Vintage Love (73 page)

“Kemble will be urging the network to try to rescue me. I must get to them before they make a move that could be dangerous for them.”

“I’ll have a carriage take you to the lodging house. That way you’ll be sure to reach Kemble safely.”

“And you?”

“I must be on my way to Calais in an hour.”

Enid gave him a pleading look. “When will it end, Armand?”

“A long time from now, I fear,” he said sadly. “But my own usefulness is almost finished. After I complete my present assignment, I shall come back to Paris and join you. We can return to London together.”

“My dearest!” She leaned forward and kissed him with delight. “And if fortune smiles on us, perhaps we will save the Dauphin and take him along!”

“This Father Braun is obviously working with another section, for I haven’t met him yet. But it seems to me he was remiss in leaving the lad alone as he did.”

“He admits that.”

“You might as well tell him about the secret passage,” Aramand advised. “He can use it to make a further survey of the house, though I very much doubt he will find anything worthwhile.”

“He will be delighted to learn there is something there that is unknown to Esmond.”

“The passage is not connected with the main part of the house,” Armand told her, “only with the attic and the cellar. For every other place you uncover, you must use alternate means of escape—as I did with the dropped rope to rescue you.”

“I will explain it all to them,” she promised.

A half hour later he kissed her goodbye and sent her off in a carriage with a trusted agent. As she proceeded to rejoin Kemble and Renaud, she fell into low spirits once more. Armand was still involved in his risky work, and she was still involved in the mission to rescue the Dauphin. Anything could happen to either of them.

She received a small measure of satisfaction at the thought of Louis Esmond’s apoplexy when he found both her and the old duke gone. He would be beside himself with rage and desperate for revenge.

A feeling of excitement filled her when the carriage halted before the house that was their headquarters. The agent saw her to the door, and only when she and Kemble had thrown their arms about each other did he withdraw and return to the vehicle.

“I can scarcely believe my eyes!” the actor exclaimed. “I thought I would never see you alive again!”

“I was beginning to think the same. Did you find Ramon?”

“Dead as mutton!” Kemble said indignantly. “The poor little man was stabbed and battered as well!”

“I know.” She glanced up the stairway and trembled with remembered fear. “It was Esmond who killed him and took me away.”

“How did you manage to elude the scoundrel?”

“Where is Renaud?” she asked. “It will save my repeating the story if I tell you both at the same time.”

“In the kitchen,” Kemble replied. “In fact, Father Braun is here, and we were just holding a council of war on how to release you.”

They made their way to the kitchen, where Father Braun and the man who had posed as the midget’s mother greeted her. Enid noticed that Renaud was no longer wearing women’s clothing.

Kemble saw her glance and said, “Our friend Renaud thinks it’s not necessary to dress as a mother with his son gone.”

Renaud was disgusted. “Esmond is onto us! It’s too late for such charades!”

Father Braun seated her at the table, his expression grave. “Now, let us hear all about your capture and escape.”

She told them everything that had happened. “The secret passage will take you to the cellar level of the house,” she concluded.

Father Braun’s ruddy face showed his concern. “I wonder if it is even worthwhile. Your Count Armand claimed there was no one else imprisoned down there.”

“Maybe the prince is being kept somewhere else in the house. A hidden room, perhaps?” Enid suggested.

The priest stared at her. “You think I should venture there?”

“I do,” she said. “If you don’t believe you can find your way, I shall go with you.”

“I can manage by following your directions,” he assured her. “This is a task best looked after by one man.”

“When will you go?” Kemble asked.

“Tonight,” the cleric replied. “Just as soon as it is dark.”

Father Braun and Renaud left soon afterward, and Enid and Kemble were alone in the house. He grumbled, “Your being taken hostage and Ramon’s murder have halted everything.”

“Now we can start again.”

He frowned. “What do you think the chances are that the Dauphin is still alive?”

“I think they are good.”

“Why? Esmond and his ilk are determined to wipe out the royal family along with the nobles.”

“It will suit Esmond to keep the boy alive,” she said, pouring them both some tea she had made earlier.

“Why?”

“There is a battle for supremacy among the leaders of the masses, and Esmond plans to use young Louis Charles to bolster his ambition to become a party leader.”

“You’re saying he’ll keep the boy alive for purely selfish reasons?”

“Yes.”

“You may be right.”

“Judging by what he said, I’m certain of it.”

“He’ll be enraged to find you and the duke gone. And don’t think he won’t try to do something about it.”

“I doubt if he’d dare touch me again. At least I hope not. And the duke is on his way to England via Calais. He is in Armand’s safekeeping.”

Kemble’s brown eyes flashed angrily. “While I dawdle about, painted and dyed to look like your father, and worried sick about you, you are having a tender reunion with your lover!”

“Do you begrudge me that?”

“Of course I do!” he declared vehemently. “I’m sick of this business. We seem to be going in circles and getting nowhere!”

Enid laughed and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I think you are lonely for the stage and for your pretty Jenny.”

“She has a sweet face and a mild disposition—certainly better than yours!” the actor retorted.

“I have always said she was meant for you.”

“And I’ve always hoped that Armand would vanish and never be seen again!”

“I doubt if your wish will be fulfilled. He told me this morning that this will be his last mission.”

“What then?”

“He will make England his permanent home.”

“And you his wife?”

“If I’m ever able to be free of Andrew, yes.” She sipped her tea and grew reflective.

Kemble gave a deep sigh. “And I’m not even sure I’ll have a company to return to. My tight-fisted sister has probably alienated everyone by now.”

“Not Jenny and Susie,” Enid said. “They will fight back if Mrs. Siddons tries any tricks on them.”

“I suppose so. Lord, how I rue the day I met Sir Harry!”

“But think of the possibilities.” Enid tried to inject a bright note in her voice. “If the Dauphin is rescued by us and taken back to England, we shall be history-book heroes!”

“The way things are going, I wouldn’t give a lead shilling for my place in history,” Kemble groaned in typical melancholic fashion.

• • •

That night Father Braun left alone on his mission to Esmond’s headquarters. Because of the importance of his errand, they had agreed to wait up for his return. If he found the Dauphin and brought him back, their goal would be accomplished and they could return to London immediately.

Renaud had found some beef that Kemble had insisted was horsemeat, but which, with suitable sauces, had made a delicious dinner for the three of them. Now they sat drinking some of the fine red wine Father Braun had brought them from the monastery.

Kemble got up from the table and began to pace slowly back and forth. “Waiting again,” he muttered. “It seems I have been constantly waiting since I arrived in France.”

“He should return soon if he isn’t captured,” Enid said hopefully. “I gave him a complete picture of the tunnel and the vault.”

Renaud nodded. “The good father is not one to tarry. He knows what he is doing.”

“Then why did he let the lad slip through his fingers in the first place?” Kemble snapped.

Renaud shrugged. “We all make errors. Some can never be avoided.”

“He may have to hide for a little while before he is able to explore the place,” Enid pointed out.

“He will come back as soon as he can,” Renaud concluded.

Kemble made no reply but continued to pace. Enid began to think it might have been better to have sent him along, or Renaud, to stand guard at the tomb entrance on the burial ground. But Father Braun had insisted it should be a one-man operation. She recognized the priest’s ability and intelligence, but she did not always understand him. There seemed to be an invisible barrier present, like a protective shield, whenever he was questioned too intently.

Her ruminations were interrupted by what sounded like a riot outside. The commotion sent them all hurrying to peek around the shuttered front windows. In the street two men were fighting, each rocking back and forth in an attempt to gain the upper hand. A ring of onlookers had circled them and was lustily urging them on in their battle.

Then one of the combatants flashed a dagger, and crouching low, began to stalk his opponent. The unarmed man retreated but could go only so far because of the people crowded about him. The man with the dagger lunged forward and almost succeeded in driving the weapon home. The threatened man waited until his adversary was struggling to regain his balance before moving in with some hard blows to the face and body. The unexpected attack stunned the knife-wielding man, and he almost dropped his weapon.

The onlookers, eager for some bloodletting, continued to encourage the pair to fight. One of the watchers held a lighted torch high so that all might better observe the melee. Suddenly the man with the dagger leaped forward, and this time he sank the gleaming blade deep into his opponent’s chest. The wounded man slumped to the cobblestones and the crowd howled with glee.

The attacker removed the knife from his victim and wiped it clean on the other man’s breeches. Then he put it back into its sheath and sauntered off, the delighted mob following on his heels, no doubt planning to celebrate this unexpected form of entertainment in a tavern or two. The man who had been stabbed remained motionless in the street.

“We must do something to help the poor fellow!” Enid insisted.

“Mix up in that? It could only lead to trouble,” was Kemble’s opinion.

Renaud turned to them. “Obviously no one cares, so no one can blame us if we try to give him some aid.”

“I agree,” Enid said. “Bring him inside, and I’ll get some hot water ready and some clean cloths.”

“From what I saw, he’s more in need of a wooden box!” Kemble grumbled.

He and Renaud left the house, glanced warily about to see if anyone was near, then lifted up the fallen man and carried him inside.

After they had reached the kitchen, they laid him down on the floor. Enid brought the candle close so they could determine how seriously injured he was.

It was Renaud who first gave a cry of shock. “Look!” He pointed at the man. “See who he is!”

“Our driver!” Enid exclaimed.

“The count in disguise,” Kemble murmured. “They must have got onto him.”

“Or else he became involved in a street brawl and couldn’t get away,” Enid mused. “Is he still breathing?”

Renaud had pressed his ear to Pierre’s bloodstained chest. Now he looked up and shook his head. “No use. He is dead.”

“I’m so sorry,” Enid said, gazing down at the immobile face with its stubble of black beard.

Kemble sighed heavily. “Another nobleman gone.”

“Another link in Sir Harry’s network broken,” Enid added. “I wonder if they knew he was a spy.”

“Hard to say.” Renaud shrugged. “At any rate, he is dead.”

“What will we do with him?” Enid asked.

“Put a cover over him until Father Braun returns. Then we can bury him here in the cellar. We three men can soon sink a grave in the muddy ground.”

Enid found an old bedsheet and carefully covered the body of Pierre Giraud. “I’m afraid this is a bad omen,” she said softly.

They resumed their vigil for Father Braun’s return in an atmosphere of gloom. The sight of the body on the kitchen floor was a curt reminder that all their lives were held by a tenuous thread that could be snapped at any moment.

At last there was a single, soft rap on the rear door. Renaud rose, peered out cautiously, and then opened the door.

Father Braun came in looking exhausted. The first thing he saw was the shroud on the floor. He reacted at once. “Who is that?”

“Count Pierre Giraud,” Renaud told him. “He has driven his last coach from Calais to Paris.”

“Murdered?” the priest asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

“But how did his body get here?”

“There was a brawl in the street, almost in front of the door,” Enid explained. “He had an argument with someone, and the man drew a dagger and killed him.”

“He must have been on his way here,” Kemble said. “It is my opinion they discovered he was a spy.”

“Poor man!” Father Braun shook his head sadly, his face reflecting his distress.

“Enough of that!” Kemble declared. “What do you have to report to us?”

“Nothing,” the priest replied.

“Nothing!” Enid echoed him. “Didn’t you get inside?”

“I was inside,” he said grimly. “I thought for a while there I would never get out. A guard almost caught me.”

“And no one was there?” Kemble wondered.

“Not in the cellars. I checked again on every cell. All of them were empty.”

Enid considered this. “Esmond was afraid that the boy would be found, so he must have moved him somewhere else.”

Father Braun nodded. “That has to be the answer. I swear he was not there!”

“Where can he be, then?” Kemble mused.

“Who knows?” Father Braun shrugged. “Take the map of Paris and stick a pin in it.”

“There must be a better way of discovering his whereabouts,” Enid observed.

“There is,” the cleric agreed, “but it is not a quick way. I must begin all over again, contact the entire network. It is inevitable that gradually we’ll have some word leaked as to where the boy is being held prisoner.”

“And by then they’ll have moved him somewhere else!” Kemble grumbled with disgust. “This game can go on forever!”