Chapter 15
I cleared my throat, meeting the collective stares of the tavern’s patrons. “I beg your pardon,” I said again.
None were moved by my apology. One by one, they turned away, resuming their breakfast or their coffee.
I slid a local newspaper toward me and began to peruse it as I ate, but I could little concentrate on the words within, nor on the excellent meal.
The atmosphere in the congenial coffee house had become as chilly as a mausoleum, and I had no idea why.
Not long later, I joined Brewster in the market streets. He enjoyed his strolls through them, finding little trinkets to take home to his wife in London.
When I told him what had transpired in the coffee house, he sent me a dark look.
“Not surprised, guv. I made the mistake of saying that name to one of the vendors. Had a box thrown at me. I twigged right quick to keep my mouth shut. Whoever that bloke was, it strikes a tinder in these parts.”
“Vernet might know,” I said. “But perhaps not, as he is not from here. Even Colonel Moreau didn’t recognize the name.”
Although, I realized when I thought it through, Moreau had said nothing at all. I couldn’t be certain of his knowledge or ignorance.
“Might be specific to this part of the city,” Brewster suggested. “Like His Nibs is well known in certain circles.”
“Possibly.” Was I to encounter another notorious criminal? And would Denis assist me if I ran into trouble with him? “I’d like more information before I draw conclusions. Obviously the name alone is enough to unnerve people, which explains why it wasn’t part of a letter or document.”
“No need, if even saying it makes everyone chary.”
I’d tucked the paper we’d found into my pocket, and now my coat felt heavy. “The Deveres might know, or Auberge.”
I hoped I would not have to ask Major Auberge. He likely possessed great knowledge about the people of Lyon, but I still had difficulty sitting down and having a chat with him.
“Or, your lady wife’s friend, the comtesse.”
“True.” Donata had no qualms about coaxing particulars from her acquaintances, which she did skillfully, without causing offense. I was rather more blunt, easily upsetting people.
Once Brewster had finished his shopping, we returned home, where I intended to plan my day more coherently. I’d fatigued myself rushing all over Lyon yesterday and would hire a coach for the entire afternoon. I’d move logically from place to place, asking my questions as discreetly as possible.
That was my intention. However, while I sat at the desk in the library, making notes, Bartholomew interrupted me.
“Young Mr. Devere is here,” he said, his blue eyes troubled. Bartholomew had grown fond of Emile, and now he exuded distress. “He’s very upset. I’ve put him in the back sitting room.”
I rose in alarm. “Is Gabriella with him? Is she all right?”
“He wouldn’t say. He insisted on seeing you, and he’s crying.”
I seized my walking stick and moved as fast as I could past Bartholomew and out of the room. All I could imagine was Gabriella hurt, ill, with Emile dispatched to tell me.
My calmer reason told me that someone would have sent a message if Gabriella had been ill, with Emile remaining with her in concern.
These thoughts barely glimmered past my panic as I tramped down the stairs, cursing my slowness.
The sitting room was a sunny chamber in the rear of the house, beneath the one in which Donata, Grenville, and I had conversed last night. This room had high ceilings and wide windows that led into the garden, a lovely place for whiling away a summer afternoon.
Emile hunched on the edge of one of the graceful sofas, his head in his hands. A goblet of brandy, untouched, sat on the table next to him.
“What is it, Emile?” I demanded as I stormed in. “What has happened?”
Emile raised a tear-stained face then unfolded to his feet, the very picture of dejection.
“Captain,” he sobbed. “The wedding is cancelled.”
“Cancelled?” I stared at him, uncertain I’d understood. He’s said annulé, but I repeated the word in English. “What the devil do you mean, cancelled? Did Gabriella beg off?”
Emile blinked, surprised out of his weeping. “No, no. Gabriella is as distraught as I. At least, so I am told. I was not allowed to speak to her. No, it is my father who has declared the wedding is at an end. That you and Lady Donata should pack your things and return to England.”
I was torn between relief that Gabriella was apparently safe, and astonished outrage.
“What the devil? Emile, sit down and tell me, as clearly as you can, what has happened.”
Emile dropped to the sofa, his chest heaving with sobs. I thumped to him, took up the brandy, and thrust it under his nose. Emile obediently gulped down a portion then drew a breath and wiped his eyes.
“I apologize, sir,” he said when he could. “I have never felt such pain before. It has robbed me of air.”
“Do find enough to explain this to me. Why would your father tell you to abandon Gabriella? She could have done nothing to offend.”
Emile shook his head. “No, indeed, my family adore her. But my father and Uncle Fernand informed me this morning that I must break it off with her, with her entire family. I have known Gabriella and her sisters and brothers all my life. We were raised together …”
“Did they give a reason?” I interrupted before Emile could regress into weeping.
“Was it because I visited the ironworks unexpectedly?” Fernand and his worker, Michel, had been very uncomfortable with my sudden presence.
“Surely they don’t believe I was stealing their factory’s secrets, which I wouldn’t understand even if they lined them up in front of me. ”
“It has to do with the name on the paper we found in Signor Gallo’s lodgings.
” Emile took another shuddering breath. “I did not tell my family of it, as you bade me, and I saw no reason to. But Uncle Fernand heard that you had been asking about this man, this Monsieur Potier, whoever he was, and my father and uncles became enraged. They told me I must shun Gabriella and never have anything to do with you or your family again.”
I listened in amazement. “Because of that, you must put aside Gabriella? Have they run completely mad?”
“I do not know.” Emile scrubbed his face. “But I cannot let her go, sir. I love her. I love her deeply—”
“Yes, yes,” I said hastily. As pleased as I was that Emile cared for Gabriella, I did not need him waxing on about it just now. “This is absurd. I will speak to your father.”
Emile sprang up in alarm. “No, you must not. I came to beg you to take Gabriella and me to England with you. We can marry in that place in Scotland where one can wed without the banns—I fear that if we waited for those to be read, my father and uncles would find some way to come and drag me back home.”
“You wish me to help you elope?” I asked in exasperation. “That is very romantic of you, Emile, but you will come to regret such a step.”
“I will never regret marrying Gabriella. She is my other self.”
“No, I meant that both of you will grow unhappy if you are cut off from your families. You would need to make a living, and your father expects you to take over the Devere business—every tie you have is to Lyon.”
“As long as I have Gabriella, I will be strong,” Emile said faintly.
I ceased trying to reason with him, knowing Emile would never understand.
I warned him from experience—I’d soon realized what an utter fool I’d been for coaxing Carlotta to run away with me.
I’d been young and as romantic and in love as Emile was now, and I’d only succeeded in making Carlotta miserable.
“Emile,” I said firmly. “We will go to your father and uncles and explain that I meant no harm. I don’t know who this be-damned fellow is, and I don’t care to know if it means you and Gabriella must spend your lives in wretchedness.”
Emile did not renew his argument, but I could see he did not agree. He watched with a mixture of sorrow and trepidation as I rang for Bartholomew.
I bade Bartholomew send for a carriage, which arrived in a short time. I bundled Emile inside and sat across from him, while Brewster, alerted, lumbered from the house and perched on the back of the coach.
“I must have a clear idea of the ground before I march into it,” I told Emile as we wound down the hill. “What exactly did your father and uncle tell you about Monsieur Potier?”
“Nothing at all.” Emile regarded me in worry.
“When they revealed how angry they were, I wasn’t even certain what they were talking about.
Michel took me aside and said that you’d been asking questions about a certain name.
I didn’t understand what he meant until I recalled the paper we found yesterday and concluded you must have mentioned it to someone.
Michel would say nothing more about it.”
I was surprised the taciturn Michel had told him even that much.
“I asked the proprietor of my usual wine shop if he’d heard the name,” I confessed. “It caused a shock. Brewster says his mention of it in the market drew a similar response, so we ceased. That is all. Word certainly spread quickly.”
Emile gave me a shaky smile. “This is Lyon.”
We said nothing more as the carriage rattled along the bank of the Sa?ne. The river soon met with the larger body of the Rh?ne at a triangle of land south of town, beyond which lay the Devere ironworks.
Emile shrank into himself as the coach turned into the lane that led to the factory. “Are you certain we should not elope?” he asked in a small voice.
“Put that thought out of your head, please. This is my fault. Indirectly, yes, but I will put things right with your father and uncles, and all will be well.”
Emile clearly did not believe this, but he said nothing more.
The carriage moved through the gate to the courtyard, and Emile and I descended, Brewster hopping to the ground behind us.
The burly Michel immediately emerged from the dim recesses of the ironworks, hammer in hand. Emile darted in front of me and began imploring him in the dialect I’d heard them use before.
Michel at least listened to Emile. He nodded at the young man, and after a glare at me and Brewster, disappeared into the factory.
Emile did not follow, standing awkwardly in the yard while the other workers sent us curious glances as they went about their business.
We did not have to wait long before Fernand stormed from the brick building with the full contingent of Deveres behind him.
“Emile,” Fernand called to his nephew. “Inside.”
Emile shot a look at me, torn between bravado and obedience. Then he squared his shoulders and remained where he was. My respect for him rose, though I wasn’t certain if his presence would help.
“This is a misunderstanding, Devere,” I said to Fernand.
“I have obviously blundered where I should not, without meaning to. I apologize for disconcerting you and will say no more about it. Gabriella has nothing to do with any of this. Please do not take out your frustrations at me on her and Emile.”
I thought this a reasonable argument, but Fernand’s scowl deepened.
“I warned you, Captain, do you not remember? I said to you several times that you should not pry into that which does not concern you. And yet, you continue to confound us. Better that you and your lady wife depart for England and leave the rest of us alone.”
I could point out that if Donata had word of this conundrum, the Deveres might find themselves at the wrong end of a lawsuit.
Breaking an engagement involved complicated legalities, not simply the unhappiness of the couple involved.
I hoped to resolve the problem before Donata rose for the day, but Fernand’s obstinacy might impede me.
“I understand that you are angry with me,” I said. “But there is no need to end the engagement that has brought happiness to so many.”
Emile’s father, behind his three brothers, betrayed a glint of sorrow. Claude’s father, Giraud, appeared to waver, but Fernand and the fourth brother, Julien, as they had yesterday in the street, regarded me intractably.
“We want nothing more to do with you,” Fernand declared.
“If Emile marries your daughter, you will expect to come here, to see her children, to remind them who they are. When we believed she was an Auberge, this did not matter. But then we discovered she had another father—an Englishman and a officer in your army. What’s more, one who will try to put a claim on our family, when we owe you nothing. ”
I grew more and more amazed as he spoke.
When we’d first arrived in Lyon, the Deveres had been curious about me and my past relationship with Carlotta, but they’d been friendly enough.
Something had changed, something I had no inkling of. Somehow, I’d tugged at a thread that had swiftly unraveled every bit of trust between the Deveres and me.
“Now you are being ridiculous,” I said before I could stop myself. “I wish you no harm at all. It is only natural that I’d want to visit my grandchildren, if any happily come along. But Emile will be the head of his family, and it will be his decision who visits and who does not.”
“Is this a threat?” Fernand demanded, and I heard Brewster stir behind me. “That you will turn our own Emile against us, when—“
He broke off, but not because of Emile’s distress or Brewster’s glowers. Another man had entered the yard, his boots scraping unhurriedly in the dust.
I swung around to behold Henri Auberge, Carlotta’s husband and Gabriella’s stepfather, standing quietly behind me.
“Fernand,” Auberge said. “Cease.”