Isabelle’s eyes moved from him to the six men watching their discussion. They didn’t seem to understand what was being said.
“On the ship, it had been my intention to get close to your sister, gain her trust which I did, discover what I needed to know, strangle her, and toss her body and belongings into the sea, but circumstances foiled my plans. The guard at the forecastle entrance was the first problem, and then there were too many of them on duty each night after that. I assumed somehow the captain heard of the attack on La Jeunesse. I hadn’t realized we were so far from the shipping lane until we got to Saint Pierre. Heads will roll when my employers learn what that idiot did. I’ll avenge my step-sister’s death, have no fear. By the time I realized Sophie knew nothing, I also discovered you and Guy knew way too much.”
“You would’ve killed Sophie just like that?” She clenched her fists, so frightened and angry she didn’t know which emotion to feel first. “You’re a monster.”
He laughed at her outrage.
“Believe me, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it had I been able to get her alone and discover what I needed to know. But now, I’ll profit from you as well, and kill two birds with one stone. Someone else will dispose of Madame Gaudier when the time is right. While everyone was searching the ship for a stowaway, I cozied up to the chevalier to learn what I could. I offered to watch for the missing woman in case she turned up in the colonies.” He shook his head in mock sadness. “Poor Isabelle. Your lover was fickle, you know, but very specific. ‘If you find the bitch, she’ll have ruined everything. Give her to the savages. If I don’t find her in France within a fortnight, then I have no use for her at all. I’ll find another way to get what I want,’ and I intend to do just that.”
“Is the chevalier part of your group?” she asked. If she’d misjudged her step-mother, she might’ve been wrong about him, too.
He shook his head and started to walk closer to the six warriors once more, pulling her after him.
“The Chevalier d’Angrignon has shares in the company, but he’s Louis’s man, supporting the king in all he does. He’s definitely after something, but I don’t know what it is and neither do my employers. His support of the treason charges against Gaudin helped us, and he was certainly quick to claim your hand when you were free, but now that you’re of no use to him, you’re of no use to me. Perhaps, when I return to France, I’ll find him and collect my payment for doing as he asked.” He laughed.
Isabelle shivered. The man had to be insane. Who else could carry out such a diabolic plan?
“Why are you telling me all of this? Henri, Aline and Sophie know I went with you. Guy will come looking for me, and if you’ve hurt me in any way, he’ll kill you. If he doesn’t, I will tell him what you told me and testify before the lit de justice. You’ll hang for murder.”
Gerard laughed, the crazed evil sound chilling her.
“I’m counting on your lover coming for you, petite, but he’ll be looking in the wrong place. Did you know there was a Mohawk raid north of the settlement today? They attacked us, knocked me out, and took you. I’m prepared to suffer a little discomfort to maintain my deception. I’ll lament about how I tried to save you and was injured in the process. I’ll be a hero. When he goes on his little mission for de Courcelle, my men will finish him off and our plan can begin.”
On the verge of panic, Isabelle grasped at straws.
“What about your wife and children? If Ville-Marie is attacked, they’ll be killed, too. Don’t you care what happens to them?”
“My wife and children will be fine. Lucille should have been at her sister Rachelle’s place near Tadoussac, not in Ville-Marie when I arrived. When I sent word she was to go to her sister’s, the stupid bitch chose the wrong one. Why would she ever think it would be fine to stay less than six hours away? She felt my displeasure. I’ll take her away tomorrow on L’Érable which sails back to Quebec. We’ll book passage to France as soon as I finish my assignment here.”
Isabelle cringed. She felt sorry for Madame Giroux who no doubt had been struck by her husband. With everything she’d learned about the monster, the fact he was a wife-beater shouldn’t come as a surprise.
“Now, my dear, enough chitchat; it’s time for you to meet your new friends. This is Akhilesh, the chief of this particular little band of Mohawks. He’s actually allied with the French which makes this all the sweeter. When the fighting starts, it will be glorious. I almost wish I could stay to watch. I hope you’ll be happy together.”
Akhilesh? She’d heard that name before.
Panic ripped through her. “For the love of God, I beg you, don’t do this.”
“I am sick and tired of women trying to tell me what I can and cannot do,” he growled, grabbing her and shoving her forward.
She stumbled and fell. Pulling her up roughly, he dragged her across the grass and threw her at the Mohawk’s feet. Isabelle screamed and kicked at him. Gerard struck her across the face. She fell back, striking her head against a rock. The world went black.
* * *
Guy paced in the garden waiting to be admitted to Dupuis’s office. He’d been cooling his heels for several hours now while the governor and two of the Sulpicians held court. Apparently, one farmer was accused of stealing a calf from another before it could be branded. Guy wanted to leave to be with Isabelle, to show her the city as he had Quebec, and to walk with her hand in hand down to the church to arrange their wedding. Perhaps, like yesterday, he should come back tomorrow, but his task was too important to set aside for another day.
“Guy, welcome back, my friend. I’m sorry we kept you waiting so long, but sometimes, the truth of a matter’s hard to find. How was France?” Dupuis asked, coming out of his office.
“Eventful, Zacharie. I’ve got a lot to tell you, but it’s for your ears and those of the good fathers alone.”
“This sounds ominous. Come into my office. Jules,” he called to his secretary. “Bring wine, and then, don’t disturb us.”
Guy followed the acting governor and the priests into the office and closed the door. They made small talk waiting for the requested wine. Once it had been delivered and poured, Guy proceeded to fill them in on the charges of treason, the trial, and Pierre’s death. He explained about La Jeunesse and the message and maps they’d intercepted, again keeping Isabelle’s identity out of it. Finally, he elaborated on Talon’s plan.
“I don’t know if your plan will work,” said the governor, shaking his head. “There was a Mohawk raid in the area of Fort Sainte Jean just two weeks ago. We’ve had no word from des Courts’s estate, but he may be in Trois Rivières or Quebec by now. If he’s in league with these renegades and traitors, he could’ve gone to Albany already.”
“It’s possible someone from another ship got a message to him. If we’ve lost des Courts, then the trail’s gone cold,” Guy said. “God help us.”
A loud knock sounded and the governor frowned.
“I told him not to disturb us. For him to disobey my orders, something serious must have happened.”
“Entrez,” Dupuis called.
“Forgive me, your grace, but there’s been an attack just outside the northeast walls of the settlement. A wagon was ransacked, the horse stolen, and the man left for dead. They’ve taken him to the hospital.”
“Bring my carriage. Guy, you’ll come with us?”
“Yes, sir. If this is connected to our previous discussion, then God help us. None of the renegades have dared attack this close to the settlement since ‘66.”
They hurried to the carriage and the driver urged the horses to move as quickly as they could towards the Hôtel Dieu on Rue Saint Urbain. Jeanne Mance, founder of the hospital, met them at the door.
“The man’s in serious condition. A tomahawk cleaved his skull. It’s amazing he’s still alive. I pulled three Mohawk arrows out of his back—one of his lungs was damaged, too. He was taken by surprise. I dressed his gashes myself, and now he’s asleep. He’s lost a lo
t of blood. I doubt very much he’ll survive. Come.”
The two men followed her down the aisle that ran between the rows of cots until they arrived at the end.
“I know this man,” the governor said, frowning deeply. “I’ve seen him around the settlement but not recently.”
“I know him,” Guy exclaimed, his breath catching in his throat. “This is Monsieur Gerard Giroux, a gunsmith with a shop on Rue Saint Paul. He traveled from France with us aboard L’Aigle Doré.”
At the sound of voices, the patient stirred, and Guy bent down to talk to him.
“Gerard, can you hear me?” he asked. “Who did this to you?”
The man opened his eyes and blinked, but there was no recognition there. Without uttering a sound, he closed them again. His breath was raspy, and Guy shuddered. Than God Isabelle hadn’t been with him.
“I’m sorry. He may never speak. I doubt he even recognized you. We should let him sleep,” Jeanne said.
Guy stared at the man in the bed and turned to follow the governor.
“I met his wife at the docks yesterday morning.”
“A sad state of affairs,” he said. “We’ll wait to speak with Jeanne Mance. I was surprised to see her here as she rarely nurses these days.”
They didn’t have to wait long.
“Gentlemen, I’m glad you waited. Sometimes, when a man receives a severe blow to the head or undergoes a traumatic experience, he suffers memory loss. That wound cracked his skull; he should have died. Even if he survives, I doubt he’ll ever be the same. Whoever hit him certainly didn’t expect him to live.”
“That will be hard on his wife and family,” Guy added.
“God works in mysterious ways, my lord. Monsieur Giroux wasn’t the best of husbands. I’ve treated his wife for injuries I don’t believe were accidental, but what can be done when a woman’s married to a beast? She was here several times last winter; her two oldest boys had very serious coughs, and alone as she was, with the new baby, she couldn’t cope. He barely left her enough money for food and wood. The women of the settlement gave her what help they could.” She shook her head and sadness filled her eyes. “She’s a fine woman, who comes from a good, but impoverished family. I’ve sent word to her that her husband’s here. The girl will remain with the children. Right now, he needs to sleep. I hope he survives to tell you what happened, but if he dies, it will be a blessing for her.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Guy arrived at the house with a pot of Marie’s fish soup, the meal he’d paid for the previous day. It was after seven, probably too late to have it for supper, but it would keep in the cold storage area until lunch tomorrow.
After leaving Dupuis at the palace, he’d collected his horse and had stopped by the inn on the way back to ask the woman about Gerard Giroux. The more he learned about the man, the less he liked him, but for the safety of the colony, he hoped the gunsmith would remember something tomorrow. Jeanne Mance didn’t seem too optimistic that he would. One thing was certain, he was glad he’d decided against asking him to teach Izzy to shoot.
He’d also contacted his Huron scout, Luc, and sent him out to have a look at the scene of the attack. The man was the best tracker he knew. If there was a trail to find, he would find it.
Handing the reins to Bernard, he hurried over to the house, pleased to see the men had moved everything his mother needed for meal preparation out to the summer kitchen. From the pots sitting in the embers and the smell of fresh bread, it was obvious they’d waited supper for him. Maybe the soup would add to the feast Maman had planned.
Walking into the indoor kitchen, he smiled and handed the pot to Sophie.
“Bonsoir, a little something from Marie Lenneau to add to the meal. I see you’re using the summer kitchen.”
“Yes, but we moved inside because of the maringouins,” Henri said. “Those nasty little black bugs bite hard.” He puffed on his clay pipe. “They’ll settle down soon, but until they do, it’s more comfortable, if warmer in here.”
Sophie carried the pot outside. Since the fireplace was open on both sides, Guy watched her hang it on the hook, swinging it over the embers of the fireplace to keep it warm.
“I’m surprised you waited for me to eat.” He looked around the room. The kitchen table was set for six. “Where is Izzy?”
“We were waiting for you, mon fils, but she’s not back either, and I’m worried,” Aline said, wiping her hands on her apron. “I should never have let her go.”
“Go where?” he asked, acid bubbling in his gut, dislodging the wine he’d had earlier. Why would Izzy have gone somewhere alone?
“Back from her first musket firing lesson,” Henri answered. “She’s been gone more than six hours. They should be back soon. Not even the best gunsmith in the world can teach a beginner to load and fire a musket in the dark.”
Guy blanched and almost dropped the stein of beer Claire, the Mohawk girl Marie had sent to help out his mother, had handed him. He couldn’t have heard right.
“I don’t understand. She went with him—alone?”
“Earlier this afternoon, Monsieur Giroux came to get her for the musket lessons you arranged,” Sophie said, coming into the room. “I didn’t want her to go, but she said since you’d arranged it—”
“I did no such thing,” Guy interrupted, scarcely able to speak.
She’d gone with the gunsmith? His heart thundered in his ears, and there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room for him to breathe.
“Connard!” Henri swore. “Anything for a Louis. They left in his wagon just after lunch. We expected her back by now, but he mentioned how lonely his wife had been and that they might stop there before he brought her back. It would allow him to make the necessary adjustments to the musket he’d selected for Izzy, but if you didn’t arrange this, would he have done it based on the day we landed? You did ask him then.”
Guy dropped into the chair, his legs no longer able to hold him.
“Guy, what’s wrong?”
At Henri’s words, his mother turned and came over to him, placing her hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sure she’s fine. She’ll be back soon, you’ll see.”
He shook his head, his hands trembling so badly the beer in his mug sloshed over the rim.
“What is it, Guy?” His mother repeated Henri’s question, her voice quivering.
“Izzy won’t be back tonight,” Guy whispered, setting the mug on the table and grabbing his head with both hands.
Tears trickled down his cheeks, burying themselves in his beard. This was all his fault. He should’ve vetted the man especially after they’d discovered he’d kept secrets from them.
“Late this afternoon,” he began, choosing his words carefully, his heart breaking with each one, “Monsieur Giroux’s wagon was attacked by Mohawks. He was seriously injured, left for dead. He’s at the hospital, but Jeanne Mance isn’t sure he’ll survive. He was alone when they found him. If Izzy was with him...” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
Sophie cried out and fell to the floor. Aline and Claire rushed to the girl.
“She was with him,” Henri said, his ruddy complexion as pale as the cloth on the table before him. “They must’ve taken her. Will they kill her?” he whispered, looking down at the women crowded on the floor.
“The Mohawk don’t usually kill women and children,” Claire answered before he could.
“That’s right,” Guy agreed. “They take them and adopt them into the tribe. Apparently there’ve been other raids in the area with women and children missing.” He drew on every scrap of soldier he had inside him. Izzy needed that now, not a broken-down man. “I’ve got to find the men who found the carriage and start looking for her. If these are the same renegades, and they have other hostages, they’ll travel slowly.”
“And if they aren’t?” the elderly man asked.
“Then the sooner I go after her the better the chances are I’ll find her.”
“I’m going with
you,” Henri said, shaking his head. “This is my fault; I shouldn’t have let her go.”
Guy glanced into the man’s eyes knowing he would blame himself for allowing her to go, and there was nothing he could say to change that. As it was, he blamed himself. Had he taken time to follow up on his suspicions ... The man’s behavior that morning on the dock, his curiosity, and his secrecy had spoken volumes. He should never have put Isabelle in the position to trust Giroux, and that would be on him forever. Why hadn’t he listened to his inner voice?
“Get dressed, then. Bernard and Marcel will stay inside tonight. You’ll need your knife and musket, the buckskins you purchased in Quebec, and a pair of sturdy boots. I’ll meet you back down here as soon as I’ve change. Eat something if you can.”
He should eat, too, but at the moment his stomach was on fire and would probably stay that way until he found her.
On the floor, Sophie had come out of her swoon and wept, but he had no comfort to offer her. He didn’t have much of anything but fear and despair. Finding Isabelle was his only priority.
“Maman,” he said touching her shoulder.
She turned her tear-stained face up to him.
“I need you to pack enough food to last Henri and me a couple of days. We’ll find her.”
He took the stairs two at a time and opened the door to his small room. There was just enough light coming in through the window for him to see the table under it, and using the flint, he lit the small oil lamp sitting atop it. Going straight to his trunk, he rummaged through it until he found the buckskin clothes inside. He walked over to the small dresser to get the knife he’d put inside it last evening and noticed the documents Isabelle had left for him.
He’d forgotten to ask for them yesterday. Now probably wasn’t the time to do so, but he’d glance at the map and check to see if the language was Mohawk or code. Setting his garments aside for a moment, he carried the papers to the lamp.
The Price of Honor (Canadiana Series Book 1) Page 32
