Elizabeth Boyle (25 page)

She shook her head violently, clearing the fearful images from her mind. Blinking once or twice, she saw the walls return to their unimposing gray. “Never apologize for trying to do what is right. It is I who should be apologizing, to you and to that man. May his soul find peace.”

Giles caught hold of her by the shoulder and shook her gently. “They would have killed us right along with him. And where would that have left your parents? Your brother and his family? No, your instincts do you credit.”

“Credit? I did nothing because it was all I could do.” Panic started to rise within her, all her doubts and fears pushing it to the forefront. For this moment she’d taken any number of risks, and now . . . “I’ve changed my mind. You’re not going in with us. Get out of the cart.”

He shook his head. “No. I made a mistake back there, but I will not interfere again.”

She jumped from her seat down to the street. “No, it was my mistake, and look what happened—that old man died. Get out of the cart. I won’t kill you as well,” she continued, her fears and emotions getting the better of her. “You’ve been right all along. This plan is foolhardy and has no place for you.”

Giles climbed down and caught her hand. “You can’t start reconsidering alternatives now. While I agree your plan is preposterous, it’s just brazen enough to work.” He turned his head back toward the Seine. “It may sound callous, but the Queen’s death will give us the additional diversion we need to make this work.”

“If it works.” She pulled her hand free from his.

“It will succeed because you believe it will,” he answered. “What if something happens to you or to Oliver? With me along there is that much better of a chance for your family to reach England. But you must let me help.”

The guards at the front gate started to move toward them. She didn’t have much time.

Giles glanced over at them and back at her. “You, of all people, know how important it is to give someone their fantasy.” He saluted her. “Go in there, Citizeness Devinette. Make them feel the wrath of your displeasure if they don’t follow your orders immediately. Believe you have every right to march in there and demand the release of those traitors. Believe it, and those guards will follow your orders without hesitation.”

She had no choice; there was no time to dismiss him in front of the Abbaye guards.

Sophia nodded to Oliver, who turned the cart and horses toward the entrance. Two guards stepped forward, while several more stood at attention inside the closed iron gates.

Straightening her shoulders, she adjusted her sword before marching forward to met the guards at the entrance.

“I am Citizeness Devinette. I have a direct order from Citizen Robespierre on a matter of urgent business. Attend to this at once.”

“W
hat is this?” the guard asked, looking down at the paper in Sophia’s outstretched hand. “An order? I haven’t heard of any new orders.”

The other guard shrugged his shoulders.

Sophia bored a glare into the first man until he looked away, obviously uncomfortable. “Do I have to repeat myself? This order is signed by Citizen Robespierre. I watched him sign it myself not an hour ago.” She shook the paper under the man’s nose. “See for yourself.”

She handed him the paper upside down, and when the fellow began to act as if he could read the words, she knew she had scored her first bit of luck. Sophia hoped none of the rest of his comrades could read or knew Robespierre’s signature very well. While it was an excellent forgery—for Emma’s skill was unequaled—it was still a fake.

“Will this take long?” she asked, tapping her foot. “I hate to be kept waiting. The Tribunal is most anxious to hear these cases. They hope to have them over by noon so justice can be dispatched without any further delays.”

“We haven’t ever done it like this, citizeness,” the first guard said cautiously. He tipped his head and looked at her. “They’ve already hauled away today’s lot. We don’t usually get an order twice in one day. Besides, we haven’t the guards to spare to make the journey. Everyone’s off to watch the widow lose her head.”

“That is why I brought my own guards,” she replied, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at Oliver and Giles. “Now, step aside and open the gates or I will add you to this list.”

The man’s mouth opened to protest. The second guard backed away, distancing himself from anything hinting of treason.

“I’ll have to get my commander to approve this,” he muttered.

“Then take me to him at once.” She marched up to the entrance, where the second guard fumbled with the locks. Finally, the large iron gate swung open, the metal grating and creaking.

She turned to Oliver. “You there, quit loafing the day away and get that cart inside. My patience is thin enough as it is without having to wait half a day for you two as well.”

“Yes, citizeness,” Oliver said, snapping the reins. The horse pranced forward nervously, jolting the cart over the uneven stones.

“Don’t envy you two none. Not even if you get to see that Austrian whore’s execution,” the second guard muttered as Oliver and Giles pulled up to the gate.

Sophia came to an abrupt halt in the courtyard. She swung around, her gaze falling on the man who’d spoken. “Did you have a comment you want shared with everyone, citizen?”

He shook his head, his entire body trembling. “No-o-o . . .”

“I would suggest keeping it that way.” With her curt nod of dismissal the man skittered away.

So far
, she thought,
so good.
No one seemed to have heard of a warrant for her arrest, for if they had they would have seized her at the door.

“Take me to the commander of this cesspool,” she barked to the next guard. With any luck he would be as easily intimidated as his men.

A half hour later she found it was not to be so easy. The commander of Abbaye Prison, a pinch-faced man by the name of Augustin Lamude, held his position against her from behind the relative safety of his massive oak desk. He was anything but cowed by her demands and threats.

“I don’t know how you continue to claim you are a dedicated servant of the Republic if this is how you run this hovel,” she said, her voice level and filled with distaste.

She heard Oliver, who stood just behind her at the door to the commander’s office, take a deep breath and shift from foot to foot. The office was stiflingly hot, and the cheap wool of his suit probably itched. Glancing over at Giles, he appeared nonplussed by Lamude’s reluctance to release his prisoners.

Sophia knew as well as he did that time was running out.

Lamude had dispatched a runner to verify the order in her hand, and it wouldn’t be more than another fifteen or twenty minutes before the young man returned.

It was a race against the clock, now more than ever.

So as Citizeness Devinette she continued her full frontal assault to get what she wanted.

She tested and pushed Lamude, seeking an opening capable of cracking his rigid exterior. Some fear, some fault in his loyalty where she could push her agenda through and open a hole wide enough to let every single occupant of the prison go free.

Yet no matter the threat, the depth of her insult, the slander of her statements, the prison’s commander took each one with the same squirming smile.

“
Oui
, citizeness.”

“
Non
, citizeness,” was all the wormy little Lamude seemed able to mutter in his high-pitched whine.

Sophia knew she was out of avenues—save one. Down to her last card, she decided to play it. She turned to Oliver and Giles. “Both of you go down to the courtyard and wait for me there.”

Giles opened his mouth to protest, as she knew he probably would. Forestalling that, she turned until her back was completely to Lamude and drew a small vial from her belt. With a nod and a wink, she saw the light on Giles’s eyes acknowledge that he understood.

“Yes, citizeness.” He bobbed his head and followed Oliver obediently out the door.

“Oh, and close the door,” she called after him. “I would be
alone
with the Commander,” she said, letting the sultry purr roll from her lips.

Returning her full attention to the man behind the desk, she smiled her best Brazen Angel offer. “I must apologize for my temper. With so much work to be done I am afraid I have been neglecting my manners of late. I would like to find a way to make up my rudeness to you.”

“I disagree, citizeness,” Lamude said, his words coming out like the final wheeze of a hand organ. “I find a woman of your, shall we say, temperament quite stimulating, if you know what I mean.” His nose pinched up and down like a rabbit, while his hands squirmed in his lap.

“Then perhaps you should have offered me some wine. I have a terrible thirst, and you have been most rude not to offer me a drink before this,” she scolded.

Lamude smiled a nasty grin at her admonishment, as if it were high praise.

Leaning over his desk, she pushed aside all his papers, clearing the space between them. “And after we’ve had our drink I will find a fitting punishment for your insubordination. What do you say to that?”

“
Oui
, citizeness,” he replied, as he scurried across the room and fetched a wine bottle and two glasses from a locked cabinet.

As he poured the deep claret-colored liquid into the fine crystal glasses, he squinted over the rim as he offered it to her. He raised his in a toast.

The glasses touched and Sophia tossed hers over her shoulder.

Lamude’s eyes grew wide.

“I would rather taste the wine from your lips,” she told him, closing the space between them by crawling across the wide open expanse of his desk top, the oak smooth and cool beneath her. Rolling her shoulders forward and tipping her head, she smiled her invitation at Lamude as he greedily took in the view down the front of her muslin gown.

It took all of two seconds to empty the vial into the unsuspecting man’s glass.

“Drink it, Lamude,” she ordered. “Drink the wine and share your passion with me.”

“Fire!” the cry came. “Fire!”

Giles looked up to see black smoke pouring from the Commander’s third-story office. Chaos broke out in the courtyard, as soldiers from the gates and others from all four corners of the walls ran to stop the blaze.

Acrid smoke billowed out Lamude’s window.

“Never one for subtlety, is she?” Giles asked Oliver.

“Never will be.”

Seconds later he spotted Piper tearing down the steps, yelling orders at the top of her lungs.

“You men, quickly, to the Commander’s office. Hurry.” She looked up and grinned at Giles, then held up a ring of keys.

“You there,” she snapped at a youthful-looking officer, whose eyes widened as she drew out her sword and pointed it first at him and then at the gates. “Get those open. Wide open. How is the watch to get in if you’ve got them locked out?”

The befuddled man shook his head and then nodded, trying to find an answer to please her.

“Open them now,” she barked. “Move it.”

And move he did. He raced to the prison entrance and threw the gates wide open.

“Wait with the horses,” she said to Oliver as he tossed her a bundle from the back of the cart. “Come on, Englishman,” she whispered to Giles. “Prove to me you were worth bringing along.”

Together they raced into the prison. After three tries with her pilfered keys she found the right one.

“Do you know where they are?” he asked as he stepped into the hall and made sure the way was clear.

“Yes, I think so. Before I started the fire I got a chance to look through Lamude’s directory. Efficient little bastard, though his handwriting is atrocious. He’s taken to moving everyone every couple of days to prevent them from being rescued. My family is listed on the second level down.”

They entered the first hallway, darkness closing in around them. Giles pulled a torch from the wall and held it aloft. With his other hand he drew out his pistol.

Piper looked left, then right, as if reacquainting herself with a childhood home. She grinned at him and set off to the left.

For the third time in as many days, all he could do was follow. “How do you know where you are going?”

“I’ve been here before.”

Why hadn’t he guessed that outrageous notion?

She continued down the hallway, cautiously hugging the shadowed walls. “I also obtained a copy of the floor plans the last time I was in Paris,” she grinned over her shoulder. “I’ve been memorizing them ever since. I know every inch of this place as if I laid the stones myself.”

“How can you be sure the plans are correct?”

“We’ll soon find out,” she said with a fateful shrug of her shoulders. “And what I don’t know I’ll make up. It’s worked before.”

Not as reassured as he would have liked given that they were moving deeper and deeper into the Abbaye’s depths, Giles had to admit that following the Brazen Angel was akin to dueling with pistols—taking aim and wondering whose bullet would find a home first. It thrilled him more than he cared to realize, especially after all his lectures last night on caution and careful planning.

At the top of a curved, narrow staircase she abandoned her bundle before they descended into the bowels of the prison. The stench was incredible—like an open sewer in the heat of August. There was little air left to breathe, and what there was hung heavy and damp with the foulest of odors.

Before they could start their check of the cells, a large guard stepped out of the shadows, filling the hallway with his massive bulk and frame. “What do you think you are doing?” he asked, rubbing his sleepy eyes. He’d obviously drunk himself into a stupor, his breath rank with sour wine and the overturned flask next to his chair evidence enough of his inebriated state.

“What are you doing down here?” she asked back. “The prison is burning down around your head and you sleep away the day like a babe.”

“Fire?” he said, the fear evident in his voice and his fat, crooked nose sniffing the dense air.

“
Oui
, you fool. Fire.”

“Gotta get out of here,” he mumbled, trying to get past them.