She eyed him with concern as she slipped a lace fan over her wrist. His cold had improved a little but a night in a frigid church wouldn’t help. She gave him her blue cloak.
‘Here, have this for extra warmth. We’ll try not to be too late.’ She really ought to stop worrying about him and concentrate on what lay ahead, but his wan expression troubled her.
She ruffled his hair, then carrying her dainty shoes for fear they would get ruined, she and Finch said goodbye and slipped out the arched door.
They made their way silently across a dark field to the road and cut behind several farmhouses, arriving in the town from the opposite direction to the abbey.
Finch paused against a building and adjusted his cravat, the points of which came up high under his chin. ‘Without the carriage we’ll have to go along this back lane and approach Laroche’s house from a side street. Agreed?’
He was asking her? Up until now he’d made all the decisions. ‘That sounds sensible and we must also pretend we’ve come from another lodging in town.’
She shivered slightly in the cold night air. The gown wasn’t warm and even with her shawl, the chill penetrated her bones. She wiped down her damp feet with the handkerchief and put on her satin slippers. Hopefully, she looked the part.
Together they quietly walked down the lane. They passed a few houses before arriving at the street that ran adjacent to Laroche’s house. Finch stopped and threaded his arm through hers. ‘Time to be the Michauds, I think.’
His arm was warm and she hugged it to her side, feeling it press against the underside of her breast. There was something exciting and daring in feeling his skin so close to her own and unbidden, her heartbeat kicked even though it was silly to feel this way. Finch was a career spy. A wolf of cunning and skill. Compared to him, she was a lamb, unworldly and desperately hoping to get home.
The buildings lining the street were a mix of shops and double-storey houses. Some had balconies and all had windows filled with light.
An old man hobbled inside one of the houses, his face fearful, and looking beyond him she understood. A group of men, wearing the blue coats, white breeches and black bicorn hat of the National Guard, lounged outside a tavern, drinking and laughing.
A captain strolled over to them, his musket held in readiness. ‘Where do you go this evening?’
Finch’s fingers tightened on her arm and she smiled, her whole body tense.
‘Good evening,’ Finch said with a smile. ‘We’re going to see Monsieur Laroche. Do you know him?’
‘I know him very well. You’re attending the ball?’
‘We are. My wife and I are looking forward to it.’
The captain looked them over, assessing their clothes. Silently, she prayed they passed his inspection.
The captain lowered his firearm. ‘Then have fun, my friend. But not too much, eh?’
His raucous snigger rang out in the night and its echo slid down her back like a rain-drenched wind.
Chapter Twelve
Laroche’s château stood in a large park bordered with birch trees. Tall paned windows and a grand blue entrance door marked the front of the pale stone building. Lanterns, either side of the door, highlighted a garden bed that appeared dark against the stone.
She’d never been to such an elegant residence and her heartbeat rose. Her clothing, her manners, they would be noticed and judged. She must smile bravely and not fail.
Two footmen, both liveried, stood just inside the door. ‘Your names?’ said one, checking a list.
‘Monsieur and Madame Charles Michaud,’ Finch announced smoothly. ‘From the Swiss embassy.’
The footman glanced at them and sniffed. Obviously the Swiss embassy didn’t impress him.
‘Please follow me,’ he said.
The footman led them through an opulent foyer, hung with red velvet curtains and huge works of art. They left their cloaks with a maid and went through to a ballroom decorated with white and purple lilacs. Two large chandeliers containing hundreds of candles threw bright light around the room. Under them stood debonair men and beautiful women, dressed in the latest fashions. Thankfully, her gown equaled even the most stylish design. Peregrine’s researchers had not failed her.
The footman announced them to the room at large and an auburn haired man, with a finely chiseled face and a cleft in his chin, approached them.
‘Monsieur and Madame Michaud, I am Xavier Laroche. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.’
Finch bowed and she curtsied as Mallard had taught her.
‘It is wonderful to be here,’ Finch assured him. ‘My Swiss colleagues are interested to hear about your work and I hope that during the evening you will have time to tell me a little of your department.’
Laroche smiled, his lips thin under a pencil mustache. ‘I’d be delighted but we must not bore your lovely wife.’
She laughed. ‘I am wholly used to it sir and it gives me the chance to seek acquaintance with others.’
Laroche’s gaze settled on her with predatory warmth. ‘In that case, Madame, I hope you will favor me with a dance tonight.’
‘I will look forward to it, Monsieur.’
‘Wonderful.’ Laroche gave her a smile. ‘Now I’d like you to meet my assistant, Monsieur Tessier.’ He led them to a group of men and women gathered at the northern end of the room. ‘Monsieur Tessier is in charge of the western region of Pas de Calais while I concentrate my activities in the north.’
He introduced them and they spoke with Tessier and his wife about generalities before a quartet started up in the corner. People quickly formed sets for the cotillion and Finch murmured in her ear, ‘We should dance.’
‘Are you sure?’ she whispered. ‘Shouldn’t we be talking instead?’
Finch gave her a lazy smile that smacked her heart up against her chest. ‘I think we can have a dance, don’t you?’
What was he up to? She’d been told by Mallard to dance if asked by other men but hadn’t expected Finch to take the floor.
Tessier’s wife must have seen her frown because she leaned forward and said conspiratorially, ‘Don’t be shy, my dear. My husband and I are dancing. Do join us in our set.’
She smiled weakly. Dancing wasn’t her forté and she’d hoped to avoid it altogether. ‘That is kind of you.’
Finch took her arm with a smirk and they followed the Tessiers across the floor.
‘You’ll pay for this,’ she said to him under her breath.
A grin tugged at Finch’s mouth as they formed a square and she curtsied to his bow.
She’d never been as graceful as Rosalie, and Mallard had said to her over and over in their dance lessons, ‘Light on your feet, Adeline. Be like an angel. Be like the wind. Dance on your toes and try not to think.’ She’d tried, she really had, but at his continual pained expression she’d known she hadn’t succeeded.
Concentrating hard now, she allowed Finch to propel her through the steps but more than once she bumped into him.
He seemed not to notice her lack of rhythm. He moved with lithe gracefulness, as he did with every physical action, neither expending too much energy nor having to watch his feet. People could be forgiven for thinking he did this all the time, she thought crossly, as yet again he corrected her wrong turn.
As they twirled she found his gaze constantly on her, his expression one of such sensual desire that no-one watching could fail to note how devoted he was to her. Goosebumps rippled over her skin and for an odd moment, as he walked her around the set, she imagined he truly desired her. Her lower belly clenched and she found herself falling … falling … for the look in his eyes and the primal energy that radiated from him.
But when the dance ended, he walked her from the floor, his eyes alert and scanning the room. Placing people and noting their movements.
Every ounce of pulsing need inside her shattered like a broken crystal glass. Dear heaven, she’d fallen for his deception again. Not only did he dance well — he was also a very
good actor. She must never, ever forget that.
‘You dance as well as you did when I first knew you,’ he said with a murmur. Amusement crinkled his eyes as he led her over to stand near the window.
She shouldn’t care that he only saw her as a spy. It was wise to be constantly vigilant, especially here under the noses of the French. But all the same, his humor rankled and fed her unsettling disappointment. ‘Why, thank you. I only wished I’d bumped you a little harder.’
He grinned then his eyes hardened at something behind her. ‘Be careful of Laroche. While he’s a diplomat, I think he’s also part of the military police.’
She turned to see Laroche bearing down on them. He arrived with a clip of his well-booted heels and an ingratiating smile. ‘Monsieur Michaud, I’ve come to claim my dance with your wife. It wouldn’t do to let the loveliest woman here stand out the next dance.’
Laroche smiled at her and she dimpled like a society favorite. If only Mama could see her now.
Finch inclined his head. ‘You do me a great honor, Monsieur. Go ahead, my dear Sophie. I will circulate around the room.’
Finch smiled, his eyes deep with warning. She gave an imperceptible nod in return, knowing the time had come to put her wiles to use.
Laroche tucked her arm into his and walked her into the middle of the dance floor. He stood not more than six inches taller and up close she could see the contours of his cheeks and the bump in the bridge of his nose.
Not as attractive as Finch — but striking. A powerful man with a sharp intelligence and hooded eyes that pierced her like a sword. She must be extremely careful and not betray either herself or Finch. If she gave Laroche the slightest doubt about their diplomatic credentials, they wouldn’t be going home.
They took their place and the quartet struck up a Pousette cotillion. Thankfully, Mallard had bashed it out on an old pianoforte so she knew the music well.
She took Laroche’s hand and smiled as he stepped around her, his head held high and watchful. During a swirl, she caught a glimpse of Finch engaged in deep conversation with Tessier. Hopefully he was learning something about Skylark. She had as yet to do any investigating and if she kept dancing all night she wouldn’t get a chance to find out anything unless —
The next time Laroche took her hand, she said, ‘My husband and I were surprised to see so many national guards here in Saint-Omer. Is there a reason?’
Laroche glanced at her, his eyes narrowing in his foxlike face. ‘Not especially, although we have had reports of clandestine activity to the north.’
‘Clandestine? As in spies?’ Her voice filled with breathless wonder as he twirled her around.
‘Perhaps. Certainly we suspect so.’
They stepped to the other side of the set and circled together, his hands on hers.
‘In the north you say?’ She smiled serenely but her heart pounded in her ears.
Laroche swung her around the polished timber floor. ‘Bonaparte’s army is on the move and where they go, so do the spies.’
Something solid at last. ‘That is intriguing, monsieur. Do you keep abreast of these spies?’
‘That is my job.’ He glanced around the room then back at her. ‘But let’s not talk of these dreary matters for I know you cannot be interested in them.’
She inwardly cursed and nearly turned left when she had to go right. It made sense to think Skylark had been in the north. But she’d need more information about where he might be now. Maybe Laroche had maps or correspondence that could help her but if he did they wouldn’t be in the ballroom.
The dance finished and pretending to be over-warm, she flipped open her fan and gently waved it. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I’d like to retire.’
‘Of course,’ Laroche said with a slight bow. ‘It was a great pleasure to dance with you.’
‘For me as well, Monsieur.
She closed her fan, gave him her best smile then walked away, aware of his gaze on her back. It wasn’t until she’d passed through the solid oak doors into the foyer that she breathed more easily.
She slipped upstairs to the ladies retiring room and dabbed her face with water. She didn’t really need to be here but Finch had impressed on her the need to act out a lie, if possible. It gives watchful eyes no excuse to doubt you.
The best place to find Laroche’s maps or correspondence ought to be his study but everything inside her quailed at the thought of sneaking into a room she wasn’t supposed to be in. If she got caught she would be thrown in prison and interrogated. Finch would also be arrested and the thought of him chained again tore at her heart. But she wouldn’t get another chance like this and if she wanted her pardon, she would need to take a risk.
On the verge of coming down the stairs, she heard Laroche in conversation with Tessier in the foyer below. She eased back into a corner, in the shadows, and prayed no-one came up the stairs.
‘You spoke with the Swiss?’ Laroche said to Tessier.
‘He asked about our operation.’
‘What did you tell him?’ Laroche demanded.
‘Nothing that anyone doesn’t already know. He told me a little of how the Swiss network operates. That might be useful to us in the future.’
‘You didn’t mention the letter that arrived last night?’
‘From Audinghen?’ Tessier sniffed. ‘Of course not. The Swiss don’t need to know about the dead priest.’
Swan. She clutched the wall as images of his mutilated body seared across her mind. More than ever, she wanted to avenge the manner of his death. To have cut off his thumbs, probably while he was still alive, sickened her. The French must pay.
‘Has it been confirmed yet that he was an English spy?’
‘Yes and my contacts assure me his accomplice, this Skylark, was picked up and taken to Bourbourg Prison.’
She hissed in a breath. Skylark was at Bourbourg! Oh, what a piece of news.
‘Good,’ Laroche said. ‘That gives us a chance to find the statue before the damn English do.’
What statue? She raked her memory. Peregrine hadn’t mentioned one, she was sure.
‘I heard the commandant at the prison collects them,’ Tessier said with a snort. ‘Apparently his office is full of birds and angels.’
‘Well, he’s not getting this one,’ Laroche bit out. ‘That spy’s information on it is too important for some rat-faced commandant to fawn over. So as soon as this damned ball’s over, I want you to round up your men to search the abbey. The statue must be there somewhere.’
Her breath stalled. Eugene! A searing need to protect him dug deep. She had to save him — but first she had to try and find Skylark’s letter. It might give his location, and with Laroche not able to leave the château until the ball finished, she had a little time to search. Not a lot, so she’d have to be quick.
Tessier and Laroche’s voices grew fainter and she peeked around the corner of the wall. They were heading back into the ballroom, deep in conversation.
After they’d disappeared through the double doors, she walked down the stairs and halted at the bottom, pretending to fix her shawl. She quickly scanned the grand foyer. Behind her a long hallway ran into the furthest parts of the house. Probably to the dining rooms and service areas. Another short hall ran from the foyer at right angles, parallel to the front of the house. It contained two doorways and more than likely one led into Laroche’s study.
She glanced at the doors to the ballroom. They were half-open and people were dancing past but no-one seemed to be paying any attention to her. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she turned and hurried down the short hall.
The first doorway stood open and led to an opulent sitting room. The second stood slightly ajar. She hesitated. If someone was inside she’d pretend she’d been looking for the women’s’ chamber and had got lost. With a pounding heart, she pushed the door fully open.
It was Laroche’s study, book-lined and comfortable with a desk, settee and console tables in front of a large he
arth. The fire wasn’t lit but a five-branched candelabra stood on the desk and all five candles were alight. She adjusted the door behind her until it stood as she had found it and stepped over to the desk.
It was a craftsman piece made of walnut. Marquetry leaves, birds and fruits decorated the top and the bow-shaped legs were gilded in gold-leaf. On the other side she found a single draw in the middle, dwarfed by two larger drawers either side.
Quietly she opened each in turn and sifted through them, but even though there were plenty of papers, nothing looked like a letter.
Her eyes raked over the bookcases and she groaned. The letter could be hidden in any one of the hundreds of books on display and if that were the case she wouldn’t have a hope of finding it.
She toured the room. A small figurine of a goat and another of an eagle caught her eye but there were no notes hidden under or inside either of them.
She tapped her fingers on her chin. The letter must be here. If it only arrived last night, Laroche must have it to hand.
She walked over to the desk again. It really was beautiful. Like everything in Laroche’s house, it seemed no expense had been spared. Even the glass inkwell and quill were of the best quality.
She lightly ran her fingers over a marquetry bird that appeared larger than the others. A small snick sounded and she jumped back as a tiny drawer slid open in the right-hand desk leg.
Excitement shot through her. A torn piece of paper that looked to have been ripped out of a book, nestled inside. She picked it up and turned it over. Her chest heaved at the name on the bottom.
Swan — I’m trapped.
I only have time to get this note away with a farm boy.
Sukpka f asfsnk gh as unmkpsna bu as ikpsbca fmmke.
Find it and get it back to the nest.
Skylark
Blast. The code wasn’t one she’d been taught.
Footsteps sounded down the hall. She thrust in the drawer, stuffed the note down her bodice and flung herself on the settee — and only just in time.
An Unwilling Spy Page 13
