Tender the Storm (63 page)

Zoë looked to be unconvinced, and Housard diplo
matically interposed, "If we had wished
Valaze
ill, we had only to leave him in that house for the authorities to find. He's safe, Zoë. I give you my word."

After an interval, she nodded. Her eyes moved to Rolfe.
"And Charles?
Poor Charles! What is he going to think of . . ." She found it impossible to voice her thoughts and added lamely "all this?"

Rolfe made his tone as gentle as he could make it. "He must never know the whole truth, of course. Put it out of your mind, Zoë. Everything has been arranged."

"How has it been arranged?"

She recoiled at his next words. Francoise's body was to be conveyed to an alley off one of the streets close to the Palais Royal. Everything of any value had already been removed from her person. When she was found, it would appear that she had been waylaid by footpads.

"And . . . and Paul Varlet?" she asked.

"Everything has been left at the house exactly as we found it."

"I see," said Zoë, and lapsed into another reflective silence as the gentlemen took up where they had left off.

The days which followed were equally nightmarish for Zoë. Circumstances necessitated delaying their departure for England, and she must act as naturally as possible.

As was to be expected, Charles Lagrange was desolate when his wife's body was found. "I warned her about going about without an escort," he told Zoë brokenly. "Francoise was so headstrong! She would never listen to reason. I feared something like this would happen one day."

Zoë's distress was acute. She did not have the words to console him. Rolfe showed greater presence of mind. His glib explanations left Zoë feeling deeply perturbed.

"I blame myself for not seeing her to her door," he said. "As I told you, I took her for a spin in my curricle. But Francoise insisted that she had an errand to run. And I could not persuade her to go home for her maid."

Later, Zoë was to ask Rolfe, "Why did you say that? Why mention it at all?"

His tone was harsh when he answered, "I must say something. What if someone saw Francoise with me? She
was
in my curricle. How would it look if I tried to conceal it?"

It came as no surprise to anyone when the diplomat Ronsard gave out that he was removing Zoë from Paris in the interests of her health. The dark circles under her eyes, the wan cheeks, the absent- minded lapses when she was in conversation — all gave evidence of the depths of her grief for Madame Lagrange.

Rolfe's forethought was staggering. Nothing was left to chance. The way was being paved for their permanent removal from France. Zoë was instructed to write a letter to Theresia Tallien indicating that she had decided to return to her husband in England. The letter would be passed along in due course.

"And what about Ronsard?"
Zoë asked. "What is going to happen to him?"

"It will be given out officially that he has been posted abroad." Something about Zoë's look compelled Rolfe to add, "The last thing we want is to
rouse suspicion. If we disappeared without a trace, how long do you think it would be before people began to ask questions about your friend's death? Trust me, Zoë. This way is best."

Even the house in St. Germain was not lost to Leon. With
a thoroughness
which Zoë was coming to expect in her husband, Rolfe made sure that Devereux's Bank held the deed in Leon's name.

"One day, when this is all over," said Rolfe vaguely, "Leon will be able to claim his birthright."

They were making their escape, only it did not seem like an escape to Zoë. Everything was above- board. Their papers were perfectly proper. The only odd note was that Salome was going with them, and the man who was posing as one of the coachmen was not Housard this time, but Leon.

On the journey, Zoë scarcely exchanged two words together with Rolfe. She was lost in her own thoughts. Even the hustle and bustle of each successive hostelry where they stopped for refreshments and to change horses could not jog her from her reveries. And each night, just as soon as she had partaken of the supper that was laid on, she retired to her chamber with a bare nod in Rolfe's direction. Nor did Rolfe make a move to join her.

Rolfe was not sure what to expect from Zoë when they reached the last station in their journey toward the coast. He had taken the liberty of arranging a little surprise for his wife in the house that had been rented for them.

"A priest?
For what purpose?" she asked.

Rolfe was prepared to use force if need be. It wasn't necessary. They kneeled before the priest with Leon and Salome as their
witnesses,
and in a matter of minutes, the thing was done.

Afterwards, Zoë said, "This isn't legal in France, you know. Only civil marriages are legal nowadays."

"I care nothing for French law," he replied cuttingly. "In England, it will serve."

Rolfe watched her, trying to read her expression. But her face gave nothing away. As each day had slipped into the next she had withdrawn into herself, ignoring him as if he were a stranger, as if he meant nothing to her. He was furious with her, and furious with the turn of events that had forced him to reveal his role in crushing
La Compagnie.

By her lights, he supposed that she had reason to be wary of him. He had deceived her into thinking that she was the only reason he had come into France. In point of fact, she
was
the only reason. His assignment with Housard was the price he had been forced to pay for her safe return. Not to put too fine a point on it, Housard had blackmailed him.

On the one occasion he had raised the subject, attempting to exonerate himself, Zoë had denied that there was anything wrong.

"You don't have to explain anything to me," she said. "I'm grateful to you. Don't you think I know that my brother stands in your debt? I'm no fool, Rolfe. Without your intervention, God knows what would have become of Leon or me, for that matter."

"Then what's wrong?" he demanded. "Why do you make strange with me? Is it the duel with Tresier? Is it because I didn't intervene when
Valaze
shot Francoise? There must be some reason for you setting me at a distance. You've turned against me, Zoë, and I want to know why."

It was evident that his words shocked her. "Don't
be absurd!" she said. "Of course I haven't turned against you! It's just that . . ." she faltered, then ended in a rush, "It's just that I thought I knew you, but I see now that I do not know you at all."

He thought he understood. In that final confrontation with Francoise, Zoë had witnessed a side of his character that he would have preferred her not to see. She was shocked, naturally. He had been coldblooded and ruthless. For Francoise's fate, he had felt not one ripple of regret, nor would he pretend otherwise. Zoë must see him as some sort of monster. He was well aware that, formerly, she had looked upon him as something of a knight errant.

Tant
pis
,
he thought viciously. Perhaps he wasn't the man she thought he was. But he was the only man for her. When they were back in England, he had every confidence that he could make Zoë see reason. He would break through that wall of remote politeness when she had no one to turn to but himself.

As things stood, Zoë's brother and maid were always within earshot. And Zoë was not above using Leon and Salome as a buffer between them. Rolfe was hedged about and knew it. Once in England, however, things would be very different. He would make sure of it.

The journey from the coast of Normandy to Jersey and thence on to Weymouth and London was made without a hitch. They arrived at Rolfe's house in St. James well before dark descended. As Zoë and Leon went off to their respective chambers to unpack their boxes and wash the dirt of their travels from their skin, Rolfe closeted himself with his steward. It was
some time before he got round to going through the considerable correspondence which had piled up in his absence, and longer yet before he came upon a letter addressed to Zoë.

Without compunction, he opened it. The letter was from her sister Claire. Rolfe lost no time in tracking down Zoë. On the stairs he met Leon.

Without stopping, he waved the one-page epistle in the air. "It's from your sister," he said. "Claire is alive and well. She's in Boston."

When Rolfe barged into his wife's chamber with Leon hard at his heels, he found Zoë in her wrapper, having stepped out of her bath moments before. Salome was brushing her hair.

Unable to contain
himself
, Leon burst out, "Claire is in Boston, Zoë! She's alive and well! God, can you believe it? We've found Claire!"

With trembling fingers, Zoë took the letter from Rolfe's hand.

"She sailed from Bordeaux on the
Diana,"
said Rolfe, smiling into her eyes.

She quickly scanned the contents of the letter. Her face fell. The letter said very little more than Rolfe had told her except that Claire was well and that she was to give her letter into the safekeeping of a gentleman who was bound for England. Zoë looked at the date and her spirits sank even lower.

"The letter was written a year ago," she said faintly.

But nothing could dim Leon's exuberance. He grabbed for Salome and danced her round in a circle. "Claire is in America" he chanted. "We've found her. We've found her."

"Rolfe?" asked Zoë, her voice and expression half fearful, half hopeful.

Rolfe laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We know that Claire sailed on the
Diana.
We know her direction. It's more than we hoped for. As soon as it may be arranged, I'll send someone to go and fetch her."

"I'll go," said Leon at once.

"Fine," said Rolfe. "Leon will track her down, kitten. And when he does, he'll bring her to you, I promise."

It was inevitable, from that moment on, that Zoë's reserve toward Rolfe would thaw, and just as inevitable that Rolfe would make capital of this chink in her armor as soon as possible.

He came to her chamber late of the same night. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, gazing into space.