The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds

by Iris Johansen

  “Scrubbing?”

  “Why not? Robert and Marie are no longer in their first youth, and we must not bring any other servants into the house. I’m very good at scrubbing floors. I did it all the time at the abbey.” Her hand fell away from her cheek. “I can wash it off later. One smudge doesn’t matter.”

  “No, it doesn’t matter.” Jean Marc doubted he would have noticed if she was as painted as the savages brought back from the wilds of America. He had always loved her skin, roses and cream with a texture glowing as if burnished by a loving hand. The night before in the candlelight she had been all tumbled shining curls and curious brown eyes, brave and impatient in her white, high-necked, long-sleeved gown. This morning the strong sunlight streaming through the windows revealed a Juliette of enticing beauty. The shabby brown wool gown she wore hugged her small waist and fitted snugly over the slight swell of her breasts. She was of medium height but appeared taller, for she carried herself boldly, proudly, and with a grace at once impetuous and defiant.

  Christ, he could feel himself harden just looking at her. So much for her shield of innocence and dependence.

  Her gaze as she lifted her head to face him was as defiant as her bearing. “You should have listened to me last night, you know.”

  “I make it a practice never to give attention when it’s demanded of me. I react much more kindly to requests.” He smiled faintly. “You should have said, ‘Jean Marc, s’il vous plaît,’ or ‘Jean Marc, would you be so kind?’ Then I’m sure I’d never have been able to resist hearing what you had to say.”

  To his amazement, her cheeks turned scarlet. “Don’t be ridiculous. Perhaps your mistresses speak to you with s’il vous plaîts, but you’ll never hear from me.”

  “No?” He lifted his brow. “How unfortunate. Then I fear you’ll get far less than you would like from me.”

  “I don’t want anything from—” She stopped and drew a deep breath. “I know you’re mocking me. You like to play with words, to thrust and then step back and watch, don’t you?”

  “Do I?” At the moment the only thrusting he was interested in had nothing to do with words. He wished she looked less challenging and more vulnerable. He found it difficult to remember her recent suffering when he was experiencing his own immediate painful physical response.

  “I think so.” Her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. “I can’t read you. I’m not sure what you’re thinking. It’s even worse than when we were at the inn.”

  “A mirror. I think that’s what you once called me.” He tilted his head. “No, I believe it was an entire gallery of mirrors. I suppose I should be grateful you granted me a multiplicity of images.”

  “You’re laughing at me.” She lifted her chin. “You see, I’m learning. I’ll find a way to know you.”

  “I could suggest a number of fascinating ways to accomplish that goal, but until such a felicitous time I suggest you try ‘s’il vous plaît, Jean Marc.’ ”

  She looked hurriedly away. “No, I couldn’t—” She broke off as she looked back at him and found him still watching her intently. She drew a deep breath and then slowly let it out. “What are you going to do about Catherine?”

  He was suddenly filled with self-disgust. What was wrong with him? Danger existed all around them and he could think only of his pleasure in rutting with her. His mocking smile vanished. “I’ll get Catherine out of Paris as soon as possible. She’ll be safe at Vasaro.”

  He had spoken only of Catherine, he realized at once. Merde, he couldn’t actually be thinking of keeping Juliette in Paris, where she would be in constant danger, just because he lusted after her.

  “I’m not sure she’ll ever be safe.” Juliette shivered. “You don’t know Dupree.”

  “No, I’ve seen him a time or two at the Hôtel de Ville with Marat, but we’ve never been introduced.” Jean Marc’s gaze narrowed on her face. “But you clearly know him very well indeed. What happened at the Abbaye de la Reine, Juliette?”

  “You know. I told you about Catherine.”

  “But not about Juliette.”

  Her glance slid away. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “I believe there may be a great deal to tell.”

  “Why are you asking me these questions? It’s Catherine who’s important.”

  “So I’ve been told.” Jean Marc paused. “All right, let’s talk about Catherine. You’re worried that Dupree might pursue her to Vasaro?”

  “If he finds out she’s one of the students from the abbey. He wants no witnesses to refute the charges against the nuns.”

  “Then we’ll have to make sure he doesn’t find out. As soon as it’s safe, she’ll go to Vasaro.”

  “I want her to leave right away. She needs to get away from everything that could remind her of the abbey. You don’t understand.” Juliette’s teeth pressed hard into her lower lip. “I’m afraid for her here. For the last two days she’s been like a spirit, walking around in a dream. She shuts me out. She shuts everyone out.”

  “She’ll recover in time. I have no intention of sending her through the barriers until it’s safe.”

  “And what will make it safe?”

  Jean Marc grimaced and shook his head. “I have no idea. I’ll have to explore the situation and then think about it.”

  “Think? Do something.”

  “I’ve already done something. I’ve sent for Etchelet.”

  She hesitated and then gave up the battle. “Call me when he arrives. I have to go to Catherine. She didn’t touch her breakfast again this morning, and I must coax her to eat something.” She turned away and then abruptly whirled again to face him. “Why did you keep it?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “My painting of the Wind Dancer.” She gestured to the corner of the salon, where the painting hung. “Oh, not that it isn’t excellent, but it lacks the mastery of the other paintings in this room.”

  His gaze went to the painting across the room. “I like it. It pleases me to see it here whenever I come to Paris.”

  “Because it’s a painting of the Wind Dancer?”

  “Perhaps.” He smiled faintly. “Maybe beneath my ‘mirror’ I’m as sentimental as my father regarding the family treasures.”

  She looked at him skeptically.

  “You don’t believe I have a sentimental soul?”

  She ignored the question and moved across the salon to stand before the painting. “Where is it now?”

  “The statue? No one knows. It disappeared mysteriously the day the royal family was forced by the mob to quit Versailles for Paris. Rumor has it the queen hid it somewhere in the palace or on the grounds rather than have it fall into the hands of the revolutionaries.”

  “Well, why shouldn’t she?” Juliette demanded. “It belonged to the queen. They took everything else from her. Why shouldn’t she be allowed to keep the Wind Dancer?”

  “Let’s say, it didn’t improve her position in the eyes of the assembly. I understand some of those good gentlemen wished to use the Wind Dancer as a symbol of the revolution.”

  “They have enough symbols. She has nothing now.”

  “Still loyal to the monarchy?” His smile faded. “That, too, is a dangerous position today. I’d reconsider if I were you.”

  “I care nothing for either the monarchy or the republic. I care nothing for politics. I would have been quite happy to have been left alone at the abbey if those murdering canailles hadn’t seen fit to descend upon us.”

  “I can’t envision you donning a wimple and scapular.”

  “I didn’t say I wished to be a nun. I wanted only to be left in peace without—Oh, you’re laughing at me again.” She turned away from the painting. “You don’t appear to be upset that the statue has disappeared. Don’t you want it any longer?”

  “I want it. I promised my father before he died that I’d see to its return to the family.” He paused. “But I’ve learned if I’m patient, I usually get what I want.”

 
; “I’m not patient. I hate to wait for things to happen.”

  He smiled. “Ah, and so do I, ma petite. But one must weigh the value of what one desires against the irritation of waiting for it.”

  She felt suddenly breathless as she realized he was no longer speaking of the Wind Dancer. She desperately veered back to the primary subject. “It’s foolish not to realize that Catherine needs something done now.”

  “You never give up, do you? In spite of what you deem my ‘foolishness,’ I’ll continue on the course I’ve set.” Jean Marc smiled ironically. “I regret I can’t take your excellent advice. How delightful it must be to know you’re always right.”

  “I’m not always right.” She turned and walked across the salon toward the door. “Almost always, however.”

  “What is this?” Juliette gazed in bewilderment at the pile of packages Robert carried into Catherine’s chamber three hours later.

  “Clothing. Monsieur Philippe has returned and is in the gold salon with Monsieur Etchelet.”

  “Philippe!” Catherine’s gaze flew to Juliette. “You didn’t tell me Philippe was here.”

  “I was going to tell you later.”

  “Monsieur Philippe said he took the liberty of purchasing a few items of apparel for you and Mademoiselle Catherine.” Robert smiled at Catherine as he set the packages on the padded bench by the window. “Evidently he didn’t approve of my Marie’s gown.”

  “But where did he get them? He’s been gone only a few hours.” Juliette opened a package to reveal a silk gown in a vibrant shade of cinnamon. Intricate gold embroidery bordered a low neck and delicate lace frothed at the hems of three-quarter-length sleeves. The gown was as fine as any she had seen at Versailles, and she knew very well how many hours of work had gone into the embroidery. Rose Bertin, the queen’s favorite dressmaker, would have demanded many fortnights to produce such a gown. “This must have been meant for another client. I’d like to know how he managed to find a dressmaker obliging enough to offend another customer to sell him such a gown.”

  “Oh, the ladies have always been most obliging for Monsieur Philippe. Shall I tell the gentlemen you’ll join them as soon as you’ve changed?”

  “No.” Juliette turned and moved toward the door. “I’m decently covered. Your wife’s gown will do very well for me.”

  Robert nodded. “I thought as much. I informed Monsieur Andreas you’d be down immediately.”

  Juliette stopped and looked suspiciously at him over her shoulder. It could be dangerous to have a servant so perceptive. “How clever of you.”

  Robert smiled gently. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Mademoiselle Juliette. I would never tell anyone you were from the abbey.”

  Juliette’s gaze narrowed on his face. “And what do you know of what happened at the abbey?”

  “Only what I hear in the market.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I think you know. All of Paris is talking of the massacres. Don’t worry, I would never say anything to hurt Mademoiselle Catherine. Nor would I believe such slander against her or the nuns. I have no liking for these pompous men of the assembly who command me to say tu instead of vous and call myself Citizen when I’ve always found Monsieur good enough in my sixty years.”

  Juliette felt a surge of warmth. “Thank you, Robert. It’s not easy to trust anyone.” She hesitated and then turned to Catherine. “Philippe wishes to see you.”

  “No!” Catherine sat bolt upright on the bed, her cheeks flaming, her eyes brimming with tears. “Send him away.”

  “Catherine, I admit he’s been—”

  “I won’t see him. I don’t ever want to see him again. Don’t bring Philippe here, Juliette. Don’t make me—”

  “I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t wish to do.” Juliette cast her an anxious glance as she started for the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “Don’t bring him back with you. Don’t let him see me. He’ll—” Catherine broke off, the tears running down her cheeks. “Sweet heaven, I’m sorry. I know you hate for me to blubber like a baby, but I can’t seem to stop. Forgive me for being such a burden to you.”

  “You’re not a burden and, if you feel like blubbering, do it. You have reason.”

  Catherine’s eyes sparkled like sapphires in the rain as she whispered, “Please, don’t make me face him, Juliette.”

  “I won’t bring him here.” Juliette swallowed to ease the tightness in her throat before turning to Robert. “Fetch your wife to stay with Mademoiselle Catherine in my stead.”

  He nodded. “My Marie was always fond of Mademoiselle Catherine. She’ll take good care of la petite.”

  “Good.” Juliette was already halfway down the corridor. “I want her fed, bathed, and calmed by the time I return.”

  “We’ll endeavor to accomplish at least the first two tasks, Mademoiselle.” The faintest shade of dry humor colored Robert’s tone.

  No fear, no scurrying to obey. The old man might have more courage than had first been evident, Juliette thought with respect. Courage could be a problem if not accompanied by loyalty, but still she liked dealing with it more than cowardice. She grinned at Robert over her shoulder. “And I’ll take care of all else.”

  She straightened her shoulders as she marched down the stairs to face the three men in the salon.

  But only François Etchelet and Philippe Andreas were in the Gold Salon, standing in uneasy silence, looking as alien to each other as panther and peacock.

  The image intrigued Juliette, and she found herself pausing in the arched doorway before making her presence known. Philippe, radiantly golden and brilliant as a sunset in his crimson silk coat, pearl-gray trousers, and polished black boots. Etchelet dressed in black, anonymous serge, wearing his fierceness like the sleek coat of a great cat so that his clothing appeared totally unimportant. Interesting.

  She must have made some sound, for François suddenly whirled. “I should inform you, Mademoiselle, I dislike being sent for as if I were a stable boy bound to do your bidding.” His eyes glittered in the candlelight as he took a step forward. Panther’s eyes, Juliette thought, all black iris and shimmering menace. “If I decide to help you, it won’t be because you demand it.”

  “We needed to speak to you,” Juliette said. “And it wasn’t I who sent Philippe after you. It was Jean Ma—”

  “Ah, Monsieur Etchelet.” Jean Marc suddenly materialized beside Juliette and strolled leisurely toward François. “How kind of you to come. I’m Jean Marc Andreas and I wished to give you my heartfelt thanks for your services to my cousin and Mademoiselle de Clement.”

  “Monsieur Andreas.” Etchelet bowed, his gaze wary. “The circumstances were such that I could do nothing else.”

  “And I am sure he would have made every effort to avoid his involvement,” Juliette said sweetly, “I suppose we should be grateful he saw fit not to send us back to his friend, the butcher.”

  “I’m sure Mademoiselle de Clement means no offense.” Philippe stepped forward protectively. “She’s overcome by the horrors she’s undergone.”

  Juliette bristled. “Overcome? I’m not overcome. I’m tired and angry, but I’m not about to swoon because this man scowls at me.”

  François suddenly smiled. “No, I think it would take considerably more to make you swoon.”

  “So do I,” Jean Marc said dryly. “Don’t you think it’s time to put differences aside and concentrate on the task at hand? Your words do not help Catherine, Juliette.”

  François turned abruptly away, walked over to the window, and stood looking out into the street.

  “Philippe says it’s very difficult getting through the checkpoints without proper papers,” Jean Marc said to François’s back. “Can you get them for us?”

  “No.”

  “Can Danton get them for us?”

  “Probably. But he won’t risk it. Not now.”

  “Why not?” Juliette asked.

  “It’s too dange
rous. In addition to the regular guard, Dupree has at least one man of his own at every gate and there’s no telling when or where he will appear to make checks personally. Georges Jacques mustn’t be connected with you or he’ll lose what he’s gained.”

  “And what is that?” Jean Marc asked.

  “The Girondins. If the assembly loses the Girondins, the extremist radicals like Marat and Robespierre will gain power.”

  “I don’t care about these Girondins,” Juliette said. “I want Catherine out of Paris. What do we do?”

  “Wait.”

  It was easy for him to say, Juliette thought in frustration. “I don’t want to wait.”

  François whirled to face her. “Then you shouldn’t have killed one of the Marseilles.”

  She stiffened. “They found him?”

  “Oh, yes, they found him. They’ve been searching the countryside for his murderess. Georges Jacques says Dupree was highly displeased. He likes everything neat and tidy.”

  “I doubt if those words would apply to a massacre.” Juliette nibbled at her lower lip. “Does he know who killed the pig?”

  “He doesn’t know your true identity, but he does suspect ‘Citizeness Justice.’ ”

  “No one else?”

  François shook his head.

  Then Dupree must not have found the locket, she thought with relief. “The sword. Dupree knows I took his sword.” A frown knitted her brow. “But he can’t be sure Catherine was at the tomb. He saw her for only an instant in the bell tower—unless he remembers she wasn’t in the courtyard at the tribunal.”

  “Dupree has an excellent memory for detail. He posted a reward for both of you this morning with full descriptions.”

  “Citizeness Justice?” Jean Marc asked.

  “Mademoiselle de Clement,” François said. “It’s the only name by which Dupree knows her.”

  Jean Marc’s gaze shifted with sudden intentness to Juliette. “Why Citizeness Justice?”

  “It’s only a name Dupree found it amusing to call me. But that’s not important.” Juliette frowned. “Then Dupree can’t know we’re in Paris.”