Louisa Rawlings (5 page)

He held up a silencing hand. “Véronique de Chalotais is now nineteen years of age. Unless she has changed greatly, she is dainty, short of stature. About…your height, I should say. Her hair, at fourteen, was a pale blond, though the years seem to have darkened it. To the color of
your
hair. Her eyes, I think, were light brown. Or gray-green, but not a striking color, a color you would note or remember. The kind of eyes that seem to change through the years, so that even a mother wouldn’t find it strange that they’re now”—he peered closely at Topaze—“amber.”

Topaze gasped. “You villain,” she whispered. “You can’t expect me to…”

“Let me finish. Though the Chalotais side of the family is certainly comfortable, the mother’s family had a great deal of wealth. It will go to Monsieur de Chalotais, of course, upon his wife’s death. But there was a very large sum that had been put aside, to be inherited directly by Véronique herself. To be hers upon her twentieth birthday. On the first of June.”

Ducellier looked almost apologetic. “You see, we’re pressed for time.”

“Rot and hellfire,” muttered Topaze. “How do you know the money is still there? It’s been nearly six years, didn’t you say?”

“I told you. Madame de Chalotais still has hopes. She refuses to have the girl declared dead. A fact—as my old friend Pachot informed me—that is nettling Monsieur de Chalotais, who wants the money for himself.”

Topaze frowned into her wine. “And you want me to impersonate Véronique de Chalotais.”

“The resemblance is remarkable. You’ll remember, I think, how it startled me yesterday. ’Twas like looking at a ghost.”

“But it’s madness. How could they take me for their long-lost child?”

“For aught I know, Véronique, if she still lives, is fat and toothless. What matters is that you look like the girl she
might
have grown up to be.”

“By Saint Rémi, what a dreamer you must be. I’m to march in there on Véronique’s birthday, take the inheritance—that I’m to share with you,
n’est-ce pas?
—and leave?” She rolled her eyes heavenward. “What a crackbrain! Unless you have some magic potion to rob the family of its reason, how is that to be done? Or is that your pact with the Devil? In which case, why don’t you just have him conjure up Véronique’s double, and leave me in peace?”

He laughed sharply. “If I had
that
much influence on old Lucifer, I’d have him conjure up a hundred thousand livres direct, and save myself the trouble of dealing with a saucy chit like you.”

She drew in her breath. “A hundred thousand livres?”

“Five thousand of which is yours if we succeed.”

“Ten!”

He shook his head. “By the horn of Satan, you
are
bold. Seven, and not a sou more. Or I’ll find another girl.” He looked askance at Martin Ducellier, who nodded his agreement.

Topaze thought,
I must be mad, even to be listening to the rogue!
“You haven’t told me how it’s to be done.”

“The money would never be released to you until there was no doubt of your identity. Monsieur Ducellier and I propose to take you away with us now, to a place in the country. Monsieur Ducellier has a widowed aunt, with a small and secluded cottage. There we’ll teach you all that’s to be learned of Véronique and her family. By the time you’re ‘reunited’ with your happy relations, there will be nothing you don’t know of the Chalotais family. Or that can’t be explained by the passage of nearly six years.”

“Would the two of you be with me, when I returned to the family?”

“No. They’d know at once that we had tutored you. It would give the game away. You’ll have to face them alone.” He smirked. “It might take all the guile at your command, but I suspect you’re more than capable of the deception.”

It was madness, of course. Topaze could scarcely believe she was sitting here, calmly considering such a wild scheme. Even more astonishing was the delicious tingling that had begun at the nape of her neck, as though her senses were yearning for danger, for excitement. “And if the plan is successful? Then what?”

“You take your share of the money, and return to the bosom of your loving family.”

“You say that with such scorn. Have
you
no family?”

He shrugged. “Alas, I’m an orphan.”

Topaze snorted. She had already begun to distrust everything he said about himself, particularly when his blue eyes glittered with dark laughter, as now they did. A pirate indeed!

“Of course,” he went on, “you can always stay with the family Chalotais. For all time. It would be a far softer life than you’ve known, I’ll wager. Once they’ve accepted you…”

“And live in fear of being discovered? While you—your pockets filled with Véronique’s inheritance—dance safely off to your Adriane?” She frowned, thinking. “It
is
madness. From start to finish.” But the alternative was marriage to Philibert. Though she still pretended it to Maman, she had no real hope that Papa would ever return. Considering it as a whole, she supposed she preferred the risks, the unknown dangers of this impersonation to the certainty of a hellish life with that vile pig of a man. “How much would you give to my family while I was away?”

Ducellier was clearly unhappy. “Let’s give it up, Lucien. What if it should fail? The girl…”

Renaudot interrupted him with a laugh. “Have you no adventure in your heart, my friend? The girl does. I can see it in her eyes. She tells herself it’s for her family. But it’s much more than that, isn’t it, girl?”

She felt naked before him. For all his mocking, there was truth in his words. “What a villain you are,” she said softly. “I aren’t afraid of danger, if that’s what you mean. How much for my family?”

“One hundred livres.”

“To be paid today.”

“Yes.”

She didn’t intend to be outwitted. She smiled archly. “In addition to the seven thousand for my part in your scheme, of course.”

He chuckled. They might have been sharing a ribald joke. “Yes, of course, you little pickpurse.”

“God’s blood, Lucien!” cried Ducellier. “It’s too dangerous for the girl. Too many things can go wrong.”

Topaze stared at Ducellier. His was a voice of sanity, pulling her back. She had to consider what might happen to her. Not for herself, but for Maman and the children. She owed them so much; she had no right to put their futures, their very lives in peril. “What if they
don’t
believe I’m Véronique? I can go to prison,
n’est-ce pas
? Even hang?”

Lucien Renaudot sighed. “The danger is too great for you, after all?” It sounded like a challenge.

“Damnation, you mouldy rogue! I’m only thinking of the Givet family. What would happen to them, if I were found out and hanged? God knows
you
wouldn’t care. You’d be on your way, with nothing to connect you to me. And what would become of them?”

Ducellier shifted uneasily in his chair. “It wouldn’t happen, I feel sure. But—you have my word—there’d be a small pension for them. Enough to keep the little ones until they’re grown.”

She jerked her head in Lucien Renaudot’s direction. “Would
he
prevent it?” She favored him with a withering glance. “’Twould be money stolen from your courtship of the beautiful Adriane.”

“I’m sure you think it contrary to my nature to do a kindness,” he drawled, “but I suppose I could agree to a pension.”

“I certainly trust you, of course,” she purred. Her silken tone put the lie to her words. “However, you might care to know that if Maman and the little ones weren’t properly cared for, the authorities would quickly learn how the false Véronique had come by her knowledge.”

He nodded his head in salute. “My compliments. A neat bit of blackmail.”

She returned the salute, toasting him with her flagon. “So long as we understand each other.”

Renaudot tossed a few coins on the table, put his hat on his head, and stood up. “Shall we go?”

Chapter Four

They
were only a few streets from Madame Givet’s room. As they left the tavern, Topaze exchanged a greeting with a gnarled apple seller. “Good afternoon, Berthe.”

“Good afternoon, Topaze. Is Madame Givet feeling better?”

“Yes.” Topaze looked at Berthe’s basket of apples, then at the two men beside her. It wasn’t too soon to take advantage of her new position. She made a pouch of her apron. “Will you give me a dozen apples? For the little ones.” She smiled grandly toward Lucien Renaudot. “My friend will pay you.”

Much to Topaze’s delight, Renaudot fished out his purse without a word of protest. But after they’d gone a few steps, he turned to her, his eyes blazing with a malevolent light. “Damn it,
don’t do that again
.”

The softness of his voice only made the words more chilling, as though an unspoken threat hung in the air.

Topaze thrust out her chin. She quivered in anger as well as fear. “I didn’t want to go home to the children with nothing. They’re hungry, blast you.”

“Lord, Martin! Will the chit always see me as a monster?” He scowled at Topaze. “I only meant that you mustn’t allow people to notice us together. To call attention to us. If the Chalotais family, by some chance were to trace you here to Bordeaux, I shouldn’t want anyone to remember that you were seen with two men from the Indies. Have you a large hat?”

She felt chastened. It
had
been stupid of her, not to be aware that her safety, and the success of the scheme, rested on her seeming to act alone, without a hint of duplicity or conspiracy. “Yes. I have a hat.”

“Wear it until we’re safely at the cottage. And you’re to tell your family as little as possible. If it should come to their being examined, I shouldn’t want them to remember seeing us, either. You understand?”

She nodded. She was pleased to note, as they approached the tanner’s shop, that the place appeared to be closed: no smoke coming from the chimney, no sign of activity within. Good. One less person to be concerned about. She turned to the men. “Stay down here for a moment. I’ll have the little ones eat these apples in the courtyard. Then you can come up to meet Maman.”

Renaudot raised a mocking eyebrow. “By Lucifer, what for? We’re not exactly suitors come to call. We’ll wait here until you’ve made your
adieux
.”

“Rot and damnation,” she snapped. “You may swear by the devil all you wish, but I aren’t leaving Maman without her blessing! And she’ll want to meet you. I’ll tell you when to come up,” she said, a stubborn edge to her voice. Without waiting for a reply—and the hostile gleam in Lucien Renaudot’s eye told her she was courting danger—Topaze climbed the stairs.

To her delight, she found that Michel was already home from his first day as an apprentice, excitedly describing for Maman and the children his adventures. Madame Givet sat at the table, her blanket wrapped about her shoulders, combing Anne-Marie’s curls. Topaze sighed in relief. For the first time in many weeks, there was color in the woman’s cheeks. A healthy sign. And with the money from the two men to provide warmth and food, there was no reason why Maman couldn’t recover her strength in a short time. Topaze held out her filled apron. The children clapped for joy at the sight of the rosy apples and crowded forward, their little hands outstretched. “No,” she said. “Take them in a basket, Anne-Marie, and go outside to the courtyard with the little ones.” She turned to Madame Givet, who had put down her comb and looked at her with questioning eyes. “I must talk to you and Michel. Alone.”

Madame Givet hesitated, then nodded her approval. “Go outside,
mes petites
. Enjoy your apples.”

Topaze followed the children as they trooped down the stairs. When they had disappeared into the alley that led to the back courtyard, she waved to the two men who waited across the street. Then she hurried back up the stairs. “Quick, now, Maman. Before they come up. You and Michel must give me your promise. Whatever you see, whatever you hear must be a secret. That’s why I wanted the little ones out of the way. Do you swear it, as you love me?”

‘‘Oh, but…”

“Please, Maman. Swear it.”

“If it’s what you want, of course we’ll swear. But…” Madame Givet’s eyes widened in surprise as Renaudot and Ducellier entered the small room. She crossed herself hastily. “Who are these men?”

“It doesn’t matter, Maman. What matters is that they want to hire me.”

Madame Givet took a moment to digest this news as her eyes scanned the faces, the fine clothing, the somewhat rakish look of the two men. “Ave Maria,” she murmured. “Not for whoring, Topaze. Surely not for whoring!”

Renaudot strode to the woman, took her thin hand in his, and brought it to his lips. “Madame Givet, is it not? Have no fear, madame. My friend and I intend only the best for your daughter. A spell of honorable work, to be well compensated.”

The woman still looked doubtful. “You mean no harm to my Topaze? You swear it by God’s mercy?”

He straightened and turned away from the woman. Topaze saw a small muscle twitch along the side of his jaw. “I swear by…my honor,” he said quietly. He turned about and smiled at Madame Givet, a smile of great charm and warmth that lit up his gaunt features. Topaze was astonished by the transformation. “No,” he said. “I swear by
your
honor. And by your piety, which, I suspect, could put us all to shame. It does you credit, madame.”