Arcadius laid his hand gently over hers. 'I think I understand. Our business has become confused with another and much more important matter in which your – the Englishman, that is, was also involved. Hence the unexpected arrival of your friend the colossal grenadier, and possibly also the appearance on the scene of Fauche-Borel. Is that right?'
'Quite right,' Bobeche agreed. 'Forgive me if I do not explain further but it seems probable that certain papers stolen recently from an English ambassador may turn up at the Epi-Scie, which is something of a nest of foreign agents. The police never set foot there, or not officially. That is why there has been so much excitement in that neighbourhood of late and why one of those agents, believing himself recognized, had the idea of concealing himself among the waxworks.'
'By the way,' Arcadius said, 'was he captured?'
Bobeche nodded and became apparently absorbed in contemplation of the champagne in his glass, thereby indicating his wish to change the subject. Marianne was now looking at him in amazement coupled with no little admiration. It seemed strange to hear such grave words coming from a mouth so clearly fashioned for laughter. Who was this clown and for whom was he really working? He had proclaimed his devotion to the Emperor but he did not seem to be one of Fouche's men. Could he be a member of that secret band, answerable to the Emperor alone, as they had been to the last kings of France, and who, it was said, formed a kind of special police force alongside the official one? His profession must surely give him many opportunities for observing without himself coming under suspicion and he was probably also an adept at disguise. Tonight, in his well-cut dark-green coat and faultlessly-tied cravat, his thick golden hair carefully brushed, he would not have seemed out of place in any drawing-room, and no one would have suspected the presence of the clown.
Marianne's puzzled gaze went from the young man to her cousin who was leaning back in her chair nibbling a crystallized citron without taking her eyes from her new friend. She was literally drinking in his words and there was a light in her blue eyes that Marianne had not seen before. Her cheeks were flushed a youthful pink. For all her forty years, her absurd wig, her paint and her long nose, Adelaide was transformed. She looked almost young and very nearly beautiful.
It came to Marianne suddenly, with a flash of amazement. 'She is in love!' The thought saddened more than it amused her, for she was afraid that poor Adelaide would give her heart in vain. Bobeche had been protective, even chivalrous, and he seemed to have a genuine admiration for Adelaide's courage, intelligence and acting abilities, but between the wildest admiration and the most unexacting love there was such a vast distance! Because of this, Marianne was moved to protest when Adelaide stood up and shook out her dress with a satisfied sigh, then said: 'There! Now you know everything, and I think it is time that we were returning to the theatre. We only came, you know, to let you know that I was safe. That is done, and I shall go away again.'
'This is ridiculous,' Marianne said unhappily. 'You will still be in danger and I shall be half-dead with worry.'
'Then you will be foolish, mademoiselle,' Bobeche said quietly. 'I promise you that I will care for Mademoiselle Adelaide as if she were my own sister. She is in no danger while she is with Galimafre and me, I can assure you, and we are very happy that she should have chosen to honour us with her friendship.'
'Furthermore,' put in Mademoiselle d'Asselnat, who had listened to this little speech with obvious gratification, 'nothing on earth would prevent me from going back. For the first time in my life, I feel truly alive.'
Marianne was silent, her objections conquered. Truly alive? A woman who had been thrown into prison for daring to protest against Napoleon's divorce, had lived in hiding in the attics of the abandoned Hotel d'Asselnat with only a portrait for company, and had tried one night to set fire to that same house because she believed it to have fallen into unworthy hands? What had she meant by living until then? It was with feelings of profound sadness that she allowed Adelaide to kiss her good-bye.
Guessing her thoughts, Arcadius slipped his arm through hers and whispered: 'Let her go, Marianne. She is having such fun playing at secret agents, and indeed I wonder if she has not a talent for it. Besides, it is better for both of you that she should not come back here. The lad is right: no one, not even Fanchon, will ever think to look for her at the Pygmy Theatre.'
'You are right, of course,' Marianne said with a sigh. 'But I shall miss her dreadfully.'
She had counted so heavily on Adelaide for the hard days ahead, to help her when the child came and with her advice when the time came to join the cardinal – supposing that Jason did not come. A small voice whispered: 'If she knew the truth, she would stay with you.' But Marianne could not tell her the truth because of her promise to her godfather. And even if Adelaide knew how much Marianne needed her, would she have the heart to say good-bye to the dream she had made for herself, her chance of sharing briefly in the life of an attractive young man for whom she felt something more than kindness? No, Adelaide must be allowed to follow the absurd road she had chosen for herself. There was nothing Marianne could do about it.
Her heart felt very heavy as she heard the great gate slam behind the departing guests. She was suddenly cold and shivered as she held her hands out to the blaze in the hearth. The room was very quiet, disturbed only by the tiny sounds of Arcadius taking snuff. The floor creaked as he came towards her, slowly.
'Why torment yourself, Marianne?' he said gently. 'After all, Adelaide is in no real danger, although she may lose some illusions. Cheer up and smile. Life will seem good again, you'll see. Look at Adelaide. She has found happiness in a theatre booth. Who knows what tomorrow may have in store for you?'
Marianne blinked back her tears and managed to smile. Dear Arcadius, so kind and so faithful. She felt ashamed of the secret which, for no good reason that she could see, she was obliged to keep from him for a month. But a bargain was a bargain. She must play her part.
'You are right,' she said softly. 'Let Adelaide have her fun. After all, I still have you.'
'So I should think! Now go to bed and try and find sweet dreams.'
'I will try, my friend, I will try.'
They walked together towards the great staircase, which at this late hour was in darkness, and Arcadius took a branch of candles from a side table to light their way. They were about half-way up when he asked suddenly: 'By the way, where is Gracchus? No one has set eyes on him today and Samson is missing from the stables.'
Marianne felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair and blessed the darkness which concealed it, but she could not prevent her voice from sounding a shade too quick and strained as she replied.
'He – he asked me for – for leave to visit his family for a few days i – in the country. He had bad news —'
Marianne had always been a bad liar but this time the effort was terrible. She cursed her own clumsiness, convinced that Arcadius must smell a rat at once. Yet his voice was perfectly smooth as he observed: 'I was not aware he had any family in the country. I thought there was only his grandmother, a washerwoman, out at Boulogne, on the route de la Revoke. Where has he gone?'
'To – to Nantes, I believe,' Marianne said desperately, taking refuge in a half-truth. But Arcadius asked no further questions and merely remarked: 'Ah, I see…' in such an abstracted voice that it seemed to her he was already thinking of something else. When they reached the door of Marianne's room he bowed gracefully as he wished her good night and went away in the direction of his own room, humming under his breath. He had not seemed so lighthearted for a long time. Marianne reflected, as she closed her door, that it was possible he really believed that Francis could do no further harm.
The thought brought with it a sense of relief, a new serenity, and that night Marianne slept like the child she had been so short a time ago. What was more blessed than peace of mind? And for three days and three nights Marianne enjoyed it to the full, together with a pleasurable feeling of having won a victory over both Francis and herself.
An idea came to her during those days and she hugged it to her lovingly. If Black Fish succeeded in removing Francis from the face of the earth, then there would be no need for an annulment, or for the threatened marriage. She would be a widow, free, with nothing more to fear from Francis Cranmere, free to join with the father of her child in seeking a less desperate remedy for her situation.
A hundred times she was on the point of picking up her pen and writing to her godfather but each time one thing stopped her. Where should she write? To the Pope at Savona? The letter would never reach him. It would surely fall into Fouche's hands. No, it was better to wait for word to come from the cardinal. Time enough then to tell him what had occurred and he might be the one to offer another solution. It was so good to dream, to make
