taste, the cut
of the gown revealed the swells of her breasts, and she
knew the men would ogle. She couldn’t fathom young
girls wearing such daring gowns and putting themselves on display.

“Ma cherie, are you ready?” General spoke at her elbow. “Everyone is taking their seats. After your performance, I will take you about. You need not feel
awkward. I will keep you by my side all evening.”

“Thank you, but that is not necessary, General. I
don’t need such a reward” Cecile tried to get out of
spending a long evening in the general’s company. She
was tired. She wanted to go home and sleep. There were
a hundred errands that needed doing on the morrow.

“Au contraire, ma cherie. Everyone will want to
meet such a talented young woman.” The general
tapped her on the nose. “Besides, you may meet someone who could provide you with excellent connections,
although I’d be loathe to let you leave. You must consider that Napoleon will not leave me to keep order in
Paris forever. Someday I’ll be called to the field and unable to use your services.”

“As you wish then, Monsieur General,” Cecile said with a gracious nod. “You are kind to consider my
welfare”

The general’s dark eyes softened. “You know I wish
things were different between us, Cecile. I could give
you much if you would just take it.”

Cecile dropped her gaze to the floor, fighting the
urge to fidget under the naked affection evident in his
intimate voice and in his gaze. Her employer was not
an unattractive man. He was a fit man in his midforties, gray just beginning to show in his deep brown
hair. And he was kind. But he supported a regime that
gave itself airs and pretended to be a new order when it
only aped the old. She could not give in to a system that
saw her parents killed and her father’s business destroyed. She was saved from the general’s uncomfortable scrutiny by the approach of the young man she’d
noticed earlier.

“General Motrineau, is this the lovely violinist I’ve
heard so much about?” The man’s French was formal
and perfect, too perfect. He wasn’t a Parisian. But that
wasn’t unusual. She knew Napoleon had troops from
all over Europe like the Polish Lancers.

The general was introducing her. Good manners
forced her to look at the newcomer. Her perfunctory
greeting froze on her lips. The newcomer was none
other than the man she’d encountered in the street two
months ago. She had not expected to see him again except in her dreams. Her first thought was how handsome he looked in his uniform, the gold buttons on his
blue coat shining beneath the light of the general’s
crystal chandelier, and his white breeches spotless. Her
second thought was how right she had been to resist giving him information about the Panchettes. He’d
been a soldier in disguise that day. No good could have
come of telling him what he wanted to know.

“Bonsoir, Monsieur. I am always glad to meet one of
the general’s friends.” Cecile recovered her tongue and
dipped a polite curtsy. She was gratified to note he was
surprised as well by their chance meeting. Unwilling to
prolong the encounter in case he mentioned their previous association, Cecile spoke rapidly, “Monsieur General, I am ready to begin.”

Alain found a seat on one of the silk-covered
Egyptian-styled sofas lining the room and settled in to
listen to the concert. He puzzled over seeing his heroine of the streets in such a sumptuous setting as
Motrineau’s drawing room with its gilt-trimmed panels
and Savonnerie rugs. Yet the general had engaged her
in an intimate tete-a-tete which suggested he was well
acquainted with her. Alain didn’t like to ruminate about
just how acquainted the general was with her. He had
difficulty believing the indignant creature he’d encountered in the streets that had balked at informing on
neighbors would allow herself to become a general’s
mistress. He discarded the idea quickly, recalling her
embarrassment at the intimate attentions the general
had shown her. Once he’d noticed her discomfort, he’d
come to her aid and interrupted the conversation.

The opening measures of the music drew his attention, and Alain listened enrapt. By the end of her first
number, he was convinced she was here tonight because of her musical talent. Liberated as French social life might be, Alain doubted it was so liberated that a
high-ranking general like Motrineau would invite his
friends to a concert given by his mistress. A sense of
relief permeated his body and Alain found he could relax, at least as much as an Englishman disguised as a
French soldier can relax in a room full of French officers. He gave his attention fully to the concert, mesmerized by the soft sway of blue satin skirts and the
graceful curve of her bare arm as it drew the bow
across the strings. She was beautiful, talented, and
more mysterious than ever.

The concert ended to sincere applause. Groups on
sofas and chairs moved off to take refreshment. Alain
noticed Motrineau take the lovely Cecile by the arm
and begin to move from group to group, circulating
throughout the room. Discreetly, Alain attached himself to the group Motrineau was nearing.

“Your little violinist is a delight, wherever did you
find her?” An officer’s wife cooed when introductions
were made to Alain’s group.