She smiled fondly at Franklin as she took his hands and double-kissed his cheeks. “Helás, Franklin!”
For his part, Franklin was not just smitten, but clearly displayed sincere admiration for the woman. His eyes softened in a way Peter hadn’t seen before as he kissed her hand.
Introductions were made, and she pulled Peter’s hand to her ample bosom as she smiled at him.
Even in modern times, he wasn’t used to such things. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. She laughed, delighted in his discomfort.
“Américain,” Victor said as he gave her hand a delicate kiss on the knuckles.
“Tous sont bienvenus.”
She smiled at Peter and gave him a saucy wink as they went inside.
“She likes you,” Victor said, amused.
Travers adjusted his cravat. “It might come as a surprise to you, but I’m actually quite likable.”
Victor laughed and they went inside to join the others.
Peter looked around the room. Still no sign of Quincy.
They took their seats in the lushly appointed drawing room. Peter sat on an embroidered silk chair across from a quite elderly gentleman. Suddenly, he felt something touching his shoulder.
He turned and found himself face to face with a large white angora cat. It rubbed against his face, pushing some of its fur up his nose. He turned and sneezed.
“Musette,” Madame Helvétius said as she plucked the cat off the back of his chair and straightened its blue sateen jacket and matching ribbon. “She likes you.”
She kissed the cat and put her down. It took a second, but Peter realized there were cats everywhere, maybe a dozen or more of them, and even a chicken roaming around the room. It was strange and wonderfully provincial.
Madame Helvétius leaned down, and it was all he could do not to stare at her chest as it was thrust in his face. He averted his eyes, but the fake mole on her cheek was nearly as disturbing.
“She is a good judge of character. I shall keep an eye on you.”
She patted Peter’s hand and walked away.
The elderly gentleman across from him sighed and watched her walk away with a wistful smile. “Oh, to be seventy again.”
~~~
December 5, 1777 - Passy, France
Victor was on edge. After the morning at the salon, they’d spent the rest of the day looking for Quincy. They had found exactly nothing. Franklin had spent the time visiting a local cafe, having tea with a Countess and wine with virtually anyone else he came across. For a man with the fate of the colonies in his hands, he seemed to do far more drinking than anything else. Of course, Victor knew—mostly because of the incessant buzzing of Travers in his ear—that each stop Franklin made was carefully calculated to bring a specific result. His was not a diplomacy of meetings and negotiations, but of parties and salons.
Even here at a dinner for two dozen friends and half as many enemies, he appeared, to all intents and purposes, to be a man on vacation. In reality, he was far from it.
The ministers at Versailles could not meet with him openly at court. Doctor Franklin’s revolution was not conducted in meeting rooms, but in drawing rooms. He used ink instead of blood and charm in place of force.
Seemingly oblivious to the momentous task ahead of him, he blundered, misstepped, and misspoke his way into the hearts of the French. He was at once a country rube who wore a coonskin hat and the lovechild of Voltaire and Rousseau, always ready with a quick wit. He was the most calculatedly casual man Victor had ever seen. His enormous effort appeared effortless.
Before dinner, Franklin easily moved from group to group, a bird flitting lightly about, but he was planting seeds all along the way. No words were spoken without subtext. No exchange given without something to gain. Clever did not begin to describe him.
Victor was starting to appreciate Travers’ idol worship of the man after all.
They both stood as Franklin approached.
“So pleased you could come. I do hope you’ll find time to enjoy yourself.”
Franklin waved someone toward them. He arrived with narrowing, suspicious eyes.
“Have you met Lord Stormont, the British Ambassador? He’s quite charming. The talk of all social circles, where I am sure he slanders me ruthlessly.”
Stormont smiled tightly. “Whenever possible, Doctor.”
Franklin clapped him on the shoulder and then leaned in and said in a loud whisper. “We must talk later.”
His stage-whisper had the desired effect, and several people turned in surprise.
“Must we?”
Franklin’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, yes. We have much to talk about, we two.”
Stormont was confused but gave him a gentleman’s bow.
“Now you must forgive me,” Franklin said, as he turned away. “I see Lord and Lady Dubois have arrived.”
He left them and the crowd parted to let him pass. He reached out and took the hand of a lady with a large pale blue wig in the pompadour fashion. He smiled brightly after he kissed her hand and wound her arm in his. As he turned them toward the rest of the room, Victor nearly dropped his champagne.
Lady Dubois caught him staring and smiled. He did not smile back.
“Considering the doctor’s proclivities, I guess we should have seen that coming,” Travers said under his breath.
Victor grimaced. Lady Dubois was Quincy.
~~~
Franklin was an absolutely outrageous flirt. Not that anyone at dinner minded. Not anyone who was French anyway, Victor thought, not even Quincy’s husband, whoever he really was. The British Ambassador, however, was not pleased at the overt display. Frankly, neither was Victor. Not that he cared who Franklin slept with or didn’t, as long as it wasn’t Quincy.
He had read her Council file. While they’d never met, she was experienced in the field. And she was clearly putting some of that experience to good use. She was tall and slender with pale skin and a regal bearing. She was the definition of a self-assured woman.
Franklin was smitten, and that was a problem. Looking across the table, her idiot husband could be another. Whoever he was, he was not what he appeared to be, and Victor wasn’t the only one who noticed something was off.
“You’ll forgive me, Lord Dubois,” Bancroft said, “but I cannot shake the feeling that I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
Dubois, who had powdered his face and his wig so much that every time he turned a bit of snowy powder rose into the air in a cloud, smiled. “Perhaps at court?”
“I don’t think so. Have you been to London recently?”
Dubois shook his head, a small avalanche of powder cascading to his shoulders. “I have not.”
“It must be my mistake.”
Dubois lifted a few fingers in acceptance of the offered apology. He caught Victor staring at him and raised his glass to him with a pompous smirk. He turned and shamelessly interrupted the conversation to his left, but a shift of his eyes back to Victor gave away his discomfort.
He was wise to be nervous, Victor thought, as he glanced toward the head of the table where Franklin was being lured deeper into the spider’s web.
As dinner finished, he searched for Franklin amidst the press of his adoring friends. He could just see him ahead, walking toward the drawing room. Victor tried to move more quickly through the crowd when he bumped into someone.
“Pardon,” he said as he turned.
Quincy, Lady Dubois, smiled back. “You should be more careful, monsieur.”
Victor knew he had his moment. She was cocky. If he could get her alone, he could end this now.
“Lady Dubois, might I have a word in private?”
Her eyes sparkled with curiosity and her lips curved into a coy smile. “Just the two of us?”
He let her believe he was a fish caught on her hook.
“For a moment?”
“I really should join the doctor,” she said as she ran her fingers lightly across the silk of his lapel. “But ….”
He did and waited for the others to join Franklin in the drawing room. The final two men passed by the mouth of the hall.
She stepped closer. “It seems we are alone now.”
She put her hand on his chest, and he gripped her wrist tightly.
“No more games.”
She arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “But I love games, and this one is just beginning, Monsieur Renaud.”
A servant bearing a tray of drinks passed by them and he was forced to release his grip on her. But she didn’t leave. She took a half-step closer to him. “I have always wanted to meet you.”
Her gaze at his face was a caress. “You’re much more handsome in person than in your photographs.”
She leaned in so close he could feel her breath on his cheek. “Quite ruggedly appealing. I am curious, though,” she continued. “How did you get here? Your watch was taken. Is there something better than a watch?”
She smelled of wine and lavender.
She pressed her lips together in a deceptive smile and tilted her head to the side. “That is intriguing.
“It’s too bad we aren’t on the same side,” she continued and turned to go back to the others, but Victor grabbed her arm.
Her eyes flashed with anger and annoyance.
“Going to take me out back and shoot me?” she asked, not the least bit afraid. “A woman?”
“You would not be the first I have killed.”
It was neither something he was proud nor ashamed of. She, however, seemed pleased with the news, and that turned his stomach.
“If you go quietly,” he said. “I will try to keep you alive.”
“Oh, so generous.”
He had grown tired of her games and was reading into his pocket for Travers’ gun when felt something dig into his ribs. He looked down to see the small revolver in her hand.
“Looking for this?”
He would have been impressed if he hadn’t felt like such a fool. She must have picked his pocket when they’d first run into each other. He’d underestimated her. He wouldn’t do that again.
“There you are!” Lord Dubois and several others stood at the end of the hall. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Lord Dubois waved to her. She shot him a cold look, but he was too drunk to notice.
She slipped the gun back into the folds of her dress and gave Victor one last smile. “You really should be more careful, monsieur,” she said and joined her husband.
Travers appeared just as the others continued on into the drawing room. He looked anxiously from Quincy to Victor and hurried toward Victor.
“What happened?”
Victor clenched his jaw but didn’t answer. He walked past Travers to rejoin the others.
Behind him, he heard Travers humph.
“Why do I miss everything?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
SEPTEMBER 28, 1774 - LONDON, England
It was late by the time they finished eating and talking. Somehow, during it all, they managed to convince Paine to move from his shabby boarding house to their much more pleasant inn. It would be easier to keep track of him that way, Simon thought as he glanced outside of the carriage window.
Despite Paine’s protests that it wasn’t necessary for them to accompany him, the three of them had piled into the carriage to retrieve his belongings and now they drove down the quiet streets to his lodgings. A thick blanket of fog came with the evening air and danced in wisps in the light of the gas lamps that lined the street.
The buildings passed by in a dark gray blur. As they took a turn, Simon noticed what looked like the river in the distance and idly wondered why William took this route.
The carriage trotted along the edge of the river along the wharves and finally pulled up to a stop.
Simon frowned and rapped on the side of the carriage. “Something wrong?”
William didn’t reply and Simon tensed. He started to reach into his coat pocket for the gun he’d brought along when the door to the carriage opened.
“Nothing at all.”
The barrel of a pistol appeared in the doorway, followed shortly by Phillips. He waved the gun toward them. “Out you go. Slowly.”
Simon’s stomach dropped as he glanced at Elizabeth.
“What’s going on?” Paine demanded.
“Out.”
Simon stepped out first and Phillips took a few steps backward to keep some distance between them. Simon helped Elizabeth out, and she was followed by Paine.
They were standing at the base of a short dock. It was dark and deserted. The only light was from the nearly full moon above. The Thames lapped gently against the pilings in the quiet.
“Is this some sort of robbery?” Paine said. “If it is, take what you will and be gone.”
Phillips smiled at Elizabeth and then shifted his eyes back to Paine. “Oh, I will.”
Phillips kept his gun trained on Elizabeth. Simon kept her close to his side, ready to move between them. With his flintlock pistol, he would have only one shot.
Phillips waved to William, who climbed down from his driver’s seat. “I’m sorry, but he offered more money than I’d see in a year.”
“Be a good man,” Phillips said. “Search them. Carefully.”
William’s expression was pained, but he did as Phillips asked. He found Simon’s gun and nothing in Paine’s pockets.
“Give it here.”
William brought the gun to Phillips, who slipped it into his pocket and pulled out a bag of coins. He gave them to William without ever taking his eyes off Simon or his gun off Elizabeth.
William held the gold and looked like he might rethink it all, but they all knew it was too late for that. He looked at Simon in apology. Simon, however, was not in a forgiving mood and glared at him with hatred. His betrayal might cost them everything.
“Get out of here,” Phillips ordered.
William clambered back up onto his carriage and drove away into the night, leaving them alone with Phillips.
“I don’t understand,” Paine said. “What goes on here?”
“What goes on,” Phillips said, relishing in his moment, “is history in the making, my dear Mr. Paine.”
He looked from Paine to Elizabeth. “But who should I kill first?”
“You would not shoot a lady.”
“Oh, I would. And I will.”
Simon clenched his hands into fists. He could rush him now. Protect Elizabeth. Phillips would get off one shot, but whether it struck him or not, he would kill Phillips even if it took his dying breath.
Phillips seemed to come to the same conclusion. “Separate.”
He waved the muzzle of his gun for emphasis. “You, over there, Cross.”
“No.”
“I will just shoot her now then.” He pulled back the hammer.
“Wait.” Simon took a step forward and Phillips one back.
“You know you will never get out of here alive,” Simon said.
Phillips shrugged. “It was always a possibility. Or maybe I’ll come back from the dead.” He smiled at Elizabeth and then focused back on Simon. “Move away.”
Simon didn’t budge. Phillips took the second gun from his pocket. “Now.”
Simon looked down at Elizabeth. What could he do? How could he save her? There had to be a way. He could buy time, perhaps, shift his attention away from Elizabeth. Something.
“It will be all right,” Elizabeth said.
She sounded so calm it frightened him.
He started to say something, to touch her, but she shook her head. “Do as he says. Please?”
With little choice now, Simon took a few steps away from her. Then a few more. If he could divide Phillips attention, maybe he or Paine would have a chance to deflect the shot.
Phillips looked pleased that his puppets had danced for him.
; “You won’t get away with this, you know,” Simon said, keeping his eyes firmly locked on Phillips, waiting for a window, a moment. “We will stop you.”
“I don’t think you will.”
“Get away with what?” Paine asked.
“First,” Phillips said to him, enjoying his moment of triumph, “I’m going to take care of a loose end.”
Paine shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m going to kill their child,” Phillips said and looked smugly at Simon, whose heart lurched in his chest.
“No, you’re not,” Elizabeth said.
Phillips turned to her, and the gunshot came like an explosion. Simon cried out and took a step forward, but he froze mid-step as Phillips’ face twisted in pain and shock.
He and Simon both looked at Elizabeth and then the gun in her hand. A puff of smoke from the black powder curled up into the air in front her.
Phillips’ guns slipped from his hands and clattered to the ground, forgotten as he tried to stop the blood from leaving his chest. But it was no use. It gushed between his fingertips. Her shot had found its mark and torn its way into his heart. He fell to the ground, dead.
Simon stood frozen.
Elizabeth kept the gun trained on Phillips even as he fell.
“No one is going to kill my baby.”
~~~
“Are you all right?” Simon asked, again, once they were safely back in their hotel room.
Elizabeth nodded, but she honestly wasn’t sure. She’d been in a hazy state of shock since the incident at the wharf. Simon explained to Paine that the man was a personal and political enemy, something Paine himself would become all too familiar with later in life and even in death. They’d convinced him that this was something they were better off not reporting to the authorities.
His natural mistrust of anyone in power came in handy, and he took very little convincing. They’d hidden Phillips’ body and then come back to the inn. They got Paine settled in his new room, although Elizabeth didn’t really remember that part. All she could see was Phillips’ face—contorted in pain and surprise. And then the blood.
Revolution in Time (Out of Time #10) Page 19
