have bespoke dinner, Madame Durand,’ she announced clearly for the benefit of any inn servant hovering within earshot, ‘and have requested yet again that it be served in here.’
Although beginning to feel something of a prisoner, Katherine could well understand her companion’s continued caution. Marie never forgot the role she had been requested to play—that of a loyal maid to the wife of a prosperous French merchant. Katherine, on the other hand, was forced to own that she had been less successful in her portrayal of the devoted wife, longing for her husband’s return from the south so that they could continue their journey to their home. There had been several occasions when she had failed even to remember that she was supposed to be French, and had reverted to her native tongue without having been aware of it.
There was some excuse for these frequent lapses, she supposed. So much had happened in so short a time that she hardly knew whether she was standing on her head or her heels. From the moment she had agreed to take part in Sir Giles’s plot her quiet and faintly tedious existence had been brought to an abrupt end.
She clearly recalled the time she and the baronet had spent together on that early February afternoon, planning how they could spirit her away from Bath, unaccompanied, and without giving rise to the least suspicion.
After having divulged the name of a young woman with whom she had struck up a particular friendship during her time at the seminary, and with whom she had continued to correspond on a regular basis, Katherine had needed to do nothing further except try to carry on as normal. She had returned to Bath the following day as planned, and a week later had received a letter, undoubtedly written in a female hand, inviting her to stay with her friend. Miss Ashcroft, pretending to be her good friend’s maiden aunt, had then arrived at the door a few days later, and had announced in a very authoritative tone that, as she would be accompanying Katherine throughout her stay, there would be no need for either a chaperon or a maid, as her own servants were more than capable of catering for both their needs.
Bridie, of course, had not wished to be excluded, but Miss Ashcroft, having been forewarned of Bridie’s stubbornness, played the part of a dictatorial maiden aunt quite wonderfully, and had foiled each and every one of Bridie’s attempts to be included in the trip.
Katherine had then been escorted to France without delay. In Calais they had been met by yet another player in the game, Marie Dubois. Miss Ashcroft had returned to England, and Katherine, having adopted the guise of a prosperous Frenchman’s wife, had travelled on to Paris with Marie and Mr Ashcroft, where all that remained was to await the arrival of her ‘husband’.
Everything had proceeded so well up until then, she reflected. Sir Giles had planned everything right down to the last detail. But he could not have foreseen the surprising turn of events that had taken place since her arrival in the French capital, and which, sadly, would ultimately foil his meticulously organised stratagem for uncovering the traitor.
Katherine sighed as she moved away from the window and took a seat at the table, where she had eaten all her meals since her arrival at the inn. ‘I think we must now face the fact, Marie, that Sir Giles has possibly been forced to abandon all his well-laid plans. Tomorrow I shall commence the journey back to England.’
‘I think that wise,’ Marie whispered in English, as she joined her at the table. ‘I did not like to tell you this, but whilst I was downstairs earlier there was talk that, even though the King had dispatched troops to intercept him, Napoleon entered Lyons without a shot being fired. He has many supporters in the army. Should they change allegiance …’
‘Which makes it all the more imperative that you return to your home,’ Katherine announced, knowing what Marie could not bring herself to say. ‘If Napoleon does by some miracle manage to reach Paris and take control, then our countries will in all probability once again be at war. I do not wish you to be branded a traitor for protecting an enemy of your country.’
Marie’s hard features were softened by a rare smile. ‘I do not consider you an enemy, mademoiselle. But there are those who might should you remain. You will forgive my saying so, but you could never pass yourself off as a Frenchwoman, petite.’
Katherine was forced to acknowledge the truth of this. ‘I did inform Sir Giles that my grasp of the Gallic tongue could best be described as adequate, but he insisted that that was of little importance, and that the person he had in mind to escort me back to England would have no difficulty in convincing anyone that he was French.’
The older woman’s eyes narrowed speculatively. ‘I wonder …?’ she murmured.
‘Wonder what?’ Katherine prompted.
‘I wonder if it is the same man who helped me rescue my late mistress’s sister four years ago?’
Katherine was not at a complete loss to understand to what Marie was alluding. Before embarking on this exciting escapade, she had learned a little about the woman who had for two years passed on secret information supplied by the British traitor whom Sir Giles was determined to bring to book. More recently she had learned something of Justine Baron’s early life from Marie who, Katherine had discovered, had been employed many years before as a maid in the Baron family’s home on the outskirts of Paris.
Although not of the aristocracy himself, Justine’s father had been a wealthy man who had made the mistake of speaking out against the injustices of the new regime, and in consequence had had his house and lands seized by those in power before he and his wife had been executed. Justine and her younger sister Louise had only just managed to escape with their lives. Spirited away in the dead of night by their devoted servant Marie Dubois, they had been taken to an isolated farm, owned by Marie’s brother, deep in the French countryside, where they had remained safely hidden from the French authorities for several years. Unfortunately, by the time she had attained the age of eighteen, Justine had become utterly bored with the bucolic existence and, accompanied by the devoted Marie, had decided to find some means of supporting herself in the capital.
Having been the daughter of wealthy parents, Justine had received a good education, and had had little difficulty in acquiring a position in the establishment of a famous modiste. With her striking looks and superb figure, she had been perfect for modelling her employer’s latest creations, and it had not been too long before Justine had fallen under the eye of a high-ranking government official. She had willingly become his pampered mistress, and for several years had lived in comparative luxury in a house overlooking the Seine.
During this period in her life, she had continued to visit her young sister regularly. Unlike Justine, Louise had been content to live a quiet life on the farm. Consequently Justine had been happy to leave her there, and had provided for her sister by sending sums of money to Marie’s relations at regular intervals.
This act of generosity on Justine’s part was to prove her downfall. When the time had come for her to find a new protector, she had chosen unwisely by agreeing to become the mistress of a sinister, shadowy figure who had close links with the man who four years previously had declared himself Emperor.
Her new lover had not been slow to make use of all Justine Baron’s talents. By removing Louise from the farm and placing her in a secluded house, where she had become a virtual prisoner, he had attained the means by which he could force Justine to do precisely as he had wished.
Within weeks she had been despatched across the Channel, where she had swiftly found employment in the establishment of a famous Bond Street modiste. If the modiste had been faintly uneasy about her new employee’s ability to obtain silks and laces at a much reduced rate, she had kept her suspicions to herself, and had not asked too many questions concerning Justine’s frequent trips to the south coast. Which,
