The Soldier's Dark Secret

‘I was worried it would be too much.’ Jack rolled his eyes. ‘I know I have no right or need to manage you, but it’s a habit that’s rather engrained into officers, this managing. Are you ready?’

‘That sounds ominous.’ Celeste sat back down beside him and poured herself another inch of cognac. Jack had not touched his. She lifted the glass and took a sip. ‘I’m ready.’

‘Right. Well, in 1794 Arthur Derwent was sent on a secret mission to France to rescue a number of well-to-do Englishmen and women from the Terror, including one Blythe Wilmslow. Three out of the four people on his list returned safely but Blythe did not, and nor did Arthur. According to the file, they both died in Paris that same year, 1794.’

Celeste’s mouth fell open. She set her cognac glass down untouched. ‘You must be making this up. It is too fantastical. A spy despatched to carry out a daring rescue of my mother. It is like something from a lurid novel.’

‘I assure you, it’s in the file in black and white. France was an extremely risky place to be for a member of the English aristocracy at that time. The dangers were all too real.’

‘Maman’s parents, this Lord and Lady Wilmslow, they must have been besides themselves with worry. I don’t understand, Jack—if France was so dangerous for Maman then why did she stay?’

Jack shook his head. ‘You’re right, it doesn’t make sense, but there’s nothing more in the file. We can, however, deduce one rather important fact.’

‘Jack, I am an artist, not a code-breaker. What is this important fact?’

‘For good or bad, Arthur Derwent could not possibly have been your father. He went to France in 1794. You were already four years old.’

Celeste clutched at her brow. ‘You must think I am an idiot.’

‘On the contrary. You have an enormous amount to take in, that’s all.’

‘But then why did my mother have this man’s signet ring? Did he really die or did he too disappear, like Maman seems to have done? And when did Henri come into the picture?’

Jack shrugged. ‘I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, but I know where we should start looking. It’s just a hunch. No, it’s more than that. Call it an educated guess.’

‘What is?’

‘That the answer lies in France. In your mother’s house in Cassis.’

Chapter Twelve

South of France—October 1815,

one month later

Celeste stood on the deck of the small blue-and-white fishing boat as they made their way into Cassis harbour after the short sea journey along the coast from Marseilles. A weak morning sun glinted off the familiar white cliffs. The sea was the same colour as the central stone in her locket. The sun dappling the water, the tang of salt, and of this morning’s catch, mingled with that herby scent she could not define but was the essence of the south, combined to fill her senses.

It was strange to be speaking her own language again, more strange to hear the rough dialect of Provence. She had forgotten how very beautiful it was here, and how much she loved the sea. Dread had been her primary emotion on every visit she could recall as an adult, and there had been blessed few of them. The last time, it had been to bury her mother. Today, she thought to herself with a sad smile, she was here to try to finally bury the past along with her.

The fishing boat bumped against the harbour wall. The fisherman jumped on to the jetty and tied up. Jack lifted their few bits of luggage out of the boat before helping Celeste out.

As he paid the man, talking easily in his excellent French, Celeste stood on the jetty, looking up at the village which ran along the edge of the shore. It had never felt like home, but today there was a sense of homecoming. She was excited to be here. She was a little daunted. She was afraid that despite Jack’s assurance that there was always something which had been overlooked, that they would reach another dead end.

He was still talking to the fisherman. His face was tanned from their days at sea, for he had spent much of their journey to Marseilles up on deck. He had explained their trip to Sir Charles as army business in such a way that his brother immediately assumed it was also cloak-and-dagger business. With the advantage of Celeste having met Wellington, he mendaciously informed his brother that the Duke himself insisted that she accompany him on this mysterious mission as part of his cover. Sir Charles was entirely unconvinced, but refrained from saying so, content to indulge Jack in the hope that whatever the purpose of his trip, it would aid his recuperation.