by Nikki Poppen
Major von Hausman spoke from across the table. “You’re to be commended. You are not who I thought you were. I have to say, I had my concerns about you. None of us knew you by face or by reputation when you were appointed to duty in Paris. Sometimes there are reasons one is sent away on solitary duty from his corps. I feared it was the case with you, Captain, another ne’er do well rich man’s son. I asked around through my acquaintances abroad. They’d said you were a drunkard and a rowdy rascal with a tendency for unprovoked violence. I am pleased to report, you’re not what they say you are”
Alain looked suitably humbled as glasses were raised in cheers to the new friend in their midst. The general clapped his hands for attention after the impromptu toast. “In honor of our Polish friend, Captain Stanislawski, I have asked my chef to prepare the Polish dessert, Baba au Rhum, made famous in France by King Louis XV’s father-in-law, Prince Stanislas Leczinksi.” Motrineau made a grand sweeping flourish with his hand, indicating the footmen to step forward with the rum-sprinkled cakes.
As plates emptied of dessert, the diners grew eager to stretch and walk in the warm spring darkness. With permission from the general to enjoy the grounds, the table began to disperse. Suspiciously, Cecile watched Alain lean over and whisper to the general. Moments later, the general beckoned her to his side. “Cecile, our young captain wishes to take a stroll beneath the trees. He is the only one here tonight without a female escort.”
Cecile read the implied hint between the lines. “I would be honored to show you the park. The general is blessed with a lovely piece of property in the middle of town; it is not to be missed.” She thought her earlier anger was well disguised in her bland conversation.
Alain rose and offered her his arm. A footman came forward to take the violin and safely put it aside. She was loathe to relinquish the instrument, but it would be awkward if not ridiculous to stroll with one hand on a gentleman’s arm and the other clutching the neck of a violin.
“You’ve been shooting daggers at me since supper. What have I done to earn your enmity since we last parted?” Alain asked humorously, guiding Cecile over an exceptionally large tree root in their path. He’d skillfully maneuvered them out of earshot of the other strolling couples.
“Can you not guess? You seem to be quite adept at subterfuge.”
“I am afraid you’ll have to explain yourself.”
Cecile cast around the grove, making sure of their privacy. “The Panchettes. You were looking for them the day we met and now you’ve managed to trap their unsuspecting cousin.” Her voice was no louder than an angry whisper. The expression of relief on Alain’s face increased her irritation as did his next, ill-chosen words.
“Ma petite cherie, is that all?” He even had the audacity to follow it up with a laugh.
Cecile pulled away from him and faced him with hands on hips. “Is that all?” She mocked his words. “Does a man’s freedom mean so little to you? A man’s life, a family, may be ruined because of your callousness.”
Alain swallowed hard. Cecile was gratified her words had hit their target. “Cecile, is that what you think of me? Don’t you know me better than that from our afternoon together?”
“The afternoon showed me that rich men are truly alike.” Cecile’s defenses were on full alert. Alain had not chosen to counter her attacks with denial. She’d provoked him so that he’d tell the truth, the truth she wanted to hear, that he hadn’t sent the Panchettes to their doom.
“Pray tell, what is a rich man like?” Alain prompted.
“A rich man tries to buy everything, even people. Do you think I can’t see through your ruse? You bought me things, did me favors, and treated me like a real lady in the hopes that I would incriminate my neighbors by giving you an entree to my neighborhood. What other interest could you have in helping me deliver food to invalids and shut-ins?” Cecile railed. “You got close to me in hopes of being invited in to the homes of the very people you want to investigate.”
Alain’s voice was forced and low. “First, you are arguing from a position of half-truths overheard at a dinner table. Second, why is it so hard to believe I might share your interest in helping those in need?” He stepped closer to her until there was no distance between them. The white breeches of his uniform rubbed against the light silk of her gown. “Third, when I woo you, you will know it. It will not be with a visit to a jewelers or a grocery but with a visit to my lips to yours. It will bear resemblance to something like this.”
Alain tipped her chin up and brought his lips to her mouth, covering it, sealing it with his own. Cecile whimpered more in surprise than resistance, although her conscience briefly argued she should not be kissing this duplicitous man. He had managed to neither tell her truths or lies. At the feel of his strong arm around her, drawing her against him, heat pooled in her stomach.
Cecile gave herself over to the sensations he invoked. His was the body of a man who knew how to protect. How Cecile wanted to believe he’d protect her, that he hadn’t used his strength to haul the Panchettes off to a dungeon to await unnecessary justice.
She was embarrassingly breathless when the kiss ended. She still stood within the secure confines of his arms, looking up at green eyes darkened with passion so that now they were the shade of fir trees. “Why did you do that?
“Because I think I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first saw you” Alain’s voice was soft, empty of anger at her accusations. His hand stole up to push a stray curl behind her ear. “You’re an enigma, Cecile. Who are you? The spitfire in satin that I see performing in the general’s house or the drab dressed Lady Bountiful?”
“I could say the same for you,” Cecile retorted, her practical sense being gradually restored. “Who are you? The soldier I see tonight or the man I met in the street” Cecile pursed her lips, suddenly struck by an incongruity. “Whoever you are, I don’t know either one of YOU.”
“We shall remedy that tomorrow when I call. We’ve been apart from the party long enough. Let me take you back”
A footman handed Cecile her violin the moment they stepped back onto the verandah. She took it, grateful to have her hands on something familiar. Playing would help her sort through the jumbled thoughts in her head and give her some distance from Alain. If only Alain would agree.
“Will you show me your violin?” Alain asked, reaching for the instrument in her hands without permission. His own hands were elegant and long, with well cared, short-cut nails. Respectfully, he ran a hand down the body of the violin. The gesture sent a tremor through Cecile. What would it feel like to have him caress my body in that same manner? She pushed such wanton thoughts away.
“It was made by a friend of my father, Nicholas Lupot” Cecile said proudly. “But not the varnish, which is my father’s contribution to this instrument.” She gave a little laugh at her joke, which Alain did not understand. She explained, “Nicholas Lupot makes the most sensational violins. He’s one of the premier violin makers in all of Europe. He has a shop here in Paris, I am told. But he’s never mastered varnishing. Varnishing was my father’s expertise.” Cecile ran a hand over the exquisite cherry glossed surface of the violin. “Nicholas uses the harder resins and they give his instruments a cracked look. A good varnish should be with soft resins.”
“The violin is a family treasure,” Alain commented. “Are you the only one who plays?”
“I am now.” Cecile’s voice was sharp. She regretted her tone. She couldn’t blame Alain for what he didn’t know. As an olive branch, she picked up her bow. “Many people forget how critical the bow is to a quality violin. The violin is nothing without a bow. This is perhaps the real family treasure. It’s a bow by Tourte. He is renowned for his inventions on the bow” Her face flushed with enthusiasm. “See how there is varied thickness? Tourte made most of his bows out of Pernambuco wood. A true Tourte bow is twenty-seven and nine-sixteenths of an inch. The thick end is four and a half inches long with a diameter of three-eighths of an inch. Then it gets progressively thinner until th
e head of the bow is only one-eighth inch.” Cecile fingered the bow. “He made fancy bows laid with gold; this one is not one of those, but it’s still a Tourte”
“Very impressive, you are both a musician and a scholar.” Alain complimented her.
“I am afraid I run on too much about the instrument. I hope I haven’t bored you.”
“On the contrary, I am more intrigued than ever. I have business awaiting me this evening, so I’ll bid you bon soir and see you tomorrow afternoon” Alain bent over her hand.
It wasn’t until Alain had departed that Cecile realized she’d forgotten to be mad and insist he not call on her. That was what one got for being bowled over by a kiss and a compliment. He’d admired her violin, and all thoughts of whether or not she should associate with a potential scoundrel fled out of her head. Which may have been precisely what he’d intended all along.
Life was getting complicated. Alain had never been so glad to leave a party, or as unwilling. Cecile had been positively entrancing with her sharp retorts. He had not planned on kissing her, but there had been little choice when presented with her tempting defiance in the grove. Her passionate response had been intoxicating, and if he hadn’t been so cognizant of the dangers surrounding him in the general’s home, he might have dared to take their ardor to its logical conclusion. But danger was stalking him.
The secretary had turned out to be a problem. Pierre Ramboulet had been excited to hear news of his relatives’ safe relocation in England, but he’d protested against going with Alain. There were others he wanted Alain to take to safety first, more family members that might be harmed by his disappearance.
Alain did not know how long he could support his identity as Captain Stanislawksi. Major Von Hausman’s speculations at dinner had been a crack in the facade. What if Von Hausman contacted his friends and told them his impressions of the Captain? What if a friend of the major’s came to visit and inadvertently ran into him? The longer he stayed, the riskier his situation became.
The longer he stayed, the more he’d see of Cecile, who was going to demand the truth from him. The longer he stayed, the more he’d want to tell Cecile the truth as dangerous as that may be. He had no real reason to believe he could trust Cecile with the truth. If events came to a head, Cecile might feel obliged for the sake of her future security to side with her employer. The general had made it clear that traitors would not be tolerated. Motrineau would certainly not tolerate the presence of an English baron in his midst with the express purpose of assisting the person Motrineau wanted to ferret out.
It galled him that Cecile believed him wholly capable of such injustice as arresting the Panchettes. Her distrust of him had been evident in the accusations she’d flung at his head in the grove. He wasn’t sure how to convince her that he wasn’t a puppet of the New Regime, but perhaps accompanying her on her rounds tomorrow would be a start. In the meanwhile, he had an evacuation to plan.
Alain pushed open the door to his rented home and came to a halt at the sight of Harker’s face and wringing hands. Harker was unflappable. Harker never showed signs of distress.
“My lord, we’ve been invaded!”
Alain became aware of the sound of feet shuffling above him on the second floor. Children’s voices cried out in rough play. Children? Why would children be in my home? Why would anyone be in my home? No one was supposed to know him.
Harker explained as Alain took the stairs two at a time. “They said they were family of Pierre Ramboulet, that he’d met with you and he told them to come to this address. He told them you’d take them to England, to safety. My lord, I didn’t know what to do”
Alain stifled a chuckle at the sight of the disheveled guest room. He imagined the other two guest rooms looked the same. Pallets had been made up on the floor and rag-wrapped bundles containing the family’s possessions were piled everywhere. It wasn’t exactly funny, but it was certainly comedic. Daniel would have a fit.
“What are we to do?” Harker asked again.
Alain threw up his hands, a smile of consent on his face. “What can we do? We have to send them to England. Take the boat and go tonight. We can’t have anyone suspect they are here” Quickly, Alain summarized the conversation from dinner. “The weather is mild and who knows what kind of weather we may be forced to face if we wait.”
“What about you, my lord? Will you come too?” Harker asked worriedly.
“No, I must wait and bring the secretary” Alain tried for levity. “Besides, I have an appointment tomorrow that I cannot break”
“With the young violinist you took shopping today?” Harker eyed him suspiciously.
“She’s delightful, Harker. You’d like her.”
“I’d like you safely tucked away in Hythe building your city.”
Alain laughed away Harker’s fears. “I’ll be there soon enough. Now, we have people to help and a boat to disguise. I want to make sure someone can sail the boat back here without it being recognized.” Otherwise, I’ll be stranded. Stranded with Cecile. Well, maybe the idea being stranded wasn’t so odious after all.
Cecile tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for Alain at the appointed street corner. Was he late? Had he forgotten? Had he been detained at work? Had he simply decided that mingling with the impoverished masses was not a preferred way to spend a lovely spring afternoon? It seemed forever since the bells of the city had chimed two o’clock.
She shifted the heavy basket from one arm to the other. At least she was finding out now what kind of man Alain Stanislawski truly was. Better this than discovering it after she’d lost her heart to him, which would be easy to do. A few more days like yesterday and a few more kisses like the one they’d exchanged in the general’s grove last night, and she’d be done for. It would be too easy to love Alain, too easy to forget he was a soldier who fought for a way of life she could not believe in and that he was from Poland. Some day he’d go back to his country and resume his life there, most likely as a wealthy man’s son with rank and funds. There would be no place in that life for an impoverished violin player.
Cecile scanned the street, shading her eyes against the brightness. Undeterred by her misgivings, her heart raced at the sight of Alain rounding the corner. An odd sense of relief flooded through her at the realization he had not forgotten her. He was merely late. Perhaps he was late because he’d stopped to change clothes. As he neared, Cecile noted his clothes were neat and clean, if a bit worn. They were not the usual attire she was used to seeing him in. How thoughtful of him to dress in a fashion that would not intimidate the people she would visit.
Her cynical side snorted at the naivety of the thought. How intelligent of him not to dress in a manner that would be out of place and put people on edge. He could blend in and cull out information people would otherwise be reluctant to disclose. She’d have to be on watch to see that no one said anything incriminating.
“Cecile, I am late. I apologize,” Alain said breathlessly, coming to a stop at her side. From the signs of sweat beginning to form beneath his arms, he’d been running.
Cecile thrust the heavy basket at him. “You can make up for it by carrying this.”
He took the basket good-naturedly and fell into stride next to her. “Where to first?”
Cecile pointed to the top floor of a tenement at the end of the block. “We’re going to visit Madame Boisserie and her new baby.”
“All the way up there?” Alain eyed the building suspiciously.
“All the way up” Cecile confirmed.
The Boisserie home was a typical tenement, dimly lit, cramped, and sparsely furnished. The one luxury, for which Madame must have paid dearly for, was the small hearth built into the wall. She had heat and a means of cooking in her tiny room. Cecile cast a covert glance at Alain to see how he was responding to the squalid surroundings. After dining at the general’s, the place must seem the very dregs. To her surprise, Alain didn’t flinch. He courteously greeted Madame Boisserie when introduced and plopped the
basket down on the room’s one table.
“I am going to make you a nice, hearty vegetable soup,” Cecile said cheerily, fussing with the woman’s bed linens and fluffing pillows. She stooped to admire the baby waving his fists from the makeshift cradle. “The little man is getting bigger every day.”
She gave Alain a knife and set him to chopping vegetables while she busied herself around the room with housekeeping. She kept up a constant chatter as she worked.
The very young Madame Boisserie broke into her chatter. “Cecile, you needn’t be the one with all the gossip today. I had a visitor earlier. You won’t guess what she told me” Without waiting for a response, Madame Boisserie rushed on. “Another family is missing and they’re related to the Panchettes”
The chop of Alain’s knife seemed louder than necessary. Cecile shot him a distracted look. “Another family? Who could be behind such disappearances?”
Madame Boisserie shook her head. “No one knows, but it’s the third family in two months. Either they’ve been arrested for sordid goings on or they’ve fled. Do you think we’re all in danger?” She reached for her baby and clutched him close. “I don’t know what I’d do if someone broke in here” Panic edged her voice.
Cecile recognized the signs of pre-hysteria and quickly intervened. “You have nothing to worry about. The Panchettes are not connected to you” She soothed the woman’s fears, reminding her of the connection between the families and the disappearances.
Cecile set the soup to boiling over the hearth and repacked her basket. They said their goodbyes and headed off to the next destination. Everywhere they went, Alain was polite and helpful. When he wasn’t slicing bread or pouring milk, he was charming the old ladies, listening to the old men with their tales of bygone days, or bouncing babes and toddlers on his knee. He played a wild tag game with some older children and patched up a doll for a little girl.
Her neighbors took to him. Alain was a success. He made children laugh, he made stoic old men talk, and he made the old women feel like queens (if the French still believed in queens). Best of all, he didn’t probe for unsettling information. Perhaps he didn’t have to. At each stop, everyone was full of news about the missing family and Alain quietly soaked it in. Hopefully, whatever he learned wouldn’t prove to be damaging, Cecile wished, packing up her basket for the last time.
