Free Daughters of the Storm by Elizabeth Buchan Page B

deep impression on him, used as he was to square red-brick buildings and white-painted wood. Here was a city that had a long ancient history, and for a visitor from the New World such as William it was fascinating. He looked forward to sampling its pleasures. Now all he had to do was carry out his mission, and although he did not underestimate the skill he would need or the sacrifices that he might be called on to make, or, indeed, the dangers, William was confident in his own powers. There was just a trace of complacency on his features as he sat back on the squabs of the fiacre.
    At the Hôtel de Richelieu the American envoy, Gouverneur Morris, was waiting to welcome him. Gregarious, clever, of easy address and possessed of only one leg, which made him the target of many a soft-hearted lady, he moved in the highest of circles, and he was more than happy to put his savoir faire at William’s disposal. Without enquiring too deeply, Mr Morris indicated that he understood William’s needs.
    â€˜I have arranged for you to meet several of my acquaintances, among them Monsieur le Comte de Choissy, who seems particularly anxious to discuss business with you. If you play your cards right, you might be asked to stay at the Hôtel de Choissy – his hospitality is famous. You can, of course, remain here as long as you wish but I must point out that my apartments are limited in size.’
    Mr Morris paused delicately.
    â€˜I will not impose on you any longer than necessary,’ William reassured him.
    â€˜Meanwhile,’ continued Mr Morris, ‘I believe you will have need of a room in which to conduct your business.’ He handed William a key and added enigmatically, ‘I think this is suitable for your needs.’
    *
    This is the beginning of a double life, thought William as he alighted from a cab several days later. He was in the Marais quarter of Paris and it was growing dark. He had chosen the hour deliberately, but the gloom added to his problems of finding his way. The Marais was an area well suited to the clandestine: an unknown territory of narrow winding streets and swarming populace, of houses with secrets exits, of unexpected short cuts, dangerous-looking alleys and unalleviated darkness, for few, if any, lanterns were slung on ropes across the streets. It was here that his game of pretence and counter-pretence would be fought, using subterfuge, intrigue and his cool, reasoning intelligence.
    William struck eastwards along the street. At the Place Royale he turned right and followed the delapidated stone arcade that ran around the square. Even in the bad light William could see that it had once been magnificent, but now there was an emptiness hovering over the decaying pavilions that struck a chill in him. Mr Morris had told him that once it had been the centre of fashionable Paris where the nobility had come to entertain and be entertained in hired rooms. Outside number 7 he stopped, pushed open the main door, which yielded with a creak, and let himself into the vestibule. He scrabbled in his pocket for a tinder, lit a taper and ascended the staircase. Halfway up, he halted and his heart beat erratically with fright. He thought he had heard the whisper of voices and the scuffle of feet and for a moment he imagined that the house was peopled with painted and bejewelled shades from long ago. Then he smiled at his own fancifulness. It was only the rats running for cover at the sound of his footsteps.
    Nevertheless, his hand shook a little as he fitted his key into the lock of the room that opened off the first landing. He stood safeguarding his light until his eyes adjusted and the acrid odour of decay had receded, and discovered he was standing in a huge reception room whose windows overlooked the garden in the square’s centre. Even after the summer the chill was intense. William saw at once that the room was far too large for his needs and he walked down it towards a pair of double