to add, "No one knows I'm here except those who already know. But things got a bit hot in Dingham, you see. Perjury and the like. I thought it'd be wise to disappear for a while, and where else but here?"
This was the tricky part, because he wouldn't put it past this fire-eating little Frog to stab him where he stood.
But D'Eon only hissed between his teeth. "Very well. In fact, you could be useful to me. Developments have made it difficult for me to use my countrymen at the moment." He looked at Stringle. "The marquess is a very astute man. He must have realized you were causing difficulties."
Another tricky spot. "Aye, and he tried to find out who set me up to it, but I slipped away."
The Frenchman smiled. "He will guess, I think. It is no bad thing to know that we are at war."
Stringle would rather have the damned marquess ignorant of his very existence, but he risked a question. He thought of himself as a man without allegiance, but the marquess's comment about patriotism had stung. He'd entangle a naive lad for money, but he didn't like the thought of serving the king's enemies. "War over what, sir?" he asked.
"Over power, of course. What else is war ever about?" With an airy gesture, the Frenchman said, "Find yourself a room here and keep out of the way. I will tell you when I think you can be useful."
Stringle left, glad now to be working for the marquess to thwart the enemy.
* * *
The Chevalier D'Eon left the room disappointed, but only mildly so. He had set a number of traps to make distracting trouble for the Marquess of Rothgar, and hadn't expected all to succeed. He could sigh for Stringle's plan, however. A young neighbor in danger of hanging would have taken Rothgar away for days, now, adding to the void created by his sentimental absence in the north. To leave the center of power for a mere wedding! D'Eon felt close, so close, to his goal, to persuading the English king to countermand the order to destroy Dunkirk.
The plan with de Couriac would have been even better if the fool hadn't bungled it. The thought of the marquess bedridden with a wound, perhaps for weeks, far away in the north, was enough to make him weep.
All would then have been easy, he thought as he headed for the front of the house. He would become ambassador, doubtless with a title to go with it. His life would be as smooth and glorious as the reflection pools at Versailles...
It still would be. He had served his king faithfully for over ten years, refusing nothing, putting his life on the line again and again. This was his, this place, this position, and everything that came with it.
He would -
A man stepped in front of him.
He leaped back, hand flying to his sword, then halting. "De Couriac?"
The man, a bloodstained bandage around his head, bowed but without great respect. "Monsieur D'Eon."
D'Eon seized his arm and dragged him into the nearest room, his office. "What are you doing here? All England seeks you!"
"Then where else could I come?"
"You could take ship back to France."
"You don't think the ports will be watched?"
The man's tone was disrespectful, perhaps even hostile. D'Eon considered his next words.
After the debacle with Curry, he'd sent to Paris for an expert swordsman who could do what Curry had failed to do - put the Marquess of Rothgar out of play with a serious but not fatal wound. De Couriac had appeared to fit the part perfectly, and it had seemed simple enough to set up.
Lord Rothgar was going north with his family, but returning south alone. He had rooms engaged at Ferry Bridge. Simple to have de Couriac wait there to intercept him with the tempting bait of an actress from the King's Theater as his wife.
How it had gone wrong, he did not yet know, but the next step had told him that de Couriac had other plans.
That attack on the road had not been planned to wound. It had been planned to kill. Doubtless under orders from Paris that he had not been aware of. Dangerous, very dangerous.
"How did matters go awry in Ferry Bridge?" he asked.
"Interference. By a certain Countess of Arradale, the arrogant bitch."
D'Eon twitched at such crudeness, but ignored it for now. "Ah. And what of the disaster on the road? What were you thinking!"
"Death. How does it