Elizabeth Boyle (69 page)

No, he reasoned, this hearing was the only way. Once the court declared Lily to be Henri’s legal heir, the house would be hers to claim and theirs to ransack.

If Fouché hadn’t beaten them to it.

All the way to the courtroom, Webb watched the halls, the lounging guards, and the doorways, weighing and discarding routes for a hasty escape.

He hadn’t been so edgy since his first mission.

Troussebois approached Lily. “My dear, this really is a formality and nothing to worry about.”

Then why
, Webb wanted to ask the fidgety solicitor,
do you look like a rabbit being chased by a pack of hounds?

Beside him, Lily nodded to the solicitor. She appeared cool and collected, as if she were truly the daughter of Henri de Chevenoy and this was nothing more than an inconvenience interrupting her daily round of visits and shopping.

Still, he had one point to tell her before the hearing began. Something to assure her that everything would turn out well, if only she played along. All he needed were a few seconds to explain the matter to Lily.

Troussebois fluttered about them, his papers under his arm and his black coat flapping about him like the nervous wings of a blackbird. “The judge would like everyone to take their seats,” he directed, pointing the Costards and Mme. Paville toward their seats near the front. “I’m afraid, Monsieur Milne that the court has directed this hearing closed. Since you are not a French citizen, you will not be able to attend because you have been disqualified from testifying.”

The clicking jaws of the steel trap snapped closed around them. Webb sent Lily’s stricken features an assuring nod, even while he noticed the number of guards in the hallway had now doubled.

Before Troussebois could lead Lily away, Webb caught her by the elbow and pulled her close.

“Your bonnet is crooked, my dear,” he said, adjusting the green ribbons and smoothing out the white feathers. He leaned close to her ear. “Go along with whatever happens in there. I’ll be out here. If there is trouble, and I can’t get to you, escape by whatever means you can and get to the Tivoli Gardens. I’ll meet you by the ice shop near the corner. Wait for me there. If I don’t arrive in two hours, take Celeste and get out of Paris.”

Lily smiled up at him, her outward appearance that of a young woman in love, but Webb saw the worried light in her eyes.

“Not without you.”

Before he could protest, she turned and made her entrance into the court. The sullen guard slammed the door in Webb’s face, and Webb found he had no choice but to wait.

Lily sat through the hearing tensed and waiting for the prosecutor to jump up from his table and denounce her to the judge as an imposter.

But all in all the hearing went as Troussebois said it would, though he hadn’t mentioned how long-winded he could be. The only thing keeping her awake was the severe nature of Webb’s warning.

On the stand Mme. Costard looked down at her and smiled.

“Your honor, to have our dear girl back in the house has given my husband and me a reason to live, for she is like a daughter to us.” The large lady sniffled and wiped her nose and teary cheeks with her sleeve.

“Yes, that may be so, Citizeness Costard,” the prosecutor said, still using the Revolutionary form of address so out of favor with Napoleon and his followers. “But is this woman before the court the rightful and legal daughter of Citizen de Chevenoy, formerly known as the Comte de Chevenoy?”

Mme. Costard looked outraged, her mottled face turning bright purple. “Are you saying my sweet Adelaide is anything but legitimate? How dare you! I was there when my mistress, the Comtesse de Chevenoy brought her dear child into the world. My mistress was the most honorable of women, why she would no more—”

The prosecutor held up his hand. “Citizeness, I do not mean to impugn the memory of your former employer, I just want you to point out the woman in this courtroom and swear to the judge that this woman is Adelaide de Chevenoy.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Mme. Costard huffed. She pointed a thick finger at Lily. “The lovely girl there is the daughter of Henri de Chevenoy. I would wager my life on it.”

While the prosecutor thanked Mme. Costard and excused her from the witness stand, Lily watched the woman as she looked toward her husband.

The pair exchanged a glance that went beyond these proceedings.

She had seen that selfsame look on the faces of those wagering beyond their means—a fateful resignation that the next turn of the cards would mean either life or death.

So why would the Costards consider this hearing life and death unless …

The prosecutor called Mme. Paville to the stand.

Following Mme. Costard’s lead, Mme. Paville was in tears before she even reached the simple wooden witness chair beside the judge’s bench.

I would wager my life on it.
Lily couldn’t get the emphatic statement out of her mind.

Had Mme. Costard done just that? Wagered all of their lives with her testimony?

The answer hit her hard.

The Costards know I’m not Adelaide
, Lily realized.

It wasn’t anything specific, but all the little things that suddenly added up.

And she suspected they’d known since the first day. So why had they welcomed her with open arms and just testified in court that she was indeed Adelaide de Chevenoy?

Then she caught Troussebois glancing over at the Costards while everyone was distracted by Mme. Paville’s great tearful rendition of the loss of her lifetime friend, the Comtesse de Chevenoy.

“I wanted to raise Adelaide as my own dearest child,” the woman wailed to the judge. “The comte cruelly sent her away I suspect, because she served as a daily reminder of the loss of his beloved wife. Look at her. I tell you it is like being reunited with my dear Marie all over.”

While Lily nodded politely to the judge, since Mme. Paville had now directed everyone’s attention squarely to her, she caught only the briefest exchange between the Costards and Troussebois.

They were in league in this conspiracy. But why?

Troussebois rose and began another summation. In his own words he answered Lily’s questions.

“Your honor, I understand these questions are necessary due to the large amount of money Mademoiselle de Chevenoy stands to inherit, but …”

Lily didn’t need to hear any more.

… the large amount of money …

The threesome were working together to ensure that the de Chevenoy fortune wasn’t usurped by Napoleon and his money-hungry ministers.

But for what reason? She looked back at the closed door behind her and wondered how she could get to Webb with this revelation, get his reaction and his thoughts.

Get him to believe her intuition on this.

Even as she looked again at the door, it burst open. An officer hurried in and approached the prosecutor. The man glanced back at the door and then around at Lily.

“What is the meaning of this interruption, Citizen?” the judge asked the prosecutor.

Her heart pounded as the prosecutor approached the bench and whispered over the bench.

“This is highly irregular,” the judge muttered. “Citizen Troussebois, approach the bench. It appears there is another witness who says she has important information about your client.”

Lily frantically gauged the distance to the door, the distance to the nearest window, to the door beside the judge’s bench. She wasn’t the only one feeling the alarm, for the Costards looked stunned by this announcement.

But no more so than Lily as she watched an ashen-faced Troussebois leave the judge’s bench and shakily take his seat.

“Who is it?” she asked.

Troussebois opened his mouth, but the words that had come so easily to him all morning faded to issue forth from his moving lips.

The prosecutor answered her question.

“The Republic of France would like to call a witness on this matter,” he announced. “Marie-Theresa Jeanne Pontavice of the island of Martinique, the Abbess and Mother Superior of the convent school,
Les Dames du Providence
.”

L
ily’s gaze swung from the prosecutor to the back of the room, but all she could see was the tall, ruddy-faced guard leading in the new witness.

The Mother Superior of Adelaide’s convent? Lily saw her future in one bleak second—her hearing would conclude with her arrest and then her execution in the morning.

Perhaps the dear nun would be kind enough to say a prayer for her doomed soul.

As the lady approached the witness stand, Lily could discern little of her face and features, as they were well hidden beneath the veil of her black and white habit.

The lady raised her hand before the judge and in a quiet voice stated her name and place of residence. The judge bade her to take a seat.

Afraid to look the witness in the face, Lily glanced back at the door where Mother Marie-Theresa’s escort lounged, an indolent expression on his face.

No escape there.

“Citizeness,” the judge said, still unwilling to leave behind the informal address. “You claim to have knowledge about this case.”

“Yes, I do, my son.”

Lily dreaded looking directly at the lady, knowing full well she would immediately be denounced, but something in her voice caught Lily’s attention.

Maybe it was the slight accent, or perhaps the calm, gentle tones, or maybe it was something familiar.

Her curiosity overriding her fears, Lily looked up.

To her complete shock, her fears about her impending arrest immediately abated. In exchange she felt the white-hot sting of betrayal.

Now she knew why Webb hadn’t sought out her company last night and whom he’d been with yesterday.

His former mistress.

For gazing serenely out from beneath the black-veiled headdress were the unmistakable Wedgwood-blue eyes of Amelia, Lady Marston.

After the informant delivered his message to the plain black hackney waiting across the street from the courthouse, the occupant of the carriage signaled his driver to move on.

“Tell me again why I am letting this woman steal the de Chevenoy fortune?” Napoleon asked, leaning back in his seat, his arms crossed over his bandy chest, his face a glower.

Joseph Fouché smiled at his employer. “Because she will lead us to Henri de Chevenoy’s treachery.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“I’ve long suspected Henri de Chevenoy worked as an agent for another country—though who his employer was, I could never find out. Now I will.” His hand patted the note one of his men had intercepted from a British agent.

“So you say, but I dislike the idea of allowing an imposter access to so much money.”

“And I say she is not interested in the money. She is after whatever secrets that bastard de Chevenoy didn’t take with him. By tonight I’ll have all that information, along with her and her accomplices. And then all the de Chevenoy assets will be subject to seizure on grounds of treason, without any questions. We’ve lulled all his accomplices into the open and now when we arrest them, it will make it all so much more legal, for everyone in that courtroom will be prosecutable for perjury.”

Napoleon frowned. “What if you are wrong?”

Joseph maintained his tight smile while inside he seethed. It was becoming more and more difficult to deal with Bonaparte. He could sense the man’s faith in him was slipping and he needed this coup to ensure his position in France’s latest regime.

“Then sadly,” he said, “if she refuses to cooperate, our little heiress will have a rather unfortunate accident, and her estate will fall under your jurisdiction without any questions from her father’s friends.”

“You have this all figured out.” Napoleon nodded. He reached up and opened the blind covering the window. For a moment he studied the passing scenery. “It had better work, Fouché. I intend to see that money put to good use.”

Put the de Chevenoy money to good use?
Fouché wanted to laugh. That fortune in ill-gotten money would end up frittered away by the man’s whore of a wife or absconded with by his grasping clutch of relatives.

Though stung by Napoleon’s censure and distrust, Fouché held his tongue. He had survived, just like his long-time adversary Henri de Chevenoy, by knowing when and where to place his alliances.

But then again, Fouché thought with malice, perhaps he wouldn’t be serving Napoleon for as long as the rude little Corsican thought. If there was a slight miscalculation tonight, it would be a rather unfortunate accident, but not for Fouché. And with Bonaparte gone, Fouché intended to serve the next regime just as loyally. Or then again, perhaps step into the void himself.

In a few more hours he’d take Henri’s gold coins and buy a good bottle of wine to toast the Comte de Chevenoy and the future of a new France, perhaps one without Bonaparte.

Lily’s outrage with Webb grew with each passing moment.

After Amelia’s reverent testimony as to her former pupil, the court had little choice but to reinstate the citizenship of Adelaide de Chevenoy and declare her the rightful heir to her father’s estate.

A now jubilant Troussebois, whose color returned once Amelia pointed out Lily as her former student, declared himself a brilliant solicitor.

Lily struggled to continue her courtroom charade. With the judge watching, she even managed to hug the good Mother and welcome her to France, her face awash with a spate of pretty tears.

The tears had been real enough—Amelia’s return meant Webb had lied to her the night before when he had denied having a mistress.

He’d out-and-out lied.

As they moved into the hallway, Lily watched from beneath her hooded glances while Webb greeted his mistress with a professional demeanor, taking her hand and thanking her for such a kindness to her former student.

Lily didn’t miss the dancing lights in Amelia’s eyes or the smug flicker of acknowledgment from Webb.

How could she have been so foolish as to have allowed him into her heart a second time?

While the court’s decision left them free and clear to search the country house, the only joy it gave Lily was knowing that now they would be able to uncover the journals and return to London.