by Baird Wells
Ethan and Ty exchanged a stony glance, and Ty nodded. “That is where we have seen them before.”
“What am I missing?” she asked.
“Last fall,” explained Ethan. “We interrupted a deal between a Dutch merchant and DuFresne to purchase ships for France's covert efforts. A woman was harmed in the process, and a good portion of the lower London docks were charred.”
“I remember the fire,” mused Olivia, “but I had no idea of the story behind it. Burning a building would fit with Elena Breunig's killer, however.”
“It wasn't DuFresne.”
Ty's mumbling surprised her. “Pardon?”
“It wasn't DuFresne who burned the warehouse, if you must know.” He crossed arms over his chest, looking a touch defensive.
“Well it wasn't me, either,” she teased. “Not this time.”
Philipe passed the spectacles back to Ty. “Then you already know the most important bits. DuFresne is a bureaucrat on the fringes of importance. Useful, but unremarkable. He is one of the longer running wolves in Napoleon's pack.”
“And it seems he's trying to raise his stock.” She hesitated to force a connection, but Olivia felt there was something they were missing, or something which had yet to be revealed. “Association with Fouche?”
Philipe shook his head. “He's shrewd enough to play all sides, same as Fouche and Talleyrand, but working directly for one of them? Not that I've heard.”
“Three or four months is nothing to a man who can play the game patiently,” said Ethan. “Because we haven't found DuFresne's connection doesn't meant there isn't one.” He glanced from her to Ty. “Look into it, while you're about the city.”
She caught Ty's eyes on her and shook her head, reading his thoughts: And their list grew longer. Elena Breunig should be avenged, and Emil DuFresne should be studied, but they had to break it all into manageable pieces.
“Then we're settled.” Philipe stood up. “Gentleman, upstairs for cards? I'm in no mood to be trusted with a billiard stick.”
Ty nodded. “We'll come up for a bit.” He gave her a wink. “And of course the lady, too. But she may not play.”
Pretending to frown, Olivia let him pull out her chair. “Why not?”
“Because we enjoy winning from time to time,” drawled Ethan.
She smiled, mollified. “Then you may enjoy it, for now. I'm going out for the afternoon.”
Ty was at her elbow uncommonly fast for a man with the prospect of competition ahead of him. “Would you like some company? An escort, at least.” He smiled. “Keep you out of trouble.”
She smiled, suspecting he was only asking to be polite. “No, thank you. This is a solitary errand.”
To her amazement, his smile fell as flat as his words. “I'm here if you change your mind. Otherwise, I will see you tonight at the hotel.” If she didn't know better, Olivia would guess he was disappointed.
“Olivia?” His voice was soft now, calling her back as she turned to go. “Remember what I said. Take care of yourself.”
His expression was earnest, so much so that she nodded, not able to meet his eyes. “Always.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Olivia was mad if she believed he would let her go anywhere by herself. It had been less than a fortnight since Elena's murder. He would let her believe that he was staying behind; he wasn't about to engineer an argument. She didn't need to know that he'd slipped from the tavern just minutes behind her, tailing up the street at a safe distance.
He should have known it wouldn't be easy. It became obvious four streets down, when he'd been forced to duck or press no less than eight times. Olivia may not have been quick enough to spot him, but her instincts were honed enough to sense that someone was there. Thank God for doorways and a churning afternoon crowd.
He'd crossed a line at the tavern. Catching himself studying Olivia, his first impulse had been to look away. Instead he had stared, wanting her to notice him and eager for her reaction. What had he expected? Batting lashes, a coquettish smile? And all of it under Grayfield’s nose. Ty shook his head, rattling loose the whole idea. He'd been away from the army's bracing routine and London's measured indulgence for too long. For the hundredth time he reminded himself that Olivia was engaged, and that he was hardly monogamous.
They passed the invisible borders of everyday Paris with its neat, middle-class shops and well-tended public houses, over an unmarked threshold into a different city entirely. Dirt coated everything; it smeared peeling plaster, forming small dunes in the corners of each window. Mud slicked the cobblestones, oozing between the bricks from the ground beneath. Everything was broken. Wood slivers dangled from doors. Windows housed cracked panes framed by torn-off shutters.
None of the splinters had been plucked away, and neither had the shutter's mate. What would be the point? Those were improvements made by people with hope. These people had none.
Olivia turned into the next wide alley. It had been a true street once, when Paris was smaller. A tannery's stink blew through on an occasional gust of wind. It didn't deter a wild band of urchins milling between the buildings, children who had probably lived with it their whole lives. Ty tried to ignore the stench, breathing through his mouth.
A stranger in the area caught attention immediately. Olivia wasn’t dressed especially fine, but she didn't have to be. Anyone with fewer holes and less filth on their clothes was a potential mark for the raggedy band.
Two of the smaller children tailed her, chirping demands like baby birds. Olivia kept walking, not a hint she was aware of their presence.
They yanked at her skirt while a boy of perhaps twelve shuffled to get ahead of her, walking backwards with practiced ease. “Look at this fine miss,” he sneered. “Too much silk in her mouth. Can't speak to us trash.” He winged a clump of dirt, smacking it onto Olivia's bodice. She didn't flinch or slow her pace, nearly stepping on the boy's toes. Another little girl skipped beside her now, smacking at her with a stick. Yet another boy, younger than the first, called out from his perch on some nearby steps. “Get the dog on her.” A wiry arm pointed. “Get the dog!”
His older companion nodded, still darting, obstructing Olivia's path. “Think I will. Get over here, dog. Take a piece of this highbrow.”
Olivia didn't flinch, didn't slow or quicken her pace, not that Ty had expected her to.
It wasn't a dog at all that rushed Olivia, but a child. A small girl, brown curls a scarecrow tangle around her chubby face, dress not fit for the rag box. She lunged, snatching Olivia's dress for leverage, mouth snapping for all she was worth.
It took effort not to show himself and intervene. Children such as these were not truly children; they were bitter and confused adults in miniature, no comprehension of their ability to maim and injure but willing to use every bit for survival. He held back, reminded that Olivia was capable of handling herself against much worse. Still, he'd be ready.
Olivia hooked the girl's bony arm without warning, grabbing the petite terror. Maneuvering rather cleverly, she flipped the grubby child upside down, face turned outward to neutralize a set of nipping teeth and clawing fingers.
“What are you doing with Gabby!” cried the older boy.
Hefting the girl like a sack of potatoes, Olivia pointed with her free hand. “This? This isn't Gabby. This is an animal.”
“No, she's not!” shouted another girl, the one close to Gabby's age. Arms folded tightly over her chest. “She's a girl.”
Olivia shook her head. “No. Little girls do not hit and they do not bite. This,” she gave Gabby's upended little figure a shake, “is an animal.”
Ignoring further shouts and questions, Olivia wrestled her growling, snapping burden to a nearby balcony, where an old laundry rope dangled from an overhead rail. Locking Gabby's legs together, Olivia began to loop cord around her tiny ankles.
At last she had Gabby's attention. “What are you doing to me! You're hurting!”
Olivia's answer was flat, almost eerie in its tonelessness. “Hogs
bite. You must be a hog. I'm going to tie you up like one.”
“I'm not, I'm not! I'm a girl!” Arms flapped, and tears fell up her face into her dirty hair.
Olivia flipped Gabby over, dropping her hard on her feet against the cobblestone. Then she feigned a wide-eyed expression he knew well. “So you are! Look at you.” She brushed hair back from Gabby's face. “You are a little girl, and a pretty one. I didn't notice it when you were trying to bite me.”
The effect was like magic. Ty could hardly believe his eyes. Gabby looked down shyly, raking a shabby boot across the ground.
Olivia stood up and rested hands on her hips. “I expect you're a smart, helpful little girl too. You all must be very smart, out here seeing and hearing so much.”
That earned a clamor from the other children, bouncing and pressing forward, eager to be noticed. Shushing them, Olivia raised a hand up. “Let us all make a bargain.”
Excited whispers. Ty found he was excited too, eager to see Olivia's plan at work.
“I'm looking for someone. Anyone who can tell me a single thing about him gets a franc.”
He saw disbelief, mistrust on every one of their faces. His chest ached; these children were far too old for their short little lifetimes.
Reaching deep into her reticule, Olivia pulled out two coins. “Gabby, you may go first. I'm looking for a Monsieur Pierre or Peltier. A street sweep by trade. An old man.”
Gabby jumped up and down with her tiny little hand outstretched. “Mademoiselle Peltier lives above a shop at the corner.”
A coin dropped into her palm.
Clutching it to her chest, Gabby raced on stout little legs for a nearby doorway, disappearing inside.
Olivia glanced around. “Now someone else's turn.”
The oldest boy loosened his hat as if freeing his thoughts. “Her father's an old man. A pensioner.”
“Here you are,” beamed Olivia, dropping a franc into his dirty palm.
More worldly than Gabby, he bit the coin before stuffing it into a threadbare pocket.
“Anyone else?”
Heads shook, tiny faces trading disappointed glances.
Olivia reached back into her purse. “You have all been very helpful. If I hadn't met you today, I wouldn't have discovered anything.”
One franc went into each hand, squeals and giggles reaching a fever pitch. The children danced around one another, tugging at Olivia's skirts. They were probably pick-pocketing her all the while, but Ty was enchanted nonetheless. Unable to resist her any longer, he stepped out from the doorway, raising his hat to Olivia's surprised expression.
One fair brow arched. “Are you following me?”
Even caught, he wouldn’t admit it. “No. We are traveling in the same direction.”
Olivia shook her head, then looked to the children. “This man is following me. I want you all to keep him here, until he pays a toll. He must give another coin for each of you.”
What was she doing? “Olivia...”
“Good afternoon, major.” Affording him a heart stopping smile, she turned away.
They were mobbing him already, tiny fingers grasping at pockets and lapels.
He tried shouting over them. “Olivia, what the devil...”
Her arm rose, waving over her shoulder, but she didn't stop or look back.
“Get out of there!” He swatted at octopus arms, trying to beat them to his bank book. “I'll make you a better bargain.” He held his purse, grabbing their attention. “Two apiece. Then you all run after her and keep her where she is.”
Gleeful cheers echoed around him as he hastily doled out the payment. The children began to run, and Ty rubbed his hands together. Who was the clever one now?
But the children weren't running toward Olivia, who was shrinking smaller and smaller into the distance at the end of the street. They chased each other, ran in and out of houses, and visited general mayhem on their surroundings. Evidently they weren't traitors, after all.
“Now see here!” He stomped out into the middle of the street, forcing a running pair to dart around him. “You were all supposed to...” Frustrated, he raised his voice to command volume. “We had an agreement!”
They weren't listening, not one of them. He might as well be a doorpost. Sighing, Ty stuffed his hat back on his head. He was startled when a tiny pair of fingers wrapped his own.
It was Gabby, staring up at him with her wide blue eyes. “I know where she's gone, monsieur. I'll show you.”
Tugging insistently as though he were a poorly trained hound, Gabby grunted and strained until he gave in, allowing her to lead him down the street. “I'll show you,” she promised, “for nothing.”
* * *
She had asked to go alone, and she had meant it. Upon exiting the shop, however, and finding Ty leaned against a nearby building, Olivia was glad he had followed her. Relieved. The last thing she wanted just now was to feel more alone.
Straightening the smart line of his top hat, Ty crooked an elbow at her approach. She took his arm, and he led them out onto the main street, keeping pace beside her without saying a word. Stealing glances now and then when they paused for a hand cart or sidestepped other pedestrians, Olivia searched for something in his expression. Ty looked straight ahead, observing the activity around them, showing not a hint of his usual irreverence.
Working up her courage, she broached the silence. “Are you upset with me about the children?”
He laughed, glancing left and then right as they reached an intersection. “No.”
“Are you upset?”
Ty shook his head, squinting at the crowd as they passed. “Why? Should I be?”
She had no notion how to handle Ty, when he wasn't being Ty. “I hope not. You're just unusually...quiet.”
He stopped their progress, meeting her eyes. “I'm not being anything, Olivia. I am simply here. Here if you wish to talk, here if you'd rather say nothing at all.”
She could have hugged him just then. Instead she exhaled and tried to settle a jumble where her heart had been. “Every time a new scrap of information about my parents surfaces, I tell myself to hold back. Do not hope too much, or be too eager.”
“In case you are disappointed.”
She nodded. “It was much worse, in the beginning. I invested myself in every shred of gossip, got my hopes up no matter how far-fetched. Even with years of discipline...” It took a few breaths to find her voice. “I am still gutted when it proves to be nothing.”
Drawing back on her arm, Ty brought them to a stop at a flower stall erected hopefully on the wide corner of the intersection. Not much was in season yet, just a few bundles from the hothouse. Ty reached out and plucked a lavender stalk, waving it under her nose. “To cheer you up?”
She pulled back. “I hate cut flowers.” Something she'd told John a hundred times.
“Hmph.” Reaching back to the farthest wooden shelf, he produced a cigarette. “Better?”
She sighed slowly, for effect.
Shrugging, Ty poked the flower and cigarette into place, nodding to a scowling peddler. “A tin of sweets, then.”
“Better,” she agreed, taking his arm again.
Ty exchanged coin for the tiny pink box and held it out.
“No, thank you. After supper.”
He slid the tin into his pocket. Taking his arm again, they moved off. “I take it you did not hear what you'd hoped at Monsieur Peltier's?”
“I thought I had. I asked a few probing questions and he began to tell the most incredible story.” She tried not to recall the crushing disappointment that had followed. “My parents and what the day was like, and the crowd. But suddenly the queen was there, and he started muttering about Princess de Lamballe's execution. After a few minutes of that, his daughter joined us. She took me aside to say he's had some malady of the brain for nearly two years now. First not recalling words, but now sometimes he mistakes her for other people.”
Ty exhaled beside her, sounding as disappointe
d as she felt. “So it was all a fabrication.”
“Not entirely. She said her father was forced to help clean up in the aftermath of the queen's beheading, and some of the others. It scarred him. She thinks that's why he cannot recall things properly.”
His fingers brushed hers with a reassuring pressure. “But if he knows something of your parents...”
“It's gone,” she admitted bitterly. “I doubt there's any untangling the truth from the fairy tale with Peltier.”
“He may never have known what happened. And there are others, Olivia. More witnesses somewhere. We'll find them.”
“We?” There had never been a 'we' where her parents were concerned. Not even Uncle Edward had made much effort, too resigned for wading into the past.
Her question seemed to give Ty pause. He stopped walking, and they became an island in the crowd. “Yes.” Slowly, he nodded. “Yes, we. We are partners now. I’ll do all that I can to help you.”
She had no idea what to say. How to say it. Heart and chest ached in unison. Touched but uncomfortable, Olivia squeezed his arm. Smiling, she dug an elbow gently into his side. Then she held out her palm. “You can start with candy.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Paris – March 3rd, 1815
Ty settled back in his wrought iron chair outside Le Renard, Paris' oldest coffee house and strongly resisted the urge to rest his boot on the table top. March was not his favorite time of year in the city. It was always chilled and damp, the indistinct grays and browns of winter still clinging desperately to trees and buildings. People shuffled by, heads down against a weak but biting breeze, offering little conversation and no greetings to other passersby.
At least cold mitigated the metropolitan aroma.
He had come to the coffee house as part of Talleyrand's surveillance. Specifically, to watch for a courier who had entered the ambassador's offices across the street, and to see if DuFresne made an appearance. He'd brought Olivia along to soothe a fit of pique after going three days without her company. There had been almost no leads regarding her parents since their arrival in January. Now she had half a page full. Her inquiries never interfered with their work, but they did keep her away in between tasks, a fact that had made him irritable of late.
