Chapter 5
Five
Rafe sat before the fire, idly twirling the thick stem of a wineglass between his long fingers.
The plates had been cleared, and his unusual guest had retired to take her bath in the antechamber.
There was something curious about her, he thought.
She spoke courtly French and carried herself like a lady, and yet she was dressed like a woman of the streets.
He found himself intrigued to see what she looked like underneath the dirt.
The wind rattled the panes of the room’s long window and set the curtains fluttering.
Jervis rose and stoked the fire, which had begun to sputter from the draft.
“Weather’s beginning to change captain. If we don’t get started for Calais soon, it’s for sure the Xanthus will sail without us.
” He gave the fire a strong poke. “I don’t relish the thought of being stranded in another French inn, waiting for the next available passage to Dover. ”
Rafe placed his near-empty wineglass on the table. “I’d like to make sure those cargoes of silks reach London in time for the opening of the season.”
Jervis nodded and sat down across from him.
“The troubles here have been driving prices sky high. With the right timing, you stand to make a pretty profit.” He tapped a finger along his long nose and his dark eyes twinkled.
“And I’ll be betting you’ll need to keep a sharp lookout on Miss Elizabeth, this being her first season and all. ”
Rafe frowned; Lord knew what trouble his sister would get herself into with only her mother in tow.
“So what about the little baggage next door? She’s not exactly your style, Captain.”
Rafe explained how he’d found her.
Jervis frowned. “Those sans-culottes are a bad lot. I’ve heard all kinds of stories about them attacking women on the streets and no one lifting a hand to help.
” He shook his head. “Still it seems odd that the girl was wandering about alone. You think it could be some kind of a set up? Maybe she’s part of a gang and they play along until somebody rescues her and then she sets the poor sod up for robbery. ”
“She claims she was looking for her mother.”
Jervis raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure it wasn’t her madame?”
An erratic bumping followed by a loud crash interrupted their debate. “What in hell’s...” Rafe muttered as he flung himself from the chair and burst through the antechamber door without stopping to knock.
Alix was sitting on the floor, her face flushed beneath the tangle of her hair, her hands twisted around her back. She looked up at him and grimaced.
“I appear to have knocked over the table while trying to unlace my stays.”
A small three-legged table lay on its side along with a now-dented candlestick, a lump of soap, and a hairbrush. Jervis, peering around Rafe’s shoulder, gave a whoop of laughter. Rafe motioned for him to step back.
Alix mustered a tone of great dignity. “Perhaps you might send someone up to assist me with my toilette?”
A smile playing at the corners of his mouth, Rafe held out a hand and helped her to her feet.
“I have some experience in these matters. Perhaps I might be of service.” When she hesitated, he spun her about, hooked a finger in the laces of her stays and pulled her toward him.
Ignoring her sputter of protest, he deftly unlaced the rose satin ribbons and slid the heavy garment off.
Alix gasped both from the unexpected familiarity of the gesture and from the fear that he might examine the stays too closely. Turning to face him she said in her most imperious voice, “I’ll take back my stays if you please.”
“I’ve told you I’m not interested in taking you to bed,” he responded, amusement in his voice.
“At least not in your current state. But no doubt you’ll agree with me that all of your garments are in serious need of a wash.
If you’ll hand out your chemise and petticoats, I’ll find you something to wear until we’ve got your clothes clean and mended.
In the meantime, I suggest you get into that bath before the water grows cold. ”
The door closed with a snap.
Alix stood frozen in place. What to do now?
She’d look ridiculous if she went storming into the next room with nothing on but her shift demanding the return of her stays.
Moreover, a heated argument over undergarments was bound to raise questions.
She glanced at the hipbath by the fire, steamy tendrils beckoning like phantom fingers from the surface of the water and caught a whiff of lavender.
She relaxed her body with effort, then slid her shift over her head and eased into the soapy water, feeling the warmth embrace her tired body.
She’d just have to trust that she could get her stays back before Rafe or anyone else had a chance to examine them too closely.
She picked up the washcloth. Things were happening too fast. She shouldn’t have sent David back before she’d reached her mother’s.
She began vigorously scrubbing her hair and skin, rinsing away layers of grime.
She and David had passed through so many checkpoints, been searched and questioned, but still they’d managed to get through.
She glanced at her hands; David had made her scrape them along rocks so the skin wouldn’t look so smooth and unaccustomed to labor.
Her nails were broken and dirty. There were long scratches on her arms that she’d gotten from crawling between the boards of the chicken wagon.
She scrubbed harder. The distance to her mother’s had been so short, and she’d been so sure that Madeleine would be home. She’d gotten overconfident.
Alix shuddered, thinking of the three men who’d attacked her on her mother’s doorstep.
She wished she could scrub hard enough to erase the memory.
They’d grabbed at her, their eyes hungry and their mouths loose and wet.
She wasn’t naive; she’d seen and heard enough at Versailles to know what they wanted.
She thought of how she’d struggled and no one had come, how people on the streets just kept walking.
Until the man Harcrest came along. Her hands clenched the washcloth.
She wondered what he would he expect in payment for his services.
Men always expected payment, her mother said.
She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe.
He’d said he wasn’t interested in taking her to bed, she reminded herself.
Yet he knew she was alone and unprotected.
She cursed herself for telling him too much, but what else could she do?
She could go back out on the streets, or she could somehow convince this man to help her.
Alix thought of the gems in her stays. Perhaps she could buy his protection, promise him more when she found her mother?
There was nothing else to be done, she thought as she ran her fingers through the worst of the tangles in her hair.
She needed his help. She’d have to go back to Madeleine’s apartments and see if there was anyone or anything there that might tell her where the comtesse had gone.
She couldn’t bring her mind to accept the idea that her mother might be imprisoned or killed.
She must have fled, but where? Italy was too far, the way to Austria cut across a war zone. England was the most likely choice.
How could she reach Calais by herself? She splashed water on her face.
She was so tired, it was hard to think. She gazed longingly at the low rope bed against the wall, and yawned.
The threadbare linens and the rough wool blanket looked as inviting as any eiderdown.
Maybe if she could just rest her head for a few moments, the fog that enshrouded her brain might clear and it would come to her what she should do.
“Mademoiselle Alix seems to be a bit awkward for a femme du monde,” Jervis remarked as he dropped back into his chair. He eyed the stays Rafe still held in his hand. “And that’s some fancy looking lingerie she’s sporting.”
Rafe turned the elegant stays in his hand examining not only the satin laces, but the rosebuds delicately stitched in pale shades of silk thread.
He flipped them over and his eyes narrowed as he recognized the label of one of the most exclusive stay makers in Paris.
Handing them to Jervis he said, “Not exactly the stays of a working girl.”
Jervis whistled in appreciation. “Not to mention a bit too hard wearing for the job.” Then running his hand across the fabric, he frowned. “Here, what’s this? There’s something sewed into this thing.”
Knowing Rafe would stop him if he asked first, Jervis slipped a small knife from .
his boot and began cutting the tiny stitches.
A pile of tightly folded papers tumbled into his hand.
“Eh, papers, can’t read ‘em,” he muttered thrusting them at Rafe.
“Ooh, but I definitely speaks the language of these gents,” he said as a small trove of jeweled earrings and rings spilled out of another section of the lining.
Rafe glanced at the glittering gems in Jervis’s lap and said sternly, “Put them back.”
Jervis chuckled. “The gents and I was just visiting, not planning a lasting friendship. So what’s the story? What’s in them papers?”
Rafe unfolded the sheets and smoothed them out.
Leafing quickly through them, he said, “Titles for several large estates south of Paris, residency papers.” He glanced up at Jervis, his eyes thoughtful.
“I think the lady and I need to have a talk. In the meantime, make yourself useful and stroll back down to the Rue de l’Université.
See if you can find out who’s been living at the house with the dancing nymphs on the front, but do it quietly. ”
“You don’t have to worry about me none, Captain,” Jervis replied, retrieving a battered tricorne from the window ledge. “I am the soul of discretion.” He paused at the sitting room door and glanced back at Rafe. “We’re still leaving Paris on Friday, aren’t we, Captain?”