“Your father threatened to betray us to the King, and refused to tell us where our investment was. Even faced with his own death he kept silent.”
Bettina held her breath to push down her anger. Her stomach twisted for her dear Papa.
“Only a letter to you found hidden in his desk months later gave any indication of what happened.” Emile rested an elbow on his broad thigh. “It was unfinished and vague, but mentioned a gift he had given you.”
“Why did you wait so long to track me down?” Bettina raked a hand through her greasy hair. “You came all the way to America, when I was in England for so many years?”
“The English botched it. No, that bouffon, Armand Siffre, at first fouled things up.” Emile straightened, fist on his knee. “Then a Frenchman Gaspar, sent from our organization, tracked you to the western coast of England. He reported this to our associates there, then he somehow vanished. Our inept English faction took far too many weeks to send their leader, Bernard Little, to find you. Then he was reported ‘accidentally’ killed.
“The remaining members argued among themselves, to see who would take over the organization in Bath. A duel was fought, a man killed. No one did anything, the fools.” His dull voice rose in intensity. “Finally, with pressure from us, they sent someone to search for you once more. By then you had left Cornwall, and no one was talking. We had reached a dead end, or so we thought.” Emile paused and stared at her. “Were you aware your father was murdered?”
“My mother told me in Louisiana, but we didn’t know why.” Bettina reeled in her emotions to lie with a solemn face. Bernard Little had informed her of her Papa’s murder. She wouldn’t reveal the fact, since she’d been the one who’d pushed Little to his death, off Bronnmargh’s balcony.
“You were never approached by either of these men in England regarding your past?”
“No, never.” She bit down on her lower lip. Gaspar had threatened her too, but Everett had shot and killed him. Everett?
“As I said, we thought we had lost you.” He flicked a finger under his bristly chin. “My wife’s mother lives in New Orleans. Her name is Madame Ray.”
Bettina flinched, but hoped it didn’t show. That fat old gossip!
“She wrote us that Jonquiere’s daughter was in the city and she had spoken with her. Madame Ray was about to question your mother, a woman who until then had hidden her true identity, residing under an alias, but Madame’s illness prevented it.” He held out his hand. “Then as providence would have it, the daughter appeared.”
“I knew that woman was spying on me.” Bettina cursed her first visit with Madame Ray. The old woman’s visit to her had stirred up further wariness. His wife had to be the ill-mannered woman captor. Those same flinty, gray eyes!
“Of course, these things take time. Since Robine’s mother made the discovery, Robine insisted on overseeing the mission, along with myself.” He touched the neckline of his shabby waistcoat. “We had to secure the funds to sail to America.”
“I’m afraid you have wasted a lot of money for nothing.” Bettina’s anger gnawed inside her as she strained to show calmness. “Why didn’t you simply question me in Mahieu?”
“We waited for the perfect opportunity. I followed you to the Carnival. It seemed the ideal place, a lot of people and confusion.” Emile continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
“You must promise not to harm my nephew or mother either.” Bettina rubbed the pulse that throbbed above her collarbone. Her stomach now growled with hunger. “You go to all this trouble for something that happened...ten years ago?”
“It was a vast amount of money, Citoyenne Jonquiere.” Emile stood and began to rock on the balls of his feet in the confining, swaying chamber. “To many it’s a matter of reputation, of destroyed respect. Now tell me, what was this gift your father spoke of in his letter?”
“Listen, Monsieur Zacharie, if my father gave me a gift of money, how do you know I haven’t already spent it?” Bettina crossed her arms and gripped her elbows. Bile bubbled in her throat. “Could you please sit down?”
“Am I making you nervous, ill? Oh...very well, pardon.” He resumed his seat and the crate groaned. “Then why did you live as reported as a pauper in that Cornish village?”
Bettina, surprised by his mild disposition, after he’d kidnapped her at gunpoint, forced a wan smile. She needed someone on her side. “Merci, Emile. I see you are a man of sensibility.”
He coughed into his fist. “About the money, the only explanation is the funds must still be in France.” He leaned forward, both elbows on his knees. “You probably know where it is, or can assist us in finding it.”
Bettina almost blurted, how did he think she’d traveled to Louisiana and bought into a café. She swallowed back the words. Her life would be in grave danger if she was useless to them. She shivered and took a slow breath. “You are taking me to France?” She’d prayed they were only in the gulf, a sequestered place to question her. She massaged her temples. “I don’t believe it. All the way to France, to chase after this alleged gift?” How much farther she’d be from her family.
“Yes, this is what we hope to accomplish.” He slapped his knee, his smile smug.
“Mon Dieu, I don’t know where to begin.” The situation still seemed unreal, a bad dream she’d soon awaken from. More tears threatened. “I…would need to see this letter to understand.”
“I’m sure we can arrange it.” He stood again. “In the meantime, I’ll try to find you something more palatable to eat.”
“Oui, bring me a Bouillabaisse and a crispy loaf of bread.” She used the glib reply to tamp down her shock. When he left, she almost snatched up the soup bowl and flung it at the wall.
Her entire body shuddered. Even at full value, the antique necklace wasn’t worth the lengths these people had gone to. As she’d often suspected there had to be more to it. She prayed the letter would reveal the secret. She wiped her tears on the sheet and hugged the pillow as she’d cradled Genevre and Christian. Fate, her own strength, must return her to them, and keep them safe.
* * * *
As the voyage progressed, Bettina wrestled with anger and despair.
To retain sanity, she drew her male captor into conversation, the subject usually himself. She learned that Emile was of middle-class origins. His family had turned against him when he sided with the rebels.
Robine was the daughter of a wealthy merchant who’d sympathized with the revolution—though he’d died in an undisclosed accident later on. Her mother, the now infamous Madame Ray, had immigrated to New Orleans to follow her son, who’d wished to stir revolutionary ideals in the former French colony. Sadly, he’d been killed in an Indian attack.
Bettina’s private lament was too bad Madame Ray hadn’t also perished in the attack.
Robine and Emile had married in the first year of the revolution. To Bettina they seemed a mismatched couple.
“We’ve worked hard to improve the lot of the poor and downtrodden, to overthrow the tyrannical rule of the aristocratic classes.” Emile’s bland, soft features, when full of passion, transformed into an attractive clarity.
“I’ve heard the people in charge now, those Directors, are as decadent as the former king and his court.” Bettina sat on her rumpled bed and nibbled the bread and cheese he’d brought her. She forced herself to eat, to gather her strength.
“We still have problems to sort out, it’s true.” He paced before her. “It’s also true that I resided in Grenoble when the King issued his notorious lettres de cachet to arrest our magistrates, dissolve our Parlement representation, provoking those riots as he tried to shove his absolute monarchy down our throats.”
“The aristocrats and royals made many mistakes. I see that now. Though most of them did not deserve to lose their heads.” Her father didn’t deserve death. He’d done what he tho
ught was right at the time. Now she was trapped in the middle because of his actions. “Were you there, Emile…when my father was murdered?”
“No, no I wasn’t.” He looked at her with a flicker of pity in his eyes.
“I’m glad of that.” She realized she’d have to garner this man’s sympathy, to manipulate him in some way, to insure her safety. She’d have a difficult time even glancing at him if he’d killed her beloved Papa.
Bettina chewed and swallowed down the cheese along with her frustration, past the knots in her stomach. She’d wait for the voyage to end, her feet back on dry land. Then she’d cooperate to the best of her ability and pray they’d provide her the way back to her children.
Chapter Thirteen
The creaking of the ship’s fabric softened. The swaying slowed. They must have reached a port. Bettina clung to the damp mattress in the pitch dark, remembering the other long ago voyage, when Armand had forced her on to the small ship to England. She’d huddled in the hold, terrified about what might happen next. Yet if that hadn’t occurred, she’d never have met Everett.
The door opened. “Rise up, ci-devant. Time to dress.” Robine stood there clutching a lantern, the light illuminating her sallow face.
Bettina cringed at the barbed order. She crawled from the covers and shivered in her shift. “Are we in France at last?” She groped for her gown and slipped the silk over her head. “What did you do with my over tunic?”
“No questions, hurry your lazy ass up.” Robine tied a kerchief over Bettina’s eyes and pushed her out the door.
The woman prodded her up a ladder and Bettina at last felt a fresh breeze on her face. She took a gulp of air before being guided down a rope ladder and other hands forced her to sit on a rocking bench. She knew they’d put her in a skiff, as oars dipped into the water. She was soon pulled from the boat, and stumbling onto a pier. So many inviting scents of earth and plants.
She was flanked on both sides by unknown escorts who smelled of the sea, as she walked several steps. Then Robine ordered her to climb into a waiting coach.
Bettina sat rigid and blind. Her entire body clenched with apprehension. She heard the clatter of horses’ hooves and the whispers of her fellow passengers as the coach bumped along. When they eventually stopped, her blindfold wasn’t removed until she stood in a modest bedchamber.
Bettina massaged her face. “May I have water and soap to wash?”
“All the tyranny in the world and you worry about being clean?” Robine sneered as she strode toward the chamber’s open door.
“I worry about many things, thanks to you.” At this moment, Bettina worried where Emile was. She didn’t relish being at the mercy of his “gracious” wife.
“Merde, you aristos brought everything on yourselves. Stay quiet. I might bring you some food.” Robine shut and locked the door.
Bettina’s fingers itched to strangle the nasty-tempered woman. Instead she rubbed her hands along her soiled dress.
She went to the second-floor window. Thick trees blocked most of the view, but a beautiful blue sky hovered above. She groaned and twisted at the window latch, yet knew she must behave and do her captor’s bidding. Her children’s welfare mattered most.
A movement below caught her eye. Someone with a pistol stood in the bushes, guarding her window. She ducked back and pressed against the wall.
* * * *
Bettina sipped the bitter coffee at the rickety table. The house was cramped and dirty like the others after four days of travel. Plaster peeled off the ceilings and the place stunk of mildew. She ran her blue-slippered toe across the warped and gouged floorboards. Her shoes were scuffed and filthy as well.
Robine banged pots around on the small kitchen’s soot coated hearth. “We should make the ci-devant cook and wash the dishes. She should soil her delicate hands.”
“I thought you enjoyed cooking for me.” Emile sat at the table’s other end, reading a book on Rousseau.
“My hands have worked hard for years, since I was seventeen.” Bettina had hated those first weeks at Maddie’s inn, toiling like a commoner. She’d give anything to sit in Maddie’s clean kitchen now, hearing her sensible, caring advice. “When will we reach the people who have the letter?”
“Tired of your journey already?” Robine glowered over the table, skinny in her shapeless brown dress. Her stringy hair drooped along her thin cheeks. She snatched up Emile’s plate where he’d eaten the fish down to the bones, their evening meal finished. “You probably know full well what your father did with our funds.” She tossed the bones into a box in the corner. “Don’t forget what’s at stake for you.”
“I haven’t for a moment.” Bettina took a shuddering breath. Last night she’d dreamt of playing with Christian and Genevre along the bayou’s banks and woken to a tear-soaked pillow.
“Calm down, Robbie, only one more day.” Emile glanced up from the book.
“We’re wasting precious time.” Robine clattered the plate on the brick hearth. “Why didn’t those idiots meet us as agreed upon?”
“An oversight, as I said.” Emile turned a page. “They’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Oversights shouldn’t be tolerated.” Robine stirred up the fire in the fireplace. “And you’ve read that book a hundred times.”
“I’ll wash the dishes.” Bettina wouldn’t mind handling a knife. She struggled to keep herself calm as her hands shook around the coffee cup. “Then I’d like to heat water for a bath. We all smell like we live in a barnyard.”
“Oooh, the lady wants a bath.” Robine snickered and squeezed out a rag. “You are a stupid, impudent cow, like all your worthless kind.”
“Stop it now. This arguing won’t help anyone.” Emile closed the book and stroked his temples as if he had a headache.
“The soothing water will help me think…about what my father might have done with the money.” Bettina leaned back in the chair, the fish sitting ill in her stomach. Emile’s glance went to her breasts pushing against the rough fabric of the bodice.
“Here, you do the cleaning up, parasite.” Robine slapped the rag on the table. The cloth hit Bettina’s coffee cup, splattering hot beverage on her arm.
“I’d already offered.” Bettina leapt up, rubbing her stinging flesh. She tamped down her anger. “Stop your harassing.”
“Enough of this foolishness!” Emile stood. “Let her take her bath. There’s an old tub in the next room. Use your energy to heat more water, ma chere.”
Behind the closed door Bettina disrobed. They’d taken away her silk party gown and given her a drab brown dress similar to the one Robine wore. Immersing herself in the water so spitefully provided, Bettina sighed with pleasure.
She scoured her body with a vengeance with the harsh soap. She soaped her hair, scrubbing her itchy scalp. The last four days were so similar. A coach ride blindfolded, each night spent in a nondescript house as they progressed to an unknown destination. Soon she must brace herself to read her father’s letter, then they would have to release her.
After rinsing her hair, she leaned back in the rusted tub, shutting her eyes. When the door creaked open she groaned in disgust. “Robine, I have had quite enough of you tonight.” Bettina raised her eyes. Emile hovered in the doorway.
Bettina covered herself and sank down in the water. “Does your wife know you’re in here?” Yet she hesitated before ordering him out. She intended to nurture his interest.
“She does not. I wanted to apologize for Robine. She shouldn’t have struck you...that is, your coffee.” Emile stared at his shoes, stirring a piece of plaster with his right toe.
“This is hardly the moment to discuss such matters.” Bettina lowered her voice to what she hoped was sultry. She needed this man on her side. “I am quite…exposed.”
“I realize that. You are very pretty, but I suppose
many men have said the same.” He gave a flicker of a glance. A blush crept up on his cheeks.
“Many men? No, not at all.” He must think her a courtesan, but she’d only loved one man. She shifted in the water which slurped around her. “Though how kind of you to say. Where is your lovely Robine?”
Emile slid a step nearer the tub. “I sent her to purchase food for our breakfast. Some shops are still open as we’re just outside Paris.”
“I see. You tell me where we are, and your names, still you blindfold me when we travel? It’s all so exhausting and strange.” If an actual courtesan, she’d have stretched her arm over her head. Bettina kept her hands over her breasts just below the water’s surface.
“We don’t want to implicate anyone else. Besides...those might not be our real names.” Emile’s gaze kept roving from the floor to the tub. “You believe we’re that careless?”
“No, I think you’re very intelligent, and rather handsome too, in your patriotic zeal.” She slid her left foot up out of the water and wiggled her toes.
His pale eyebrows arched. “Our patriotic zeal couldn’t mean much to you.”
“I am not an enemy to your cause as your wife seems to believe.” The water around her started to clear of soap. Bettina squeezed her thighs close to hide her dark thatch of hair.
“I know what you’re up to, don’t suppose I’m fooled.” He still inched closer.
“You came in here, Emile, I didn’t invite you.” Bettina faked a throaty laugh, but couldn’t persuade her hands to release her breasts. The water cooled and goose bumps formed on her arms.
“True, I desired to see you...in this way.” He shrugged. “I’ll admit it.”
“Then you will make certain no harm comes to me, or my family, won’t you?”
He gave a half-smile, fidgeted his fingers over his breeches, then stepped forward.
Without Refuge Page 13
