TheEnglishHeiress Page 37

  “Eh bien, mon vieux, what sort of trouble have you fallen into now?”

  “None of my own choosing, I assure you,” Roger replied, but when Pierre laughed, he laughed too.

  It was incredible how his spirits lifted, not because he thought Pierre could help but because he would at least be able to talk. He led Pierre into the bedroom, where he had previously tacked a blanket over the curtains on the window so that they would be sure no gleam of light would show, and told him what had happened.

  “I don’t know where she is,” Roger finished, “and I daren’t even go looking, not that looking would help, because if I make any move at all…” His voice began to shake, and he stopped speaking abruptly.

  There was no need for Pierre to ask whether Roger would be willing to leave the girl behind. First of all, it was quite clear to Pierre that his friend was more deeply involved than merely as the rescuer of the heiress of Stour. Even if he had not been, Pierre doubted that he could convince Roger to abandon to certain death a person for whom he had assumed responsibility. He would not have done so himself. There was a subsidiary problem, however, that needed to be solved.

  “Leave that for a minute. Tell me instead whether you feel you must carry the little king out of France?”

  “No,” Roger answered at once. “The child is in no danger. Chaumette merely wants to hide him to increase his own power or to use as a bargaining counter to protect himself. In fact, Leonie was much opposed to taking Louis-Charles out of the country. She thought that he would be hated if he were imposed on the people as king by France’s conquerors, if France should be conquered. It is only Chaumette who will benefit, and as you can imagine I have no special love for Chaumette.”

  “Good! Then we only need to find Mademoiselle de Conyers, and—”

  “Only!”

  “It is not so impossible as you think. If letters go back and forth, someone carries them. No one here knows me, and I have trustworthy men with me. Among us we can follow whoever carries the letter—”

  “They are not likely to walk through the streets with the thing in their hands,” Roger interrupted, his voice shaking again.

  Pierre cocked an eye at him. “Since you cannot do anything, why don’t you leave this end of the matter in my hands. If one thing doesn’t work, another will.”

  “No! Don’t you understand he’ll kill her? Don’t you see, anyone can do my part of this? At the slightest hint, he’ll—”

  “My friend,” Pierre said, gripping Roger’s shoulder, “what I see is that you probably have not eaten today and you probably have not slept soundly for a year. Can we go down and find what there is to fill that hollow in your belly or are Chaumette’s little helpers below?”

  “No one is there,” Roger replied, “but really, I’m not at all hungry—”

  Despite Roger’s frenzied objections that he could not eat, Pierre made his way down in the dark. The windows had heavy curtains, which Leonie had made and hung soon after they had become a way station in de Rocheville’s escape route. It was safe to light a candle, so long as no one could see that there were two men in the room. A gleam of light would rouse no suspicions. There was nothing unusual in someone coming down to get a bite or a drink in the night. In a covered pot Pierre found the meal Leonie had prepared. He set this to heat and then convinced Roger to eat it.

  When they finished, Roger had to admit that Pierre’s diagnosis of his condition had been accurate. The sense of overwhelming panic diminished, so that he was able to discuss the ways and means of following his letter more rationally. It was decided that Pierre would try first to follow Garnier, or whomever he gave the letter to, and if that failed as it likely would, to keep a watch on Chaumette. Leonie’s letter was promised before noon. After he had read it, Roger would go out the back way to shop or deliver merchandise, drawing with him the watcher at the back door. Then Pierre would slip out, make his way to the front, and establish himself in the café across the street in which Garnier kept watch on Roger’s front door. When Roger returned, he would write to Leonie, then call Garnier to give him the letter. This would both identify the man for Pierre and permit Pierre to know when he received the letter so that he could watch for its transfer.

  “Only I don’t think the man Garnier gives it to will carry it direct,” Roger sighed. “I’m sure it will be carried first to Chaumette to read. Then, like as not, still another man will take it to where Leonie is held.”

  “Perhaps. I have an answer to that also.” Pierre smiled at Roger. “I am not unpracticed in the methods of detecting betrayal and the passing of secret messages, you know, and I told you I have some good men with me.”

  Instead of looking relieved, Roger looked even more worried. “Pierre, if you stick your neck out so that you head gets chopped off…”

  The smuggler laughed heartily, if softly, and clapped Roger on the shoulder. Then he poured a tumbler full of brandy from the bottle that was standing on the table and pushed it toward his friend. “Take that down, all at once, and then to bed with you. When you begin to tell me how to be careful, it is time you were asleep.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was a good prescription. Roger slept quite soundly, but so had Leonie—and without any brandy. Her soporific had been planning in detail for all the contingencies that might arise. Each time she thought of a new circumstance that could interfere with disposing of Danou and Panel and worked around it, another layer of tension fell away. By the time she was quite sure she had planned for every circumstance, Leonie was quite completely relaxed and ready for sleep.

  The morning light and the clear head resulting from a good rest showed more problems than solutions. If she disposed of the men before Roger was able to follow Fifi back, where was she to go? She had no cloak or hat and did not know where she was. To wander the streets wearing only a dress, and not rags but a decent middle-class dress, would certainly arouse curiosity. To imply she did not know where she was would arouse suspicion. In addition Leonie knew she was not ordinary looking. Her blonde hair made her easy to remember. Thus, she dared not ask for directions to some well-known landmark near her home, like the Temple.

  The easiest answer, of course, was just to stay in the house and wait for Roger to come, after she had disposed of the guards. Stay in the house with two dead men? Leonie shivered, then told herself severely that it was silly to be afraid of Danou and Panel dead when she was not afraid of them alive. Still, there might be other reasons why she should not stay in the house. She would have to devise a cloak for herself and perhaps a hood to cover her hair. Leonie began to look around for materials, but Fifi wriggled out from under the bed and went scratching on the door. Leonie followed her, knocked, and called for Citizen Danou. It was Panel who unlocked the door for her and stood blocking it. Leonie, not willing to seem aggressive, stepped back a little and said civilly that she was ready to have breakfast and the dog needed to go out. She even managed a smile.

  Panel looked at her for a long moment and seemed about to speak when a door opened below. Then the man shouted for Danou, and a scene similar to the one the previous evening was enacted, except that the men did not this time hold Leonie’s arms when she let Fifi out. She took no foolish advantage of this freedom, only watching as Fifi made a quick circuit of the garden and then slid through the gate. Leonie closed the door and suggested she have her breakfast in the kitchen where it was warm, which would save the men the trouble of carrying the dishes of food into the other room.

  This proposal also received ready agreement, as did her next, which was that she be permitted to brew her own coffee. Leonie’s face was thoughtful as she prepared the drink. Her violent rage of the previous night had faded. She now realized that many things could have made Roger’s epistolary style stiff and his handwriting shaky—fear for her being the most obvious. She was no longer quite so eager to kill Danou and Panel. Pots and pans were not ordinarily thought as dangerous, but a kettle of boiling water could disable a man and a heavy
frying pan render him unconscious quite as effectively as more conventional weapons. Now smiling brightly, Leonie consumed her croissants and coffee, talking affably to Danou while she considered where it would be best to hit him.

  Of course, in order to use the pan as a weapon, it would be necessary to obtain the right to use it for its normal purpose first. Leonie sighed deeply and deliberately and, as she hoped she would be, was asked why. It was so dull for her here, she complained. At home she was always busy. Here she did not have enough to do. Before Danou could reply, Fifi came scratching at the door and, simultaneously, the bell rang for the front. Danou hurried to answer the door while Leonie rose to let in the dog. As she passed his chair, the other guard seized her arm. Docilely, Leonie stopped, thinking he did not want her to open the door while Danou was out of the room.

  “I can arrange for you to have something to keep you busy,” he said softly. The leer on his face made plain enough what was in his mind, but he did not intend to leave Leonie in any doubt, and gave one of her breasts a quick squeeze.

  Color flamed in her face, and she twisted away, but she did not cry out. A woman not accustomed to insult would have screamed, a woman inured to it would have responded in the hope of using her insulter. Leonie did not feel the shock an innocent and sheltered girl or wife would feel, but Roger had restored her full sense of her own worth. Instead of fear, rage and revulsion seized her, so furious a rage that after her instinctive wrench to free herself she was stricken mute and paralyzed.

  To the guard such behavior—a blush but no protest, pulling away but no withdrawal—could only mean a playful coyness that would lead to yielding. He had said from the beginning to Danou that he was treating the woman wrong. Any girl torn from her home should have wept and screamed no matter what assurances were given her. She should have shrunk away from her abductors in fear rather than smiling and chatting with them as soon as she was over the effects of the blow on her head. Obviously, now that she had recovered from the shock and realized she would be away from her husband for some time, she would like a little servicing from a new man. It was always so with women. Danou had resisted Panel’s advice violently, but Danou was an ugly brute, Panel thought. He would just try his idea out on his own. Women never resisted him for long.

  Whether Leonie could have controlled herself when the seizure of rage passed was not tested. Chaumette and Danou entered the kitchen before Leonie could do more than gasp for breath. On the instant, her mind began to function swiftly. If she complained, Panel would probably be removed but not punished. That could not be permitted. No man would ever touch her again without her permission. At least, no man would do so and live.

  “What is wrong, citoyenne?” Chaumette asked, seeing far more in her flaming face and glowing eyes than Panel did.

  “I am angry,” Leonie snarled. Then she made an effort and checked herself. “I have given my word to Citizen Danou that I will not try to escape or make a noise or do anything to draw attention, and this man would not let me open the door for my dog.”

  “You must try to forgive him, citoyenne,” Chaumette remarked, his eyes narrowing.

  It was obvious to him that such violent emotion could not be generated over so small a point. However, he really did not want to remove the men he had assigned to this task. Danou was too aware of Chaumette’s power to cross him, and Panel was too much of a fool even to wonder why the woman had been abducted. As the day for the little king’s escape drew nearer, the situation became more and more dangerous. The fewer people involved the better. Thus, Chaumette was only too pleased to overlook Leonie’s complaint.

  “Please understand,” he said, “that what Danou has told you it true. I wish you to be content here. However, to ensure your husband’s behavior, we must keep you safe, and thus Panel was within his orders when he did not wish you to go to the door.”

  Meanwhile, Danou had let Fifi in and she ran to her mistress.

  “How did the dog come here?” Chaumette asked sharply.

  “She followed the carriage,” Danou replied. “I can kill her,” he added with relish. “I did not do it when I first saw her because you told me…”

  Leonie snatched Fifi up and uttered an inarticulate cry. Panel put a hand on her back, and she gasped and went rigid with disgust. Chaumette did not notice what Panel had done, but Leonie’s protective gesture and rigidity were a clear warning. He shook his head at Danou. He did not like the presence of Fifi in the house, but he knew how devoted childless women were to those useless little pets and he realized that, in a sense, he had outsmarted himself. If he permitted Danou to kill the dog, the woman might be driven to desperation. Certainly she would write of her grief and her loss—that first stupid letter, which Danou had handed him, was all about the cursed creature. And the gunsmith might also take fright from their killing the dog.

  “No, no,” Chaumette said, reinforcing his headshake, “if Citoyenne Saintaire finds comfort in her pet, we will do nothing that could distress her.”

  Danou’s face fell. He had hoped, when Chaumette defended Panel, that the delicate treatment of the woman was no longer necessary because she had already written a letter, and he had already almost tasted the joy of beating her into agreeableness. Chaumette had also seemed to ignore Panel’s hand on Leonie’s back and that brought Panel’s advice to mind. Danou had wondered for a minute whether they might be able to use the woman as they saw fit. But the definite order to let the dog alone…

  “I am only doing my duty to my master,” Danou said hastily. “Remember what—”

  “Shut your mouth,” Chaumette snapped, then turned to Leonie. “Has he threatened you, Citoyenne Saintaire?”

  “No,” Leonie whispered. Panel had taken his hand away, but she felt as if a load of slimy night soil had been smeared on her and hate was rising in her, choking her so that she found it hard to speak.

  “Perhaps you are afraid to tell me what you really feel,” Chaumette remarked with spurious sympathy. “Come with me into the parlor. There you may tell me privately whether either of these fools has offended you in any way. If you are dissatisfied with them, they will be sent away and punished before I leave this house, and other guards will be chosen for you.”

  The walk across the corridor was brief, but it was long enough for Leonie to regain control of herself. Chaumette walked behind her, wondering how he could insist that she permit Danou and Panel to remain and yet not arouse her resentment. He need not have worried about it. Leonie would not have parted with either of those men even if they had beaten her. She was, right now, far more intent on revenging herself on that filthy Panel and that bestial hypocrite Danou than she was on than escaping. Vaguely she heard Chaumette defending his henchmen and asking her indulgence for them, explaining that neither of them was accustomed to dealing with respectable women like herself, but he would speak firmly to them and make sure they were more careful in the future. Would she give them another chance? He would soon return, and if she still did not like them…

  “I don’t dislike them,” Leonie said softly. “Citizen Danou has been most polite, and I see little of Citizen Panel, which is just as well. His manner is crude, but I am sure if you tell him I do not like it he will be more careful. I do not wish to make any trouble for you, Citizen Chaumette. My husband has explained that, owing to some important business he must do for you, I must stay here to ensure his safety and mine. As long as I receive his letters and know he is well, I will be quiet and obedient.”

  If he had not been afraid he would frighten and offend Leonie, Chaumette would have kissed her. She had said exactly what he wanted to hear, exactly what he had planned she would say. Apparently his plan of treatment had been right. Both husband and wife would be passive and compliant as long as the other was safe.

  “I have only one small complaint, or rather, request,” Leonie continued, taking swift advantage of Chaumette’s smile. “I am so bored. Would it be possible for Danou to buy me needles and thread and cloth so that I c
ould sew? And could I do the cooking? It is so very dull to sit all day in one room. I begin to think strange thoughts and grow frightened.”

  “We must not have you frightened by you own imagination. I will see about the sewing. As to the cooking—please yourself.”

  “Must I wait until you return for my needles and thread?” Leonie asked wistfully. “I have no nightdress nor any clean linen.”

  “No—oh, very well. Danou or Panel will get something for you, but they will not know what to choose.”

  “I will tell them what to ask for. Anyone serving in a mercer’s shop will give them properly matching cloth and thread, and Roger will pay,” Leonie added ingenuously, wishing to remind Chaumette that she was very dear to her husband.

  Chaumette nodded. He did not need any reminder of Roger’s devotion. He remembered all too vividly the blazing blue eyes, the cords standing in Roger’s neck as he strained forward, hissing, “I’ll kill you.” For time to time he wondered if he had seized the tail of a serpent that would turn and bite him, and he considered giving orders that man and wife be killed. Most of the time, however, the violence was the best guarantee Chaumette had that Roger would obey implicitly his orders regarding the young king. The woman, at least, would be no trouble. She was docile and not too clever. Chaumette uttered some meaningless platitudes, assured Leonie that the letter would be delivered to her husband, and went to have a few final words with Danou.

  This conversation put Danou into so good a humor that he was quite in charity with Leonie and willing, for the time being, to satisfy her requests. Since the first of these was for supplies to prepare a decent dinner for all three of them, Danou did not hesitate before he sent Panel out to buy the makings for the meal. This time he did not even suggest Leonie go to her room but sat chatting with her in the kitchen. Leonie did nothing to spoil this growing trust, although he mind was busy with the next step in her program.

  Her problem was to find a few minutes to tell Fifi to “find Roger”. If she went to her room, Leonie could say the words, but she was not sure Fifi would remember if she was not sent out immediately. The little dog might think Roger was hiding in the house, as Leonie and François had hidden to play the game on rainy days. She racked her brains desperately, knowing she had only the little time before Panel returned, but no answer came. Then, as so often happens, the problem solved itself. By the time the front doorbell rang, announcing Panel’s return, Danou was so lulled by Leonie’s passivity that he went to answer it without either taking her with him or sending her up to her room. As soon as he was out the door, Leonie sprang to her feet and seized Fifi.