That night her sleep was tormented by nightmares. First she relived the mad careening in the carriage, then her dreams fled back to the past, and she was once again in St. Helena, a young girl full of the excitement of meeting a famous figure. She stood on a hillside and watched the exiled emperor and his entourage of a half dozen walk up from the direction of the cliffs overlooking the ocean.
She knew that Napoleon often went there to gaze out at the horizon, chafing at his need to escape. Now he came to where she was standing and his intelligent face brightened and he halted and chatted with her. But he did not discuss the things which he had discussed with her on the island. Now he was warning her not to interfere with his plans, not to oppose Valmy.
“You cannot change my destiny!” he told her in a reproachful tone.
She ran from him in tears, not able to face his strong condemnation. Then she was in a dark wood, and the huge, menacing figure of Parson Midland appeared out of the bushes, and whip in hand he came after her. She cried out in fear, and he lashed her with the whip. She ran, and he followed her, breathing heavily. Then she stumbled over a tree root and sprawled forward on her face and hands. The fat man caught up to her and striving for breath lifted the ugly snake whip again and brought it down across her back!
Betsy screamed with pain, and the scream brought her awake. She stared up into the grayness of the growing dawn and wished for morning — and an end to such nightmares.
When she went down for breakfast, Felix Black was still at the table. As she joined the thin man, he gave her a concerned glance.
He said, “You look weary. Did you not sleep well?”
“I slept badly,” she admitted.
“You had an evening filled with strain,” he agreed. “I did not expect the attempted abduction. Just facing your stepfather must have been difficult enough.”
“I had a great desire to scream at him,” she said, “especially when he showed a lustful interest in me and tried to barter with Major Walters for my company.”
“Your stepfather is a dissolute man.”
“And I gathered from what he said he’d still have me marry that dreadful Lord Dakin, if that old man would have me,” she said with disgust.
“So it is still imperative you get away from England,” the master spy said.
“I cannot go back home. And I dare not remain in London. So I have little choice.”
“This adventure will take your mind from these troubles,” the man in black assured her.
She paused over her dish of oatmeal. “Do you expect any of us to return alive?” she asked bluntly.
“Did last night upset you so?”
“I know how near we came to being violently dealt with.”
Black stared down at his empty plate. “There is always the chance of death in this rather dangerous business.”
“I no longer doubt that,” she said.
He fixed his steely eyes on her and said, “But I’m not asking you to do anything more risky than I once undertook as a younger man.”
“You were a secret agent?”
“I did not become director of the British service without experience. I rose from the ranks. I started very humbly as an agent.”
Betsy said, “You must have shown great talent.”
“Let us say I outlived most of my contemporaries in this most dangerous game,” he said. “I also have been dedicated. I believe in what I have done.”
“This Valmy,” she said. “What sort of man is he?”
“Fascinating character,” Black said. “A student of history who became an officer in Napoleon’s army. He is one of those few who survived the retreat from Moscow. After the defeat of the emperor had changed everything, this Valmy threw himself into politics. He is now leader of a large secret society, and he is also popular with the veterans of the grand army. And there are many of them.”
“He can well be the one to rally these groups together in a new cause,” she deduced from what had been said. “He cannot be an old man?”
“He is comparatively young. In his mid-thirties and possessed of great charm,” the master spy told her. “If you come face-to-face with him, you will not see him as a threat to European peace but as an extremely attractive, intelligent male.”
“I shall remember that,” she promised.
“Also remember that he is ruthless! The attempt on you last night was only a beginning. He has in his hands a tired and malleable Napoleon whom he hopes to use as a standard-bearer. He will let nothing stand in his way.”
Betsy said, “And he has the appeal to take the aging emperor’s place when his planned assassination happens.”
“That is the plot in a nutshell,” Black said. “Then all Europe will have to deal with a young fanatic at the peak of his power. The War Office may live to regret its stupidity if our counterplan should fail.”
“We sail tomorrow morning?”
“Yes,” the old man said. “You will leave the house tonight and board the ship in darkness. You will be there when she sails. So you have spent your last night under my roof.”
“I have felt safe here,” she said.
He shook his head. “That is an illusion. Valmy’s men can reach anywhere.”
“Then you will not be safe!”
“I know I’m needed to head the project,” the old spy said. “I shall do all I can to protect myself. And you must keep your pistol close by at all times, and do not forget that you have a special gift with the sword.”
“I hardly think Major Walters approves of my fencing.”
“That is unimportant,” he said. “I have the feeling you and he are beginning to understand each other better.”
“I admire him for his courage.”
“He has plenty of it.”
“And he is a gentleman.”
“Without a question.”
She hesitated over her teacup. “But there is still that shadow of the past. It keeps a barrier between us.”
“I do not think the barrier exists on his part.”
She glanced at the old master spy. “You’re saying it is all on mine?”
“I believe so.”
“I don’t agree,” she said. “Deep down I’m sure he feels guilt and regret for what happened to my brother. I think I could forgive him more easily if he admitted to error and asked my forgiveness directly.”
Felix Black considered this for a moment and then said, “Would you want him to pretend to feel a remorse that he cannot know? He maintains he was not guilty of bad judgment, and knowing him, I doubt if he was.”
She sat back in her chair with a sigh. “I fear we are on opposite sides in this.”
“I will not belabor it.”
“Thank you,” she said. “And for my part I shall strive to work with Major Walters as if there was not this trouble between us.”
“That is the most I can hope for,” the old man said. And he rose from the table. “It is a pleasant sunny day. I have a garden area out back. There are no flowers yet, but you should go out for a stroll and enjoy the sun. It may make you feel better.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Later she accepted his suggestion. Putting on her cloak and going out through the rear of the house to the brick-walled garden area, she noted that the wall was above her head so it provided good protection against intruders. Not that they couldn’t easily scale it if they wished, but at least it gave a degree of privacy.
She was strolling rather aimlessly in the sunshine when she heard a step on the gravel walk behind her. Her nerves on edge, she whirled around swiftly to see who it was. She was relieved to find that it was a friend, Dr. Barry Edward O’Meara.
The doctor’s curly brown hair was blowing slightly in the light morning breeze in the garden. He said, “I came to see you before your leaving. So you’re sailing in the morning?”
“Yes,” she said. “We have had to push ahead our plans.”
“So Felix Black told me,” the robust Irish doctor said. “I’m worried about you.”
She smiled. “Do you think the mission so dangerous?”
“I do,” he said solemnly.
“You are a disciple of Napoleon these days,” she said. “Your books all praise him.”
“I wrote praise of a dead emperor.”
“And now it seems he may be alive.”
“God save us! Yes,” the emotional Irishman said, his pleasant face showing worry.
“If you fear him, why didn’t you enlist with us to help find out whether he is truly alive?” she asked.
Dr. Barry O’Meara gave her a strange look. “Perhaps because I have lately come by information indicating he may be alive.”
She stared at him. “You know something more than you’ve told Felix Black, don’t you?”
The Irish doctor nodded. “I think he may be in Europe and that he will reign as emperor again.”
BETSY WAS shocked by her old friend’s words. Her lovely oval face clouded. She asked him, “If you think that, why do you not join in with Felix Black?”
The Irish doctor shook his head. “No. I cannot do that. I can never work under him again. But I mean to carry on an investigation of my own.”
“To find out the truth about this man, supposedly Napoleon?”
“Yes. I think I can do much better on my own.” He gave her a warning look. “But do not tell Felix Black of my plan. He would consider it an act against him.”
“Is it?”
Dr. O’Meara shrugged. “Perhaps. But if this man who Valmy has brought forth is truly Napoleon, I will know. And I will warn him that he is caught between enemy forces. I will try and help him gain true freedom.”
She frowned. “You don’t trust Felix Black?”
“No more than I do Valmy,” the Irish doctor told her. “It is my belief that in the end both Black and Valmy will want the former emperor dead. I want to see him alive.”
“I think Felix Black means him no harm,” she said.
“Do not be too sure,” O’Meara warned her. “I have known Black longer than you. When he believes he is right, he is even willing to sacrifice his best friend. As far as he is concerned, the end justifies the means. That was always his policy at the Foreign Office. I think it will be the same now.”
“I’m pledged to become his agent,” she said.
“I wish you well,” Barry Edward O’Meara said gravely.
“We are leaving tomorrow morning,” she said. “What about you?”
“I shall leave sooner. Perhaps our paths will cross somewhere in Europe.”
“They should,” she said. “We each have the same quarry.”
He nodded. “Who could have predicted this when we were there on Saint Helena.”
“I know,” she agreed. “I thought Napoleon a gentle sort.”
“There is such a side of him, and you brought it out,” the Irish doctor said. “But it is not he we have to worry about, but his mentor, Valmy.”
“So I understand.”
“Valmy is more thirsty for power than the former emperor ever was,” the doctor said. “Once Valmy has used him, I’m certain Napoleon will die violently. I want to prevent that.”
“So does Felix Black.”
“He claims so,” O’Meara said hesitantly. “Because I’m not convinced, I prefer to work on my own. But I’ll not do anything to hinder you people. I may even be able to help.”
“Let us hope so,” she said.
“I must leave now,” the Irish doctor told her. And he lifted her hand and kissed the back of it gently. “Remember, not a word to Felix.”
“He may ask me, I’m sure,” she said.
“I count on you,” the Irishman said.
She remained in the garden after he’d left her, lost in her thoughts. From the time of their first meeting on St. Helena, she had taken a liking to Barry Edward O’Meara. As she recalled, Napoleon had also liked and trusted him. And all the while he had been spying on the former emperor.
But Napoleon had won him over, so that now O’Meara was his champion. It was possible she and O’Meara were the only two on the British side capable of finding out whether this man Valmy was offering was the real former emperor. O’Meara feared that the others, including Felix Black, might be plotting against the life of his hero. And he could be right.
Yet she was willing to believe Felix Black. In the short while she had known the bent, thin old man, she had come to respect him. He had befriended her and given her an opportunity for a new life full of challenge. When he claimed he wished only good for the fallen French ruler, she was ready to take him at his word. If O’Meara wished to doubt him, it was his own business.
She was still going over all this when the bizarrely emaciated figure of Felix Black came out of the house to walk toward her in the walled garden. When he came up to her, his sunken eyes searched her face.
He said, “So O’Meara has gone. He left without pausing to speak with me.”
She said, “Really? He spoke of having an urgent meeting with someone.”
Felix Black looked disapproving. “No doubt something to do with his Irish revolutionary activities.”
“Is he deep in that?”
“Yes,” the old man said. “I might call it his other obsession.”
“I think he is a man of principle,” she ventured.
“Doubtless!” Black said dryly. “But so swayed by his emotions as not to be always reliable.”
“You used him as an agent when you were head of the Foreign Service,” she reminded him.
“It did not turn out well,” he replied. “And I think I have made an enemy of him. Not that he has shown it in any way. But I fear I no longer have his trust.”
“As you say, he is emotional,” she apologized for the Irish doctor.
The man in black asked her, “Why did he wish to talk with you?”
“Merely to wish me well,” she said.
“That was all?”
“Yes,” she said, bound not to break faith with O’Meara. “He knew I was leaving soon.”
“But he has not offered his aid in the venture, and he could be of great assistance,” the old secret service man said with a hint of anger in his tone.
“I think he wishes to be entirely on his own.”
He gave her a thoughtful look. “You’re probably right. It comes back to his mistrust of me.”
She said, “I think he is torn between the thought that Napoleon may be alive and in need of his help and the idea that the man Valmy has come up with may be an impostor.”
“We are all faced with the same quandary.”
“But it is more difficult for him,” she said, “because of his strong personal feelings for the man.”
“What about you?”
She blushed. “I can’t deny my fondness for the former emperor. But I do not believe this man is he. I think he died on Saint Helena.”