“Thank you, madame,” the man said with heartfelt sincerity. “I am Jacques Danou, and I am sorry, very sorry you were hurt. It was a misunderstanding—a complete misunderstanding,” he went on as Leonie raised a hand to her throbbing head. “Will you sit down? Would you like some wine? Perhaps you would like to lie down and rest for a while?”
“Yes,” Leonie said faintly.
The pain in her head seemed to have been greatly intensified by the light, and she felt sick and dizzy. She had quieted Fifi to spare herself, not to please Danou, for each bark had been like a knife thrust. In fact, his voice, although not as sharp, was also painfully unpleasant. Leonie felt an urgent need for quiet. She hoped she would be able to think and decide when the pain diminished, what if anything, she could do.
Danou sidled to the door with his eyes fixed on her and called over his shoulder that Madame Saintaire was going up to the bedchamber. Wine should be brought.
“And cold water and a cloth for my head,” Leonie whispered.
The order was relayed at once. Then, looking at her greenish pallor, Danou asked if she wanted him to carry her. Leonie barely repressed a shudder and insisted she would walk. She managed to do so, but the effort of climbing the stairs brought on an attack of vertigo so that she barely managed to reach the bed before she collapsed. She lay nearly unconscious, hearing distantly Danou’s strident yell that Panel should bring the wine and other restoratives. The thought of him touching her, ministering to her, was so repellent, however, that she roused herself when she heard him approaching the bed.
“Go away,” she mumbled. “Go away and leave me to myself.”
“But madame—”
“Go away,” Leonie wailed.
The anguish in her voice brought Fifi into immediate action. She growled and rushed to nip at Danou’s ankles. Restraining his immediate impulse, which was to kick the dog’s head in, he retreated, closing and locking the door behind him. Briefly, he considered leaving the house, leaving the city, even leaving the country. But that would mean losing everything he had so recently gained. He had been a carter, dressed in rags, barely surviving, before Chaumette had employed him. Now he took what he liked, where he liked, and no one could say no to him. He ordered Panel to sit in the room opposite Leonie’s and listen for her voice and then went out. It was nearly dinnertime. He would procure the best dinner that could be found. That would give him another chance to approach that unreasonable Saintaire slut and try again to ingratiate himself with her.
The prompt response to her demand for privacy soothed Leonie. She hushed Fifi again and managed to soak the cloth in the water, wring it out and apply it to her splitting head. The pain receded a little, but the dizziness remained. Thoughts jumbled and jostled in her brain. She wept a little, grieving over the lost opportunity. They would never escape, she thought, and then pushed that despairing notion away. She would get away and get back to Roger, she would! But later, not now. Now she was too sick, too dizzy. Later.
As it happened, Roger did not need to wait long for the gun parts. The package was made up and he paid. It took him longer to find a carriage. It was one thing to walk across the city empty-handed, another to carry back a heavy load. Roger signaled Garnier and asked whether he wish to ride home with him.
“If not,” he said, “I will wait while you find another carriage. I do not wish Citizen Chaumette to think I am trying to avoid his watchdog.”
He might not have been so polite if he had known that his efforts to avoid Chaumette’s suspicion were in vain. However, he had no way of knowing that, and he did not even suspect it when he entered his shop and found Chaumette seated in a chair taken from the kitchen. If Roger felt anything, it was a faint hope that Leonie had not been stubborn and argued. He did not think she would be so foolish, because he had explained that Chaumette was a real power in the revolutionary government and not to be slighted, but… His thoughts were interrupted when Chaumette said sharply, “Please do not resist, this is only a precaution,” and simultaneously his arms were seized from behind.
Roger jerked convulsively in spite of the warning. One man staggered against him, but the other held firm and Chaumette said even more sharply, “No! I only wish to speak to you.”
“Why should a man be held down to be spoken to?” Roger snarled, but did not continue to pull at his captors. It would not be possible for him to take them both when they were completely on guard.
“Because I am about to tell you something you will regard as unpleasant, something that will make you very angry. I assure you there is no real cause for alarm or even anger. You will see that I have done no more than take a necessary precaution.”
“No!” Roger shouted, guessing at once and beginning to struggle. “No! Leonie! Leonie!”
“She is perfectly safe. Quite unhurt. Not even frightened,” Chaumette roared over Roger’s protests.
“I’ll kill you,” Roger hissed, his eyes blazing. “I’ll kill you.”
“No, you will not because you do not and will not have the slightest cause to kill me. I tell you your wife is quite safe. She is aware of what has happened and why. She is comfortable lodged, not imprisoned.”
“You lie!”
Chaumette took in the glaring eyes, the cords standing in Roger’s neck as he strained for freedom. The two burly thugs that held him were barely succeeding in controlling him. For a moment Roger’s life and Leonie’s too, hung in the balance while Chaumette considered whether it would be possible to quell so deep a violence. However, the very strength of Roger’s reaction marked his devotion to the woman. Thus, the deeper the anger now, the more abject would be Roger’s obedience when he came to accept the situation. However, Chaumette realized he would need to be very careful. He must not hint that Roger’s wife had agreed with what was done—that might make a too-loving husband jealous. He was also proud of his own foresight. The girl was silly. If they convinced her she was comfortable, safe, and would be richly rewarded for compliance, she would be able to allay Roger’s doubts so that he would not even contemplate betrayal.
“I do not lie. I did not say Citoyenne Saintaire came willingly. She was abducted, but she was not hurt in any way, and the matter had been explained to her so that she is not afraid. She has been assured that you are safe, that we mean neither of you any harm, and that she will be returned to you as soon as you place in my hands the—the package—”
“You mean h—it is gone?” Roger cried. “But I do not have it!”
“No, no,” Chaumette soothed. “The package will be delivered to you just as I told you before. However, I find I will not be able to travel with you as I thought I would. You will need to store it for me for a while. I need assurance that you will not tamper with the contents, however, or use them for your own purposes. Oh, I know you to be an honest man, Saintaire, but some temptations are too great. It would be unforgivable on my part to place such a temptation in your path without providing you with an even greater inducement to ignore it.”
By the time Chaumette finished speaking, Roger had stopped struggling and merely glared. After a moment more, he dropped his eyes. “I see,” he muttered.
“I am sure you do, and you will see more clearly every moment. I have sworn your wife is safe, and living in complete comfort. You have no reason to believe me, but I will prove what I say is true. You may write a letter to her, ask her any question or questions to which only she would know the answers, or any question about her situation. The only restriction on her answer will be that she will not be able to hint at where she is being kept. You may write to her every day, if you like, even after you take the package away with you, and you will receive her answers. No one will read your letters. Hers must be read, of course. I am sorry to intrude on your privacy, but you will understand it cannot be helped.”
“We can write to each other?” Roger breathed, his eyes lifting to Chaumette’s.
“Certainly. Depending on your behavior and hers, it may even be possible to
arrange a meeting between you—if there is a delay in obtaining the package. In any case your separation will not be for very long. I may need the package returned, or may come to get it very soon. If I come, I will bring your wife, of course. However, at the most it will only be a few months—before summer certainly she will be returned to you.”
Roger was standing perfectly still now. Reason had replaced rage. There was no way he could get free of the men who held him, seize Chaumette, and wring Leonie’s hiding place out of him. For now, he must seem to accept the situation, “You can tell your men to let me go,” Roger said quietly. “I am not angry anymore, except,” he raised his eyes so that Chaumette should not think he was trying to hide the expression in them, “I agreed to care for your package in good faith. I did not even tell my wife about it.” That was a safe enough lie. Roger had told Leonie to pretend she did not know why they were watched except that her husband was engaged in special business with the commune. “I felt it would be soon enough to know when the package arrived. I am not so pleased that I cannot be trusted.”
Chaumette shrugged. He had already signaled his henchmen to release Roger and they had done so. “It is no special suspicion of you, I assure you,” he said, “only that the package is so precious that I almost wish I did not need to trust myself. And I want you to understand that I am not holding your wife in order to deprive you of anything I have promised you. That will be exactly as we agreed. To show my good faith, I will leave you a small token of what will be yours when your service to me is completed.”
While he spoke, Chaumette pulled a packet from his coat and laid it on the counter. Then he walked toward the door, Roger and the men who still flanked him turning slowly also. Suddenly, Roger shrugged and moved toward the counter, but a single sidelong glance told him that although the guards had not followed and were moving toward Chaumette, he could not pull the gun from his pocket or reach the one behind the counter in time. Besides, what good would the pistol do? He could not kill all three, and Leonie’s life was at stake.
“I will keep our agreement,” Roger said. “I always intended to do so, as you will realize if you question the guards who were left in the house and who followed my wife and me. However,” he hefted the packet as if estimating its value, “however, I do understand what you have said. I do not like it, but I understand it.”
“Good. When you have written your letter, just hand it to Garnier, who will be in his usual place. You will have an answer tomorrow, about noon. You probably will not see me again before the package is delivered. The man who delivers it will have final instructions for you. Please obey him exactly, and all will be well.”
Then he was out the door. Roger stood like a statue for a few minutes. Finally he dropped the packet of gold coins on the counter and rubbed his hand frantically up and down his breeches as if to rid it of a corrosive slime. After that, he leaned forward against the counter with his head in his hands and struggled with his rage and his grief and his hopelessness. Fool that he was! Fool! Fool! How could he have been so stupid as to accept Chaumette’s hasty assurance that first afternoon that it would be best to have a woman accompany them to care for the child. He should have realized from the very speed with which Chaumette accepted the idea that he had no intention of fulfilling the agreement.
Roger’s hands writhed through his hair, tugging at it. He must think of something, some way to find Leonie. No, first he must write her. Whatever Chaumette said, the poor child must be terrified. Roger bit his lips. What if they beat her and threatened her to make her write as they wished? He must tell her to be quiet and obedient, to accept what had happened. He must find a way to give her hope without implying that he intended to find her and free her. He did not believe for a moment that his letter would not be scrutinized most carefully—that remark of Chaumette’s was only another trap.
It was now clear to Roger that Chaumette was far cleverer and more ruthless than he had guessed. This was scarcely consoling. It was as likely that Chaumette would have Leonie and himself killed once the poor little dauphin was returned to him. That would be their reward. Roger shook himself. He must not think of it. He must try to believe that he would find Leonie before any harm came to her. But that was impossible. He was watched every moment. The first suspicious move he made would produce retaliation. They would do something to Leonie to punish him. He began to shake.
Finally, he drew a deep breath, knowing he must get himself under control. He must not display his fear and suspicion either to Leonie or to Chaumette, and he must write at once so that she would receive the letter as soon as possible. Blindly, Roger began to feel around under the counter for a sheet of paper and the bottle of ink. He drew his knife to mend the pen, but seeing how his hand was shaking, he walked into the kitchen and poured half a glass of brandy. Having knocked that back in one gulp, he glared around, and realized there was no one to glare at. The man who had sat in the kitchen watching and listening was gone.
Although he could see no immediate way in which that could help, the absence of the listener made him feel a little better. It pointed out one little hope. Chaumette must be short of really trustworthy men. Roger returned to the shop mulling that over in his mind, trimmed the quill, and began to write. Running through the letter after it was done, he felt he had succeeded in hiding the panic that still rolled over him in waves. He explained what had happened, why Chaumette (without naming him) had done what he had done—carefully writing of a precious package to be delivered—and urged Leonie to be calm and obedient. Also, because he knew Chaumette would expect it, he told Leonie he was permitted to ask questions to which only he and she could know the answers. He would, he said, ask one such question in each letter—and he asked what lay behind the warped cask.
He had tried to think of a way to include some secret communication in the letter, but he was still too upset to concentrate. Besides, he thought as he folded the paper and ran wax over it—pressing on the wax the tool he used to mark the guns he worked on—it was too soon to begin to cheat. Let Chaumette come to believe he was hopeless and would not attempt to find Leonie. Let him think they had both accepted the situation and were blind to the ultimate end to which it must come. Since there was no longer a man to listen in the shop, perhaps…
The bell of the shop jangled, and Roger jumped nervously. It was almost dark, but he had forgotten to shutter the place and lock the door. He gritted his teeth. The last thing he wanted was one of those damned commissioners, yet he did not dare turn one of them away. That would be out of character. Taking tight hold over the urge to shout, “I’m closed, go away,” he rose to finish the business as soon as possible. However, he never asked a question. His mouth dropped open. His eyes bulged.
“I was told you were an honest gunsmith,” Pierre said to him, raising his brows questioningly.
Chapter Twenty
Leonie had slept for several hours after Danou had locked her in the room upstairs, exhausted by pain and nervousness. When she woke, her head was much better, although it was still tender where she had been struck and ached a little when she shook it. Her initial confusion at finding herself fully dressed in bed was soon resolved by her memory of what had happened. She rolled to her side to slide out of the bed, rolled back abruptly as something hard and with sharp edges dug into her hip, and then clapped her hand hard to her mouth to prevent herself from shrieking with laughter.
Her pistols! She was still wearing the pistols she always carried. Pain and shock had blanked them from her mind. A whole series of emotions chased across her brain—gratitude that there was obviously no woman in the house, for surely a woman would have tried to remove her clothing to make her more comfortable; amusement that the men who had abducted her had never thought to search for weapons; exultation at the knowledge that she could escape any time she wanted.
Then the thrill faded. The pistols made escape possible but certainly did not assure it. She could fire them, but her ability to aim was nonex
istent. They were useful as a threat or as a defense against a crowd—if you did not hit one you were likely enough to hit another, and no one could be sure at whom you had aimed. However, the threat was useless against two men who could come at one from different directions. For a woman alone, who was not skilled with pistols and whose captors were desperate to keep her, the guns were no certain key to freedom.
Leonie lay quite still considering what she really had and the odds she faced. She did not wish to move around for fear she would make some sound that would attract Danou or the other man—Panel, Danou had called him—until she had decided what to do. Admittedly each pistol carried extra balls and powder, but she was so slow at loading that when both guns had been fired she would be virtually defenseless.
If there were only one man in the house, it might be enough. She could call and, most probably, he would come and unlock the door. If she stood close by with the pistol hidden by her skirt, she could almost certainly raise it and fire point-blank, too close to miss, before he realized what she was doing. Even if the first shot did not kill, the second would. Leonie shuddered. It was one thing to fire into a raging crowd. You never really saw the person you hit, and you had never known that person either. It was quite another thing to contemplate killing in cold blood a man who, although he had abducted you, was himself acting out of fear on the orders of another. Danou had been as gentle and considerate as possible, under the circumstances.
Leonie struggled with the thought for a while and then remembered with some relief that Danou was not alone in the house. That other man had wanted to kill Fifi. Where was Fifi? A whisper settled that question. The little bitch crawled out from under the bed and leaped up to lick Leonie’s face. She tucked the creature into the curve of her arm and went back to her problems. If both men were still in the house, the plan would not work. The sound of the first shot would warn the other man. He would either get help or find some way to deal with an armed prisoner. Certainly he would not walk up to her and let her shoot him too, and she could not aim well enough to shoot him at a distance.
The English Heiress Page 35
