“I can only think that he was going to rob me … perhaps murder me.”
Oh no! “
“But surely if it was robbery, he would have chosen someone else. There was nothing I had that was worth taking all that trouble for.”
She was looking at the letter in her hand. Then she said slowly: “You had this. That was what it was. It was the Baron. He knows. It is one of his men. He has spies everywhere. He knew. He wanted the letter.”
“Tell me what you mean,” I commanded.
“This letter is nothing about hats. I use the modiste as a sort of paste rest ante
“Who was the letter from?”
She hesitated and then said: “Armand L’Estrange.”
“So you have been carrying on a correspondence with him and I have been your courier?”
She nodded.
“I knew the modiste would help so I arranged with her to take letters from me to him and for him to leave his there to be collected.”
“I see,” I said slowly.
“You don’t see half of it. I’m in love with Armand. That’s what makes everything so much worse. We’re lovers, Kate. Real lovers. I mean we have been with each other as married people.”
“Oh!”
“You’re shocked. You pretend to be so advanced, but you’re shocked. I love Armand and he loves me.”
“Perhaps a marriage can be arranged. It is not too late.”
“The Baron has decided to marry me!”
“It takes two to make a decision.”
“No one would ever let it happen. Armand wouldn’t either. The Baron could ruin him. But that doesn’t prevent our … being together .. when we can arrange it.”
“But you are so young.”
“I’m old enough. I am seventeen. It started before my seventeenth birthday. Don’t think the first time was at the fete champetre.”
I was trying hard to take in what this meant. It was following too closely on that other shock for me to think clearly. I was so sorry for the poor girl lying in the bed. She was truly terrified.
She said, her voice shrill with fear: “He knows. He has discovered. He knew you went to the modiste’s shop to collect the notes and deliver them, so he had you waylaid. You would have been driven somewhere and the note taken from you.”
“It is too wild a scheme.”
“Not for him. Nothing is too wild for him. He would have a watch on me. Perhaps he had heard rumours about me and Armand. People talk and he would have ways of making them talk. He has heard rumours and tracked me down to the modiste’s. That was why you were waylaid. Thank God you escaped. If this letter had fallen into his hands …”
For a while I believed her because I was so shaken by my own experience. I thought of her experimenting with love, for I was sure that was what it was. She was so young; she had lived in such a sheltered fashion; it was cruel to force her into marriage with such a man.
I tried to comfort her, and as I did so I began to see how absurd her conjectures were.
“My dear Princesse,” I said, ‘if he had known there was a note at the modiste’s shop all he had to do was go in and demand it. She wouldn’t have dared hold out against him. “
“No, this is like him. He would abduct you and get the note from you and pretend it was normal robbery. He wouldn’t want me to know he knew. He would be thinking of some terrible revenge for me. He is determined to marry me for my royal blood. That’s what he wants me for the continual childbearing.”
She looked down at the note and kissed it romantically.
“If he knew we had been lovers, think of how furious he would be.”
“That might be said to be a natural emotion.”
“I’m no virgin.”
“He is hardly that himself. Why don’t you tell him everything that has happened? Tell him you love Armand. Ask him to release you.”
“Are you mad? What would happen to us all? There’d be ruin. The L’Estranges would go crazy. He knows how to take his revenge.”
“Can any man be as bad as we all seem to think he is?”
“One man could. And they want me to marry him!”
“I don’t think you are right about the cab,” I said.
“I think it was probably intended robbery. On the other hand, it might just have been an attempt to get a big fare out of me. The fact that I’m a foreigner would make it so easy for him to say he misunderstood.”
“It was the Baron,” said the Princesse.
“I know.” I went back to my room. I was horribly shaken not only by my experience but by what the Princesse had told me.
Before the next week was out I had finished the portrait. It had been a busy week for me. I took short walks, never going so far that I was not prepared to walk back. I had taken a deep aversion to cabs.
The Princesse brightened up considerably on the days after her confession. She seemed rather pleased with herself, and there was an air of defiance about her. I could detect the loss of innocence which I had come to realize is sometimes apparent in very young girls who have had sexual experience.
I wondered what her future life would be like if she were actually going through with the marriage; and what his reaction would be if he discovered she had taken a lover before marriage.
I did not like to contemplate too deeply. I saw a far from felicitous union. But that was no concern of mine. I was merely the artist who had painted the miniatures of the betrothed pair.
I was recovering from my experience, which seemed less terrifying on contemplation. I certainly did not believe the story of the Baron’s spy and was growing more and more certain that it had been a plan of robbery or mischief. Had I gone on in the cab, I might have been robbed of my possessions and left to find my way back or else paid an excessive fare. Unpleasant, but not so very sinister.
The finished portrait was exquisite. Not such a clever piece of work as that of the Baron, but very charming in appearance. The miniature was to be taken back to Centeville so that the Baron’s jeweller would fit it into its frame.
A letter arrived from the Baron to me. It was written in perfect English, and I wondered if he had written it himself or whether it was the work of his secretary.
My dear Mademoiselle Collison, I am very eager to see the miniature. Madame la Comtesse tells me that it is beautiful. the sort of work I should expect from you. I could send someone down to collect it. I would, however, be so pleased if you would bring it yourself. First I should like to give you my opinion of it, and there is the matter of the account to be settled.
Moreover, I do not like the idea of this precious picture being in any hands that do not understand its value.
You have been so good in the execution of this commission and your work has given me a great deal of pleasure. May I encroach on your goodness to oblige me with this other small service?
Your servant, Rollo de Centeville.
I let the letter fall from my hands. I had planned to leave for the coast within a few days and then cross the Channel for home.
I had heard from my father that he had arrived home safely and that he was delighted with my success. The enterprise could not have turned out more satisfactorily, he pointed out. He believed that soon mine would be a name to be reckoned with in the Paris salons . and acclaim in England would naturally follow.
If I went to Centeville my return home would be delayed and I told myself that I was annoyed by this request, but that was not exactly the truth. I should really like to go to Centeville once more; I should even like to see the Baron, for I did want to watch his face as he saw the miniature for the first time. That he would give a frank opinion, I knew; and if he were indeed pleased with it, I should feel very happy indeed because whatever else he was there was no doubt that he was a practised connoisseur.
There would be a delay of a week, but I decided I must go. He had done so much for me. I had to do this small service.