The Fencing Master's Daughter Page 4

  "I was asked to find the family's whereabouts and any information about their background, you say that you've known Louis Deschamps for over twenty years, could you tell me how you met?"

  Senor Vargez replenished their glasses and paused before continuing to speak.

  "I have heard of your master, the new earl, as a fine soldier and an honourable gentleman. So I will tell you what I know. I first met Louis in Rome in 1787, he was a mercenary officer working for one of the smaller dukedoms out there, cutting a fine figure in a very pretty uniform. His good looks and aristocratic bearing gave him entrée to the best houses and he supplemented his income by gambling and as a professional duellist.”

  “I was lucky enough to be present at one of his duels, his grace and strength were unbelievable, he made it look oh, so easy. His opponent was a swordsman of some standing, but Louis twice disarmed him before pinking him to a nicety. The gossip was his opponent had offended an old Count, by paying court to his mistress. Louis had, I believe, been paid a considerable sum to put the gentleman concerned out of action for a period of time. However I also heard tales he repeatedly refused commissions, where more than a minor injury was required. In his time in Rome he fought perhaps twenty duels, but he never killed his man.”

  “His name then was Louis Ducois but I do not believe that was his real name. He would have been in his late thirties then, but looked much younger. All the ladies swooned over him. Any number of wealthy widows would have welcomed him as husband, yet he fell for a girl barely out and his regard was returned. The young lady was the daughter of the British Ambassador, one Sir Geoffrey Blackstone who was far from sanguine at the connexion. The match was refused out of hand. There was no end of scandal when the two of them ran off together. I understand Sir Geoffrey cut her off without a penny to her name."

  Senor Vargez poured more sherry and summoned a servant for refreshments.

  "I heard little of Louis for some years after that, but when next I came across him it was in Vienna. He was still a mercenary but living in conjugal bliss with his radiant wife Julia. Neither of them seemed to regret their impulsive marriage and they doted on the little "poupette" Madelaine. Even as a tiny girl it was obvious she'd be one of the great beauties. He went in those days by the name of Francois Antonin. We lost touch when I left Vienna, I heard rumours they were in Budapest, then Copenhagen, even Lisbon. Apparently he was offered a Colonelcy in the New French Army, when Napoleon came to reign in France but he refused to fight for the Corsican.”

  “I heard of the death of his wife about that time, but then nothing until I saw him in London when I took a look at the new competition when he opened his salle for business. We passed the time amicably and then Madelaine came into the room and Louis made some excuse to shorten my visit. That is I think, all that I know of Louis Deschamps."

  "Why do you believe that Ducois was not his real name?"

  "Louis was far too well educated to be the usual soldier of fortune. His bearing, his manners, his natural charm all pointed to him being the scion of some great house. I think he changed his name, not because he was ashamed of it, but because in honour he sought not to besmirch it. A younger son with no money of his own, who had chosen to make his own way in life rather than hang on the coat tails of wealthier relatives. A man I respect, as an honourable gentleman of the old school, and whose daughter is a lady who deserves to be treated with respect. Tell your master that, before he embarrasses himself with making her any offers!"

  Chapter Four – Acrobatique

  Dawn was only considering raising its head from the pillow of night when Madelaine entered the salle, moving silently in the soft slippers she wore on her delicate feet. She placed the candelabra she carried on a small table and moved into the open centre. So early in the morning she wore a loose grey muslin dress, its skirt fuller and shorter than fashionable, which displayed the neat bones of her ankles and left her pretty arms bare. Her primrose hair was partially covered by a kerchief tied behind; it fell down past her hips in a thick lustrous plait.

  Taking up a pose with her feet pointed out to the sides she sank into a deep curtsey. Then rising gracefully she began a series of exercises, bending her legs gracefully into deep pliés, raising her arms into beautiful attitudes. She stepped through into pas de chats, flowing into elegant arabesques and small jêtés as she danced using the whole space of the floor. Then ending at one corner of the salle she tumbled and twisted barely touching the boards of the floor. Her acrobatics ceased just as she reached the end of the diagonal. She lowered her arms and walking briskly fetched a broom from behind a curtain and swiftly swept the salle clean, then she replaced the candles in the room's holders and moved the seats for visitors at one side until they were correctly arranged.

  Satisfied, she smiled and went to change for breakfast and her appointment at Claudette's. Whether she would have been so contented as she walked to Mayfair a little later, accompanied by Henri, if she had known that Julian was awaiting the earl's awakening to inform him of his discoveries must be left to doubt. That she had found her sleep disturbed by dreams of herself being captured, tied up and locked in only for the earl to rescue her, she put down to the reading of a gothic romance before sleeping. And perhaps the goulash Henri had served up for dinner.

  Claudette was one of the reigning modistes in town and her French accent, unlike some of her rivals, was at least genuine. If, to the ears of Madelaine, it grated occasionally with the harsh vowels of the Parisian slums, then few of her English customers would have been aware that Claudette had clawed her way up from the gutter. Even fewer would have cared. She had arrived in London some twenty years previously on the arm of an affable older gentleman whose finances were flush and whose parsimony was small. She had stayed in London by acquiring a tidy sum, generously donated by her chère-amie with which she set up her salon. The gentleman was genuinely sorry to lose her charms, but accepted the diminution of his fortune without severe regret.

  On Madelaine’s arrival at Claudette's, Henri left to visit a market to purchase provisions for the three of them. His master, Louis, had a full day of lessons ahead him, ably assisted by "Jean-Claude" whom Henri cordially despised. More correctly that elegant dandified gentleman should have been named John Claud, but he felt that in his chosen profession only a foreigner would have the correct cachet. Regrettably, his French pronunciation would fool no one who had ever visited France for more than a week. Henri grudgingly admitted his swordsmanship was adequate enough to enable him to teach the clodpole Englishmen.

  Jean-Claude was the main reason that Salle Deschamps was not the most fashionable in London in Henri's view. Henri sighed, knowing that Louis would be hard pushed to find a better assistant, one who would not make himself a damn nuisance to Madelaine. Louis had employed three assistants before Jean-Claude; the first two had burned with passionate love for Madelaine, the third had refused to accept her repeated rejection of his suit. He had been dismissed and had to be driven out with force by both Henri and Louis. Jean-Claude had one special attribute that allowed him to remain in Louis's employ, his total indifference to the fair sex, a quality however that some of the young gentlemen’s fathers did not champion and were not entirely comfortable with.

  Claudette was a tiny bundle of energy, whose naturally curling auburn hair, now benefited from some efficient lotion which would convince most observers that no grey had a place there. Her figure was trim and she wore a tiny delicate lace cap upon her luscious ringlets. Her maquillage was smoothly immaculate, allowing very few of the ravages of age to show. In a good light she might pass for only thirty years old. Her true age was nearly double that, but she found no difficulties attracting younger men to escort her in her leisure. She wore a simple toile in dove-grey trimmed with black ribbons and lace that enhanced her pale complexion and unusual hair colouring. Having employed Madelaine since her arrival in London, she valued her tiny stitches and precise embroidery.

  Claudette would have been overjoyed to
employ Madelaine full time, but Madelaine could earn more from her private work, so the modiste employed Madelaine whenever she had time to spare. Surprisingly the little season had been exceptionally busy with several debutantes selecting their trousseaux and a large number of the ton's most affluent matrons, updating their wardrobes from Claudette's salon. Swamped with work, Claudette had begged Madelaine for as much assistance as she could offer. Claudette considerably increased the miserable piece work price especially for Madelaine's expertise. Claudette knew she could rely on her to produce perfect work without supervision and Madelaine's designs were every bit as modish as her own inventions.

  Madelaine had confided in the older woman, when she first found some private work; that she planned to open her own salon, when she could eventually raise the money. Claudette had long been considering retiring back home to France, only the continuing war prevented her return. It would take many years’ hard work sewing for Madelaine to afford to set up even a tiny shop of her own. Claudette was well aware that Madelaine had whistled away several well-heeled would-be lovers. Claudette found it hard to comprehend that Madelaine would prefer to work so hard, when with a carte blanche she could have been set up for life in less than half the time. Madelaine was fond of Claudette, so did not retort she would rather earn her own living than sell herself to the highest bidder.

  While Madelaine settled down in Claudette’s upstairs work room to a morning of cutting out several fetching day dresses from an array of sprigged and spotted muslins, before helping Claudette's employees, Nicola, Mary-Jane and her other girls to stitch them together. By the end of the day between them half a dozen of Claudette's simple, but modish, creations would be complete, leaving Claudette and her mannequin Annabel to mind the salon.

  Annabel was a bubbly brunette with a heart-shaped face and clear blue eyes which lit up her face when she smiled. She was just a touch more curvaceous than Madelaine and an inch shorter. When the end of the working day arrived and she departed the salon there would be two or more young bucks waiting at the door, seeking her time and attentions. Annabel's position was not exactly arduous, mainly displaying the gowns to customers and smiling prettily in the background whilst Claudette flattered her customers. Whilst Madelaine, Nicola and Mary-Jane and the other girls slogged through the fine seam sewing and embroidery to finish Claudette's orders, Claudette found time to design a truly magnificent wedding dress for the soon-to-be Lady Coverham, between arranging for fittings of already prepared garments and advising customers on the latest modes that the well-dressed lady must be seen wearing.

  ***

  Edward felt considerably better when he descended to break his fast. Jenkins personally served him.

  “Patrice has made kippers as you requested, my lord. A ‘Mr Griggs’ arrived earlier. He said he knew you from the army and was here at your request, sir, but Mister Julian swept him off to the library. I hope that was all right.”

  “Thank you that is fine, Jenkins. I think I will have coddled eggs first and then a pair of kippers, please.”

  “I looked into the library half an hour ago and they seemed deeply involved in something, because Mister Julian barely answered me, my lord,” Jenkins said deeply aggrieved that his condescension had been rebuffed.

  “Very good, Jenkins,” his lordship declared as he swiftly dispatched the eggs and got down to the much anticipated kippers. He knew he had deeply offended Patrice’s professional pride, by insisting on their production, but was fairly unconcerned about his hot-blooded chef’s moods.

  Julian and Charlie Griggs were conversing conspiratorially in low tones as Edward entered the library. They moved sharply apart as if discovered in the blackest of conspiracies.

  “Good morning, my lord. Did you sleep well? Mr Griggs and I have much to report.” Julian declared, when he recovered his aplomb.

  Edward shook Charlie’s hand, before seating himself comfortably by the fire.

  “I am all ears, gentlemen. Please tell me of your discoveries.”

  Charlie Griggs, nodded to Julian giving him the floor.

  “I had very little trouble locating Mademoiselle Deschamps, which is the name she goes by here. I visited a couple of fencing salles and got lucky on my second call. I mentioned the young lady and her father to Senor Vargez and he admitted to having known the family for over twenty years.” Julian paused for effect, allowing Edward to savour the information.

  “So did you discover where they live?” Edward asked eagerly.

  “Apparently Louis Deschamps, her father has a salle in Beak Street and they live above shop. Although Senor Vargez has known Louis under a number of different names, none of which he believes is the original. Senor Vargez was rather expansive, but it appears that Louis Deschamps has an interesting history.”

  “I am surprised Senor Vargez, was prepared to reveal so much if the man is a fraudster! I thought his daughter conducted herself very much as a lady,” Edward retorted, feeling somewhat disappointed to have misjudged her.

  “I believe you were correct in your original opinion, my lord. Senor Vargez very definitely asked me to warn you off offering her a carte blanche. He did not suggest Louis was a swindler or anything like that. He seemed to consider him a friend. They apparently met in Rome over twenty years ago, when Louis was then a mercenary, who supplemented his income by gambling and as a professional duellist. He waxed lyrical about Louis’ fencing skills, having watched one duel. He said Louis had been a better fencer than himself and had been taught by Messieurs Texier de la Boessiere, pere et fils,”

  “Which may be good credentials for a fencing master, but it does not mean that this Louis is not a charlatan!”

  “He went on to say Louis had eloped with the daughter of Sir Geoffrey Blackstone, who was English Ambassador. The old curmudgeon cut her off without a penny, but it seems they were deliriously happy. They moved around Europe a great deal, Vienna, Budapest, Spain and the Low Countries, changing their names a number of times. Anyway, he said the little girl obviously would be a great beauty even as a little girl. He described her as having pale blonde hair and green eyes.”

  “Mademoiselle Deschamps has green eyes. So the mother was respectable, even if they created a scandal. I can’t see Sir Blackstone lending his granddaughter countenance. He is a fairly unpleasant man, who is most unsuited to diplomacy.”

  “Vargez believed Louis was respectable too. Says he was over educated for a soldier of fortune, but acted like the younger son of some noble house. He thought Louis had chosen to make his own way in life so as not to hang on as a pensioner. He believed Louis changed his name to save his family embarrassment. Apparently Bonaparte offered him a Colonelcy and he refused to fight for him, that must be in his favour?”

  “I will have to meet this ‘Louis’ to consider the truth of that. You say, Vargez told you to warn me off?”

  “Told me a story about a young lord, refused to name him, who had pursued the lady. His presents were returned and when he pushed his suit too far, she apparently kicked him there and had him at the point of a naked foil. Henri then weighed in and belaboured the wretch until he retreated.”

  “Now that I can well believe, she definitely is an expert swordswoman.” Edward was relieved to hear of Madelaine’s defence of her virtue. If as it appeared Madelaine was as chaste as he had supposed, then marriage would be the only answer. At least if Senor Vargez was correct, her mother had acceptable birth and he would hope Louis Deschamps' birth would prove to be respectable too. That would solve both the ache in his loins and go some way towards an adequate reward for his rescue. Some settlement could be made to provide for Louis or if Madelaine preferred he could live with them at Chalcombe House, it was large enough, after all, to include one elderly French gentleman. Edward confidently assured himself; mother would come round, as there was no real need for him to marry money. At least she could not complain he did not intend to get married. As Julian seemed to have told most of what he knew, Charlie began to fill the earl i
n on his hunt for his assailants.

  “I greased a few palms in the flash-houses and gin shops round the docks and rougher areas of town, sir. Turns out the three had some notoriety among the rookeries. They were indubitably identified from your lordship’s description. The dead blackguard was one Tommy Warren, a small time crook and bully boy. The man with the tricorn hat was named Herbert Cramp and their leader was the ginger feller. He is called Eustace Percival Tucker, though most of his cronies sarcastically call him Stacks. He was heard persuading the other two it would be worth their while to do a “special job” with him.”

  “Peculiar nickname, any idea how he got it?” The earl asked intrigued.

  “His moniker’s a corruption of Eustace with a mocking reference to his repeating, that whichever felonious activity he was engaged in, would earn him ‘Stacks.’ He’s sherried off from his digs in Bermondsey owing rent. Never done a day’s work in his life, but his ken was so squalid he can’t be a successful criminal. Cramp dossed with his lightskirt in Cheapside. He piked off with a few possessions and fled on the mail coach to York that night. I’ve put the word out that I’m seeking information on his destination. His slattern of a doxy is back plying her trade, but she particularised his crimes for a pint of gin and a guinea. She said ‘‘er ‘Erbert’ declined to say where he was going and her last sight of him was his fist. Which the colourful shiner she had, attested to.”

  Edward strangled a laugh and coughed a little at the combination of cant and ponderous words which Sergeant Briggs would never have used before. He assumed Charlie was trying to acquire a little polish, now he was settled back home.

  “Stacks has covered his tracks better than Cramp, but I’ll find where he has gone to ground. I’m sure when I loosen a few more tongues, he’ll turn up like a bad penny.”