Chapter Twenty-Three #2
“I tell you we now have two problems,” Evan said to Rafe as they sat at a small table, but Inès stood at the window of their newest accommodations arranged by Gaspard.
The majordom’s friend with information on the prisoners at La Force had given them terrible news.
“Learning that Luc Bechard has been transferred to the Conciergerie means it will take longer to find a guard to help us. Neither you nor I knows anyone like that. Gaspard does not either.”
Durham grimaced and clasped his hands together. “We must not stay in Paris much longer.”
Inès had the solution. “I know of one person who may be able to help us.”
Both men glanced up at her.
“She knows more than many think she does—and she has helped our cause constantly.”
Her husband tipped his head in question. “Tell us who she is. We must see her as soon as possible.”
Inès examined the man she adored. He would not be pleased with her next words. To say nothing of Rafe, who would explode and deny the logic of talking to the one woman whom many in London had labeled a traitor.
“We need so much more than the name of a guard in the bowels of Conciergerie. We need clothes for my brother. He likely lives in rags. We need an escape route, but we also need a place—rooms or a house—close to the prison. If Luc is ill or injured, he may not be able to go far.”
“That’s not a problem,” Rafe assured her.
“He and I have talked about that, sweetheart.” Her husband continued to show her his calm in the eye of this storm they faced. “If need be, Rafe and I can carry Luc.”
“How far, eh? I suggest a bateau for the Seine. One with a roof to conceal us,” she said.
Neither man responded.
She went on. “A boat is quiet. Beneath the streets where they will hunt for a carriage or horses. They will expect clatter. We can foil them by hiring a few children to clang their homemade drums.”
Evan smothered a chuckle. “A boat is easy to rent.”
“Better yet,” Rafe said, shaking a finger at them both, “we should buy one. Then we are not tracked by the owner. We don’t want to have issues with anyone.”
“More than that,” Inès insisted, “we need a place for Luc to bathe and dress, and for all of us to rest, if necessary.”
Evan downed the last of his cognac. “We will move on to the coast as soon as Luc can travel.”
Inès stared at him. “We need a plan of escape, a series of auberges in which to hide. Guards will imagine we go up the Seine back to the southern coast of England. But what if we don’t?”
“Darling, how fast can we be if we take another route?” Evan was not arguing with her but taking her advice and building on it.
She smiled slowly at this man who took direction from his wife and grinned at her in return. “If we head south and take the Loire west, we can go faster to the sea.”
Evan sat back, a look of satisfaction on his face. “So tell us, my love, who is this person who will help us with all this?”
“Cecily, Countess Nugent, who walks among Society and has for more than a decade.”
Rafe snorted, appalled. “The woman who left England and the regent to become the mistress of the old Duc d’Orleans? Pardon me, Inès, but how can that be?”
“Too easily, I am afraid,” she responded with all the compassion of one who knew secrets millions would never even guess.
“My brother once owned our vineyards and chateau along the Loire. We produced the most luscious white the Countess Nugent ever drank. What’s more, Luc became her vintner for her home in Paris.
She recommended our wines to everyone.” She could see Rafe was not convinced.
“What’s more, Madame Nugent is the aunt who raised Augustine, Lady Ashley, and the one who took in a little orphan, Amber, now Lady Ramsey. ”
Rafe shook his head, skeptical. “But she is friends with Josephine, with Pauline Bonaparte and Thérésa Tallien! How could she help us?”
Inès shrugged one shoulder. “Because she loves her adopted daughters, their husbands, and their friends.”
“And their politics?” Rafe asked. “Why?”
“I cannot answer that for her, but I do know I can go ask her for help.”
Rafe stared at her. “She won’t turn you in?”
“To Vaillancourt?” Inès asked with a sense of whimsy. “Oh, never. That man nearly killed her two daughters. He is her enemy. And, dare I say, since the day that man helped in the murder of her beloved Orleans, the devil she hates most is René Vaillancourt.”
#
Two days later, Inès strolled in front of the bathing house near the ancient burial vaults of the French monarchs in the church of St. Denis.
She had been here often before. Once she had met Gus, when she wished help to find her missing friend Amber.
Today, she would meet the woman who had given a home and love and laughter to those two admirable women.
Cecily, Countess Nugent, did not appear. It was ten minutes after the hour they were to meet.
Inès fidgeted. She could not stay here much longer without attracting attention.
True, some men met their lovers here. But not usually women.
Across the cobbles on the corner where a café stood, her husband purchased a gossip sheet from a ragged boy.
Evan pretended to read the paper, caught by a story that raised his brows, and allowed him to pretend his interest and dally there.
“Ma chérie,” came a liquid-whisky voice from behind her. “How lovely you have grown.”
Inès turned into the open arms of a tall lady whose classic beauty could not be concealed by the silken veil she wore from her elegant green chapeau.
The hat, of course, matched her cloak, which, however, spoke of poorer circumstances than Inès knew the countess’s to be.
“I am so grateful you have come,” she whispered, nigh to tears that the lady would help her.
“?a va bien. I would always come for you. I know about your brother’s fate.” Cecily smiled at Inès with compassion and patted her back. “Now, now. No tears. I venture we are here to do work, comme ca?”
That the lady perceived her challenge was such a relief. She did not have to explain.
She cupped Inès’s cheek with her gloved hand. “Where have you been, ma chouchou? I have not seen you in years and years.”
“Away. I had a job. I did it. And then”—Inès hesitated a moment, but no one was about—“I had to flee.”
“I will not ask more. Let us walk, eh? Why not that café there?” Cecily nodded toward the one where Evan sat inside, near the window, drinking wine.
“Of course.”
They locked arms and strolled along.
“Is it England?”
“It is.” Inès grinned. “I will be tickled to relate the news. Can I?”
“Please do. For this, we need wine first. I promise to be quiet as you fill me with delight.”
They entered the little café, chose a table at the back near the kitchen, and ordered a carafe of vin rouge. Only one other table, beside the one Evan sat at, was occupied with a couple, man and woman, who were arguing in wild whispers.
From her vantage point, Inès could easily gaze across the room into the violet eyes of her husband. She did not let on that he was there. He would not want her to recognize him or introduce her.
The countess lifted her veil, and Inès could not control her joy at seeing how unchanged, how devastatingly lovely, the lady was at what must be mid-forties or fifty years of age.
Her hair, black, glossy curls, was in the latest Roman style, close to her head.
Her eyes—a luminous green with gold flecks—stunned anyone.
They were large and vivid. They were the same as Gus’s.
“You do not change, madame. I am so pleased to see you well.”
“You are kind, dear girl.” The lady squeezed her fingers, then let her go and sat back. “I try not to wear my worries on my face.”
“You are expert at that.”
“I think I must teach you how.” She arched finely tapered black brows. “Qu’est-ce que c’est? What is your worry, my dear? Why are we here?”
“I have come for Luc.”
She blew out a long breath. “A big problem.”
“I am also in a hurry.”
“But of course you are.”
“I have two men helping me.”
The lady twitched a brow. “Darling, you need an army.”
The garcon came with their two glasses, their bottle of wine, and a dish of roasted walnuts. He took his corkscrew and quickly skewered the cork and drew it out, then poured generous draughts and left them alone.
Both lifted their glasses in a small clink of a toast, tasted the vintage, and sat back.
“It needs to breathe, ma chérie.” The lady folded her hands in her lap and inclined her head toward Evan. “Is he yours?”
“Certainment.” Inès gave a laugh at Cecily’s perception. “Il est mon amour. My husband.”
“We will not invite him to join us.”
“Correct.”
The countess picked up her glass again, drank, and set it on the table.
“There is a man here, whom you may have met. He tried to get Luc free from La Force. Twice. He failed. This is why your brother is now in the old palace on the Seine. The dungeons are so old, ma chérie. Over a century. It is a feat to try to get anyone out.”
“I need someone, madame. I need him or her soon. Plus supplies, a place to stay.”
The countess clasped her hands before her on the table. “And if you fail, you will share your brother’s fate. So too will your dashing husband. Do you realize—”
“I do. I must!” Inès had to convince her to help. “You must understand. I…I worked with Gus and with Amber for years. With Luc, too. I was a contact, a runner, for many who…” She leaned closer to the lady. “You understand me.”
“I do. Continuer!”
“We were successful. But in my last assignment, madame, I was successful but I was discovered.”
“Does he know?”
“He does. He is here to help me get my brother.”
“Why?”
“He loves me.”
“Obviously. But what else? I see it, ma chérie. Confess it all.”
“I was discovered and had to flee to England. But I fled not solely because I wished to be away from my accuser, but because…” Inès could not say it.
The countess waited.
“Luc is held ransom to my actions. I was sent to England to assassinate William Pitt.”
The lady blanched. “The prime minister?”
“Oui, madame.”
“Did you—?”
“No. No, I did not. He truly did die of natural causes. I did not touch him.”
“So…the threat upon you remains, eh?”
Inès nodded. “It does. And on Luc, if he is still alive. That is why I must get him out.”
“And the one who demanded you kill that noble gentleman?”
“Vaillancourt.”
The lady stared at her for a long minute. Suddenly, she drained her glass, then poured more for both of them. “Finish your wine, my sweet girl. You and I must go meet a friend of mine.”
“Now?”
“Drink up. Then we go. Monsieur,” she said, smiling as she let her gaze drift toward Evan, “should follow at a distance. Is he good at this chicanery?”
“Oui, madame. Better than I.”
The two of them stood. Evan did not lift his head. Inès followed the lady to the door.
The countess began to don one of her gloves. “You will meet me at the Montmartre abattoir in one hour.”
Inès hated that place with a horror. The odor made her gag. The cries of the animals about to be slaughtered brought tears to her eyes. The slip and slide of all the blood and guts coating the cobbles made her unsure of her steps—and today, she did not wish to be sick or unsure of anything.
“I know it is not pretty there, but come to the pens where the butchers clean the carcasses. I will introduce you to your new colleague, eh?”
“I am most grateful.”
“If all goes well, send me a rose.”
“I will.” Inès accepted the affection of two kisses, one on each cheek.
The lady turned away, tugged on her second glove, then spun back to Inès. “You will do me one favor.”
Aside from finding a rose in blustery March weather? “Anything.”
“You will take another prisoner with you.”
Another? How? That complicates the escape. But Inès was beholden. “Of course.”
“A young lady of whom I am very fond. Once a ward of mine and Josephine, also a friend of Caroline Bonaparte and of Hortense, Josephine’s daughter…”
Inès opened her mouth, but found no words. “How do they know each other?”
“All attended school together. This young woman is a wild American. Despite her very good connections, she had the audacity to steal an item from Vaillancourt—and shamed him.”
Inès swallowed her shock. “Her name?”
“At the abattoir.” The countess adjusted the buttons on her pelisse.
“You will take her, nurse her to good health, then let her go wherever she wishes, oui? Your journey will have to be fast and your route a shrewd plan. Vaillancourt, true to his devilry, wanted to punish her and put her in his bed, and when she laughed…”
Inès knew the consequences of that for a woman in his sights. “He cast her to the jailors to do with as they will.”
“I am beside myself with grief.”
That was not a surprise.
“Her father was the former secretary to Thomas Jefferson, that man who is now president of the United States.”
Inès felt her knees go weak and her determination double. “He has died?”
“Two years ago. Some said he would one day have become president himself. But he was a ruthless man, a merchant and owner of slaves. My girl is nothing like him.”
“I will take excellent care of her, madame.”
Countess Nugent smiled with true love in her gaze. “I know you will. Adieu, ma chérie.”