“Oh, dear.” He pouted. “Perhaps you would prefer to remain in the audience?”
“You have not heard me sing.” William shook his head. “If you had, you would know that the audience is the best place for me to be.”
Soon the plates were piled high and Gaudet was in full flow, regaling the diners with all manner of shocking and amusing tales from his life in London. It sounded exhausting, his own social life having dwindled to nothing in recent years. Sylvie, however, had eyes only for the professor to whom she had so carefully attached herself, whilst Bastien and Harriet were engaged in their own conversation, each clearly taken with Pap. Despite the easy cheer of the atmosphere, William felt out of place, though he should not, he knew, let that bother him. After all, if everyone were merry and distracted it could only make it easier to slip away unnoticed once the meal had finished. There was no rush for an early escape when the food was this delicious but still William found himself flagging, glancing to the clock in the hope that the hour was later than he suspected.
“Papa will play the piano later,” Harriet was saying excitedly. “It is like Christmas!”
William smiled at the girl who so resembled her father. He wondered again what she was doing in such a place, what any of them were really doing when the world was such a blessed mess around them.
“And this time next week we will be in England once more,” Dee assured them. “Our Parisian companions included.”
William’s frown deepened at the grin that flashed across Sylvie’s face. “I’ll drink to that,” was all he said, swigging deeply a moment later.
“Guillaume,” Dee addressed William. “Help me with dessert? Harriet has earned a rest.”
He turned to Dee sharply, the Frenchifcation of his name becoming, it appeared, a regular feature. It would mean escape for a while, though, and he nodded, getting to his feet with a sigh. “Of course.”
“Come back soon.” Gaudet beamed, catching his fingers momentarily before going back to his story.
The touch was unexpected and William snatched back his hand with an awkward murmur. Then he followed Dee from the room, breathing another sigh, this time of relief, once they reached the kitchen.
“The woman,” Dee said quietly, even as he closed the door, his carefree demeanor gone. “I don’t want her to have any suspicions—stop glaring at her, Knowles.”
“You think,” William realized, his own dislike of the woman now taking on fresh significance, “that she is not to be trusted?”
“I know she is not.” Dee dropped his voice still further. “Intelligence has reached me that she and Tessier had an assignation in the past—eleven years in the past, if you catch the significance.”
William considered that for a moment, doing some mental calculations of his own when he thought of the boy, of young Bastien Dupire. He had believed the boy fatherless, thinking now how wrong he was even as his eyes widened. “Oh.”
“The boy has no idea, I am sure,” Dee explained. “But Tessier does not just let prisoners go, especially prisoners who have harbored enemies of the state. He is nearby. I’m sure of it.”
“Then why in God’s name”—he searched Dee’s face for some clue—“are we having a party?”
“Because Sylvie must keep her rendezvous with Tessier or he will move against us,” Dee explained. “If we do anything to raise her suspicions, she will call him in. We must allow her to reveal herself, choose our moment carefully.”
“Can nothing ever be simple?” William raised his eyes to the ceiling. “That poor lad, with him as a father—he must never be told.”
“She’s not as bright as she thinks.” Dee clapped a hand to his shoulder. “Especially if she believes I am the sort of chap who falls for fluttering lashes.”
“So we just wait?”
“Feel free to come up with another scheme. I would be more than happy to hear it.”
With a sigh, William shook his head and said, “I knew I didn’t like her.”
“The playwright adores her, though I think his eyes are elsewhere. You might like to keep your wits about you tonight.” Dee gave a hint of a smile. “Since you’re sharing a bed with your admirer.”
William stared at Dee for a moment, certain that the man was joking before he recalled that this was Dee and joking did not seem to be high on his agenda. Now he wished he had something to say, yet found he could only gape like the fool he seemed to have become.
“Shall we return and see what pudding awaits?” Dee’s enquiry was far too innocent.
“Why not?” William felt as if events were carrying him along, powerless to stop it. “There are worse things than pudding.”
With that, they returned to the dinner where Gaudet had, it seemed, not stopped to take a breath, still embarked on the latest tale of royal intrigue and scandal. William slipped back into his seat, reaching for his glass. Then Dee’s words came back to him and he quickly set it down again.
With the food consumed and drink flowing freely, Dee whispered to Sylvie, “Shall we give that piano a try?”
“I thought you would never ask.”
William bit back an exclamation of disgust as she fluttered her eyelashes at the professor once more.
“Escort me, chérie?” Gaudet offered his arm and William found himself acquiescing, even as he wondered exactly what he was doing. Eventually, he took the proffered limb, sure it was best if he just didn’t think about it.
“Mademoiselle.” Dee settled Sylvie in a chair with her son sitting cross-legged at her feet, Harriet settling beside him. He looked to William and Gaudet then said, “Make yourselves comfortable, gents, and we shall see what I can remember.”
“Is your knee available?” Gaudet asked William with a coquettish blink.
“My knees ache terribly,” he heard himself tell Gaudet. “I would end up pitching you onto the floor.”
“Indeed, of course.” The playwright smiled and nodded, settling himself in a chair with the poodle perched in his lap.
That left William standing awkwardly at his side, cursing himself and the Frenchman and everyone else in the room as he finally folded himself onto the floor, finding himself sitting at Gaudet’s feet.
For the first and last time.
Dee began to play, revealing that he was anything but unsure at the instrument. Instead he was a more than competent player and the room was silent for a while, William stealing the occasional glance to where Sylvie watched in rapt adoration. He was so caught in his loathing of her that it was a moment before he registered the unmistakable sense of fingers in his hair, though when he did, he froze in place, heart suddenly quickening.
It would stop, he thought desperately, if he just ignored it. Gaudet would get bored of the joke, the attempt to rile him, and turn his attentions elsewhere. Instead, however, the touch grew more insistent with each passing second, smoothing gently over his scalp.
It would not do, William told himself, to make a scene. He would just move, ever so slightly, just a fraction…
Stop stroking me!
It was only as Dee finished the piece that Gaudet clapped. With two hands. Two hands clapping, yet something was still ruffling his hair, William realized, not entirely sure what fresh horror this could be. As carefully as he could he turned his head, receiving his answer in the form of a lick to the face from a very satisfied poodle.
“Oh, to be at the Pleasure Gardens once more.” Gaudet sighed as Dee began to play again, quite unaware of the dog’s cheek. “Dancing all night, singing bawdy songs… I cannot wait to be home.”
“Will you get your dog out of my face?” William demanded of the playwright, wondering how the poodle’s breath was sweeter than many he had encountered in Paris.
“This,” Gaudet pointed out, “is not a dog. She is Mademoiselle Papillon Gaudet, confidante of the late queen, God rest her, and friend to the Dauphin himself.”
“Whatever it is,” William asked him, “can you get it out of my face, please?”
&
nbsp; “She is not an ‘it’.”
“It… She… Does it matter?” William asked, baffled.
“Does it matter?” Gaudet’s eyes widened and he shook his head, directing Dee, “Sir, play Oyster Nan, let us have a bawdy sing-song.”
William gladly sat back in his place, carefully, to keep some distance between his head and the over-keen poodle. Whilst Dee began to play, Gaudet settled that same poodle on William’s lap and went to stand beside the piano, one hand flat atop the lid, the other resting on his own hip. Silk suit shimmering in the candlelight, he launched into a rendition of the filthy song, handily translating it into his native language and adding a few vocal flourishes of his own, revealing a perhaps unexpectedly fine voice. Harriet let out a shocked laugh whilst Bastien gave a cheer, clapping along and whooping his approval at the more outrageous phrasings. William, not quite knowing where to look, found himself stroking the poodle as Gaudet sang with great enthusiasm and no small degree of talent.
“Another,” Gaudet urged when the song ended, eliciting a cheer of agreement from the audience.
For the next several minutes, Dee played whilst Gaudet sang ever more saucy songs, clearly relishing his return to the spotlight. William found his eyes closing despite himself, the wine and the exertions of the day finally taking their toll as he dozed. Through the fog of sleep, he was vaguely aware of Bastien joining the song and, whilst the little boy took the lead on the filthy lyrics, Gaudet gave a shrieking hoot of laughter, that same laughter that might shatter the very glass in the pane. William’s eyes flew open in response, his gaze fixing on the over-exuberant Frenchman with a mixture of awe and annoyance just in time to see Gaudet drop into a deep, courtly bow as the assembled spectators applauded his efforts.
“Have we had enough?” Dee’s voice was rich with good cheer, just a hint of an Irish accent showing through.
Yes, William responded silently. Most definitely yes.
“I have bored the gentleman to sleep.” Gaudet laughed, though his mirth was not quite convincing. “Perhaps we should say our goodnights.”
“I was listening,” William objected. “With my eyes closed.”
“You were asleep,” he said. “But I think the others were entertained.”
“Resting my eyes,” William insisted again. “I heard every word.”
“Mademoiselle,” Dee addressed Sylvie. “Are you ready for your bed?”
“Me?” Sylvie smiled, yet William saw only calculated scheming there. “I can go on all night.”
“And yet, our young people cannot,” Dee replied with a smile in return, telling his daughter, “Come now, miss, your bed awaits.”
“I think,” William decided, “I am likewise ready to turn in.”
“What?” Gaudet fixed William with a glare. “The night is over so soon? It is still early. Why, it is just past midnight!”
“And that is why we should all be settled,” Dee told him in a placid tone. “This house must rise early to travel on.”
“You are welcome to stay up if you wish,” William replied, getting to his feet, noting again how Gaudet had a knack for pouting and how much it seemed to suit him. “Some of us need sleep.”
“Come on, Ma.” Bastien was already pulling at his mother’s hand. “Let me tell you about the horses me and Adam saw.”
William watched as the woman reluctantly stood, her expression one of annoyance for a brief moment before she said, “Of course, tell away.”
As the room emptied Gaudet retook his seat and told William, “I shall finish the bottle before I come up. I shall not wake you.”
“If you finish that”—William watched the Frenchman, not sure about this new development—“you’ll not make it up at all.”
“But tonight has been so lovely.” Gaudet pouted again. “I do not want it to end.”
“Bring the bottle,” he decided, certain it was the only way to get the Frenchman to bed. “You can party more yet.”
“Come along, sweetie.” Gaudet gathered up the poodle. “We are forced to bed by sensible Guillaume.”
“I am not sensible.”
“Pap says that you are, and she is never wrong.” He swept past William, a vision in blue silk. “You may keep my diamond ring, as a token of my thanks.”
“But I don’t—” It was churlish to reject such a gift, William realized, even as he followed toward the stairs. “It really isn’t necessary—”
“That ring was a gift from the Duchess of Polignac, may she rest in peace. I believe she would have adored you. She would want you to have it.” Gaudet sauntered upstairs, trailing the enormous silk handkerchief along the banister as he went. “I have many gifts from Gabi, that is but one.”
“That is most kind of you.” William had no choice but to follow, captivated by the handkerchief’s progress, wishing that he was in possession of the bottle and that Gaudet’s suit did not shimmer so.
“She was a lovely woman.”
“Keep walking.” He found himself giving Gaudet a little guidance with his hand. “And keep drinking.”
“Are you attending my derrière, sir?”
“It is attached to the rest of you, is it not?” William demanded. “I cannot help one without the other.”
“If that diamond is not to your liking”—Gaudet turned to him, William seeing genuine concern on that powdered face—“you may choose another, of course. I have some wonderful pieces in London, and I do like to give gifts.”
“Please.” He found himself touching the playwright’s arm. “Do not worry so.”
“It is important to me to be liked,” Gaudet admitted with an attempt at a careless shrug. “And diamonds usually do the trick.”
“I do not need diamonds to like you.” The words were out before he had time to think about their meaning, what they implied. For a second, they hung in the still air between them, their gazes meeting for that split second.
“Guillaume.” Gaudet beamed and patted William’s hand very gently. “You are a lovely man—shall we to bed?”
‘Bed.’ He recalled again Dee’s words, the single bed, and found himself staring at Gaudet for a long moment before managing to nod. Gaudet led the way into the room, where a single candle burned in the window, barely illuminating the unbroken darkness. As William watched, Gaudet settled the poodle on the foot of the bed, cooing to her as softly as any mother might to her child, his attention entirely occupied by his ‘girl’. Only when the dog was settled did Gaudet begin to remove the many jewels, humming as he went about the business of getting out of the monumentally ornate suit.
William found himself at something of a loss. To follow suit and undress was the obvious thing to do, but for some reason, he froze, uncertain, unsure. As the seconds ticked by Gaudet continued with the obviously well-trod routine, each silk garment carefully smoothed and folded, shoes set neatly together and jewels returned to their case. Finally naked, he crossed to the basin of water and washed the makeup from his face, still humming and clearly unaware for once of the still dark slashes across his sun-burnished back. Even now William couldn’t quite bring himself to turn away, the sight strangely captivating, as he recalled once more his hands touching Gaudet’s cool skin, the cloth he had used to soothe the vivid wounds.
“Well, bed, I think,” Gaudet declared, once his face was clean of powder and rouge. He picked up one of the plainer shirts the professor had supplied then put it down again, deciding almost to himself, “Too warm, I think.” With that, he crossed to the bed and slipped beneath the blankets, yawning softly.
William remained rooted to the spot, hands hovering at his own shirt, the thought of undressing and crossing the room to join Gaudet impossible to contemplate. If Gaudet noticed, however, he said nothing, instead snuggling into the blankets with an innocently sleepy murmur of, “What do you think of Sylvie?”
“Sylvie?” William shrugged, deciding that sleeping in shirt and breeches might be a good idea as he dropped his hands again.
“She’s dr
eadful, of course.” Gaudet’s voice was more serious. “Philippe and Claudine trusted Charron above all others. What sort of woman sees such a man die and within the month is chasing another?”
“What do you know of her?” Dee’s words came back to William once more, discomfort forgotten in place of curiosity when he approached the bed.
“I am not so silly as people might presume.” He lifted his head, smiling. “This stunningly handsome body contains a keen mind… Sometimes.”
William gave a small shrug, finding the desire to confide suddenly, almost overwhelmingly strong. He wanted to admit what had gone before, unburden himself of sin and wrong and life, yet he knew he could not.
“You look so tired—come and rest?”
William was, he realized, exhausted, the gentleness in Gaudet’s tone throwing him into fresh confusion. He pulled back the edge of the covers carefully before getting into the bed.
“You are quite unlike anyone I have known before,” the playwright observed as William settled. “Look at my mother’s locket, an attractive thing to be sure, but the secrets, the stories…all hidden inside.”
That cut too close to the truth, and he was silent for a while, eventually deciding, “I am merely boring, not full of anything.”
“Nobody is boring, not one person.” Gaudet reached out to pat his hand. “Tell me how you came to be here.”
“Here in France?” He played for time. “Or here in this bed?”
“Both.”
“I really do not know.” He sat up again, muttering, “Where did you leave that bottle?”
With a languorous yawn and stretch of his arms, Gaudet responded by dropping one hand to fish beside the bed. After a few moments, he held up the missing bottle and handed it wordlessly to William, who took a grateful gulp, letting his eyes close for a second as he tried to gather himself.
“I miss my friends in England, those who have died here… My family.” Gaudet’s words, soft and heartfelt, were utterly unexpected. “But you and I are friends, I think, and I am glad for it.”
‘Friends.’ He could, he knew without a doubt, brush the Frenchman’s declaration off with a curt response, push him away and keep him out, and Gaudet would not make the attempt again. “I think,” William heard himself murmur instead, taking another drink before passing the bottle to Gaudet, “you might be right.”
The Star of Versailles Page 16
