"Andre Norton & Rosemary Edghill - Carolus Rex 1 - The Shadow of Albion" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

the salon from the privileged vantage-coign of the entry-hall. When he had arranged
with the Underground three days ago to meet Avery deMorrissey somewhere here
among these privileged New Men and successful turncoats of the Ancien Regime,
Wessex had been reasonably certain of retaining both his liberty, and his life.
Now he was less so.
A note smuggled up the backstairs of the Hotel des Spheres, WessexтАЩs residence
on this trip to the City of Light, had tipped him that the Jacquerie тАУ the Red Jacks тАУ
TalleyrandтАЩs secret police тАУ wished very much to have speech of the Chevalier de
Reynard, which nom de guerre was WessexтАЩs own for the moment. He did not
know if it was the foolish loyalist Reynard, or Rupert, Duke of Wessex, King
HenryтАЩs political agent, who had earned M. TalleyrandтАЩs enmity, and at this moment
it did not matter: the Jacks were only a few minutes behind him.
Wessex had left the ChevalierтАЩs lodgings in the Hotel des Spheres by way of the
roof, but it was only a matter of time before the Jacks took his scent and ran him to
ground. The carte de invitation for this eveningтАЩs party had still been on his
dressing-table, after all.
It was foolish to have come тАУ but without him deMorrissey had no chance of
reaching England, De-Morrissey was English, a naval officer who had been interned
at Verdun where he had learned something of interest. Holding this information to be
of more importance than his life, deMorrissey had managed to escape the walled city
and blunder into some members of the Royalist Underground whoтАЩd covered his
tracks, at least as far as Paris, But the man hadnтАЩt a word of French, and if the
Royalist Underground had not managed to put him in touch with тАЮReynard,тАЬ
deMorrissey would have been dead long since. And if the Red Jacks had anything to
say about it, he might yet be.
Reynard/Wessex lifted his quizzing-glass and surveyed the room with
maddeningly languid affectation. La Belle Paris was not what she had been in the
days of WessexтАЩs boyhood, but to the casual observer she had made a phoenixlike
recovery from the bloody events of the тАЮgloriousтАЬ тАШ93 тАУ at least assuming one had
no memory of her original splendor. In this modern incarnation the appointments
were a little too opulent, the talk a little too loud, and dress and manners veered
self-consciously between Republican and Imperial.
Wessex allowed his quizzing-glass to drop and nicked imaginary grains of snuff
from the lapel of his wasp-waisted celadon silk evening coat as he shook out his
ruffles. He was dressed slightly beyond the cutting edge of fashion, and on a lesser
man the mode might have appeared ridiculous, but not upon my lord Wessex. He
had me height, the carriage, the killdevil black eyes to support any freak of fashion,
and enough cold swords-edge charm to beguile any lady save Madame la
Guillotine herself.
Wessex descended the three shallow steps to the black-and-white tiled floor of
Princesse EugenieтАЩs drawing room. The Red Jacks were only moments behind him
тАУ and deMorrissey was in the miniature summer house in the Princesse EugenieтАЩs
garden. Wessex might, just, have enough of a lead to winkle deMorrissey out of the
garden and along the route prepared for him. Just.
A hand fell heavily upon the immaculate brocade of WessexтАЩs coat. тАЮMy dear
Chevalier, how fortunate indeed that I should find you here.тАЬ
Wessex turned, and raised his glass to regard the smaller man. So now I know
who it was that gave Talleyrand my scent.
M. Grillot was round, red-faced, and ambitious. He was a frequent visitor to the
shadowy half-world in which Wessex lived his real life, and mis time had managed, it