Jane and the Damned (11 page)

“This is not a game, ma’am,” the colonel said. “Neither is it a fit pursuit for ladies …” He paused as she parted her lips and displayed herself
en sanglant.

“You think not, sir?” She rose in one fluid, graceful movement, pushing the beautiful young man aside. He slumped against the arm of the sofa, eyes closed, a smile on his lips.

“Clarissa!”

She ignored Luke’s warning and approached the colonel with a sinuous, predatory stride. “Try me, Colonel.”

He looked alarmed. “Ma’am, I …”

In a moment Clarissa had felled him, her slender hands holding
his wrists, pinioning him to the floor. “Not a fit pursuit for ladies, sir? Can you escape?” Her gaze was on his neck.

“Enough, Clarissa!” Luke strode forward and grasped her arm.

She raised her head and snarled at him.

“Let him go, Clarissa.” Again, that familiar voice from the far shadows of the room.

Clarissa rose to her feet, looking distinctly sulky, and returned to the couch.

Colonel Poulett stood and brushed off his uniform. “I understand you perfectly, ma’am. Yet even your immortality will not withstand the effects of a cannon shot. War is not a polite business, ma’am, and neither is it an entertainment.”

Clarissa’s lip curled. “My words, sir, indicated there was no alternative for us. We are obliged to drive out the French, for we have our own quarrel with them for what they have done to our kind. You are correct, Colonel. We can survive neither cannon shot nor Madame la Guillotine.”

“So we are decided, then? Does any of us wish to speak further?” Luke waited for a response.

“What do we gain from this?” A handsome fair-haired man strolled forward. A woman, her loosened gown revealing most of her bosom, hung on his arm, a dazed smile on her face. “And surely you do not expect us to fight alongside the rabble of the town?”

“Your reward will be the satisfaction of knowing you have done your duty and the thanks of a grateful nation,” Poulett replied. “As for the rabble of the town, as you call them, I assure you there are plenty of them who are equally ill at ease in fighting alongside the Damned. You will have to make the best of it, sir.” Jane could see he was doing his best not to stare at the woman’s exposed breasts.

“So we will receive no reward of a more material nature?”

“Pray do not be so vulgar, James. This is a matter of honor.” Luke glared at the speaker, and then stepped forward and pulled the woman’s gown into place. She giggled and tipped her head to one side, presenting her neck to him.

“His Majesty may well be prepared to consider something of the sort,” Poulett said. “That is entirely out of my control, sir.”

James shrugged and hoisted the woman into a more upright position as she began a slow slide toward the floor. “This one proves tedious. I tire of her.”

“Revive her, else she’ll be dead by morning,” Luke said. “Are we in agreement, brothers and sisters?”

A chorus of “ayes” resounded through the room, followed by a silence when Luke asked if any dissented.

“Excellent. England thanks you,” Colonel Poulett said, and then addressed Luke. “I must leave you now, sir. I have to negotiate the terms of our surrender.” He bowed and turned away. His face showed despair and exhaustion, and Jane, feeling as though she had intruded on his most intimate thoughts, looked away.

But she could wait no longer. She pushed through the room—a dance set was forming, the musicians having picked up their instruments—and to the double doors that stood open revealing a card room. Mr. Smith, in shirtsleeves and silk breeches, sat at a table with some others, frowning at the cards in his hand. James, with his female companion clinging to his arm, passed by Jane and took his place at the same table.

As Jane approached Mr. Smith placed a handful of gaming pieces on the table.

“Sir!”

He looked at her and there was a moment of recognition before his face became a polite mask. He gave his companions a knowing smile and turned his attention to his cards.

“Mr. Smith, what is this? Why do you not speak to me?”

He laid his cards on the table. “Madam, I regret I do not have the honor of your acquaintance.”

“But—but you do. Do you not remember? You—”

“Pretty enough, if somewhat green,” one of the others at the table commented. “Your play, I believe, William. James, why do you not give that girl to her to deal with?”

“An excellent idea.” James shoved the half-conscious girl off his lap and toward Jane. The girl giggled and wrapped her arms around Jane’s waist. “Here, make yourself useful. Revive her.”

Jane disentangled the girl from her, pulled the descending gown into place, and shoved her onto a nearby chair. “Mr. Smith—”

“What is this, Jane?” Luke joined them. “William, your charge is safe? Excellent. Come, Jane, do not bother the gentlemen.”

“Stop treating me as though I am a child!” She shook off his hand. “This is he. This is Mr. Smith.”

“On the contrary, ma’am, my name is William and I do not believe we have ever met, although I am delighted you wish to spend some time with me. After the game, of course.” He turned his attention to the table.

Luke looked from Jane to William and his face hardened. “To my study, sir, if you please. You too, Jane.”

William stood and his chair tipped backward with a thud onto the fine carpet. “You do not have the authority to speak to me so, Luke.”

Luke’s canines lengthened. “I care not for age and rank. What you have done may well undermine us all in these perilous times. Have you forgotten France already? Your memory will be refreshed, I am sure, when a guillotine is erected and the
tricouleur
flies above every town in England.” He turned to Jane with an irritable air. “You should not be
en sanglant
in polite company, if you please. It is most improper. Correct yourself.”

“This is polite society? I do beg your pardon. As for my teeth, I regret they seem to have a mind of their own.”

“Good God, you know nothing yet and I am to blame. Come with me.”

She dodged away from him before he could take her arm, and walked with him through the tables of card players and the dancers, into the hall, and into a room at the back of the house. Recent signs of male activity were in evidence—Luke’s coat flung over a chair, the scent of tobacco, a half-full bottle of claret and two empty glasses. A map of the city lay on the desk.

“Sit, if you please.” Luke bent to light a spillikin at the fire and touched it to an oil lamp that sat on the desk. William, who had followed them, stalked to the fireplace and kicked at the coals.

The room filled with light, allowing Jane to see once again the features that had so enchanted her at the Basingstoke assembly, the handsome aquiline nose and sensual mouth, the piercing dark eyes and straight brows. She remembered his mouth on hers, and yearned for him to touch her or even acknowledge her, but he stared resolutely into the glowing heart of the coals.

Luke propped himself on the edge of the desk and sat, one foot swinging. “This is a fine predicament, William. She’s fed from me. If we had time it would be a different matter, but the French are underfoot and I have other business on my mind.”

“I regret I too am otherwise occupied.” William shrugged. “I cannot be Bearleader to both, and the other is of the greatest importance.”

“Why did you do it?” Jane asked.

Both men turned and stared at Jane as though she had spoken out of turn, and it struck her that she probably had, by their standards.

“Was it for sport?” she continued. “You thought so little of
me that you used me and abandoned me? Knowing you had another—another engagement? I know, that is the wrong word; you know my meaning, I think. You have damned me and made me a stranger to my family—oh, good God, they do not know where I am. I must return immediately.”

“Do not agitate yourself,” Luke said with slightly more kindness than he had shown so far. “I have sent them a note explaining that my sister and I passed by in our carriage and persuaded you to dine with us.”

“In the middle of a battle?” Jane said, incredulous.

“Yes, with you wandering out to take the air wearing your servant’s clothing. Most strange, is it not? But to return to our problem, William, I have taken her on and you know there will be difficulties. Regard how she yearns for you.”

“I beg your pardon, sir, I am able to speak for myself, and I assure you I do not yearn for anyone!”

Luke ignored her. “The bond between me and her barely exists. She has drunk from me once and now you reappear. Her metamorphosis will be difficult at best. She may never reach her full strength.”

William shrugged. “It was the whim of a moment. I needed to dine, I found her charming and pretty, and I created her. May I remind you, my dear sir, of the most urgent business which I undertook for the sake of Britain?”

Luke shook his head. “We’ll talk later, William. I am afraid you are stuck with me, Jane.”

“No, I am not. I am here to take the cure and that is what I shall do. I hope the French will allow the sick to take the waters. If not, then I shall die.” She stood. “Thank you for your hospitality, sir. I must return home. I want to be with my family. I want my sister.”

“Oh, good God, tears.” Luke shoved a handkerchief into her hand. “Well, it might be for the best. I am afraid you might not be cut out to be one of us after all. I shall see you home.”

In silence they left the house.

“We seem always to be saying farewell, Jane,” Luke said as they approached the house. The body of the soldier still lay on the street. “I shall remove the corpse for you lest it cause your family any embarrassment. I regret I failed you.”

“You did not.” She hesitated. “Thank Clarissa for the loan of her gown. I shall return it soon. Thank you, and I wish you well, Luke.”

Jane prowled the bedchamber, pausing to stroke the delicate fabric of Clarissa’s gown, which now lay crumpled on the bed. She half imagined a faint odor of blood, even a scent of Luke himself, rose from the garment. She glanced down in distaste at the gown she had changed into, a modest striped cotton day dress that was once a favorite but now seemed dull and unbecoming. But it was not only a desire for finery that caused her restlessness. She needed to feed again, and yet in a matter of hours she would go to the Pump Room and take the waters for her cure. Cassandra had taken one look at her this morning and fled, muttering that she would see about some beef tea, if there were any beef in the house, and how would they buy food with all these Frenchmen in the city.

Downstairs there was a commotion, a loud banging at the door and shouting, male voices raised in anger, and the clump of booted feet in the hall. Something fell over with a crash.

Her father’s voice and her mother’s sobs joined the hubbub. Jane could make out some French words. So they were in the house! How dared they!

She ran downstairs to find her parents with a French officer and a couple of soldiers in the hall, a side table lying smashed on the floor, and much shouting. The footman leaned against the wall, bleeding from the mouth.

She looked away quickly, but it was too late. Already she hungered, becoming
en sanglant.
She raised a hand to her mouth and touched the exquisitely tender, aching canines, which retracted beneath her fingertip.
See, Luke, I don’t need you after all.

“What is it, sir?” she asked, touching her father’s sleeve.

“Some problem, I believe—this officer is asking for your aunt and uncle. I don’t know what to do, Jane.” He shook his head.

The officer addressed her in rapid French, too fast for her to understand, and he seemed to have some sort of regional accent that made his words even more unintelligible. He thrust a handful of papers at her that carried the pungent scent of printers’ ink. She leafed through them. “They are our identity papers. We must carry them at all times, but he needs to write in our names. I believe he is confused because we do not own or lease this house. And this … this says the officer is to be quartered with us. He is Captain Jean-Auguste Garonne.”

She explained in French that the owners of the house were not in residence. The captain frowned at her and she was struck by his youth—he could not be much older than she—and the exhaustion and the nervous energy that drove him like a man might ride a foundering horse. He must have been awake all night, if not for several nights.

“Some ink and paper, then,” Garonne said. To Jane’s surprise, his English, despite his uncouth, unshaven appearance and his uniform soiled with smoke and blood, was quite good, if hesitant.

His mouth tight, Mr. Austen led the way into the study, where Garonne sat at the desk, carelessly pushing papers aside. Jane spelled out their names.

“Here, ma’amselle. It is spelled correctly, no? You take these. You are safe. Do not forget them.”

“But we have only one paper, in my name, for the whole family,” Mr. Austen said.

“So? You will manage, monsieur.” Garonne yawned. “Later I shall make more. Now I sleep. My men, they sleep too. Your house will have food now I am here.”