The candle on his desk offered scant lighting as he sifted through the papers that lay scattered. He noticed the mail gathered at the edge of his desk; he had not opened any for several days. He separated the letters into two piles that he deemed important and not important.
At the bottom of the pile was a small envelope with an elaborate red wax seal. The envelope was addressed to him in an elegant handwriting and he opened it carefully. As he read the simple contents, he smiled.
He laid the small card on his desk and smiled even broader. He would not stop looking at the Gauvreau family. Indeed, his main suspect had just given him the key to opening the door to her true identity and placing his plan in motion.
***
He had watched the printer for two days and discovered all he needed to know. The man’s habits were few and his workday was extremely regimented and precise.
He worked alone, with only a young boy whom Alain deemed to be the printer’s apprentice. The apprentice followed the printer around like a shadow and performed his job tasks as required. They left the shop together and returned together.
They would often begin their work in the afternoon and work through the night to have their pamphlets printed and ready for distribution the following morning. Alain stood in the small alleyway opposite the shop, smoking his pipe and watching the two printers at work.
The older man was meticulous as he arranged the type to form the words and sentences that would ultimately become the pamphlet. The type was then put into a wooden tray and the tray placed onto a table. An iron frame locked the tray into place.
He then watched the younger man take two wood-handled, wool-stuffed, leather-covered ink balls and literally beat the ink into the metal type. It seemed like tedious work, but the young man kept at it while the printer looked on.
Damp paper was attached to a leather-covered frame and then moved under a block of wood. The printer pulled the bar to lower the wood so that the type would make an impression on the paper. It was interesting to watch but Alain surmised that if he spent his life doing this, it might become quite boring.
The two worked late into the night and by near sunrise, there was a large stack of papers hung by pegs on a string drying inside the little shop. These pamphlets would be distributed by the younger man that morning as the older man slept the day away in his room above the shop.
Each day was exactly the same and this early dawn, Alain watched as the two parted ways, with the younger man holding a large stack of papers under his arm.
Alain watched the older man climb the steps to his room and waited another half hour before trying to see if the door was unlocked. It was locked, but the window in the back of the shop was slightly ajar. He crawled through it.
The smell of varnish hung heavily in the air; he guessed it was the ink. He listened intently for any noise above him and heard the heavy snoring of the printer. There was a little grey light in the sky, as the sun had barely begun its ascent into the sky.
He made his way to the wooden shelves in the back of the shop and quietly began sorting through the sheets of paper. The handwriting was different for each and when he looked at it in the grey light, none matched what was he was looking for. He tried again and again, searching for the matching writing.
He ran his hand through his unshaven beard and went to the next shelf. Again and again the handwriting didn’t match. This was a fool’s errand, he thought. He had been too arrogant. He thought too much of his skills.
He crouched down on his haunches to the lowest shelf. Several sheets fell to the floor at his feet. He picked them up, shaking his head. He moved over to the window and did the same with them. Suddenly the grey light seemed to turn silver and the paper he held in his hands sparkled. This time he didn’t smile. He looked at the sheet he held in his hands. He felt vindicated. He had been correct all along.
He took the sheets and placed them in his pocket, and placed the other insignificant ones on their shelf. He looked up at the ceiling above him where the printer slept.
“Merci, monsieur.”
He left the printer’s shop through the door.
***
Alain planned the timing of it perfectly. He waited until Sebastian left the home and then boldly delivered the note himself. Knocking on the door, he produced a small handwritten note and handed it to the footman.
The red-haired man was not known to the footman, who asked Alain if he wanted to wait for a reply. Alain said that a reply was not necessary and coolly asked that the note be delivered to “Madame Fairfax’s hand alone.”
The footman nodded in understanding and closed the door at the conclusion of the small interaction.
When Alain turned on his heel to walk from the house, his heart was beating fast. He was playing a dangerous game.
***
Sophie was threading her embroidery needle when the footman entered the room carrying a small silver tray with a note for her.
She thanked him and opened the note. When she read it the first time, she didn’t fully comprehend the words.
The second time it seemed to sink in more clearly. The third time she realized the danger. There was no greeting or salutation.
The note read:
Meet me at ---
Today at noon. Come alone.
AV
She licked her lips, which were suddenly dry. The address given was not known to her but the initials were obvious. She knew the note was from the inspector. He had not given up. Indeed, his brazen and bold step seemed to confirm that he had discovered something new and it was now time to play the game.
She couldn’t tell anyone. She wanted to confide in Sebastian but thought that perhaps she could make the inspector see reason.
She asked Marie to help her change. She chose a grey linen gown with a high neckline, one she used for traveling. It was not a gown designed to beguile or flirt, but one of comfort. She pulled her hair back and up and wore no jewelry except her wedding ring. She wore a long black woolen cape and hood.
“Madame?” Marie questioned her young mistress.
“I must go out. I will return shortly.”
Marie bobbed a curtsey and left Sophie alone with her thoughts. This was surely insane! No. She must go and hear him out. She couldn’t run forever.
***
Sophie hired a carriage and gave him the address the inspector had written down. As they moved through Paris and into the outskirts she realized the neighborhoods had become dirtier, more dingy and looked less reputable.
When the carriage came to a standstill, the driver opened the door for her and nodded at the coin she gave him before disappearing again.
The address had led her to a tavern of sorts with dirty children playing outside in the mud. She saw the inspector standing to one side of the building with a pipe clenched between his teeth.
“Madame.” He gave a mocking half bow and indicated that she should precede him up the narrow flight of stairs behind him.
She did so, only glancing down below her once to see that he was indeed following her. Once she entered the room, he closed the door behind her.
“I did have my doubts.”
“About?” Sophie asked.
“That you would come at all.” He gestured to the room. “That you would come alone.”
“You seem intent on following me and my family. I want it to end.”
She looked around the room. Books lined a shelf and a small wooden table was flanked by two chairs. A nautical painting of a ship afloat on a stormy sea dominated one wall. The stark room was befitting the man who stood before her, dressed in all black—a sharp contrast with his red hair and blue eyes.
“Yes, I have been following you,” he said bluntly.
He watched her in return. He saw that she had taken great care to dress in a subdued, dove- grey gown and black cape. It was a sensible dress and not alluring, though her face was picture-perfect.
“Why?” she asked.
“Why am I
intent on following you?”
“Yes.”
“Because you are a traitor to your country and the monarchy,” he said smoothly.
“You’ve proof of this?” she whispered, sliding into one of the two wooden chairs.
He watched her mouth and cursed her beauty. He could easily subdue her and take her, but that wasn’t at all what he wanted. He would like to break her spirit, but that wasn’t his goal either. She was a small link to the greater prize and the power he meant to have. There was so much more at stake here than this one woman.
“I do.”
Sophie looked around the sparse room. “Why did you bring me here?”
“To hold an intimate conversation without being disturbed.”
Sophie locked eyes with him at the word “intimate.”
“Have no fear, madame. I have no desire for that.”
“What do you want then?”
“Your assistance. Or I will have to arrest you.”
“And your proof?” she asked.
“Ah, yes. My proof.” He removed two items from his coat pocket and placed them before her on the wooden table. “You sealed your own fate.”
One item was the simple note that she had written at her grandmother’s urging, to thank him for attending the ball. The other item was her last pamphlet, damning in its radical contents. It was undeniable that the same hand had written both, and with Sophie’s signature at the bottom of the card, he indeed held the proof that she was Jean Inconnu.
“Contrary to the silly novels in a matter such as this, I require neither your money nor your precious body,” he told her.
Sophie looked away from him and then back. “You don’t want money?”
“Not at all. Would I go through all this for some measly Francs?”
“I don’t know, inspector. You are a complete stranger to me.”
“Well, I would not.” He stood towering over her and then moved quickly away, taking the two handwritten items with him. “Do you recall what I told you when we met at the ball?”
“You said many things, inspector.”
“Yes I did. But most important is my desire to be the youngest commissioner in Paris. You said it was a lofty goal.”
“So it is,” she repeated.
“I also mentioned that I have no scruples. What say you?” His cold blue eyes watched her face.
“When you say no scruples, do you mean the killing of innocent people?” Sophie countered.
“Perhaps. But today I am giving a foolish young woman the opportunity to help me instead of earning a residency in a jail.”
“Helping you?” Sophie asked.
Alain turned toward Sophie and looked down at her. “It is not a compliment to say that you are beautiful. You must know it well yourself, having been told many times by many admirers.”
Sophie didn’t know how to respond so she remained silent.
“How long do you think you would last in jail?” Alain asked. “It would only take one night for several guards to have their fill of you. You will not be treated with respect or concern. They will rape you, one after the other. They will take you in any manner they like and discard you like rubbish when they are finished.”
“Please,” Sophie said.
“Do you know what jailers are like? Coarse, common men who like a quick tumble, ale and meat. Many of them don’t read and few write. They view women like they do their dogs. Each has a purpose.”
Sophie flushed under his scrutiny and words. “What do you want of me?”
Inspector Vennard smiled then. “Yes. Now we come to it. The reason for all of this. You know that you were always a means to an end. You were never my intended target, only a pretty stepping stone.”
“What are you saying?” Sophie asked, confused.
“I knew early on that you were the writer. To think Marie or dear Grand-mère was the writer was absurd. But I knew you would and could write such things. After your trips to Madame Necker’s salon and her influence upon you, I saw it clearly.”
“You have been following me for quite some time,” she said quietly.
“Yes.” He didn’t deny it. “I keep an eye on the popular salons. I was only for a moment distracted by Marie as the writer before I returned to you. I even thought there might have been an upstart governess in your father’s home, but no. It turned out so much better.”
“Why have you been watching me?”
“As I said, a means to an end. No. Not an end. My beginning,” he finished cryptically.
“Your beginning?” Sophie shook her head.
“To achieve what I must requires bringing down powerful people. And, my dear mademoiselle, as much as you like to write your drivel, you are in no way powerful. But your father is.”
“My father?” she asked, confused.
“Yes. As he works with the Ferme générale he has access to papers and knowledge that could be very useful to an ambitious man.”
“A man such as you?”
“Yes.”
Sophie began to see through the words he was weaving. “You will not arrest me but in return you want me to help you gain access to my father’s office,” she completed.
“Intelligent and beautiful. What an awful combination,” he said, smirking.
“Are you looking for something specific?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Against my father?”
“No.”
“But he has the papers you need?”
“Yes. The specifics of our little agreement here are such that you do not need to ask any questions. I hold all the cards.”
“So you do. But if I am to help you, I need a little information.”
“You have all you need, Sophie. In return for my not arresting you, I require your help in gaining access to your father’s office. I will contact you in the next week or so to set my plan in motion.”
“When you succeed in becoming commissioner, what will stop you from arresting me then?”
“Such little faith in me, mademoiselle.”
“It’s madame,” she corrected him, as she was now married.
“Madame. Yes, of course it is. A newly married couple who sleeps in separate rooms. Madame indeed,” Alain said lightly.
Sophie jerked her head up. “What did you say?”
“So odd when a newly married couple sleep in different rooms, don’t you think?”
He was spying on her, she thought. He was spying on every movement she made.
“I don’t sleep at night,” she said quietly, lying to the inspector.
“I’m sorry to hear that. As commissioner I will have much more important people to occupy my time than a little girl who plays revolutionary,” he said with a laugh. “I plan to be the most powerful commissioner Paris has ever seen. And I will not waste my time or energy on trifles.”
“I will fulfill my end of the bargain.”
“Of course you will. You have no choice, madame,” he said, placing extra emphasis on the title.
“Is that all?” She sensed his dismissal.
“I will be in touch soon. And of course, this will remain our little secret. There is no need to tell your husband or father of our little talk.” Alain watched her face as she picked up her small bag.
“Yes, I understand.”
“Bonne journée,” he said to her.
“Inspector.” She nodded slightly.
Sophie left the small room atop the tavern and came down the wooden staircase, shivering in the sun’s warm light. She had set her own trap and there was no backing out now.
Chapter 23
She closed her eyes in the carriage ride home. Inspector Vennard was ambitious. Sophie had known he was, as he had told her so himself. But now she was trapped in his web and her own rash behavior had placed her there.
She would not be able to tell Sebastian, and her father was ignorant of her writings. She was alone in her own creation and she feared the eventual note that would come to summon her to
the inspector’s side. Though he claimed he would not hurt her once he achieved his goal, she remained concerned.
Alain seemed to be a man who did not choose sides but kept to himself. She must be very careful. She was completely out of her depth with a dangerous man.
She did not care about the mysterious papers he sought in her father’s office. If the man was embezzling money or committing a crime, he deserved to be brought down. Her father’s office was in an older building surrounded by many different offices. Indeed, the entire Ferme générale was scattered throughout the city, but plans were being made to centralize their premises. She assumed the inspector would be using her as a decoy while he entered the office and looked for the papers he needed. The building was guarded, but not overly so, and though she wondered at her usefulness, she knew she was at his mercy.
***
A week passed but she saw little of Sebastian. He and the duke kept long hours together and she waited anxiously for the sound of a knock upon the door carrying a message from the inspector. She was sleeping poorly but knew that once the inspector gained access to her father’s office, the agreement would be at an end.
She told no one about the conversation and cursed the day she had decided to pick up a quill pen and write her first pamphlet.
When she finally received word from the inspector, it was cryptic and mentioned a small park on the edge of Paris for their meeting.
She dressed as she had before, in the dove-grey gown, and took a carriage to the appointed spot. They greeted each other coolly.
“Inspector.”
“Madame.”
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as he would a lady friend and they strolled together. Sophie didn’t appreciate his familiarity and closeness but she understood it was for appearance’s sake.
“At the end of the week, we will meet on the corner of the street where your father works, behind the coffeehouse. Do you know it?”
“Yes. I have passed it many times.” Sophie nodded, but she had never entered the establishment as a coffeehouse was not deemed respectable for a lady.
The Sheik's Son Page 23
