Authors: Samantha Saxon
Napoleon's Woman (31 page)
Paris, France
October 16, 1811
Nicole closed her eyes, but she could still see the image of General Capette sprawled across the mahogany desk with blood pouring from the ragged wound in the back of his head. She could still smell the gunpowder drifting through the luxurious fifth-floor suite she had just been given admittance to clean.
Her eyes snapped open as she turned toward the fearsome crack that splintered the gilded doors nearest the ornate brass locks. Nicole froze, astonished by the transformation of the amiable French soldiers who had searched her moments ago.
They entered the cavernous room with their pistols drawn, but it was not their weapons that made them lethal. It was the coiled muscles, the hard set of their features, and the cold that had settled in their eyes.
“What has happened here?” the lieutenant bellowed as he ran toward her, the sound of his black polished boots bouncing off the carved panel walls.
Nicole opened her mouth to explain, but she had no words to describe the horrific scene she had just witnessed. Blood trickled onto the inlaid wooden floor and she dropped to her knees, scrubbing at the sticky liquid before it was absorbed into the tiny crevasses.
The tall man lifted her from shock with a firm grip on her upper arms. “Mademoiselle!”
Nicole jumped, startled into answering by his shouting.
“I . . . I was airing the general’s room when a man . . .” She pointed to an elongated window and the second soldier rushed toward it, leaning out.
“There is a rope hanging from the roof,” he reported to his superior.
Nicole felt a callused finger lifting her chin, and she was forced to look into the hard eyes of the young lieutenant.
“Describe this man,” he said, the muscles in his jaw throbbing.
“Fair hair.” A tear streamed down her face as she forced herself to continue. “Tall, handsome. He . . . He shot the general and climbed onto the balcony.”
“Gaston.” He glanced at the other man. “Search the roof. I’ll take to the street. Mademoiselle.” His eyes darted back to her the instant that they were alone. “You must remain here until I return.”
“No!” she protested, desperate to get out of the room. “Do not leave me here. What if—”
“Do not fear, mademoiselle,” the lieutenant said, patting her hand as if she were a child awoken by some gruesome dream. “This man will want to get away from the hotel as quickly as is possible.”
He turned to go but Nicole grabbed his arm. “Please, don’t leave me,” she whispered, sounding terrified.
The lieutenant looked down and sighed with frustration, then propelled her out the damaged doors and toward the servants’ staircase. They had descended two flights of stairs when they rounded a corner on the third floor and very nearly collided with an elderly butler holding a laden dinner tray.
The lieutenant scarcely stopped, leaving her with the bewildered servant and saying, “I must go if I am to capture the general’s murderer.”
But she knew he would never capture the assassin.
General Capette had been so reviled by the French themselves that Napoleon had assigned bodyguards to protect his most victorious commander. The objection to the general, it was commonly agreed, was the barbaric manner in which he had obtained those many victories.
There had even been rumors that the general had raped a chambermaid at the hotel, which undoubtedly was the reason Nicole had so easily obtained the position a mere eight days ago.
“General Capette has been murdered?” The old man stared at her blood-spattered apron in disbelief.
“Yes,” Nicole nodded. “A man climbed from the roof onto the balcony.”
“Are you injured?”
Nicole’s chin began to quiver. “No.” She was not injured, but she would never be the same.
The old man turned to escort her to the kitchens, but needing to be alone, she stopped him. “Your supper is becoming cold. I am unharmed, I assure you.”
Nicole could sense the butler’s apprehension so she descended the stairs before he could protest further. She continued her brisk pace until a mixture of aromas wafted up the stairwell from the direction of the noisy kitchen.
Slowing, she stepped onto the landing and cautiously pushed the door inward. The deafening sound of metal pots, determined chopping, and shouting greeted her as she walked in. Colorful fruits were piled everywhere as pastry cooks agonized over the finishing touches to their evening’s creations.
She continued walking, trying not to disturb the kitchen staff during the most chaotic portion of their day. They would learn of General Capette’s murder soon enough; she envied them their last moments of ignorance.
The back door of the hotel came into view, and Nicole felt the anxiety ease from her shoulders. She had no intention of sobbing like a child in front of the entire kitchen, but feared if she did not leave soon, she would.
Exhausted, she opened the white door and lifted her face to greet the cool autumn breeze before stepping onto the uneven cobblestone street that ran the length of the fashionable hotel. The door closed behind her and she walked toward the Seine as she did every night, stopping only once.
She removed her shapeless lace cap and bloody apron, tossing them both into the river. Even in the dark, she could see the powerful current carrying them away. Nicole watched from the embankment until the white cloth was swallowed by the dark waters beneath the Pont Neuf.
Nicole turned north toward her apartment, reaching into the pocket of her black muslin dress. Engraved silver glinted in the moonlight as she removed her pistol and absently reloaded the exquisite weapon.
The streets of Paris could be very dangerous at night.
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