Vintage Love (68 page)

Father Braun nodded sadly.

“We mustn’t give up hope,” Enid insisted. “Where do you think Esmond may have taken him?”

“I will have to use other agents to determine that,” the priest said. “It may take only a few hours, or it may take the like number of days.” A drawn look crossed his face and paled its normal ruddiness. “I have failed Sir Harry. He will not be pleased. I tried to play the game alone to ensure the utmost secrecy. I thought I could protect the boy by myself. But I ought to have had an associate or two. I should not have left him alone when I went out. That was my error, and it may have cost us his life.”

Enid felt sorry for Father Braun. His bitter condemnation of himself was touching and sincere. Gently she withdrew the children’s book from his hands and studied it. “May I keep this?” she asked. “It has the royal signature in it. We can at least offer it as proof to Sir Harry that we were close to our quarry.”

“Take it,” he said. “Now let us return upstairs to discuss what our next moves should be.”

They retraced their steps through the underground labyrinth. Then the priest led them into a dining hall at the rear of the building and produced a jug of red wine and some glasses. His expression was bitter as he remarked, “We hate been stripped of property, vestments, everything. Fortunately, they missed the best of our wine cellars.”

Kemble sat down at the mahogany refectory table and gazed at Enid and the priest. “We have been outsmarted and made fools of by Esmond. It is truly unthinkable.”

“He is a formidable adversary,” Father Braun reminded him.

“What is your plan?” Enid asked.

The priest frowned over his wine goblet. “When we leave here, I shall go directly to the house of another agent who will alert our network. We will find out where the prince is being held.”

“And then?” Kemble prodded.

“If the prison is not too difficult to enter, we will work out a plan of attack. Hopefully, there may be guards whom we can bribe. We must meet this evil with wiles of our own and try to effect the boy’s rescue.”

“What are the two of us to do?” Enid wondered.

“For the moment, nothing,” Father Braun said. “Remain where you are. As soon as I have something to report, I will get word to you. It would be wise for you to be prepared to take action on the spur of the moment. By the time I have learned where the Dauphin is, we will have to move quickly.”

Kemble protested. “Surely we can be put to some use now, can’t we? I did not venture on this long, dangerous journey just to fume and fret in shabby lodgings.”

“You must not be impatient,” Father Braun cautioned him. “You are not familiar with Paris. And the fact that you are English will draw unwanted attention to you.”

“So you think it’s important that we refrain from doing anything on our own until we hear from you,” Enid concluded.

“It is the only way,” the priest agreed. “In the meantime, you can familiarize yourself with maps of the city, and the agents with whom you are staying can give you additional advice. By the way, where is their house?”

Enid and Kemble glanced uncertainly at each other. They both remembered Ramon’s statement that the priest knew nothing of him and Renaud and that it was better that way. But this was an emergency situation, and they had no choice but to reveal their present location.

“It is probably unwise for us to remain here much longer,” Enid added. “Esmond’s men could return with more recruits and we would be sorely outnumbered.”

Father Braun smiled at her approvingly. “I can see why Sir Harry chose you for this important mission. You have a good mind, and you are also the most expert female at wielding a sword whom I have ever encountered.”

“She has an extraordinary talent for fencing,” Kemble agreed.

“I’m glad I was able to put it to good use,” Enid said, her sloe eyes gleaming at the memory of her efforts.

“Needless to say, I’m most grateful.” The priest rose from the table. “When we leave, we shall depart by a rear exit. It would be best if you left first, and then I shall follow.”

“You are in charge,” Kemble allowed.

“We are equals,” Father Braun hastened to say, “but in certain matters it might be wise to take my advice.”

They moved out of the dining hall and drew their cloaks tighter around them. The monastery was both dank and gloomy, and the single lighted taper could not dispel the shadows that loomed at them forebodingly.

“I should get back to you sometime tomorrow,” the cleric informed his English accomplices. “If my work takes longer, I’ll send a message to you to that effect.”

The flickering candlelight revealed a short stairway that led to an arched door. Father Braun paused there with them and said, “This will take you into a narrow alley. It is much safer, and you only have to turn left at its end to find your way back to the street.” He unbarred the door and held the candle aloft.

Kemble thanked him, and he and Enid stepped into the alley. Her last view of the cleric was as he stood in the doorway, the candle casting a golden glow about him. Even though he wore ordinary clothing, his mien was priestly.

They moved warily along the cobblestones. The dark alley was, thankfully, deserted. After several minutes Enid asked Kemble, “What do you make of him?”

“Steel-trap mind and nerves.”

“I agree, but there is more to him than that. He is dedicated to saving the Dauphin, even though I think he may be cynical about the uses England wishes to make of the lad.”

“His responsibility is to produce the boy for us, not to criticize our diplomacy. And he has failed.”

“Which means we’ve all failed.”

“For the moment,” the actor amended.

She saw they were now on the route by which they had come, and she felt easier. “It didn’t take Louis Esmond very long to come back into the picture,” she observed.

“As the chief of the revolutionist spy service, he was never really out of it.”

“I hope I look different enough now,” she worried. “I’m sure you do.”

“The main thing is the boy,” Kemble told her firmly. “If they have taken him back to the prison from which he was rescued, the chances of freeing him again are small.”

When they reached the lodging house, they found Renaud and Ramon in a back room, silent and absorbed over a game of chess. Renaud looked up as they entered, his expression one of keen anticipation.

“What is the word?” he asked eagerly.

“Bad,” Kemble growled.

The midget glared at him. “You didn’t let the Dauphin escape from you?” he demanded shrilly. Enid answered him. “We didn’t even get a chance to see the prince. He was abducted by Louis Esmond’s men before we arrived.”

Kemble then told them the entire story, ending with, “So we remain here until Father Braun learns where the Dauphin is.”

The midget’s pale face was twisted with scorn. “I have never trusted men of the cloth. That priest is far too simplistic in his methods.”

Renaud frowned at him across the table. “No need to blame Father Braun. He had proved himself a most capable agent.”

“And he has failed in his most important assignment,” the midget shrilled. “Sir Harry will pay us back for this. He’s liable to be so angry he’ll throw us all to the rabble!”

Enid spoke soothingly. “I think Father Braun did his best. And he is intelligent. There’s still hope.”

“I fail to see it,” Ramon said in an ugly tone. “We may as well go back to playing chess!”

Both Enid and Kemble were thoroughly exhausted. They left the men to their game and went upstairs. The actor hesitated before her bedroom door, saying, “One thing, at least. We are still together.”

She smiled wanly. “A small comfort.”

“It could be much more,” he urged softly.

“No.”

He sighed. “Ah, your infernal loyalty to a man who is probably already dead!”

“I won’t believe that!”

“You have seen what Paris is like. You know he was in prison when you last heard of him. Can you honestly hope he is still alive?”

“I must.”

Kemble took her in his arms and held her close, stroking her hair with a light touch. The increased pounding of her heart told Enid that his embrace had stirred her. She could not forget the blissful times they had shared together, nor did she want to. They would be forever etched in her memory. She sighed and lifted her face to his. The kiss he gave her was ardent and of long duration, and before it was over she had responded almost urgently.

“I love you, Enid,” he murmured.

“I know that,” she replied huskily.

“We face great uncertainty here. We could be dead in a short while, murdered by enemy agents. Shouldn’t we take advantage of the time we have and become lovers again? Please say yes!”

Armand’s face, his lean, hard body—the very essence of the man—rose before her eyes. She gently disengaged herself from Kemble’s arms and said, “I’m sorry, John, but I cannot give myself to you unless I know for certain that Armand is dead.”

“I have a phantom adversary,” the actor complained bitterly. “How do you dispose of a phantom?”

Her smile was sad. “You had best find that out before you ask me to bed with you again.”

He shook his head in despair. “I have a beauty in Jenny. I could have almost any woman in London. And I want only you!”

“I’m glad I hold such a high esteem in your eyes, and I shall cherish that knowledge. But I will not demean myself by going back on my given word. Good night, John.”

“Good night,” he said resignedly. He waited until she had gone inside and bolted her door before he entered his own chamber.

Enid fell asleep almost at once, but she was plagued by disturbing nightmares. In most of them she was fencing again, battling off the mysterious attackers in the dark street. Then the face of one was revealed, and it was that of the hateful Louis Esmond, gloating over her as he managed to twist the sword from her grasp. Unarmed, she stepped back, and he lunged at her with his rapier pointed at her heart. It was at this point in the dream that she awakened and found herself bathed in perspiration.

Almost at once there was a knock on the door between her room and Kemble’s. “Enid!” he demanded urgently.

“Yes?” she answered sleepily.

“Are you all right? You screamed several times!”

“A nightmare,” she said, “nothing more. Please go back to bed now.”

She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling and seeing again the details of the nightmare. She shuddered and rolled over onto her stomach, clutching the clean-smelling pillows as if they could protect her from the force of Louis Esmond.

When Enid came downstairs the next morning, she found Kemble poring over a map of Paris that was spread out on the wooden table in the kitchen. Renaud and Ramon were wearing their mother-and-son costumes again and stood next to Kemble, explaining the map to him. Each was making a useful contribution to the actor’s knowledge.

On seeing Enid attired in a fresh blue linen dress whose low-cut neckline enhanced both the curve of her bosom and the beautiful gold locket adorning it, the midget rolled his eyes and gave her a leering smile.

“I’d say Sir Harry sent you here to tempt us!” he cried. His remark was all the more ridiculous considering his child’s outfit.

Kemble told him, “It will do you no good at all to make any such overtures, little man. She has already turned me down.”

“People of my size have much appeal to some ladies,” Ramon chuckled. “I remember, before all this business started—when I was in the king’s service—I was once given the task of surveilling the wife of a Danish ambassador, and I vow I did most of my work beside her in her four-poster!”

Ramon let out a deep growl and glared at his partner. “We are here to study the map, not to listen to tales of your erotic adventures!”

“The lady might find my stories much more pleasing,” Ramon suggested, still leering at her.

“I fear I’m not in the mood for pleasantries of that nature this morning,” Enid declared firmly. “Has there been any word from Father Braun?”

“Not yet,” Kemble said. “I’m making the most of my time by learning how to move about Paris.”

She went over to the table. “That is a good idea. Do include me in on the explanations.”

For the better part of an hour they labored over the map. By the time they had finished, she had memorized quite a lot of details about the city. Kemble had some difficulty with the names of the streets and grew angry at himself. His plight was not helped by the midget, who twitted him about his intelligence.

“I would fear, Mr. Kemble, that while I possess a small body and a huge mind, you are sadly blessed with a large body and a tiny mind.”

“Let’s have none of that, little man!” Kemble flared, showing a fist.

Enid placated the two of them. “We are not supposed to waste our time quarreling with each other. We are here to improve our knowledge and decide on a plan of action.”

At that moment they heard someone moving about in the next room. The footsteps drew nearer and the four of them stood like statues. Enid feared it might be one of Esmond’s agents and hoped it was Father Braun with some helpful news. It turned out to be neither. The man entering the kitchen was Pierre Giraud, in his familiar guise as the filthy, loose-mouthed driver.

Renaud withdrew his hand from under the table top, where, to both Enid’s and Kemble’s surprise, he had been holding a pistol aimed at the kitchen doorway.

“I wondered who had let himself in!” he exclaimed with a sigh of relief.

“So you were going to shoot me, my friend, and then question me later?” Pierre’s tone was heavy with sarcasm.

Renaud stashed the pistol in a pocket of the woman’s coverall he wore. “We are constantly in danger. You should not have entered without calling out first.”

“In other days my servants announced me,” the count said with a grim smile. “I find it difficult now to learn to announce myself.”

“What is the word?” the midget asked.

“Tonight I take six souls to Calais,” Giraud reported with relish. “Three noblemen, two of their wives, and the noble mistress of the third.”

Kemble nodded. “The transportation continues with success, then.”