Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
Normally, when he found himself in a quiet place during a mission, Marcus would take a deep breath and review the progress of his plans.
But the alley was so noxious, no sane man would willingly choose to enter it, much less try to breathe there.
It was dark, dank, and barely wide enough to accommodate two men standing shoulder-to-shoulder, though from the odor it was clearly wide enough to accommodate a single one pissing.
It was perfect.
Things were going to plan.
Marguerite de Rouvroy had agreed to accept his help. What did it matter if she believed he was rescuing her for money? Or that he couldn’t stop thinking about her?
It had been his choice to find her, he’d volunteered to bring her safely to England. It was only natural that she should be on his mind.
“Watch yourself, Dubois. You nearly knocked me flat.”
At the sound of a man’s voice nearing the alley, Marcus stepped back and tightened his grip on the sand-filled leather bag in his hand.
“I nearly knocked you flat?” Replied a man with the slurred consonants of the cheerfully drunk. “Look at your damn feet. You couldn’t walk a shtraight line if there were bayonets lined up on either side of you.”
A trio of soldiers stumbled past the alley.
“Leading strings,” yet another crowed, “we need to find some leading strings for him.”
“More like a harness.” Laughter drifted back as the men continued on their way.
He shouldn’t have kissed her. But he’d had to do something to stop her from challenging his story. And it was a far better choice than clamping a hand over her mouth and ordering her to listen, damn it.
“Fuck me, I’ve got to piss.” He heard a man’s voice nearing the alley.
Marcus hefted the leather bag from his left hand to his right.
“Just a little farther,” a woman’s coaxing voice. There was the sucking sound of footsteps in the mud as they passed the alley.
He exhaled with relief, then nearly gagged on the inhale.
A man would have immediately grasped an offer of escape from that hellhole of a prison. A man wouldn’t keep asking why. For that matter, neither would any sane woman.
Marguerite was possibly insane. She was also brilliant, beautiful and maddening.
And he couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of her lips against his.
Soft and warm. The feel of her body against his.
Softer, warmer. He shook his head. Feelings.
He pictured the apothecary’s cabinet in his chest, searching for a drawer in which to stuff the emotions and sensations she was stirring up in him.
The sooner he got her out of that damn prison and delivered her to her father, the better. He’d been on the road for weeks. He’d take some time off. Spend a few weeks alone in his studio. It had always done the trick before.
Before he’d met her.
Andre’s voice lifted in a loud, but slightly off-key version of the revolutionary song, “?a ira” was a welcome distraction: “Oh! It’ll be okay, be okay, be okay, Hang the aristocrats from on high! Oh! It’ll be okay, be okay…”
Action. It was what he needed. What he’d been waiting for; he crept forward, until he was standing at the mouth of the alley.
On the third “be okay,” Andre shoved the young soldier into the alley.
Marcus leapt forward, sand-filled bag in his hand.
“Wha…” Allard’s booted feet tangled as he stumbled sideways.
Before he could regain his balance, Marcus swung the blackjack, connecting with the side of the soldier’s head.
“Ooof,” was the only sound the young guardsman managed before he crumpled.
Marcus dropped the bag and caught Allard under the arms before he hit the ground. He dragged him back into the shadows of the alley.
“Get his hat,” Andre hissed.
“I will. Later.” The lad wasn’t heavy, but the ground in the alley was slick, and he had to fight to keep his balance. “A hand, if you will? We don’t have time to do this over again.”
“We don’t have time?” Andre caught Allard under the knees. “I just lost an hour of my life my listening to this wet-behind-the-ears soldier bang on about the hardships of service. The boy’s never even been in a skirmish, let alone full combat.”
They carried Allard further back to a spot where Marcus had spread a square of canvas. They set him on his feet, taking care not to let his uniformed body touch the filth splattered walls.
Marcus slid two fingers under Allard’s stock, feeling for the pulse in his neck.
When he was satisfied that the man was still alive, he hefted the man’s weight against Andre’s chest and began stripping off his uniform jacket.
When he finished, he tossed it over his shoulders and set to work on his waistcoat.
“Do you think they’ll fit?” Andre asked
“You pay far more attention to a lady’s form than I,” said Marcus. Or at least, that had been the case before her.
“But you’ve had more time to size up her measurements …”
He thought of how the waves of her hair had brushed his cheek. How he’d bent his arms just so to curve around her waist. Of how that waist had fitted between his hands. He stifled a groan. “Should do,” he said tersely.
There was a sound of footsteps nearing the alley—a single person walking rapidly, but intentionally keeping his footfalls light.
Marcus hissed a warning. Both men froze as the footsteps neared the entrance of the alley.
Andre might have a way with words, but even he’d be hard pressed to explain why they were holding an unconscious, half-dressed national guardsman between them.
The footsteps stopped at the mouth of the alley.
Marcus released the buttons of Allard’s waistcoat and slid his hand to the knife tucked in the back of his breeches. He gripped the leather-wrapped hilt. Pulled the weapon halfway out.
A massive figure stepped into the alley, blocking what little light had previously entered the narrow space. There was a rustling sound and then a blessedly familiar voice. “Not too late, am I?” David asked, adding, “I brought the sack.”
Marcus released the hilt, pushed the knife back into place, and returned to the business of removing Allard’s waistcoat.
“What kept you?” Andre whispered.
“Information gathering. Trust me. It was worth the delay…”
“First things, first,” Andre tugged the uniform jacket off Marcus’s shoulder and passed it to David. “Take that.”
The work of undressing Allard went significantly faster, freed of the encumbrance of the bulky garment and with the additional set of hands.
Removing his shoes was a challenge; removing his linen pants in the narrow darkness a balancing act.
But at last, they had him stripped down to his shirt and small clothes.
“Do we need those?” Andre said in a tone that managed to convey both his distaste for the task, but willingness to remove them, if that was what Marcus’s plan required.
“No. They’re among the things I smuggled into the prison.”
“Good,” Andre said. “So, we’re done here? Shall I drop him now?” He slid his boot sole back and forth in the muck; the slick, slurping sound like jelly being released from a mold.
Marcus felt a pang of sympathy for the half-naked soldier. On impulse, he emptied the pockets of his coat, slid the garment off and draped it over Allard’s shoulders. As they slid the man down, he used a booted foot to flip the tails of the coat beneath him.
“Protecting the private’s privates?” Andre said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Still, he’s better off than the last lot of national guardsmen we encountered…”
“About that.” David shifted the sack stuffed with Allard’s uniform over his shoulder as they headed out of the alley.
In a low voice, he recounted the discussion between the soldiers he’d overheard in the Cock’s Roost. “I figured they’d find them in a day or two,” he concluded, “but it’s damned bad luck, connecting it to Marcus. ”
“How?” Andre said, in a horrified tone.
“No idea.” David admitted.
“Do we speed things up?” Andre turned to look at Marcus.
“No. We’ll need to be more careful. Not less.
Security around the city gates is already tighter since they started rounding up the Girondins.
Rumors of an English spy on the loose and a breakout from the Conciergerie is only going to make things more challenging.
We’ll need to find a place to hide me and the lady for one, maybe two days.
Just in case.” Marcus said, hating the idea of losing more time.
“Not Suzanne’s,” he added. “We’ve put her at too much risk as it is. ”
“I’ve got an idea.” Andre volunteered. “It’s far enough away that we don’t have to worry if the guards from the prison decide to conduct a door-to-door search of the neighborhood. No nosy neighbors. Foot traffic is rare.”
“Sound’s promising…”
“Though you may not like it. It’s dark.”
A shiver went through Marcus, a memory of darkness and damp earth covering his eyes, filling his mouth, but he said levelly, “If it keeps us safe, I promise I’ll like it well enough.”
“If you weren’t such a damn fine forger, I might ask for that in writing.”
“I can make some modifications to the coach.” David said.
“Only what’s absolutely necessary,” Marcus said firmly, turning to look at him. “We don’t have time for a major rebuild.”
“I’ll arrange for a meeting with Madame de Rouvroy tomorrow,” Andre said, “I’ll say I’ve just found some critical piece of new evidence…though I’ll admit, I’m a bit concerned someone will connect me with our friend in the alley.”
“As for that, I’ve already come up with a plan…”
“As always, knew I could count on you. What have you come up with?”
Marcus slid a foot forward, pivoted, and swung, his balled-up fist connecting with Andre’s face with a meaty thunk.