The Heroic Baron Page 2

  “Shall I pour out, my lord?” Harker asked.

  Alain cocked his head at Harker. “Does Cook need help in the kitchens? I’ve recently developed a penchant for fresh baked breads, tea cakes, and the like.”

  “I don’t recall you having a sweet tooth before, my lord.”

  “There’s always a first time, Harker. Tell Cook I’ll be sending a French baker to her within the week. Whatever he bakes and we don’t eat, we’ll send down to The Sail and Oar. The taverner will know how to put the extra loaves to good use.” A stunned Harker left the room with a curt, “yes my lord.”

  Alain turned to see Daniel smiling over his coffee cup. “Stop grinning, Daniel. I’ve decided that if the baker and his wife work out, Hythe will be in need of a teahouse. I hear they are becoming popular in London. You can design it.”

  Daniel waved his coffee cup. “I’m not smiling at that. I am smiling at you. Just a moment ago you were cursing their flight as an irresponsibly managed adventure. Now, you’re setting them up in business. You’re generous to a fault. You’ve saved them just as you saved me”

  Alain looked startled. He decided to play the sapskull. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Daniel smiled indulgently. “I know what you did for me by giving me the commission for your `grand vision.’ You rescued me from ignominy. I was on the verge of quitting and looking for work as an assistant to a larger firm. You rescued me and my dream of being my own man.”

  Alain looked away, awkward with his friend’s praise. “You were the best qualified man for the job. It didn’t matter that you weren’t famous” It hadn’t mattered to him. He knew the depth of his school chum’s abilities. Unfortunately, it had mattered to others of the nobility who could afford to build the mansions Daniel designed. Once Alain had taken up his case, commissions had flooded in. He returned to a more comfortable topic of conversation. “Did the boy say anything else?”

  Daniel gave a wry grin. “I hesitate to tell you what else he said.”

  “Give over man, don’t hold back” Alain cajoled.

  “Well, it seems that the boy’s cousins are still in Paris with no way to get out”

  “Where there are cousins, there are aunts and uncles too, I presume?” Alain drummed his long fingers absently on the arm of his chair.

  “Presumably.”

  “It bears thinking on” Alain rose from the chair and paced in front of the long window, looking outside into the falling darkness without really seeing it. His mind was already whirring.

  Cautiously, Daniel asked, “What bears thinking on? I’ve seen that look in your eye plenty of times during our school days. It bodes no good”

  “What look?” Alain protested, momentarily derailed from his conversation.

  Daniel threw up his hands. “The one where your eyes start shooting green sparks and before I know it, you’ve dragged me into another madcap escapade like the time you insisted we had to rescue Tristan Moreland from the headmaster’s office at Eton”

  Alain shrugged, hiding a smile. “We got away with it. I don’t know what you’re complaining about. But that’s not important now. What is important are the Panchettes.”

  “Truly, Alain, you can’t be thinking to save them all”

  “That’s precisely what I’m thinking.” Alain turned from the window, his face a mask of seriousness.

  “Surely you’re joking? I was only joking when I said it.” Daniel looked beleaguered. He set down the coffee cup and reached for a fortifying swallow of brandy from the forgotten glass at his side.

  “I assure you I am not joking. We should go get the aunt, the uncle, and the cousins.”

  Daniel sputtered, spraying brandy on the Aubusson carpet. “What about the resort?”

  Alain’s face lit with his enthusiasm, more enthusiasm than he’d felt since the tragedy. “Don’t you see, they are the `grand vision’! We’re building a resort town for middle-class families, for people who aren’t rich.”

  “What does a resort town have to do with poor bakers in Paris?” Daniel, literal and concrete to the last, puckered his brow.

  Alain threw his arms wide, excitement radiating from him. “The new world, the world that will be in place after the wars are over is a world of equality; a world that will be accessible to people who are not nobility. We have an obligation to liberate people from oppression. It’s already started. Ready-made clothes have made it possible for people to ape their betters. This is an exciting time, Daniel, the world is changing under our very feet. We will go to Paris and get the rest of their family. It will be our contribution to the new world order. What do you say?” Alain knelt down in front of his friend, looking expectantly at Daniel’s face.

  Slowly, comprehension dawned. Daniel nodded, repeating Alain’s earlier words. “It bears thinking on.”

  “It certainly does!” For the first time in days, Alain was glad to be alive.

  Paris, France, April 1811

  od”G bless you, my child.” The old woman on the crudely constructed rope bed in the corner of the dim room reached up a gnarled hand in gratitude to cup Cecile’s smooth cheek. “I hope you haven’t given me more than can you afford to spare. There are so many others in need and there’s your brother too, West-ce pas?”

  Cecile tucked the frayed blankets about the woman. “We must all do what we can for one another in these times. Do not fret over me. I have work” Work that allowed her to pick over the spoils of the wealthy general’s kitchen; work that allowed her to play her treasured violin every night in order to earn the largesse of the general and his friends while they sat around their groaning supper tables toasting the New Regime under Napoleon. For Cecile and others like her, the New Regime didn’t look or act much differently than the old.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll bring medicine and a hot soup with a carrot” Cecile assured the old woman. She picked her basket up from the rickety table in the room’s center and took a final look at the dingy lodgings, making a mental note of the woman’s needs. Perhaps she might contrive to bring clean sheets. The maids in the general’s household were doing the spring laundry that week. They might be willing to part with the old sheets set aside to be thrown away.

  Cecile stepped outside into the brighter light of day, her thoughts on the list of errands she needed to run before going to the general’s house that evening. The sunlight contrasted sharply with the dim interior of the old woman’s room, and she collided with a brick wall before her eyes could adjust.

  “Oof!” Cecile doubled over panting as the wind was knocked from her lungs. She dropped her basket and clutched her stomach. She’d been stupid not to concentrate on her surroundings. What if I had fallen and broken an arm or even so much as sprained a finger or shoulder? What would happen to my brother if I couldn’t play my violin?

  “Pardonez-moi, Mademoiselle, are you hurt?”

  The brick wall spoke! Cecile looked up in surprise. The wall was a man-a tall, tawny-haired man with sharp green eyes the color of new moss that were studying her in interest. Cecile pulled herself up to her full height, just an inch under five and a half feet. She felt shorter than usual against the man’s height. His intense scrutiny made her feel vulnerable.

  “I am fine” Cecile replied brusquely, brushing at her gray serge skirts. She gave the Apollo-like figure a cursory nod and attempted to step around him.

  “Attendez, attendez, Mademoiselle,” the man cried. “You’ve forgotten your basket. You must have dropped it when I so indelicately crashed into you” He moved to retrieve the basket from the narrow sidewalk, unintentionally providing Cecile with a view of his powerful body in motion. The stranger had exquisitely broad shoulders that strained the seams of his coat and long muscled legs that flexed divinely as he bent for the basket.

  “May I ask you, Mademoiselle, if you know the residence of the Panchettes? I believe they are bakers, or at least they were once”

  Cecile took the basket he handed her, assessing the stranger as he had no doub
t assessed her moments ago. She had not seen him in the neighborhood before. She didn’t dare trust him to be on an innocent mission. “Je regrette, Monsieur.” Cecile shook her head and shrugged. “I do not know those people. If you will excuse me, I must be going.” She made to step around him a second time, only to find herself blocked again.

  A knowing smile formed on his lips, even as his mossy eyes grew jade hard at her response. His hand reached inside his coat for a wallet. He pulled out several franc bills. Cecile tried not to gape at the money. The sum would buy medicine for her brother and others, not to mention clothes and food and perhaps a doctor. He asked his question again. “Do you know where I can find the Panchettes?”

  Cecile swallowed hard against the temptation. Someday the money would be gone, spent for good things, but her guilt would remain if anything happened to the Panchettes. She would find another way to get the things she needed. She tilted her head at an angle, doing her best to look outraged. “I cannot be bought, Monsieur, not even for a lie.”

  The hardness melted from his eyes and his smile softened. “My apologies, take it for the truth” He reached for her hand and pressed the bills into it, curling her fingers around them. “I commend you for your principles.”

  Somewhere in the warren of tenements a whistle called out. The man’s head jerked up, seeming to separate the sound from the usual whines and noises of the squalid neighborhood. “Adieu, Mademoiselle.”

  Cecile watched the stranger dart around the corner and disappear into an alleyway. His absence broke the spell that held her rooted to the sidewalk. Common sense returning, she thrust the enormous sum of bills deep into her skirt pocket. What had the man been thinking of to carry such an amount of money with him and to brandish it about so openly in the slums? He was lucky it had been in the quiet part of the afternoon when everyone was at work or the market. He’d have been attacked for certain. Well, not necessarily for certain, Cecile thought, beginning to walk back to the room she shared with her brother. Anyone would think twice before starting a fight with the broad-shouldered Apollo. She knew from her own clumsiness just how muscular he was. Their collision had knocked the wind out of her, but hadn’t fazed him in the least.

  “Cecile, you are late! I was getting worried,” her brother called out from his bed by the window. A thin ray of sunlight streamed across his worn plaid blanket. He looked exceedingly thin and pale in the light. The winter had not been kind to him.

  Cecile rushed to him, excited to share her news. “Etienne, you will not guess what delayed me” She told him the story of the golden stranger and showed him the money. “We can afford your medicines. You’ll get well faster now and soon be back to your old self. Maybe we can save some of it for a trip to the country,” Cecile fantasized out loud. The money would not last. If she could save any of it, it would be saved to weather another winter. The last winter had not been kind to them. She was lucky Etienne was still with her. Pneumonia had laid waste to his undernourished young body. She too was still overly thin despite the scraps she scavenged from the general’s table.

  Etienne smiled wanly and sank back against his nearly flat pillows. “I am glad. I think the sun helps.” He gestured to the thin stream of light.

  Cecile was torn with guilt. She long believed city living had sapped her brother’s strength with its pollution, but he was all she had left of family. She could not bear to let him go. She bit her lip, staring at the treasure she’d laid out on Etienne’s bed. She did not know when she’d have such a sum at her disposal again. “Etienne, perhaps it is time you went to the country. You could take the money to pay for your keep. There are still families in our old village who know us. You could stay with one of them.”

  “I will get better, ma cherie. We needn’t be separated just yet” Etienne replied bravely. “What we need to do, is find a safe place to hide the money, then you need to eat a little and be off to work. I fixed soup from the leftovers. It’s on the hob” Etienne nodded proudly to the small black kettle hanging over their fireplace.

  “You shouldn’t have taxed yourself.” Cecile scolded lightly. She stood in the center of their room, hands on hips, looking around. “You’ve swept and cleaned too. No wonder you look so wan” She shook her finger at him. “You were worrying me. I feared a relapse”

  “I am getting stronger every day. I promise you” Etienne beamed under his sister’s attention.

  Cecile drew her bow across the four strings of her violin in a defiant flourish, bringing her final piece of the evening, a wild caprice, to an end. She glanced at her employer, General Motrineau, and breathed a small sigh of relief. From the size of the grin he wore, he was well-pleased tonight. He and the others at the table broke into applause. Cecile gave a curtsy and made to leave, wishing tonight would be one of the nights the general didn’t invite her to sit with them. She detested those nights. It was decadent enough that she performed for his all male supper parties with his fellow generals. The general knew well enough that a proper musicale involved wives and was held in a conservatory or music room, not at the table while men drank and smoked cigars.

  “Cecile, ma cherie, come and join us” The general hailed her before she could escape. He motioned to the chair next to him, for which Cecile was thankful. At least she wouldn’t have to deflect the amorous advances of his friends.

  “I do believe your violinist, Motrineau, plays as well as Paganini.” One of the generals, a paunchy middleaged man, said further down the table. “I had the pleasure to hear Paganini in Italy when I was there last year.”

  A man near Cecile laughed heartily. “General Motrineau’s violinist is certainly prettier.” He turned to Cecile while paying her the lavish compliment. She blushed and stared fixedly at her folded hands. This was the kind of talk she wanted to avoid.

  “Better paid too,” another put in, “from the looks of that gown, she is obligated to be good” The whole table broke into manly guffaws at the coarse innuendo. She was used to such brash speculation. That didn’t mean her cheeks weren’t burning. All the guests she played for assumed she was also General Motrineau’s mistress. While he had indicated several times he was interested in such an arrangement, she was not. It was bad enough he insisted on dressing her in lavish silk gowns and having a lady’s maid do her hair up each evening.

  “Gentlemen! Remember your manners,” General Motrineau reprimanded the group. He turned to Cecile. “Ma cherie, I have not heard the last piece you played before. Tell us about it.”

  Cecile spoke hesitantly at first, then more rapidly, losing herself in the description of the caprice and the emotions represented by the runs. It wasn’t until she finished that she realized the table had come to full, enrapt attention. No one had filled up a glass or drank from one for fear of missing a single word.

  General Motrineau broke the astonished silence. “There, gentlemen, and to think Napoleon is against educating women!” Everyone laughed at his daring tongue in cheek. Cecile took the opportunity to make her escape. She pushed back her chair and curtsied to the men, hastening to leave. To her chagrin, the general rose with her.

  “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, gentlemen, I must have a moment with the lovely Cecile.” He offered Cecile his arm and led her from the room. Behind her, she could hear low, whispered, ribald comments.

  “This is unseemly, Monsieur General,” Cecile said as soon as they were in the corridor of his opulent home.

  “Ma petite cherie, it is not unseemly for a man to wish the company of a beautiful woman” Bolder than usual, the general reached a hand to touch her cheek. “You were brilliant tonight.” His hand drifted to her neck. Cecile stiffened.

  “You’re not wearing the little cameo I gave you last week. I thought it would look especially lovely with this dress. I picked out the coral for that reason”

  Cecile met his dark gaze directly. “I am sorry to disappoint you. I had to buy food and medicines.”

  The general’s eyebrows quirked upwards. “We could solve
your financial crisis with a more permanent arrangement, ma petite. A house in a safe neighborhood, medicines and doctors for your brother, more pretty dresses for you, your own maid and housekeeper. You’d want for nothing.” He lowered his voice to a low, seductive tone. “I don’t think you’d find me a demanding lover.”

  “No, thank you. I must go” Cecile smiled politely and fled down the steps, heading to the kitchen and the little dressing room off it where she changed into her gray serge gown. When she was ready, the cook handed her a satchel of leftovers wrapped in flour sacking. Then Cecile drew close the hood of her dark cloak and started the long walk home with the satchel in one hand and her violin case in the other.

  It was difficult to find the willpower to walk out into the cold night after the warmth and luxury of the general’s home, particularly on nights like this one when the rain drizzled in a fine, soaking mist. She hoped Etienne would have the fire built up in anticipation of her return.

  The well lit houses of the New Regime’s `nobility’ gave way to the darker slums where families could barely afford food, let alone candles to light the night. The darkness was a stark reminder of why she stalwartly refused the general’s repeated offers. Napoleon’s new civic order hadn’t changed anything for her or people like her. The direct taxes and the more damaging indirect taxes levied to support the military had drained the poor as surely as the earlier regime had.

  Napoleon’s idea of avoiding the pitfalls of aristocracy had been to institute the Legion of Honour followed later by his creation of imperial titles. The only difference between the old and the new was that the new hierarchy was based on military merit instead of excluding people from nobility based on the criteria of religion or birth. What ensued was the development of a class of wealthy generals like Murat and LeClerc and her own employer General Motrineau. She knew that her employer had accumulated very little personal wealthy before kowtowing to Napoleon in 1804. Since then, he’d acquired the means to buy a chateau in the country and maintain his elaborate house in Paris. He gave fancy dinner parties regularly and hosted military balls. Rumor in the servant’s quarters suggested he was worth nine hundred thousand francs. The sum dazzled her. It mocked her excitement over the francs the stranger had given her in the street.