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Authors: Elizabeth Aston
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memorandum and was handing it over to a French agent. No, indeed that was something quite else, a folded paper indeed, but merely a message passed on to go to an entirely different destination. The man in question works for us, for the English. If I told you his name, which I won't, your father would confirm this, and indeed he knows that I have dealings with him. Have you been harbouring suspicions about me? I assure you need not."
Mortified, she murmured, "I was sure that it could not be so."
She had offended him, and regretted that the easy camaraderie and the friendship that seem to be developing between them must be jeopardized by her voicing her suspicions of him. More silence; they were turning into the street that led to her house. Reluctant to end their walk on this note, she ventured, "The lost memorandum is important is it not?"
Mr. Vere nodded. "One could say it is crucial. And that is not a word I would use lightly."
"Are there so many people in London who would wish to see the French triumph over us, even to invade?"
"Indeed, that rascal Bonaparte has eyes and ears everywhere. Many of them belong to people living in England . There are those among the émigré community who would throw their lot in with Bonaparte, and also trades people and artisans who support the regime in France . Perhaps even that milliner whose shop you have just left."
Anna laughed. "I can assure you that the milliner is not any kind of a French agent. She puts on a French accent and has assumed a French name, but her real name is Wallace. She comes from our village, we have known her forever. I am sure she has never set foot in France . So I do not think you need be seeing any danger there. However–”
Suddenly, Anna thought of Madame Girot.
"On the other hand," she went on hesitatingly, "I do have my doubts about the dressmaker I have just visited. Madame Girot. Now, she is a Frenchwoman, although I know she has been established in London for several years. She's in great favour, all the ladies of fashion go there. But..."
"But?"
"Do you know Mrs.. Fortescue?"
His eyebrows rose. "I am slightly acquainted with Mrs. Fortescue, if we are speaking of the same woman. You have lost me, what has she to do with Madame Girot?"
"Mrs. Fortescue's first husband was a Frenchman, was he not?"
"Oh, if you are thinking of her as a French spy, I assure you that women whose husbands perished under the hands of the terror and were sent to the guillotine are most unlikely to support Bonaparte."
"You said yourself that there are traitors among the émigré families."
"Yes, and we have some information about them and keep an eye on a few of them, perhaps the younger ones who have an idealistic vision of France and think erroneously that Bonaparte points the way to a better future for their country. But I can assure you, Mrs. Fortescue has never come under any kind of suspicion."
She might be young and inexperienced in such matters, but she felt that he was wrong. Some instinct warned her that Mrs. Fortescue was not what she seemed. She must be careful, think it through in a rational manner. Was it simply that she had found the woman in Mr. Standish's arms, and felt pique and jealousy?
No. She had been shocked; even though she knew of the free and easy ways of many ladies of fashion, Mrs. Fortescue, a married woman, should not be relishing the embraces of a Mr. Standish. However, that was a moral issue. There was something else about Mrs. Fortescue that struck her as false. She was a woman with a mask, and although in a world of artificiality and artifice this was not unusual, there was more to it in her case.
Yet what use was instinct? Mr. Vere or her father would say that she was just imagining it. That she was envious of beautiful, accomplished older woman who had attracted the attention of a man she fancied.
They had arrived at her house, and once within, she went upstairs to take off her outdoor clothes, while Mr. Vere was announced to
Mortified, she murmured, "I was sure that it could not be so."
She had offended him, and regretted that the easy camaraderie and the friendship that seem to be developing between them must be jeopardized by her voicing her suspicions of him. More silence; they were turning into the street that led to her house. Reluctant to end their walk on this note, she ventured, "The lost memorandum is important is it not?"
Mr. Vere nodded. "One could say it is crucial. And that is not a word I would use lightly."
"Are there so many people in London who would wish to see the French triumph over us, even to invade?"
"Indeed, that rascal Bonaparte has eyes and ears everywhere. Many of them belong to people living in England . There are those among the émigré community who would throw their lot in with Bonaparte, and also trades people and artisans who support the regime in France . Perhaps even that milliner whose shop you have just left."
Anna laughed. "I can assure you that the milliner is not any kind of a French agent. She puts on a French accent and has assumed a French name, but her real name is Wallace. She comes from our village, we have known her forever. I am sure she has never set foot in France . So I do not think you need be seeing any danger there. However–”
Suddenly, Anna thought of Madame Girot.
"On the other hand," she went on hesitatingly, "I do have my doubts about the dressmaker I have just visited. Madame Girot. Now, she is a Frenchwoman, although I know she has been established in London for several years. She's in great favour, all the ladies of fashion go there. But..."
"But?"
"Do you know Mrs.. Fortescue?"
His eyebrows rose. "I am slightly acquainted with Mrs. Fortescue, if we are speaking of the same woman. You have lost me, what has she to do with Madame Girot?"
"Mrs. Fortescue's first husband was a Frenchman, was he not?"
"Oh, if you are thinking of her as a French spy, I assure you that women whose husbands perished under the hands of the terror and were sent to the guillotine are most unlikely to support Bonaparte."
"You said yourself that there are traitors among the émigré families."
"Yes, and we have some information about them and keep an eye on a few of them, perhaps the younger ones who have an idealistic vision of France and think erroneously that Bonaparte points the way to a better future for their country. But I can assure you, Mrs. Fortescue has never come under any kind of suspicion."
She might be young and inexperienced in such matters, but she felt that he was wrong. Some instinct warned her that Mrs. Fortescue was not what she seemed. She must be careful, think it through in a rational manner. Was it simply that she had found the woman in Mr. Standish's arms, and felt pique and jealousy?
No. She had been shocked; even though she knew of the free and easy ways of many ladies of fashion, Mrs. Fortescue, a married woman, should not be relishing the embraces of a Mr. Standish. However, that was a moral issue. There was something else about Mrs. Fortescue that struck her as false. She was a woman with a mask, and although in a world of artificiality and artifice this was not unusual, there was more to it in her case.
Yet what use was instinct? Mr. Vere or her father would say that she was just imagining it. That she was envious of beautiful, accomplished older woman who had attracted the attention of a man she fancied.
They had arrived at her house, and once within, she went upstairs to take off her outdoor clothes, while Mr. Vere was announced to
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