Groves was in seventh heaven. He now supervised six members of staff and oversaw the entertainment of top quality people. The kitchen was chaotic, with Mrs Groves screaming in a delightful mixture of English and pigeon French,
“If you voulez vous, git this ‘ere dish to la bloody table, as soon as possible, please. Merci buckets!”
Katie loved every moment, improving her French every day, and we settled down to a lovely routine.
Our social life took off, with dances and balls occurring regularly. I took on the services of a Paris dressmaker called Marie Crannard, and with a good deal of input from me, she created a complete wardrobe for me. I was so fed up with fashion garments that constricted and restricted the female form, so I pushed her to design some with flair and freedom, within the bounds of what was considered decent. I accidentally found myself at the leading edge of fashion, gaining a reputation as a foremost beauty in Paris. If my fellow sergeants in the Marines could see me now!
Summer progressed, and our home on the Rue de Gervaise was usually the centre of activities. I had brought Roger’s guitar, so often found myself giving impromptu concerts for a host of admirers, at the forefront was my adoring husband.
I had several young and dashing officers set their cap at me, swearing undying love, if I would only leave my husband. We all knew it was a game, and I never once gave Roger cause for concern. He trusted me so completely that it was very humbling, yet I loved him so much he had no reason to doubt me.
I would often ride in the park with my husband, who wore his uniform and sabre. On one occasion in early June, I saw the tall man whom I had identified as my enemy, having seen him that once in Abingdon. We were waiting by the pond, when he walked past, looking neither right nor left. He was dressed like a clerk, all in black, with a wide brimmed hat.
Roger saw me staring at him, and watched my frown.
“My love, what is wrong?”
“That man, I have seen him before, but I can’t recall where,” I said, nodding towards the walking man.
“You must see people all the time?”
“Not like him; he’s evil,” I said, and such was my tone that he frowned and looked closely at the man.
“That’s not like you,” he said.
“I feel a sense of danger and death about him.”
“In what way?”
“I feel he is here to kill someone; someone important.”
Roger laughed, but when I remained serious, he frowned.
“Jane, this is most unlike you. I have never seen you like this.”
“I have never experienced this feeling before. It is like a premonition. I think he is here to kill the Duke.”
“The Duke of Wellington? Now don’t be preposterous. Who would want to kill the Duke?”
“The French, the Americans, the Spanish, even some of the disillusioned English soldiery.”
“So what do we do?”
“Follow him, see where he goes,” I said, and so we did.
It was common knowledge that the Duke took the air in the park most days, and would often ride with his friends for an hour or so. So, it was no surprise to see them enter the park in the distance. The man was walking faster now, and one hand was in his pocket.
“Roger, the man has a pistol!” I said.
The Duke was on his horse, and the party was walking their horses down the main avenue in no hurry. The man was on a grassy bank, and I smiled as the ironic similarities to JFK were only obvious to me.
Roger drew his sabre and galloped along the grass towards the scene. I saw the hooves casting up great clods of earth and heard the jingle of the bridle. I knew it was a matter of time before the man would turn and see Roger. I suddenly was very afraid for my husband.
The man was so concentrating on the Duke that he did not turn and see Roger as I expected. Instead, as his target came into range, the assassin drew his pistol. The Duke turned and opened his mouth as he saw the man with the gun.
Roger swung his sabre, taking the assassin’s arm right off just below the shoulder. The arm fell, with the pistol falling from the dead fingers, exploding harmlessly into the earth. A few horses jumped, the party scattered slightly, and the assassin collapsed onto the ground.
I rode to where Roger was now dismounting. He still clutched his sabre and I could see he was going to strike the man on the ground.
“Roger. No!” I cried, reining in my horse.
The Duke rode up to us.
“I am greatly indebted to you Colonel. It seems that our enemies will stop at nothing to sour our victory,” he said to Roger.
“Sir, it was my wife who saw his evil plot. She drew my attention to him, so I was just in time.”
The man on the ground was very pale and losing blood rapidly. I dismounted and bound the wound with my head scarf. He stared at me, and suddenly recognition came to his eyes.
“You! The woman in England,” he whispered.
“You are history, my friend,” I whispered back. He shuddered, dying in my arms. I swore silently, as I had hoped to obtain some intelligence from him, but was now none the wiser.
“He is dead, sir,” I said, looking up at the tall Duke.
The Duke dismounted, holding out a hand towards me, so I allowed him to assist me to my feet.
“Mrs de Lambert, I am in your debt. It is not every day a man has his life saved by the most beautiful woman in Paris. Your courage, humanity and loyalty are without exception, and of the finest example I have ever seen. You showed no hesitation in trying to save his life, despite the blood and dismembered limb. You are an example to us all.”
I smiled, as there wasn’t much I could say to that.
“Did he speak?” One of the Duke’s Aides asked.
“Yes sir, he spoke English, with a discernable accent.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Curse you, and curse England!’,” I improvised.
Two junior officers were detailed to remove the body and to attempt to ascertain as to who he was. Roger was holding his sabre with the assassin’s blood still on the blade.
“You may sheath your sabre now, Colonel. Your duty is done, with my thanks. I would ask, sir, that you accompany me to my headquarters,” said the Duke.
Roger started as if shocked, sheathing his weapon as the Duke had commanded.
“Captain Pierce.”
“Your Grace?”
“Be so kind as to escort Mrs de Lambert home. And please ensure that anything she requires is supplied.”
“With pleasure, sir.”
A young Captain dismounted and helped me mount my horse again, noting with surprise that I rode astride.
I was still recovering my wits, so only then attempted to see if any other enemy agents had witnessed this incident. The good captain believed me to be in shock, so I let him know, clearly, that it wasn’t the case.
It was only then that I noticed that blood covered my pale blue riding habit. I swore, as I knew that it would be hard to get out. When I explained this to the good captain, he started to laugh, shaking his head.
“Damn, but you are a cool one, Madam. Most women would be requiring smelling salts after witnessing what you just have. But here you are swearing like a trooper, bemoaning the stains on your dress,” he said.
“Believe me, I am not your usual simpering violet,” I said, and I almost heard Edward Ryan’s accent slipping in.
By the time I arrived home, the news of an incident had spread across Paris, and there was talk below stairs that somehow Roger and I had been involved.
When Roger returned for dinner, the full facts were revealed to polite society. Thus, we were the reluctant hero and heroine of the moment. There is nothing like drawing attention to oneself. I hoped that whomever we were up against were deaf, blind and stupid, otherwise I was probably in line for a visit.
When we went to bed, I could sense that something was troubling him.
“What is it, my love?” I asked.