An echo in the bone - Gabaldon Diana. Страница 182

Grey didn’t reply to that, but folded his hands beneath the tail of his coat and waited. Percy thought for a moment, then shrugged.

“All right. She was Claude’s older sister; my wife, Cecile, is the younger.”

“ ‘Was,’ ” Grey repeated. “So she’s dead.”

“She’s been dead for some forty years. Why are you interested in her?” Percy pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve to dab at his temples; the day was hot, and it had been a long walk; Grey’s own shirt was damp.

“Where did she die?”

“In a brothel in Paris.” That stopped Grey in his tracks. Percy saw it and gave a wry smile. “If you must know, John, I am looking for her son.”

Grey stared at him for a moment, then slowly sat down beside him. The gray stone of the plinth was warm under his buttocks.

“All right,” he said, after a moment. “Tell me, if you would be so good.”

Percy gave him a sideways glance of amusement—full of wariness, but still amused.

“There are things I cannot tell you, John, as you must surely appreciate. By the way, I hear that there is a rather heated discussion taking place between the British secretaries of state as to which of them shall make an approach regarding my previous offer—and to whom, exactly, to make it. I suppose this is your doing? I thank you.”

“Don’t change the subject. I’m not asking you about your previous offer.” Not yet, anyway. “I’m asking you about Amelie Beauchamp and her son. I cannot see how they may be connected with the other matter, so I assume they have some personal significance to you. Naturally, there are things you cannot tell me regarding the larger matter”—he bowed slightly—“but this mystery about the baron’s sister seems somewhat more personal.”

“It is.” Percy was turning something over in his mind; Grey could see it working behind his eyes. The eyes were lined and a little pouched but the same as ever; a warm, lively brown, the color of sherry-sack. His fingers drummed briefly on the stone, then stopped, and he turned to Grey with an air of decision.

“Very well. Bulldog that you are, if I don’t tell you, you will doubtless be following me all over Philadelphia, in an effort to discover my purpose in being here.”

This was precisely what Grey intended doing in any case, but he made an indeterminate noise that might be taken as encouragement before asking, “What is your purpose in being here?”

“I’m looking for a printer named Fergus Fraser.” Grey blinked at that; he hadn’t been expecting any concrete answer.

“Who is … ?”

Percy held up a hand, folding down the fingers as he spoke.

“He is, first, the son of one James Fraser, a notable ex-Jacobite and current rebel. He is, secondly, a printer, as indicated—and, I suspect, a rebel like his father. And, thirdly, I strongly suspect that he is the son of Amelie Beauchamp.”

There were blue and red dragonflies hovering over the creek; Grey felt as though one of these insects had flown suddenly up his nose.

“You are telling me that James Fraser had an illegitimate son by a French whore? Who happened also to be the daughter of an ancient noble family?” Shock did not begin to describe his feelings, but he kept his tone light, and Percy laughed.

“No. The printer is Fraser’s son, but is adopted. He took the boy from a brothel in Paris more than thirty years ago.” A trickle of sweat ran down the side of Percy’s neck, and he wiped it away. The warmth of the day had made his cologne blossom on his skin; Grey caught the hint of ambergris and carnation, spice and musk together.

“Amelie was, as I said, Claude’s older sister. In her teens she was seduced by a much older man, a married nobleman, and got with child. The normal thing would have been for her simply to be married hastily off to a complaisant husband, but the nobleman’s wife died quite suddenly, and Amelie made a fuss, insisting that since he was now free, he must marry her.”

“He was not so inclined?”

“No. Claude’s father was, though. I suppose he thought such a marriage would improve the family fortunes; the comte was a very wealthy man, and while not political, did have a certain… standing.”

The old Baron Amandine had been willing to keep things quiet in the beginning, but as he began to see the possibilities of the situation, he became bolder and threatened all kinds of things, from a complaint to the King—for old Amandine was active at court, unlike his son—to a lawsuit for damages and an application to the Church for excommunication.

“Could he actually have done that?” Grey asked, fascinated despite his reservations about Percy’s veracity. Percy smiled briefly.

“He could have complained to the King. In any case, he didn’t get the chance. Amelie disappeared.”

The girl had vanished from her home in the middle of one night, taking her jewels. It was thought that perhaps she had intended to run away to her lover, in the hope that he would give in and marry her, but the comte professed complete ignorance of the matter, and no one came forward to say that they had seen her, either leaving Trois Fleches or entering the Paris mansion of the Comte St. Germain.

“And you think she somehow ended in a Paris brothel?” Grey said incredulously. “How? And if so, how did you discover this?”

“I found her marriage lines.”

“What?”

“A contract of marriage, between Amelie Elise LeVigne Beauchamp and Robert-Francoise Quesnay de St. Germain. Signed by both parties. And a priest. It was in the library at Trois Fleches, inside the family Bible. Claude and Cecile are not very religiously inclined, I’m afraid,” Percy said, shaking his head.

“And you are?” That made Percy laugh; he knew that Grey knew precisely what his feelings regarding religion were.

“I was bored,” he said without apology.

“Life at Trois Fleches must have been tedious indeed, if it forced you to read the Bible. Did the sub-gardener quit?”

“Did—oh, Emile.” Percy grinned. “No, but he had a terrible bout of la grippe that month. Couldn’t breathe through his nose at all, poor man.”

Grey felt again a treacherous impulse to laugh, but restrained it, and Percy went on without a pause.

“I actually wasn’t reading it; I have all of the most excessive damnations memorized, after all. I was interested in the cover.”

“Heavily bejeweled, was it?” Grey asked dryly, and Percy gave him a look of mild offense.

“It has not always got to do with money, John, even for those of us not blessed with such substance as yourself.”

“My apologies,” said Grey. “Why the Bible, then?”

“I will have you know that I am a bookbinder of no mean repute,” Percy said, preening a little. “I took it up in Italy as a means of making a living. After you so gallantly saved my life. Thank you for that, by the way,” he said, with a direct look whose sudden seriousness made Grey look down to avoid his eyes.

“You’re welcome,” he said gruffly, and, bending, carefully induced a small green caterpillar that was inching its way across the polished toe of his boot to inch onto his finger.

“Anyway,” Percy went on, not losing a beat, “I discovered this curious document. I had heard of the family scandal, of course, and recognized the names at once.”

“You asked the present baron about it?”

“I did. What did you think of Claude, by the way?” Percy had always been like quicksilver, Grey thought, and he hadn’t lost any of his mutability with age.

“Bad cardplayer. A wonderful voice, though—does he sing?”

“Indeed he does. And you’re right about the cards. He can keep a secret, if he likes, but he can’t lie at all. You’d be amazed at how powerful a thing perfect honesty is, in some circumstances,” Percy added reflectively. “It almost makes me think there might be something in the Eighth Commandment.”

Grey muttered something about “more honored in the breach,” but then coughed and begged that Percy might continue.