Chyna Stone Adventures: The Complete 8-Book Series

by K. T. Tomb

  The two teenagers were married on May 16, 1770. However, neither of the two adjusted well to a married life. It was obvious Marie was not ready; her frequent letters home revealed intense homesickness and a difficulty adjusting to the opulent lifestyle as it was observed in Versailles. She bristled at some of the rituals she was expected to perform as a lady of the French royal family and complained to the empress, making reference in particular to the fact that she was required to dress and even put on her makeup in the morning with dozens of courtiers as an audience.

  At the same time, her relationship with her new husband was rather difficult and extremely strained. Their personalities could not have been more different. He was introverted, shy and indecisive, a lover of solitude reveling in activities such as reading and metalwork. She on the other hand was a social butterfly who loved gambling, partying and extravagant fashions.

  In 1774, when Louis XV died, Louis-Auguste succeeded to the French throne as Louis XVI. This made Marie Antoinette queen of France at just 19 years old.

  Chapter One

  “It is time, my love.” The term of endearment was always added for the sake of the children. Though her heart belonged completely to another man, she still respected and admired her husband and the father to the four children who waited along with the Marquise de Tourzel and Madame Elisabeth.

  Louis, who had been in a stupor since they’d left Versailles, looked up at her with vacant eyes, studied her without recognition for a moment, and then quickly snapped to attention. “Yes, of course, it’s time. The children are ready, then?”

  “Everyone is ready,” Marie responded with a forced smile. It was the best she could do, given the circumstances. “We’re only waiting on you.”

  “You’re certain that Count Axel von Fersen has designed this plan well?” Louis asked, turning his eyes toward the floor. Though he’d resigned himself to his wife’s affair with the count, it was still a reminder to him that he was a failure to her. In reality, they’d never loved each other and it was not something that could be overcome.

  “He has, indeed, and there are 10,000 loyal soldiers standing ready to protect the garrison,” Marie replied. “He has assured me of it, as has Baron de Breteuil.”

  Louis glanced up at her with a look of resignation. For a king to have to flee in the night didn’t sit well with him. He sighed heavily and then rose from the settee. “Very well, then, we’ll take our leave.”

  They turned together toward the waiting marquise, Elisabeth and the children. Where outward appearances were concerned, the king and queen were as one. Louis stopped and surveyed the group before him. They were dressed in garb that was certainly not fitting of royalty, just as he and Marie were. “We certainly look the part of a lot of rapscallions,” he murmured.

  “This dreadful getup does not suit me either,” Marie complained. An icon of fashion, Marie was disgusted with the bourgeois clothing and was ready to get on with the task before them. When it was over, she’d be able to dress herself once more in the finery that she adored. She cupped her hand next to her mouth as she confided in the marquise in a whisper. “I do hope Axel doesn’t see me in this.”

  The marquise smiled and then took to playing the role for which she had been cast in their elaborate play. In a thick Russian accent, she took command of the group; command that she would have until they were all safe in the citadel of Montmédy. “Elisabeth, do lead off with the children and Governess Theresa. Our valet and I will bring up the rear.”

  As Marie passed by her, the marquise whispered to her. “My lady, perhaps you ought to remove the tiara? It is really not fitting for a governess to wear one.”

  Marie smiled and slipped the tiara from her head, concealing it among the ample pleats of her skirt.

  With Marie looking more the part of the governess than the Queen of France, she continued taking charge. “That horrid monstrosity of a coach is waiting in the back alley. We ought to have ridden in two carriages and made a much more pleasant trip of it, but this is what we’re...”

  “Our decision is made,” Louis snapped through clenched teeth. “We will not split our family into two carriages. And, marquise, I will remind you that though you are playing the role of my superior in this little drama, I am still the King of France.”

  Noting the cold look in Louis’ eyes, the marquise bowed her head slightly and then resumed her role as Baroness Sophia Karlovna of St. Petersburg, who with her two children (Marie Therese and Louis-Charles), the governess of her children (Marie), and their nurse (Elisabeth, Louis’ sister) was traveling with her valet (Louis) from Paris to the citadel of Montmédy before leaving France to return to St. Petersburg.

  The group moved as a silent unit down the corridors to the back alley. Each was assisted by the coachmen to mount their transportation and begin their trip to freedom. Hopefully, it would include the restoration of the monarchy of France and putting down the outrageous rebellion that had risen up, seized the family from Versailles and had been holding his family, like captives, in the Tuileries of Paris for almost two years.

  Louis was the sixteenth king of France to bear the name of a long line of monarchs who had ruled France since the son of Charlemagne, Louis the first, became king. Louis XVI did not intend to be the last. Marie steeled herself against the emotions that threatened to burst from her as she watched her husband slide into the coach beside his six-year-old son, Louis-Charles, Dauphin of France, and pulled his frightened heir in close to his side. Their eyes met across the coach as Marie, seated beside Baroness Sophia, pulled Marie Therese, their daughter, into her side as well.

  “Louis,” his sister, Elisabeth said in a low tone as she slid over and pulled Louis-Charles to her own side. “Sure the valet of a baroness would not be so bold with the baroness’ son.”

  Marie watched the shadow of sadness come back into her husband’s eyes as he sat alone, no longer the King of France in any form. Since they’d been taken from their home in Versailles, he had been more suited to the valet role that he was playing as the coach lurched forward. She watched him and prayed silently that General François Claude de Bouillé, who awaited them at Montmédy was truly ready to retake France. Any hope of returning to the life that they were accustomed to was dependent upon their successful escape from Paris to Montmédy.

  “We must stop,” Marie insisted. “We’ll all perish at this pace. I’d rather be wearing something more flamboyant when I meet my doom, if you don’t mind.”

  “We cannot risk it,” Baroness Sophia cautioned. “We’re sure to be recognized if we quit this coach, even for a moment.”

  “If we’re to be recognized, then why did we bother with these horrific disguises?” Marie countered.

  “I think it would be okay for just a moment,” Louis advised. He raised his eyebrows in a gesture that reminded the marquise of their discussion before leaving Tuileries. “The children need a moment to stretch their legs and tend to other necessities.”

  “Very well, then,” Baroness Sophia responded. She tapped on the roof and the coach came to a halt.

  “Yes, Madame Baroness?” one of the coachmen asked.

  “We will need to quit the coach for a moment. What is the name of the next village?”

  “It is Sainte-Menehould,” he responded.

  The baroness eyed the king, who nodded his consent.

  “That will do,” she replied.

  “We’ll only rest a moment and then be on our way,” Louis instructed. “We cannot risk too much exposure, disguises or not.”

  In Sainte-Menehould, their drama played out perfectly. No one in the small village believed anything other than the Baroness Sophia Karlovna and her entourage had taken a short rest in their town. As far as Marie was concerned, it had been a complete success by the time they were ready to board the coach once more. They had pulled off an enormous victory, but as she began to mount the coach, her foot slipped slightly and she stumbled. In that moment that she reached to brace herself, the tiara that she
’d kept hidden in her skirt fell to the ground.

  Without thinking, the marquise reached down, scooped it up and held it out to Marie. Marie hid the tiara once more and the two of them looked around to see if anyone had noticed.

  “That was a near disaster,” Marie whispered as they got into the coach.

  “Why didn’t you stow that away with your other luggage?” Louis asked.

  “I forgot about it until we were ready to leave,” Marie responded. “No one saw us.”

  “You had better hope not or your lover’s plans will have been for naught.”

  She shot him an icy glare. How dare he speak that way in front of the others?

  In the tension that followed, the next hour in the coach was passed in silence and then riders began to appear on either side of the coach as they continued along the road toward Verennes, the last village of any consequence before they reached Montmédy.

  “Our escort, I presume?” Louis asked aloud.

  Marie breathed a sigh of relief. If they were going to be escorted the rest of the way to Montmédy, then she could relax a bit more. She was already considering what she was going to wear once she was able to ditch the bourgeois clothing that was rubbing a rash in a place that only the Count had been privy to see in the last several years.

  As they pulled into Verennes, the coach came to a halt and the riders pulled up as well.

  “We don’t need a rest,” Louis called out. “We had our rest and we’re ready to move on to Montmédy.”

  “Of course not, your highness,” a voice responded from outside the coach. In the next moment, the door was jerked open and a face appeared. “But you won’t be going to Montmédy. We’ll be escorting you back to Paris.”

  Marie couldn’t believe what was taking place. They had been found out. In only a few more hours, they would have been safe behind the stone walls of the citadel, but they had fallen short of that goal. The man who had opened the door looked directly at her and grinned.

  “You might as well put that tiara on your head, my lady,” he said. “It’s already given you away.”

  ***

  “Arrangements have been made,” the voice on the other end of the call told him as soon as the call connected.

  “Good.” Louis Charles Bourbon, formerly known as Oliver Branko, smiled at the response of the man who had agreed to help him gather together an entire collection of powerful artifacts. The last one was one of a much more personal nature to him and he could hardly wait to have the item in his hands. He held back a boyish giggle as he pressed for more information. “When will the Louvre be missing its most valuable treasure?”

  “I don’t know that it can be considered its most valuable treasure…” the caller countered.

  “It is to me!” Louis bellowed.

  There was a pause and then the caller answered the question. “It will be acquired from the museum in about four hours.”

  “So, how soon can I have it in my hands?” Louis tried to get his voice back to a calmer and more even tone as he asked the question. Louis looked at his watch. It was close to 10:00 p.m. Belgrade was in the same time zone as Paris. 2:00 a.m., he noted to himself.

  “It takes some time,” the caller responded. “Being in too much of a hurry is the best way to get caught. If that happens, you will never see it.”

  “I had better see it. I had better touch it, smell it, taste it and hear the sound of it as it is plunked down upon my desk. That is why I hired you.” He was having some difficulty breathing due to the ups and downs he’d been experiencing after having given the order for the crown to be delivered to him. With the other artifacts, he hadn’t had the same problem.

  “If you want it, it will have to go through my channels and things will be done my way, understood?”

  Another explosion was on his tongue, but he held it back. Having the crown of Marie Antoinette was important enough for him to be patient a little while longer. Besides, once he had it in his hands, he’d have everyone who was involved in the process of acquiring it eliminated. He glanced up at the glass door to his office and the man standing just outside; a man who was accustomed to carrying out his every command.

  “Very well, but you will be in constant contact and will deliver it to me personally.”

  “Those were our original terms,” the caller responded. “You received all of the other items without an issue, am I right?”

  “Except for the rosary,” Louis reminded him.

  “We’ve already tended to that problem as well. It should be delivered to you in the next few days, though I would caution you to be quite careful with it. It has some properties that made its acquisition very difficult.”

  “And the final item?” Louis avoided using its name. One never knew who might be listening.

  “I’ll have it when I deliver the crown.”

  “How am I to believe that you’ll come through this time?” Louis asked, testing him.

  “I could always forget about the crown,” the caller replied.

  The suggestion made Louis backtrack a little bit.

  “I’ll stick to my end of the deal as long as you do,” he replied. “But keep in mind that I’m not one to be trifled with.”

  “Neither am I,” the caller responded, disconnecting the call.

  Louis placed the phone back in its cradle, scooped up the photos of the crown, slid back into his chair and reclined it against the credenza. He studied every detail of the crown, knowing that, in spite of the best quality photos that he could get of the artifact, pictures of it would never satisfy him the way holding it in his hands would.

  It was the symbol of the culmination of all of the power that he had accumulated. It was a symbol of who he was and where he came from.

  ***

  “We’ve got a problem,” Alfonso said as soon as Tony connected the call.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “It’s a fake,” Alfonso replied.

  “How do you know it’s a fake?”

  “I know these things. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this sort of thing. It’s a replica set out for display. It’s very well done; a good enough job to fool the most critical eye, but the moment that I got it in my hands, I could tell it was a fake.”

  Tony considered the mess that he was in. After the difficulties he’d had with the other artifacts, delivering a fake crown was not going to help make the situation any better. In fact, it was likely to get him killed and jeopardize his entire operation.

  “So, where is the original?” It was a stupid question, but he didn’t have a single idea to chase down and he needed a suggestion, a lead, some speculation; anything.

  His question was greeted by a snort. It was probably the correct response.

  “Not even some speculation?” Tony pressed.

  “For all I know, the damned thing was never there,” Alfonso replied.

  Tony didn’t like the sound of that. The crown had, no doubt, been snatched from the queen’s head at some point during the uprising. For all he knew, the real one might be inside a velvet lined box inside of a trunk and buried in some French peasant’s barn. Had the original been stolen? If so, when had it been swiped and by whom? Had the Louvre ever had the original? There was no way for him to answer those questions. Worse yet, he’d burned all of the connections that he’d once had in order to go into the deep cover that he was in.

  “So?” Alfonso asked when Tony had spoken for several long seconds. “What do you want me to do, have the guy put it back where he found it?”

  “Put it in a box and ship it back to the Louvre for all I care. If it’s fake, it might as well not exist,” Tony replied. He knew that Alfonso knew better than to double cross him. He’d witnessed what happened to people who did; a display Tony had carried out in order to strike fear in the hearts of those who followed him.

  “I could probably hawk it for a couple hundred grand, if I could find the right mook,” Alfonso laughed.

  Tony wasn’t liste
ning anymore. He’d already started trying to sort out his own dilemma. He couldn’t afford to blow his cover in order to solve it.

  “Seriously, though, what do we do with it?” Alfonso asked.

  “That’s up to you,” Tony replied, disconnecting the call and focusing on his own problem. He had to figure out where the real crown was and he had to have it in his hands to deliver to his client or all of the work that he’d done, all of the sacrifices that he’d made, everything that he’d lost would all be for nothing. Everyone that I’ve lost. The moment the last thought entered his mind, he thought of Chyna.

  “There’s not a single chance in hell,” he whispered aloud.

  Chapter Two

  A faint sound… a movement. Something. Chyna Stone didn’t know what. Keeping her eyes closed and focusing on the source and direction of the sound, she slowly reached for the SIG under her pillow. In the same moment that she realized that it wasn’t there, she heard a familiar voice.

  “I suppose you’re looking for this,” Tony said, clicking on the lamp and making a show of tucking the pistol into his own waistband. “We’ll just keep this tucked away safe until we finish talking.”

  Rage rushed through her and she sat up. “Talk?” she hissed. “I’d rather watch you bleed to death or put a bullet through your head.”

  “I deserve that,” he said quietly.

  She’d never seen Anthony Stewart acting the way he was in that moment. He was humble, apologetic even.

  “Oh hell, no,” she said through clenched teeth. “If you came here to apologize or to try to…” She couldn’t get the words to come out because of the fury that had taken her over inside.