Regency Belles & Beaux

by Michele McGrath

  Hours passed and he did not come. Grace began to infect Marco and Giulia with her nervousness. Eventually Marco put on his coat and said he would go to Philip’s lodgings and enquire. He was gone a long time and Grace was almost beside herself before he returned.

  “I know something has happened to Philip, I just know it!” she kept repeating to Giulia.

  Marco was very tired when he arrived and he had little to tell her. “This morning Louis came to his apartment, paid his dues and took his belongings away with him. Where he went after that I couldn’t find out. I thought he might be at his cousin, Victor’s, so I called there. The concierge told me that Victor had left early and had not returned. I was coming back here when I remembered that friend of Victor’s, Antoine. I eventually tracked him down. He said he would call here as soon as he was free.”

  They did not have long to wait, although to Grace it seemed an eternity. When Antoine arrived at last, he brought Victor with him. Victor caught hold of Grace’s hands and made her sit down before he told her what had happened.

  “Louis came to me last night after he had been with you, because something occurred at his work which worried him. His identity had been questioned and he thought it was only a matter of time before the truth was discovered. I wanted him to leave Paris immediately and he said he would. We parted early this morning and no one has seen him since.”

  “Then he may have already left?” Grace cried. Without saying goodbye to me! Has my wonderful dream ended? No, it cannot be. Philip loves me, I know he does. He would have come to me if he could.

  “Perhaps, but I’m not sure. If the authorities have found out about him, then as his relative and close friend, I would also be suspect. For not laying information against him if for nothing else. So, I asked Antoine to let me stay with him for a while. Unfortunately, in the hurry to leave my lodgings, I left my purse behind in my other coat and Antoine offered to fetch it for me. The concierge knows him and said that some men had been there earlier asking for me. He recognised one of them, a man called Couchet, who is a police informer. He told Antoine to warn me to keep away.”

  “Oh, my God! Does this mean…?”

  “It worried us and we decided to find out. I couldn’t go myself obviously, so Antoine went instead.”

  Antoine took up the story. “There’s a tavern near to the Foreign Ministry where Louis’ people drink. They’re not very discreet, nor are they quietly spoken. It didn’t take me long to overhear that Louis had been taken up as a spy. He’s either at the Ministry of Police or in one of the prisons.”

  “What will they do to him?” Grace asked, clutching at Victor’s hands in fright.

  “If we find him in time, nothing,” Victor told her.

  “And if you don’t?”

  “Let me go, my dear. We ought to hurry.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Grace said as firmly as she could, although she could feel her voice shaking.

  “No…”

  “Don’t argue please. A woman can sometimes hear things a man can’t. I must try at least.” She unhooked her coat from behind the door and crammed on her bonnet. She did not see the quick glance the men exchanged but Giulia did and said,

  “Let her go with you. It won’t do her any good to wait here and it’s right what she says. A woman can ask about things in a different way or even act as a distraction if you need one.”

  When they reached the street, they immediately separated into two groups. Marco and Victor set out to visit the various prisons while Antoine escorted Grace. It had been decided that, since Antoine was not closely associated with Philip, he was unlikely to be under suspicion. Therefore, he was the one to go to the Ministry of Police.

  “Let’s go to the nearest tavern instead,” Antoine suggested when they were nearby. “People say more in their cups than they would if we questioned them directly. It worked this afternoon and we may be lucky again.”

  Accordingly, they found a drinking house not far from the Ministry. The place was crowded and Antoine guided Grace to a small table in an out-of-the-way corner before he spoke to the landlord. Grace sat down, looked around her and sniffed. The place was dirty and foetid with stale fumes of wine, brandy and the reek of unwashed humanity. She wondered how anyone could bear to come in here. She was not the only woman present, but the others were rather bedraggled creatures who carried drinks to the men and exchanged loud sallies with them. Grace realised that she was under observation and some of the women were making remarks about her. She tried to appear unconscious of the scrutiny, until one woman walked over and plopped herself down beside her. Grace made an effort not to wrinkle up her nose at the sour smell surrounding her.

  “What are you doing here? The Palais Royale is the place for the likes of you,” the woman asked in a harsh voice.

  “I’m searching for my brother, Louis. He’s about the size of that man over there.” Grace pointed at one of the drinkers. “He has reddish hair and blue eyes. Have you seen him today?”

  “I may and I may not. What’s it worth to you if I have?”

  Grace frowned. “If you can prove it, a lot. If you can’t, nothing.”

  At that moment Antoine returned and seeing him the woman immediately scurried off.

  “Do you have any money on you, Grace?”

  “Not much.”

  “Give me what you have.” Grace fumbled in her pocket and gave him a few coins. “I won’t be long.”

  He walked away and Grace stood up. There were a few women standing in a group talking together and they turned to watch her as she came towards them. The woman she had spoken to was at the other side of the room, sitting on a man’s knee and laughing uproariously.

  “Can you help me please?” Grace asked.

  “Why should we help a dressed-up bitch like you?”

  “Because I’m a female too.”

  “Are you? Done up in those fine clothes, you’re not one of us. We have to earn our bread.”

  “I do too.”

  “Not flat on your back you don’t, dearie.”

  Grace blushed but replied clearly enough so they could all hear, “No, but I teach horrible children instead or take care of nasty old ladies. All I want to know is if any of you saw or heard of my brother.” She described him again.

  “Wasn’t that the one that Diderot was talking about?” another of them asked.

  “Shut up, you. Do you want his fist in your face?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time. Look at the poor cow, she cares about this man. Why bother yourself, chérie? None of them’s worth a sou.”

  “This one is.”

  “Oh what’s the harm?” an older woman, more painted than the rest cried. “A friend of mine said they’ve got him inside that place.” She waved her thumb in the direction of the police building. “And lucky he’ll be ever to get out again. If you want to help him talk to Herbin over there.” She pointed to a burly man sitting at the far end of the room. “He’s always short of cash. Drinks it away.”

  “Or spends it on the whores. If money don’t work, offer him something else,” another woman said with a chuckle and the whole group started to laugh. “Maybe he’d like to bed a rich bitch like you for a change.”

  Grace could feel her cheeks burning as she murmured, “Thank you.”

  “Thanks aren’t enough…” The woman held out her hand. Grace slipped off her silver bracelet turned and handed it to the older woman who had given her the information.

  “I haven’t anything else.”

  “What about those earrings, give me those…”

  “What’s going on here?” Antoine said.

  “Why nothing, my dear, just women’s talk. Which one of us do you like?”

  “None of you. Get back to your work and leave this lady alone.”

  “Lady, is she? Sure of that?”

  “Go. Get out of my way.” He raised his hand and the women scattered. Antoine caught Grace’s arm and pulled her away. She quickly told him what the
painted woman had said and they walked over to the man she had been pointed out.

  “Are you Herbin?” Antoine asked.

  “Who wants to know? I saw that doxy pointing me out. What was she saying about me?”

  “She told us that you work for the Police and might be able to help us.”

  “That depends on what it is and how much you pay me.”

  “Generously for the right information. We’re looking for a young man called Louis de Vezey. Word has it that he was brought in to you this morning. We want to know if it’s true for a start.”

  “People get banged up all the time. What’s this one like?”

  “Slight, a bit shorter than me, sandy hair and blue eyes.”

  “Maybe he was and maybe he wasn’t. I’d have to check.”

  The man held out his hand and Antoine dropped some coins into it. He examined them and nodded.

  “I can tell you that small fact. He was. I was on duty then and I saw him. Is that all you want?”

  “No. What is he charged with and why?”

  “That’s harder and will cost more.”

  “Is that enough?” Antoine added another few coins to the pile.

  “For now. Don’t know exactly what he’s done, but they say he won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. When he does, he’ll have lost a lot in height.”

  Grace looked at Antoine for an explanation of this cryptic remark but he shook his head slightly so she did not ask the question. It was only later that she realised that someone who has been guillotined loses his height when his head is chopped off.

  “Has anything happened to him?”

  “Roughed up a bit when he was arrested; nothing more yet. Dupré himself is going to make him sweat but he’s not in Paris, at the moment. Won’t be nice when he returns. What’s he to you, anyway?”

  “He’s a friend and he’s innocent.”

  “They all say that.”

  “This time it’s true. I have a proposal for you, Monsieur, but not here. Is there anywhere we can talk privately?”

  Herbin rose. “Come with me.”

  He took them to some rooms in a building a little way from the tavern. The place was even dirtier than the tavern but Grace hardly noticed. She sat there in a state of fright that she had never experienced before. Oh, why did I ever wish for an adventure? It was so wicked of me. If we manage to get out of this one, then I hope I never have another!

  “How much money do you want to help my friend escape?” Antoine asked.

  Herbin named an enormous sum.

  “I can’t pay a quarter of that,” Antoine replied and the two men started to haggle. Eventually a bargain was made and Herbin gave them his instructions. He would wait for them here while Antoine and Grace fetched the money, a parcel of women’s clothes and a cart. Grace was also instructed to change her ‘la-di-dah’ dress for a simpler one which would not be noticed or remembered. They returned to find Herbin waiting for them as he had promised.

  “Where’s my money?” was the first thing he asked as he stood in front of them with his hand held out.

  “Not on me,” Antoine replied. “It’s in a safe place. We’ll go and get it as soon as Louis is released.”

  “You’d better. I’m a bad man to diddle.”

  “I don’t intend to cross you. All I want is my friend. What do you need us to do?”

  “First of all, tie those clothes around the woman’s belly under her frock, so she looks as if she’s big with child. There’s a man next to your friend who’s going to lose his head in the morning. The doxy he lives with has permission to visit him before he croaks. If this woman cries her heart out, nobody will look at her closely and I can get you both into the cell. Once there, your friend puts on a dress and I escort two weeping women out instead of one. Think you can do it?” Herbin shot a look at Grace.

  “Give me a raw onion and I’ll guarantee to weep like a watering-can,” she promised.

  The next hour was extremely nerve wracking for all of them. Both Grace and Antoine were nervous and Herbin was impatient as if he wanted to get the affair over and his money paid as quickly as possible. Grace surprised herself with an unexpected ability to act. She waddled up to the entrance of the Police Ministry in the painful gait of a woman very near her time. She hung on Antoine’s arm, sniffing the fumes of the onion until the tears poured down her face into the dirty clout she had been given. Unfortunately, she could not see the faces of her audience but had to rely on Antoine. He guided her along corridors and down steps. She heard a few people ask where they were going and Herbin’s replies but no one stopped them. They climbed down several stairs until a revolting odour met her nostrils. She thrust the onion away from her nose. She no longer needed it. The acrid smell made her eyes water without any help. Then Herbin came to a sudden halt and she heard the creak of bolts being drawn and a door opening.

  “Inside, quickly,” he said.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Philip came to his senses, he was lying on dirty straw in a room with little light and an evil stench. He had a throbbing headache and his right side ached. He pulled himself into a sitting position and gingerly touched the back of his head. His hands felt sticky. He could not remember when he had been hurt or how he had come to this strange place. His tongue was rough and he was desperately thirsty. He peered around and saw a flagon on the floor near the door. He crawled over to it on his hands and knees. The fluid it contained was gritty, but water had never tasted so sweet. He took a couple of gulps and poured some of it over the back of his head. It smarted and he grimaced at the sharp sting but, when he opened his eyes again, he could see more clearly. What little illumination there was trickled through the gaps between the door and its frame. There was no sign of a window. He tried the door and found, as he expected, that it would not open. It did not have a keyhole, so it must be fastened on the outside, probably by bolts. He felt dizzy after trying to open it, so he sat down again and tried to decide where he must be. A cell certainly, but where and who had put him there? Gradually his wits cleared. He was in a prison of some sort. The memory of his conversation with MacDonald came back to him. I thought he believed me, but obviously not. I know of no one else who has a reason for imprisoning me, now that Staunton is dead. Thinking hard and fighting his dizziness had made his head throb again. He lay down and drifted off, thinking that that he must find a way to defend himself, when his pain lessened.

  Noises in the corridor woke him up. Footsteps came closer and stopped. A creaking and the door was pulled open letting in a light that made him screw up his eyes in protest. Someone’s foot hit his side but he bit back a groan. Better to let whoever it was think that he was still unconscious. A hand fumbled and pressed his neck. He heard the man grunt. Wood slammed against metal and everything went dark again. He sat up. His visitor had been trying to find out if he was alive, that was for sure. Since he was, they would be coming for him soon to question him, unless they simply left him alone in here to die of starvation. He shuddered at the thought. Very carefully he forced himself first to his knees and then to his feet. Another drink of water. He stumbled along the walls, pushing and probing the stones until he reached a corner which reeked even worse than the rest of the place. He gagged, unwilling to investigate further. Another round of the cell and a futile attempt to force the door open. Then, nerving himself and trying not to breathe, he made a careful search in the foetid area. Nothing. He wiped his hands on some of the straw, feeling sickened but at least now he knew. There was no way out. His only hope was for somebody to open the door and attack them. He settled down to wait.

  More noises. Shuffling sounds and a woman crying. He rose, his heart beating wildly, and stood to one side of the opening. Were they stopping? Yes! He braced himself as the bolts were withdrawn. A man entered and Philip threw himself forward catching him on the shoulder and sending him spinning into the cell. He did not stop to see the chaos he had created but lunged into the corridor. He managed two steps before ha
nds caught him and a voice said,

  “Philip, it’s me, Grace.”

  His mind did not seem to be working. Grace? Surely not here, in this foul place? He twitched himself free again but others grasped him and forced him backwards into the cell.

  “Louis, do as we say. We’re here to rescue you and there’s very little time.”

  “Antoine?”

  “Yes. Don’t ask questions. Put these clothes on.” His jacket was dragged off, none too gently. Something was hauled over his head and his arms were wrestled into sleeves. The garment was tugged down while a cap was pulled onto his head. A cloak was thrown over his shoulders and the hood pulled up.

  “He’ll do,” a voice he did not recognise said. “Give him half the onion.”

  “Onion?”

  “To make you cry,” Grace said. “Trust me. Hold on and stoop down. Sob and wail as if your heart is breaking. Do it now!”

  He did trust her, so he obeyed. Then they were out into the corridor. Grace held one arm and Antoine the other. Someone with a lantern walked ahead.

  “Now cry!” Grace pinched him. “Sniff the onion.”

  His tears started to flow. Grace was sobbing beside him and giving out little moans. He tried to imitate the sounds she was making.

  “Hold the clout up to your face,” she whispered.

  They halted for a few moments while the man with the lantern talked to someone, then Grace urged him forward. Light fell over him and he buried himself deeper into the clout. Some steps, another door opening and they were out into the street. The clatter of hooves and the noise of wheels. He was pushed onto a cart and Antoine climbed in beside him. Philip’s legs tangled in the cloth around his ankles and he fell on the rough boards. He scrambled up hurriedly as a foot stepped on top of him. The cart jolted into motion. It turned several corners and stopped.

  “Where’s my money?” the man who had held the lantern asked.

  “Here, take it!” Antoine tossed something that clinked at him.