Page 77 of The Count’s Charade

“Only too likely much of what you’ll be in a position to impart will be of value to our English authorities.”

An assurance that the count might count himself safe hereafter culminated, perhaps inevitably, in an invitation to stay as Sir James’s guest at Rainham Lodge until he should have taken his proper place in Society.

Grace, intent upon securing Henri’s safety, demanded to know what Sir James meant to say to the Frenchman Loriot and his compatriots.

“I shall inform them of my decision, naturally, and request them to quit the area forthwith.”

This was scarcely satisfactory. “And if they do not? What is to stop them coming after Henri in secret?”

Sir James became haughty. “They had better try!”

Impatience gnawed at Grace. “They will try, Sir James! Henri will never be safe as long as they are in England.”

“Then we’d best get them out, hadn’t we?” said Sir James on a hearty note. “Don’t fret yourself into flinders, my dear. I’ll have them escorted by the militia, who will see them on to the first ship bound for France.”

With this, Grace was obliged to content herself, particularly as Henri added his own reassurance. “Already they have been long absent from their post in France. If they know I remain here, it is not worth the pain to pursue me further.”

“I think I can vouch for that,” put in Sir James. “I shall inform them that the Comte de Rousselle is now under English protection, and they attempt his life at their peril.”

Grace’s fears lingered. She did not believe she would feel convinced until she knew Loriot and the other two had gone. Thinking it over on the journey home in Sir James’s carriage, driven by his groom, it had occurred to Grace that once Henri moved on to London, there would be less opportunity for his compatriots to come at him, if they did return to pursue him. Which thought now brought home to her the deeper consequences of Henri’s secret identity.

What had Grace Dovercourt to do with the Comte de Rousselle? If she had before determined not to let him be entrapped by the accident of their coupling, the matter assumed greater significance now. A preposterous vision attacked her, of herself on Henri’s arm, clumping into a roomful of fashionably dressed men and women.

Impossible! Were he to suggest such a future, unlikely though that was, Grace had too great a sense of her own inadequacy to allow herself to be dragged therein. The gulf between them yawned wide, and Grace became conscious of an incipient headache to accompany the bodily ills of which she was already too much aware.

She was glad to be alone, for she was too heartsore to have patience with Jemima’s fussing. The maid had rushed out of the house upon her arrival, and there had been no way to avoid a recounting of all that had passed. Once had been bad enough, but when Grace was obliged to repeat it all for Mab’s benefit in the late afternoon, she had kept from flying into a temper only by the narrowest of margins.

Absurd to be so touchy. No self-deceiver, Grace knew her ill temper was to be laid at the door of her unhappiness. It was the root also of her displeasure with herself. To feel Henri to be safe ought to be joy and balm to her. Only he was as surely lost to her safe and alive as if he had perished at the hands of his enemies. Which hideous dichotomy made her so angry in the midst of her despair that she knew not how to live with herself.

Nor could she contemplate with any sense of pleasure a return to the normality of day-to-day life. She had been wholly contented with her lot before the advent of Henri Rousselle. Now nothing could be more humdrum. It was unbelievable her life had changed so drastically in two short weeks. The thought of picking up where she had left off — there was work aplenty piled up in her bureau — was anathema.

Yet it was not the work. It was rather the realisation of emptiness in her life. It was the newfound loneliness, the isolation. In short, it was life without Henri.

Worse than this, was the instinct that told her he would be back. He would return, because he had compromised her. He would return, and Grace must send him away.

It would be so easy to welcome him. To accept whatever he was willing to offer. She was not proud. Willingly would she live with him — in sin, if need be. She would exult in possession, accept of his passion, until it inevitably waned. Why was it impossible to let him stay until he wearied of her? Why had she to be marooned by the social mores of her peers? Useless to rail against them, for Henri would never consent to reduce her to the status of his mistress. While she, loving him desperately, could not consent to the sacrifice of matrimony.

Grace would have wished to face the confrontation sooner, fearing her resolve might be eroded by delay. But Thursday wearied on, and Henri did not come.

Dragged down by exhaustion, she slept heavily, but felt little rested next day. The aches had lessened, though they rendered movement more than usually difficult. Which served to drive Grace to the edge of intolerance, tied as she was more or less to the chair at her bureau as the locals came calling, rendering Friday hideous. Just as had occurred when first the rumours had begun of Henri and she being lovers, the revelation of Henri’s aristocracy brought the curious to Wonts.

“I’m that sorry as I were one o’ those as been obliged to hunt him down,” mourned Billy Oaken. “I hopes as you’ll tell him it weren’t my blame, Miss Grace, for I’d like fine to make shoes fer him if’n he thinks to stay roundabouts.”

This last said with a leery look at Grace, as much as to suggest Henri must inevitably settle at Wonts.

Staply the schoolmaster, next in line, had at least the decency to bring a request for a précis of a long essay he wished his students to read. His purpose was revealed in an anxiety to ensure he had the degree of Henri’s title accurately.

“I heard he was a count or a viscount, and I shouldn’t wish to insult him with an incorrect title, Miss Grace. Mean to say, there’s a vast difference between an earl and a viscount, ain’t there?”

Grace confirmed the degree, adding that Henri was unlikely to be a stickler for protocol. “He is not in the least pretentious, Mr Staply, for he has for years past been living a plain life in Paris. I doubt he will wish to be known by any other title than Mister Henry, in the unlikely event he remains in the area.”

She was glad to see doubt enter the schoolmaster’s face, and could only hope he would see fit to pass on her comments. It was less easy to deflect the shopkeeper Mr Holwell, who knew a good deal more than Grace herself.

“I heard tell as Sir James be at pains to introduce his lordship to the nobs round about. Leastways, afore he goes off to London, where he’s to find his like among them émigrés. Quite a colony there is, as I heard tell, and all in the top rank o’ society, even as they don’t have no money.”

Since this was precisely the future Grace had postulated for Henri, she ought to have been gratified to hear of its occurrence. On the contrary, it only added to the depression weighing on her spirits. These were not improved when Reuben appeared, expecting to find Henri in need of his services.

“Ain’t he come yet, Miss Grace? I’d ha’ thought he’d ha’ been here yesterday. When he do come, be sure and tell him as I’m at his service if’n he needs me.”