MV02 Death Wears a Crown (7 page)

“Hush,” warned the second man. “Someone might hear.”

“What matter?” Montrachet said, but lowered his voice as he did. He started to smile and then his expression soured. “We should not have been delayed as long as we have been.”

“The papers were not ready,” said the first man, repeating what had been said many times.

“Still, we should have been in Paris before now. Sackett-Hartley is counting on us to have found a place to live while we complete our mission. He will not be pleased when he learns that we have arrived late.” He stiffened as he heard a sound on the other side of the inn yard; he brought his pistol up, motioning his two companions to silence. “Is anyone there?” he called softly in French.

A brindled mongrel with elements of hound, spaniel, and terrier made a tentative approach, scruffy tail wagging uncertainly.

“The ostlers’ watchdog,” said the second man. “They told me he was fierce.”

“Let us not put this to the test,” suggested Montrachet. “Very well. I will not meet with you again until Paris.” He started away, then turned back. “You will probably want to put up for the night in Beauvais. I will stay in Auteuil or Andeville so that we will not encounter each other again.”

The first man nodded. “We will take care to obey you.”

“Good. A chance like this, happening once, will deserve no attention, but if it happens again, questions might be asked.” Montrachet gestured to the other two. “Your papers are in order now, aren’t they?”

“Perfect,” said the second man.

“They had better be,” said Montrachet, and slipped back into the inn by the pantry door.

The two men regarded one another in the faint light. “What do you think?” asked the second after a short time.

“I think we’d better return to our rooms, or someone will wonder if we’re ill and have remained in the necessary house to conceal it.” The first indicated the small buildings at the far end of the inn yard. “You had better complain at breakfast. Say you’re feeling liverish.”

The second shrugged. “If you think it’s advisable.”

“It will stop questions,” said the first, and pointed to the side entrance of the inn, which most of the guests used for their forays to the necessary houses. “Wait three minutes and follow me.”

The second shrugged again, this time with a trace of irritation. “I don’t know why I should be the one—”

“Because you made the biggest fuss about supper,” said the first, and left his companion alone in the inn yard with the mongrel fawning at him in the faint hope of getting a scrap of food.

* * *

Victoire was not certain what had brought her awake, but her eyes were suddenly open though she remained wholly unmoving as she listened intently, her pulse fast and loud. Much as she wanted to peek through the bed-curtains, she dared not.

Another noise, this one sharper without being much louder, caught her attention. She recognized the sound of faint footsteps now, and she slipped her hand under the pillow, searching for her charged pistol. Her fingers closed on the butt and she felt the first surge of excitement over her fright.

There was a faint click and the soft complaint of a hinge—Victoire suspected the armoire was being opened—then the muffled sound of her clothes being searched. It was time to act. Quelling her fear, Victoire sat up slowly, taking care to make no sound. When she had drawn up one leg to give her some stability, she prepared herself. Finally she pulled the pistol out and reached for the bed-curtain.

“That will do,” she said as she flung the bed-curtain back. Her pistol was steady in her hand. She blinked against the darkness, able to make out little more than a vague shape in the open door of the armoire.

The man swore as he swung around and fired in her direction. The flame from the barrel of his pistol marked his position. The ball ripped into the bed-curtains above her head.

Victoire fired and had the satisfaction of hearing the intruder cry out, and in the next moment there was the sound of his pistol dropping and a sharp, hissed oath. As her eyes readjusted to the darkness Victoire saw the intruder bend to retrieve his discharged pistol and then break toward the door.

“Come back here!” shouted Victoire, knowing that the two shots would certainly wake most of the inn.
“Stop! Thief!”

There was a bustle in the next room, and then the sleepy voice of the landlord on the ground floor was heard, demanding that the thief stop.

“Catch him!” Victoire shouted as she clambered out of bed. It was not proper for her to venture out in nightclothes. She compromised by standing in her open doorway and shouting as loudly as possible, “Stop that man! Catch him!”

A door at the end of the hall flew open and one of the passengers, still belting his robe, rushed into the hall. “Thief! Thief!” he shouted.

There were other calls and cries now, so jumbled that Victoire knew no sense could be made of them. She abandoned her place at the door and went to throw open the window and call down to the ostlers. “Stop thief!” she yelled as she saw a shadowy figure flee toward the fruit trees at the back of the inn.

Corporal Feuille, his robe open and his nightshirt untidy, called to her from the door, hefting his carbine. “We are in pursuit, Madame.”

“And too late,” she amended. “He appears to be getting away,” she declared, pointing to where the figure had vanished.

“Corporal Cruche is—” Corporal Feuille began.

Victoire cut him short. “Corporal Cruche is not going to be able to catch him unless he has a horse saddled and waiting.” She pulled the window closed as she saw Corporal Cruche in a flapping robe rush out into the inn yard. The fear that had held her vanished, leaving her momentarily weak.

“You can’t be sure, Madame,” said Corporal Feuille, clearly feeling distressed.

“I have just seen it,” said Victoire, resisting the urge to yell at the Corporal. “Where is the landlord?”

“Below,” said Corporal Feuille, baffled by the question. “But I assure you that you do not requi—”

“I want all the rooms checked at once. I want to know if one of his guests was in my room,” said Victoire with great presence of mind. She stopped at the bed long enough to put her pistol down on the nightstand, then felt in the armoire for her robe, which she drew on as she came to the door, prepared now to face the censure of her fellow travelers. “I think he was wounded.”

“Madame?” Corporal Feuille said, following her as she started down the stairs.

“Well, I fired at him, and he swore. He also dropped his pistol, so I suspect he is wounded. That may be of some help when you go to search for him.” She was near the ground floor, but she turned and looked back up the stairs, and noticed that half of the guests were out of their rooms, muttering and milling about. “And it would be a good idea if everyone returned to their rooms as well. I might not be the only one who has had a night visitor.”

“What do you mean?” asked the landlord, who had heard the last of this.

“I mean that if the man is a thief, he might have taken valuables from others,” said Victoire as patiently as she could. “Hurry, man, have your servants speak to everyone.” She gestured to the inn. “If the man is a guest, you will find it out quickly. If it is a thief from the outside, perhaps someone in the kitchen or the stables saw him.”

The landlord was sufficiently in awe of Victoire’s position that he did not hesitate to take his orders from a woman. He called aloud to his cook and the two women who served as serving maids in the taproom. “Hurry. Be up with you and about your searches.”

Corporal Feuille had gone back up the stairs in a huff and was suggesting to the guests to report to him all they had heard and seen. He did not tell them to go back to their rooms.

Then Corporal Cruche came puffing in from outside, his rifle held negligently. He looked at the landlord. “The fellow has run off through your orchard, or so it appears.”

The landlord looked truly distressed. “Did you follow him?”

“No further than the trees,” said Corporal Cruche, and indicated his bare feet. “I should have pulled on my boots.”

“So you should,” said Victoire, acutely aware of her own bare feet. “Did you see him?”

“Just a man in a dark cloak. He was running fast.” Corporal Cruche straightened up as if determined to put the best face on this reprehensible incident. “But as soon as it is light I will try to track him.”

“Enterprising,” said the landlord, as anxious as the corporal to have it appear that he was doing everything he could to apprehend the criminal. He turned to Victoire again. “You see? They are taking care to respond to the danger.”

“They are soldiers,” said Victoire testily. She folded her arms, resting them over the money-belt. “It is their task to do this.”

“Yes, certainly it is,” said the landlord, bent on soothing her. “And Madame, I wish you to understand that considering what terrible thing has happened to you while at the Vigne et Tonneau, there will of course be no charge for your room, for certainly it is my duty to make sure every traveler may stay here without any inconvenience.”

“Thank you,” said Victoire, relieved in spite of herself, for she was already thinking that there might be other charges made on her account if the landlord decided that the events of the night had been at her instigation.

“It is only fitting. And I pray you will so inform your husband, Madame, when you are reunited with him.”

“I certainly will,” she said. “And I would like to tell him that the thief was apprehended.”

The landlord shrugged. “It would seem that this—”

“You have a dog, haven’t you?” asked Victoire, who expected that this inn was very much as all inns were. “Could he not be put to use?”

The landlord waved his hand to show what an absurd notion she had. “He is not a tracker, but a ratter. I doubt he would be able to find a joint of beef in a thicket.”

“But why not give him the opportunity,” Victoire said, not expecting the landlord to agree. She looked around. “I want two branches of candles in my room while I make a complete search of it.”

“Yes,” said the landlord promptly. “Yes, indeed. It will be tended to at once.” He clapped his hands loudly and summoned one of the chambermaids, who appeared to be half-asleep.

“And you might tell the rest of your guests to do the same,” Victoire said, hoping that this time someone would pay attention.

“We will attend to that,” said the landlord, with a nod toward the two corporals. “I warrant these two soldiers know the way to manage this best.”

She bit back a caustic remark, saying only, “When the maid has brought the candles I would appreciate a cup of chocolate, if you can provide one.”

“Certainly,” said the landlord huffily, resenting the implication that his inn would not have such a luxury to offer his guests. “I will order it at once.”

And normally charge all that he could, thought Victoire as she watched the landlord tromp off toward the kitchen. She hesitated at the foot of the stairs, then started up them, determined to set about her task as soon as possible. The money-belt with its additional cargo of dispatches suddenly felt very heavy.

* * *

Victoire’s search was unnecessarily thorough, but she wanted it to be understood that she had done everything that might be expected of her. She saw that the ball from the pistol had passed through the thin cloth that hung over the bed and lodged in the wall. The hole was tiny, confirming her impression that the pistol the thief had carried was smaller than even her own. As she repacked her luggage for the second time that night, she declared to the chambermaid, “There is nothing missing.”

“Thank God and the Virgin for that” the chambermaid said, stifling a yawn. “I will tell the landlord. He will be gratified.”

“So I hope,” said Victoire, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She was very tired but so keyed-up that she knew it was useless to try to sleep again that night. Her back ached and she could feel the drag of her muscles. “Where is that chocolate?”

“I will go and fetch it,” offered the chambermaid, looking around the room once more. “And you actually shot at him?”

“And hit him, I think,” said Victoire as she reached for her pistol, deciding to clean it in the morning, perhaps while traveling.

“How could you do such a thing?” marveled the chambermaid.

“Shoot a thief?” asked Victoire.

“Fire a pistol.” The chambermaid shuddered and the flames of the candles on the branch she held quivered in sympathy. “I should never be able to. I wouldn’t dare to.”

“You might think otherwise if you found a stranger in your room at night.”

The chambermaid looked shocked and gestured in confusion. “You are very brave, Madame, braver than any woman I have known, to face a dangerous thief as you did, with a gun, and firing it. I have never known any woman who could do that before. Never in my entire life.”

“I doubt that very much,” said Victoire with unexpected mildness as she attempted to stop the chambermaid from blithering. “Most women are very brave indeed. They are so brave that they do not know it.” She looked away from her things and sighed. “It is possible that the thief was attempting to find something other than money. I am aware of that.”

“Madame?” said the chambermaid as she lingered at the door. “You don’t mean that he intended to ... harm you?”

Victoire turned toward her. “Not the way you mean.” She waved the thought away. “Go. I want the chocolate, and I need time to think.”

“Yes, Madame,” said the chambermaid with a hurried curtsy before she hastened away down the stairs.

Victoire stared around her room and sighed. Little as she wished to admit it, she was shaken. Her body was stiff and unwieldy, as if it belonged to someone else and she was only borrowing it. Shock made her slightly nauseated. How could she sleep again tonight? A grue crawled up her spine. She clutched her arms around herself and hung on, worried that she might start to tremble. Beneath her arms she felt the money belt, and for an instant that made her apprehension worse.

What had the man wanted? What was he searching for? Was he truly after money, or had he been seeking the dispatches? How could he know of them, or what they were about? She tried to sort out her thoughts, but those three questions revolved in her mind, fed by her lack of answers. She sank down onto the bed. What would she tell Vernet when she saw him? Would she alarm him unduly if she voiced her suspicions about the thief? She did not want him to add worries for her to the demands of his work, but if she did not warn him, might he not be more vulnerable than if she remained silent?