Racing with the Wind (Agents of the Crown)

by Regan Walker

  “Franz, she’s an English lady. We can ransom her.”

  “No, Anton. The woman knows too much, and she’s seen the messages the Frenchman was to deliver. Bah! He was a careless idiot.” His eyes fell on the vicomte lying crumpled on the floor. “She may even know about the plans for the palace. No, she cannot be allowed to live.”

  Anton’s eyes shifted anxiously from Franz to her. “You can’t kill an English lady; it will be noticed.”

  “People die in the streets every day, my friend. It would not be difficult to arrange.”

  Anton shook his head. “We should do naught for now. We should wait to hear from the general. You heard the mademoiselle. He may want to question this one.”

  “Fine,” said Franz, exasperated. “Send one of the men to seek word. Find another to guard these two. I have not had my supper.”

  Anton moved toward the door. Franz stepped close to Mary, his breath foul and reeking of tobacco and sour wine. He lifted one of the curls at her nape and ran it through his fingers. His voice was gruff.

  “Perhaps her condition is not so important as long as she is alive for the questioning. We can enjoy the wench while we wait, eh?”

  His smirk revealed brown teeth, and Mary winced and pulled back as far as her bindings allowed. When she did, he grabbed her chin in his hands, pinching the skin and forcing her to look at him. “Oui, we could enjoy you very much, English.”

  Anton still looked anxious. “First we send a message to the general. Then we eat, Franz. Leave the woman.”

  Franz seemed to consider as he continued to play with her hair. Finally: “Yes, some food and wine first.” He chuckled as he left the room.

  This was all so surreal, like she was watching herself from somewhere else. A cold sweat broke out on her skin, but her mind was strangely calm as she began to consider the pieces of the puzzle. What did they think she knew? Whatever it was, it was apparently enough to condemn her to death.

  She was aware of the messages concerning the British troops. She had listened to Decazes’s conversation with General Kleist. Was he the general they referred to?

  She knew the Prussians were storing French uniforms, but they would not necessarily know she was aware of that.

  Her gaze dropped to the vicomte lying unconscious at her feet. What exactly did he know? Was this all a part of a plot involving the Tuileries Palace? That was what they’d said, but while her mind tried to sort out the puzzle, she could not arrive at an answer. She was surely missing information.

  A new thought gripped her, and one that was harder to take. She could expect no help from anywhere. No one knew where she was. The stop at the cathedral was not a part of the itinerary she’d left her uncle. He would be frantic with worry…and then there was Hugh. For once she wished he had followed her, and she was overwhelmed by the desire to be once again in his overprotective arms. What would he do when she did not return home? What would they do when her body was discovered?

  Chapter 22

  Lord Baynes paced in front of the fire. His butler appeared at the open door, bringing with him a silver tray bearing steaming coffee. “My lord.”

  Adrian absentmindedly reached for a cup. “Where can they be?”

  The servant had no answer.

  “Has there been any word from Lady Mary, Pierre?”

  “No, my lord.”

  Adrian went over the details in his mind once again. Vicomte Decazes and Mary had gone to the theater, but that had ended some time ago. The nightlife in Paris could continue until morning, but his instructions to Mary had been to return as soon as the performance was over. She would have sent word if she’d intended to change her plans, no matter how headstrong she was. She had always been good about that. No, something had gone very wrong.

  “Please send a messenger to Lord Ormond and ask him to join me immediately.”

  “At once, my lord.” Pierre turned and left the room.

  * * *

  It was after midnight when Hugh knocked at Lord Baynes’s door, answering the summons he’d received two hours earlier. “I would have been here sooner, but I had guests and moving around Paris at night is always difficult,” he said by way of apology. Worry ravaged the older man’s face.

  “Ah, yes, the meeting with the French liaison and his staff was tonight. I’d forgotten.”

  “What has happened? Your footman said it concerns Lady Mary.”

  “She and Joseph Decazes went to dinner and the theater. They should have returned long ago, but I haven’t the slightest idea where she is.”

  “Was she alone with him?” Hugh felt his stomach sink.

  “Yes, but they intended to visit very public places. Dinner and the theater. He’s been most honorable with her, Ormond.”

  Hugh didn’t think he could criticize, not when he had been alone with her himself. And he had been somewhat less than fully honorable—though he had not done nearly as much as he wished. And now that he thought of it, he wasn’t truly worried about Decazes. Mary wasn’t likely to run away with him. However, some of the vicomte’s associates…

  “I’ll retrace their steps and see what I can learn.”

  “Good idea,” said the statesman. “I’ll come with you.”

  A few hours later, Adrian and Hugh had been to both the restaurant and the theater. At La Tour d’Argent, guests were still partying, and many remembered the couple there. They spoke to a night watchman at the theater who directed them to a place where theatergoers partied after the performance, but none they spoke with remembered the well-known Decazes attending. Nor did anyone recall the beautiful girl with golden hair Hugh described. Stumped, they returned to Lord Baynes’s apartments to consider their next step.

  “Something happened after they left the restaurant,” Hugh decided.

  “It is certainly odd they were not observed,” Mary’s uncle replied.

  “Would she have gone to Decazes’s residence for any reason?” Hugh didn’t like the thought, but he had to consider the possibility. Maybe the vicomte had exerted more influence and attraction over Mary than he realized.

  To his relief, Lord Baynes seemed to think that unlikely. “No, I cannot imagine she would. But his household staff might know something about his plans for the evening.”

  “Yes,” Hugh agreed. “But before we ask them, I’d best wake Martin. It would be good to have some men at our disposal.”

  Within fifteen minutes they had arranged for instructions to be conveyed to Martin to gather what they might need and to meet them at the vicomte’s town house. Rather than take a carriage, Hugh and Lord Baynes rode horses, since it seemed unclear where the hunt might lead and versatility seemed paramount.

  On the way, Hugh filled Adrian in on Mary’s adventure with Germaine at the warehouse, then he told him all he had himself discovered. Unsurprisingly, her uncle was not pleased.

  “It seems my niece has been busy in my absence.”

  “You have no idea.” Hugh shook his head. “I found it a difficult task just keeping up with her.”

  Lord Baynes expressed surprise at Germaine’s participation in Mary’s scheme to get inside the warehouse. “Mary has always sought adventures beyond the ordinary, but this is more dangerous than anything she has so far ventured. I would have thought her wiser than this, at least given the state of affairs here in France.”

  Hugh kept his response to: “She is definitely a challenge.”

  It didn’t take long for them to travel to the elegant town house that was Joseph Decazes’s residence in Paris. It was a prominent home near the palace, built of tan stone with a slanted, gray slate roof. They let the brass knocker fall loudly on the front door, expecting it would take quite a while to rouse someone, but almost immediately the door opened and a portly butler with wrinkled face and thinning gray hair peered out. He held his candle high, and his expression was worried. Surprisingly, he was not dressed in nightclothes.

  “Is one of you Lord Baynes?” the man asked.

  “I am,
” Lord Baynes offered.

  “Please do come in, my lord.” The butler waved them inside. “Our footmen have just gone to your apartments to inform you they were set upon by men with clubs as they waited for the Vicomte Decazes and Lady Mary at the cathedral. You must have just missed them. They and the coachman were hit over the head and left unconscious for some time. When they revived, the vicomte and Lady Mary were gone. They had hoped to find them at your apartments. I can see from your face that is not the case.”

  “The cathedral? You mean Notre Dame?” asked Hugh. Now it was clear why no one had seen the vicomte and Mary at the theater.

  “Oui, my lord, that is the one.”

  “Why would they have gone there?” asked Mary’s uncle. “They had plans for the theater.”

  “We don’t know, my lord. The vicomte only told the coachman they’d be making a short stop. He wasn’t told why.”

  Hugh’s eyes danced between Lord Baynes and the butler. “Did they say anything else?”

  The servant stared off into the distance, thinking. “Oui. One said he heard the men speaking in German, telling the others to hurry.”

  The note Mary had retrieved from the cathedral was in German. The note about the French uniforms was also in German. Decazes had been dealing with the Prussians, apparently providing them information on the British troops garrisoned around Paris. Hugh let out a breath. His worst fears were realized. If he hadn’t let himself believe it before, now there seemed little doubt. Mary had been found out.

  Taking Mary’s uncle aside, Hugh whispered to him, “The Prussians must have discovered she took the note. Decazes’s dealings with them must have gone amiss. I think your niece is with the Prussians who are working with the supporters of Napoleon.”

  Lord Baynes’s face paled, clearly sharing his conclusion. “Where could they have taken her? We must get her back.”

  Hugh watched the butler leave as he recalled a list of locations that Martin had told him Prussian agents in the city used in their dealings with supporters of the deposed emperor. Many were public locales for random courier rendezvous, but there was also a tavern and…

  “There is a house they use as a base. They may have taken the pair there. It is owned by one of the men they have been seen dealing with, a Frenchman named Maurice. It is well guarded.”

  “How long before your man can be here, do you think?” Lord Baynes asked.

  “Martin will be here soon, and he knows the location of the Frenchman’s house. Perhaps we’d better take another man with us.” He called out for the butler. When the man returned, he inquired, “Is there one of the vicomte’s men who can handle a weapon?”

  “The most likely one of those still here would be Georges, my lord. He is one of the men who attend the vicomte’s carriage and horses. I can wake him.”

  It took several minutes for the butler to fetch him, a beefy man in his early forties with big hands and a thick muscular neck that indicated he did heavy work. Hugh was glad for his presence, though he might have preferred someone adept at bearing arms. Also, by the time Georges arrived, so had Martin and his younger assistant, Jerome.

  The house they wanted, Martin said, was on the east side of the city. “It will take us some time to get there and there will be guards,” he added, handing Hugh a black shirt. “Thought you might want to change. That white shirt will draw attention.”

  Glad for Martin’s foresight, Hugh took the shirt without a word and assessed their weaponry. He had the pistol with which he’d arrived and the knife he always carried in his boot. Lord Baynes had brought a pistol as well. He knew Martin and Jerome would carry both pistols and knives. Spies were always well armed.

  Decazes’s butler managed to find a pistol for Georges, and Hugh considered the large man for a moment. “Georges, do you know how to use that?”

  “Er…oui, monsieur, I do.”

  “Good,” Hugh said, handing the large man the weapon. “Let us hurry.”

  He changed his shirt right there, anxious to be on the road. They would again take horses, which would be faster and allow them better maneuverability on the dark, narrow roads. His men had brought their own, and Georges took one of the vicomte’s.

  The five men rode fast through the still dark city toward their destination. The horses’ hooves pounding on the dirt road sounded like thunder in the still night. At one point they passed a man who was clearly in his cups and was singing his way home. He just stared open-mouthed as they flew by, his song choked off in his throat.

  They reined their horses to a slow walk as they drew near, then left the mounts in a copse of tall pine trees and tackled the last bit on foot so as not to alert anyone standing guard. Their destination was the last house on the street. The moon cast shadows from the surrounding trees onto the large, gray, two-story building, and light leaked from the closed shutters on the first floor. One side of the house was hidden in the heavy branches of a tall tree.

  There was a guard out front keeping watch. Crouching low to the ground across the street, Hugh turned to Martin and whispered, “I’m going to circle the house and see if I can get access to the second floor. Stay here and watch for anyone coming or leaving.”

  “Do you want company?” Martin asked.

  “No. If Lady Mary and the vicomte are here, they could be on either floor. Give me ten minutes, then deal with the guard out front and any in back, and then go in through the front door. Warn Georges and Jerome not to fire unless they are sure of the target, though.” Then he turned to Mary’s uncle. “Lord Baynes, you must promise me you will not go in with Martin. I want you to stay here until we have secured the house. We cannot risk you.”

  The statesman nodded. “I will wait, Ormond. It has been a long time since I’ve seen any fighting, and I do not wish to get in your way.”

  “Take care,” Martin said. Lord Baynes echoed those words, and Hugh slipped off into the night.

  If she were there, he would find her.

  * * *

  Mary’s arms and shoulders ached from being tied behind her back, and her wrists were sore from her efforts to loosen her bindings. The hours of night had brought her no sleep. Fear had held her awake, as she knew her captors could change their minds and do something terrible to her and the vicomte at any moment.

  The guard, who had watched her closely at first, eventually drifted off, and the room echoed with his dull snores.

  At one point during the night the vicomte moaned and began to wake, but the guard had been stirred by the noise and summoned Franz, who’d dealt the French nobleman another blow that knocked him back into unconsciousness. Franz had then pawed her, running his wine-soaked mouth over hers. Nauseated by his foul smell and the stubble that scratched her delicate skin, Mary had nearly vomited before he stopped, interrupted by the guard asking in German about plans for the Tuileries and wondering aloud how much she knew. She immediately thanked God he had been deflected from his threat to “enjoy” her. As the men talked, Mary again pretended to be ignorant of what they were saying.

  They then asked her in French what she knew about the Tuileries operation. She didn’t have to feign ignorance. She truly knew nothing and said so.

  Whatever it was they were planning, she expected from their conversation that it would soon occur. In her pocket Mary still had the paper she’d taken from the cathedral, but since the Prussians showed no interest, she decided it was unimportant. Only her theft of the paper was of significance to them. It had been a trap into which she’d willingly fallen. Her thoughts wandered to vicomte. Had he been party to the scheme? Was he testing her? Since he had placed the message, she thought it possible, but he could not have anticipated the result or he wouldn’t be lying on the floor at her feet.

  The fire had died to glowing coals long ago, and the two candles burned low. Mary watched her Prussian guard, guessing an hour had passed since he had last fallen asleep; his heavy breathing and snoring were the only sounds in the room. Even if she could free herself, however,
the pistol tucked into the man’s waist was a deterrent. He was a hard man with dirty brown hair and dark eyes. Cruel lines etched his face, and she guessed he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot a woman.

  She heard voices from downstairs. They were faint, mostly, making it impossible to hear what was being said, but occasionally the voices rose in loud argument. She wondered if the fight concerned her and the vicomte, and that thought made her again begin to work at the knot tying her hands.

  The knot gradually loosened enough for her to slip her hands free. Success! Keeping her eyes on the guard, she worked her hands around to the front of her body still bound to the chair, her arm muscles protesting at being left so long in one position. Now to see herself free. Working on the rope wrapped around her and the chair, she was finally rewarded and the rope fell away—just as the guard woke.

  He blinked then narrowed his eyes, staring at her as his mind roused from the haze of sleep. “Hey! What are you about?” he demanded, still groggy.

  Mary froze as the guard rose on unsteady legs and approached, his face turning ugly. Anger burned in his dark eyes, and he lunged toward her like a madman. She was quick, though, rising and backing away past the overturned chair. He kicked it aside and stalked her.

  She had no weapon, for the fireplace tools were behind the man. “Stay away from me,” she said in French, but the man kept coming and drew his hand to one side. Before she could duck, he backhanded her so hard she crashed to the ground. Searing pain gripped her temple and her vision blurred as she slumped to the floor and remembered nothing more.

  Chapter 23

  Hugh left the three men and Lord Baynes to make a wide circle to the right of the house, creeping toward the tall pine whose branches reached above the second story. Arriving at the base of the tree, he paused in the shadows and scanned the windows above. Curtains covered them, preventing detection of any movement.