The Spy Wore Petticoats

"Do we know anything about this here baronet?" Madame Deveraou asked.

"Baron," Charlotte corrected.

"Oh."

"Only where his estates are and that he has already agreed to provide us with shelter and food," Charlotte said.

"Well, we really have no choice; the horses must rest. It's getting colder and they have lost weight. I am hoping we can stay a fortnight and let them fatten up for the long road ahead," Ivan said.

They all fell into silence as the coach rolled on into the gathering gloom. Lost in thought, they let the eerie silence last until the coach rolled to a stop before a brightly lit mansion. Charlotte took the footman's hand and alit from the coach. There were no crowds, no gathered nobility, just a single man standing at the top of the steps with five servants in their livery a few paces behind him.

As they climbed the steps she was able to get a better look at him. He was a tall man, with a ramrod straight bearing that immediately denoted him as a military man. She would have known he was anyway, as he wore the simple tunic and breeches of a cavalry colonel, in the dragoons regiment. Quite a high rank, even for a noble, she thought.

"Greetings, mademoiselle, monsieur, welcome to my humble home. I am Wilhelm Vessle, Baron of Gosse."

"I am Ivan Daggeroff, and this is Mademoiselle Charlotte de Toberville," Ivan said as he bowed.

Charlotte curtsied, noticing the baron was older than she had first imagined.

"I am sorry, but the house isn't set up for such noble guests. My wife passed away some time ago and I have cut the staff to just those I am needful of."

"Pray don't mention it, milord. I am so weary of the road, a roof and a bed are more than I could possibly dream of," Charlotte said.

He laughed then, a deep, rich, mellow sound that was obviously filled with genuine mirth.

"Well, I think I can do better than just a roof and a bed, milady," he said with a smile so engaging she just couldn't help but return it.

"You sir, are a military man, are you not?" he said, turning his attention too Ivan.

"I have been, your excellency," Ivan replied.

"Please, let us do away with the fancy titles. You may call me Wilhelm. I notice your horses are in sad shape," he said, putting an arm around Ivan's shoulders and leading them into the house.

"They have had a cruel time of it."

"Quite so, and it won't get any better. Winter is coming early and it looks to be a cold one."

The foyer of the house was austere, almost spartan, but she could tell it wasn't from lack of money. Rather, it suited the tastes of an old campaigner. From the suits of armor standing guard at the doorway to the array of swords, banners and other weapons hanging on the walls, it bespoke of a man who was more comfortable in a tent than a house.

"I know, it will be difficult to keep them in any kind of shape," Ivan said.

"I'll have Bjorn give them a double ration of oats. The stables are warm and safe. A few days rest and plenty of attention from Garrouth, my stable boy, and they'll be fit to pull the king's carriage!"

"I thank you," Ivan said.

"Not at all, not at all, they're fine beasts and I know a thing or two about horses."

He suddenly seemed to realize Charlotte was there, a few paces behind them.

"I'm so sorry milady, it's been too long since I had guests. Else!" he called.

A trim young girl appeared as if by magic and curtsied awkwardly.

"Show this lady to her room and see to it that dog Bran helps bring up her luggage."

"Yes, milord. Please follow me," she said before moving off down the hallway at a trot.

Her rooms turned out to be very nice, tastefully decorated, with a high canopy bed and several paintings. There was an adjoining room for Madame Deveraou and a balcony that overlooked the gardens. Unlike the other rooms she had seen, this one felt feminine and had a coziness the others seemed to lack.

"His wife's rooms," Madame Deveraou said casually.

"Surely not," Charlotte exclaimed.

"Trust me, they are. This room has a feminine touch. In fact, you can tell she was a very refined lady."

"How?" Charlotte asked, looking around again.

Madame Deveraou smiled and touched Charlotte's shoulder.

"You won't tell by anything you see, mam'zelle. It's by the way it makes you feel. Someone put a lot of effort into making these rooms feel the way they do, welcoming and warm."

"I did feel that," Charlotte said.

"Of course you did, dear. As to how I know these were his wife's rooms, it is simply because they are in such contrast to every other room in the house. You should be honored."

Charlotte said no more about it as her maid helped her remove her travel stained clothing. She was standing there in just her corset and stockings when there came a knock at the door. Madame Deveraou answered it while Charlotte retreated to an inner room. When she returned her maid was just closing the door.

"Who was it?"

"Twas the maid. Dinner will be served soon. We need to get you ready."

Charlotte sighed heavily and her maid gave her a questioning look.

"I'm more tired than hungry," she said.

"What's really wrong?" Madame Deveraou asked.

"It's... Oh...It's that they're both military men! They are discussing things I wish to discuss, but I can't," she whined.

"There there, I understand. I know it must be hard to hold your tongue, but you must remember that ladies don't discuss such things."

"What do ladies discuss, when no one is there to listen?" she asked in a whisper.

Charlotte lay on her bed and stared at the canopy. She didn't move when Madame Deveraou came in and began to bustle around, laying out her clothes for dinner.

"Come milady, it's time to get dressed," she said.

"No."

"No?"

"No. I'm not going."

"But..."

"No buts, I'm not going and that is final." "But what shall I tell the baron?"

"Tell him I have a headache or that I don't feel well. Tell him whatever you must, but I am not moving from this bed."

"But milady..."

"They won't even notice I'm not there anyway. Three solid nights of discussion more appropriate for a tavern than the dinner table. Discussions which I cannot even add to without being unseemly," she raged.

The older woman smiled knowingly and sat on the bed next to Charlotte.

"If I may?"

"Go ahead, but it won't change my mind." "It seems to me that you are really upset because you aren't the center of attention. Not that there is anything wrong with that. A young and attractive lady such as yourself is allowed to be petulant when she's ignored."

"I am not being petulant!"

"You aren't?" she replied, rather than dispute her mistress's words.

"I am, aren't I?" Charlotte said miserably.

"Your sister didn't prepare you for this, did she?" the maid asked in a soothing tone.

"No. Through all of this I have wished I were invisible so many times, and yet..."

"Now that you are, you wish someone would notice you?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Well, you won't get noticed lying in your bed locked in your room."

"No, I guess I won't."

"Of course you won't. And mam'zelle Julia was wrong to not tell you about such times, but luckily, I've served many ladies and know a bit about it. Your problem, mademoiselle, is that you want to be noticed, but you feel helpless because you can't join in their conversations."

"Yes."

"Well, few other ladies could. You are thinking like a man, trying to compete in something you shouldn't. What do you think other young ladies do when they feel ignored?"

"Make a scene?" Charlotte volunteered, after some thought.

"Perish the thought. No lady of breeding deliberately makes a scene. At least not when there is no suitable audience," she added with a wink.

Charlotte smiled tentatively and waited for her maid to go on. She felt so silly now, but damnit, she was lonely and no one would even speak to her!

"A young, attractive lady, like yourself, makes herself the center of attention."

"But how? They are interested in nothing but horses and sabers and old soldier's tales."

"Beggin your pardon, but you know good and well Monsieur Ivan is interested in things other than that. And so is the baron. They're men after all, and it's a rare one who can't have his head turned by a pretty girl who is intent on being noticed."

"But how do I make myself be noticed?"

"Well, you begin by putting a smile on that pretty face. No gentleman likes a girl who is frowning."

"And then?" Charlotte asked, forcing a smile.

"And then you sit here and work on keeping it while I am gone," she said as she hurriedly left.

When she returned, she had Gerrard and Michael in tow and they carried a huge bathtub between them. Charlotte watched as both her servants and the household servants carried up pail after pail of steaming water and dumped it in the tub. After the last one left Madame Deveraou helped her out of her gown, corset, stockings and pantalets. Once she settled into the warm water, her maid gently washed her body, paying particular attention to her hair. Charlotte relaxed under her tender hands and almost fell asleep before the water turned cold.

Once Charlotte was out, Madame Deveraou dried her thoroughly and helped her into a pink corset she hadn't had on before. Its tight embrace actually felt good to her now and she was very pleased with the fact that it seemed to nip her waist more than her others. Fresh stockings, clean pantalets and a crisp white chemise followed. Then came her stays and finally, a deep burgundy gown she had never seen before.

Charlotte caught her breath when she saw it. It was made of some light material, with a delicately embroidered brocade bodice and lacy sleeves that would fall to just below her elbows.

"Where did that come from?" she asked, delighting in the delicate lace work and overall elegance of the gown.

"Your sister had it made for you. It was a parting gift, but she wanted me to keep it a secret until I thought you would appreciate it."

Madame Deveraou helped her into the gown and Charlotte couldn't wait to view herself in the mirror. It was exquisite; the bodice sculpted to enhance her bust made her seem even more curvaceous than she was.

Madame Deveraou did her makeup differently and left her hair down instead of putting it up. Charlotte was simply enchanted with the gown and how she looked.

"Now, milady. Let's see them ignore you now."

Charlotte felt so good she wanted to shout. Since her grand entrance, neither Ivan nor the baron had uttered a word. They were both staring at her, struck mute. She relished their silence and their stares. With an almost giddy elation she realized they could go back to their discussions of military matters and it wouldn't matter to her. What did matter was that neither of them could pretend like she wasn't there any longer.

"Well, I must say you look lovely tonight, fraulein," the baron managed after the soup was served.

"Danke muss ich sagen, dass Sie sehr schneidig aussehen," she replied.

She smiled at his shock, while Ivan stared at them both in confusion.

"Danke," he stammered.

"How are the horses doing?" she asked, switching back to French.

"They are coming along well, putting some weight back on," Ivan replied before the baron could speak.

"Quite, they are splendid animals and should be back to their fighting trim in no time," the baron concurred.

The conversation drifted back into military matters, but she could tell their hearts weren't in it. They both made great effort to involve her in the conversation and she took perverse delight in claiming no knowledge of such things, leaving them both stumped for something to say.

When dessert was done, she made her exit and glided back to her room. Her maid helped her undress for bed. She was about to retire when there was a discreet knock on her door. She threw on her dressing gown and answered, expecting it to be Ivan and fully prepared to rebuff his advances. She was shocked to find the baron standing there.

He said nothing and she couldn't think of anything to say. When the silence had become truly awkward he straightened even more, if such were possible, and gathered himself.

"Forgive me, fraulien. I was never very good at this, and it has been some time since I spoke to any woman besides my maid."

"There is nothing to forgive," she said quietly.

"I would never presume to press myself upon you, but it has been such a long time since I have had a woman in my home or heard my native tongue spoken in such a lovely voice. I was hoping that I might have the pleasure of your company tomorrow for a trip into Cologne."

"I would be honored," she said softly.

He bowed stiffly and turned on his heel, almost marching away as she watched.

Something in that image, or perhaps in his bearing, struck a chord within her. Try as she might, she could not shake the feeling that she had never seen a prouder or more lonely man in her life.

The following morning she woke early and donned a soft black traveling gown. From one of her trunks, Madame Deveraou had retrieved a matching cloak of velvet with a muslin liner. It was very warm and while not waterproof, it did offer some protection from the heavy snowflakes that were falling.

As she was making her way down the hall, the door to Ivan's room opened and Else slipped out. She closed the door behind her and turned, freezing when she saw Charlotte standing there. Her hair was mussed and her clothing disheveled. Even if it hadn't been, the satisfied smile she had been wearing before she saw Charlotte would have told the tale.

"Mademoiselle...I...I..." She stammered.

"Shhh," Charlotte said, holding her finger to her lips.

"I can explain," the girl said finally.

"So can I. You needn't be afraid, I shan't tell your master. After all, he's a very persuasive man," she added with a friendly smile.

The girl smiled back, impulsively grabbed Charlotte's hand and kissed the back of it before darting down the long hall. Charlotte allowed her to disappear down the grand stair before she resumed her own, slower pace. At the landing, the house steward bowed and motioned her into the foyer, where he opened the door for her.

The wind was bracing. She felt its sting even through her cloak and gown. During her long walk through the rambling house the snow had stopped, but the sky was still overcast and threatening.

A magnificent black coach was drawn up before the steps, with gleaming brasswork all over it. She had never seen such a fine conveyance, nor ever hoped to ride in one. The footman and coachman both wore the baron's family's red livery and both seemed ill at ease in their finery. On top, a curious black chest or trunk was lashed to the luggage frame. The coach was drawn by six impressive horses. They were all very large, at least sixteen hands, and while easily strong enough to be draft animals, she could see that they were actually Prussians.

It made sense that the baron would keep such fine animals, not only because of his association with the cavalry, but because the breed was one of the least sensitive to climactic change. This Charlotte knew from her own cavalry days, and was so caught up in admiring them that she didn't notice the baron was standing behind her until he touched her gently on the elbow.

She turned sharply, then curtsied automatically. Rather than bow he just smiled at her, with a twinkle in his eyes.

"You seem to have an appreciation of fine horse flesh," he said.

"They are beautiful animals," she replied, choosing the least detailed of the responses she wished to give.

"If you please?" he said, nodding to the footman.

Charlotte mounted up into the coach. She fancied the baron remained where he was for the express purpose of watching the rather seductive swish of her hips necessary to enter. Once she was seated he joined her and sat across from her. The seats were red velvet and infinitely more comfortable than the bench in her own coach.

For a long time they rode in silence. Charlotte could see the baron wanted to speak, but she could also see he was having trouble. Many times she had been in his position and she always felt it would have been so much easier if the woman would have just said something. Now, however, she realized it worked both ways, as she could think of nothing to say to help the old man out.

She was beginning to despair that they would make the whole trip in silence when the baron finally found his voice.

"I apologize, fraulien. I was not raised to be a baron and I simply have no tongue for this."

He seemed ready to lapse into silence again. Drawing on her lessons and her slowly blossoming experience, she smiled encouragingly.

"You seem quite articulate at dinner," she prompted.

"Ah, that is different. Horses, men, strategy and tactics, these I know. I commanded a regiment of cavalry and none of my men would ever tell you I lacked for words. But when it comes to a beautiful dame, I am as tongue tied as my serving boy."

"Surely, I'm not as intimidating as a line of Austrian infantry," Charlotte replied, laughing as gaily as she could.

"Fraulien, you are more intimidating than a line of Austrian artillery. On the field I have only to lose my life, but here? I could well make a fool of myself."

"How is it that a man of such experience can find little me intimidating?" she asked.

He lapsed into silence again and Charlotte wondered where she had gone wrong. Keeping a conversation going had not been one of her lessons. Of course, with the men Julia had introduced her to, the trick had been to end one.

"I was not raised to be a baron. My brother Klaus was, and glad I was that it was he and not I who should be the one to carry on the family name. Father doted upon him, but there was never any jealousy, for he doted upon me too. I joined the cavalry at fourteen and was glad I did. It was the life I longed for and enjoyed and a choice my father heartily approved of."

"You are lucky then. So many men never find what they love, and even fewer please their fathers with their choices," she said softly.

"You are uncommonly wise, especially for one so young," he said.

Charlotte blushed. She had been thinking of her own situation, but the respect in his eyes was a welcome thing. She hadn't seen respect from a man since she first donned a skirt. Lust, yes, affection even, but not respect. She heard Julia's words again. The admonition to never show she could think. It came with a corollary though; in certain situations, with certain men, you could gain much by showing you could think. She felt sure that the baron was one such man.

"I was wounded at the battle of Chotusitz and was convalescing in Berlin. Have you ever seen Berlin, my dear?"

"No, I haven't traveled widely," she replied.

"It's a beautiful city, even in the winter. Beautiful women seem to spawn there. It's where I met my Ingrid. She was a charming woman, much like you, wise beyond her years and intelligent, though she showed it only when we were alone. For the first time, I wished I was Klaus. Wished I was the baron, so I could ask for her hand."

"She sounds wonderful."

"Yes," he said with a smile. He still loves her. The thought hit her suddenly, but once there she knew it to be true. She could see it in his eyes, in his face. When he spoke of her his features softened and even the rigid posture he maintained seemed to be less severe.

"They say to be careful of what you wish for. My wounds, though minor, seemed to take forever to heal and I was still in Berlin when a letter arrived from Bertrand, the old butler. It urged me to return home with all speed. Even then, I dallied, finding excuse after excuse to stay near her. Finally, I could delay no longer and returned home to tragedy. My father, mother, brother, his wife, their children and several guests had died suddenly after taking a meal here in honor of St. Crispin's. All suspected that the meat had gone bad, for even the dogs would not touch it. So I got my wish, at great pain."