The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds

by Iris Johansen

  “It’s true. I’ve heard many such stories about the duke since I was assigned here.” The guard smiled wolfishly. “It must have pleased you that the duke was beheaded at La Force last month, Citizeness.”

  “It wasn’t his head I wanted struck from his body.”

  The guard chuckled and lowered the lantern. “Pass through, Citizen.” He handed Jean Marc the papers. “Go to the queen’s vestibule. There will be someone there to direct you to the chamber where all the boxes are kept. You know where it is?”

  Jean Marc nodded. “Of course.”

  “If the guard’s not on duty, call out for him. He’ll probably be in the guardroom playing cards.”

  “I’ll do that.” Jean Marc snapped the reins and the wagon rolled slowly through the gates into the Cour Royale.

  The wheels creaked as the wagon lumbered over the cobblestones of the vast courtyard.

  “It was the wrong guard,” Juliette whispered.

  “You can’t always be sure a bribe will work. Anything can happen. Sometimes they’ll become frightened. Sometimes their duty will be changed.” Jean Marc shrugged. “It was fortunate you knew of the Due de Gramont’s lascivious tastes. Your lie disarmed him completely.”

  “It was no lie.” Her gaze was searching the massive bulk of the palace just ahead. Light streamed from a few windows on the lower floors, but the other windows were dark, empty of life. “Pull into the shadows over there by the east wing. We can’t chance encountering anyone else on the way to the Belvedere while we’re in this wagon. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”

  His expression was suddenly harsh. “What do you mean, it was no lie? De Gramont raped you?”

  “What? Oh, de Gramont was my mother’s lover, you know.”

  “So that gave him the right to—”

  “We have no time to talk of trivialities,” Juliette said impatiently as she jumped down from the wagon and started across the courtyard. “If we hurry, we should be able to make it to the Belvedere in forty minutes. Take the lantern but don’t light it until we need it.”

  “Trivialities? I don’t regard the rape of a child as a—” He broke off as he noticed she was almost out of earshot. He grabbed the lantern from the wagon and caught up with her by the time she reached the corner of the wing. “We’ll discuss this later.”

  “If you like.” For so cynical a man Jean Marc was reacting most peculiarly. The idea of her in the duke’s bed clearly bothered him and the knowledge filled her with inexplicable excitement. The Neptune Basin was just ahead and her pace quickened. “Do you think the gates of the smaller palaces will be guarded?”

  “Perhaps. I couldn’t gather any detailed information without incurring suspicion. If they are, will that be a problem?”

  Juliette shook her head. “I know the grounds of the Petit Trianon very well.” She grinned. “I hid from Marguerite in every glade, fountain, and building at one time or another.”

  “Marguerite?” Jean Marc nodded. “Oh, yes, your charming nurse. Whatever happened to her?”

  “She fled to Spain with my mother the night of the massacre at the abbey.” Juliette turned left at the Basin. “François tried to persuade my mother to take Catherine and me with them, but she wouldn’t agree. He became very annoyed with both of them.”

  “I can understand his feelings.”

  “I told him it would do no good.” She frowned. “We should go faster. Are you able?”

  “Able?”

  She carefully avoided looking at him. “Well, you must be over thirty and you get no exercise.”

  “I’m thirty-two, which is no great age.” Jean Marc’s tone was icy. “And how do you know I get no exercise?”

  The excitement was growing within her. “You take carriages everywhere and you work for hours in your study. You cannot be very fit.”

  “I don’t spend all my time with my ledger books. Perhaps I should demonstrate my fitness to you,” he said silkily. “I assure you I’m no aging de Gramont.”

  Jean Marc appeared unable to let the subject of de Gramont alone and was obviously sensitive regarding his own age. Juliette thoroughly enjoyed turning the tables, pricking at his aplomb now when usually she was the one on the defensive. “Oh, I know that. The duke was in his fifties.” She pretended to think about it. “But he hunted a great deal and his body was amazingly strong for—”

  “Set the pace,” Jean Marc grated between his teeth. “I assure you I’ll keep up.”

  She cast a sidewise glance at his grim expression and then thought it best not to answer at all. She increased her speed until she was almost running past the silent fountains and ghostly statues toward the gates of the Petit Trianon.

  The Belvedere was an enchanting enclosed pavilion crowning a grassy hillock. The graceful octagonal structure overlooked a small rivulet issuing from a pond behind the Petit Trianon. Four steps surrounded the Belvedere with pairs of sphinxes set at intervals.

  “She said it’s under one of the sphinxes on the stairs facing the pond,” Juliette whispered as she strode down the winding walk bordering the lake. “The one on the left.”

  “Buried?”

  “No, a hidden cache.”

  They had reached the four steps of the pavilion and Jean Marc halted beside a sphinx. “It appears—”

  “Hush! I hear something.” Juliette glanced over her shoulder across the rivulet toward the palace of the Petit Trianon. Dots of light punctuated the darkness. “Mother of God! Lanterns! Come with me.” She flew up the steps of the pavilion. What if the doors were locked? The knob turned under her hand and she pulled Jean Marc inside and closed the glass-paneled door.

  Jean Marc pushed her to the side and peered through the glass. “Soldiers.”

  Juliette’s heart skipped a beat. “Searching for us?”

  “Possibly.” Jean Marc watched for a moment and then shook his head. “There’s no urgency. Probably a patrol making rounds. We were lucky not to have run into them coming from the palace.”

  Being in the pavilion was no real shelter, she thought desperately. Not only were the four doors glass-paneled, but the long windows were almost floor to ceiling and separated by only narrow strips of wall. It was as if they were captured in a crystal box.

  “Are they coming here?”

  “I don’t kn—yes!” Jean Marc ducked away from the door as a beam of light played on the glass illuminating the interior of the pavilion. He dragged Juliette to the right of the door, pressing her against the wall.

  She could hear voices outside, then the crunch of booted feet on the steps. The door beside them was flung open.

  Juliette was afraid to breathe. A huge figure appeared in the doorway. Light played on the glittering panes of the door directly across the room. She could see the flame of the lantern reflecting on the glass.

  And Jean Marc’s and her own reflection barely discernible in the shadows.

  Juliette could feel Jean Marc’s muscles tense as he readied to spring.

  “All secure, Corporal?”

  “All secure, sir.” The soldier stepped back and shut the door. His boots clattered on the steps as he rejoined the patrol.

  Juliette’s heart was beating so hard she marveled the men outside didn’t hear it.

  Jean Marc peered carefully through the glass of the window to their right. “They’re going away.”

  “Toward the palace?”

  “No, toward Le Hameau. We’ll wait a minute until they move farther away and then we’ll have to be quick. We don’t want to run into them on our way back to the gates.”

  “I thought for sure he’d seen us.”

  “He wasn’t looking hard. He saw only what he expected to see.”

  Juliette sank to the floor and leaned back against the wall, trying to steady her breathing. She was shaking and the icy cold of the mosaic marble floor seemed to pierce through her woolen gown to her bones. She wondered if Jean Marc could see how frightened she was as he stared so intently at her. She moiste
ned her lips. “It’s the same.”

  “What?”

  “This pavilion. Versailles. Even the gardens are still well cared for.” She gestured to the exquisite arabesques painted on the wall, the clear blue sky drifting with fleeting clouds on the cupola above them. “I expected it to be defaced. Paris has changed so much. The queen used to have wonderful parties in the gardens of the Trianon and she had a concealed trench dug around this pavilion. Faggots were lit so that it looked as if it were floating on a cloud of light.” She wished he would stop staring at her. He mustn’t see how weak she felt. It was dangerous to show anyone her weaknesses but most of all Jean Marc. “I tried to paint it once, but I’m not good at fire.”

  “I’d say your incendiary capabilities are extraordinary.” To her relief, Jean Marc finally shifted his gaze. “Do I detect a hint of sentiment?”

  She shook her head. “It’s very beautiful here, but I liked the abbey better.” She was silent a moment. “Why did you intercede with the queen to have me sent there?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “Because of Catherine.”

  “It was partly Catherine.” His voice was suddenly rough as his gaze returned to her face. “Stop chattering. It doesn’t matter if you’re frightened.”

  She should have realized she couldn’t deceive him. “I’m only a little frightened.”

  “But you won’t give in to it. You won’t let anyone see.” He knelt beside her and pulled her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. “Christ, stop trying to hide it.”

  He felt hard and strong and smelled of spice and the night. She buried her face in his shoulder. “You told me not to let you see any weakness.”

  “Did I?” His hand gently stroked her hair. “Ah, yes, I’d forgotten. I’m not usually so generous as to give warnings. Never mind, this isn’t the kind of battleground I was speaking about.”

  “I’ll be all right soon. It was the surprise …”

  “I was scared out of my wits too.”

  She looked up at him in surprise. “You were? You didn’t show it.”

  “I’ve had a few more years of practice hiding my feelings than you have.”

  She didn’t know any other man who would have admitted to fear, but he had never been like other men. He had always been only Jean Marc, and the gift he was giving her tonight was as unique as the man himself. He had saved her pride by his simple admission of fear. “You’re a strange man.”

  “You’ve said that before.”

  “Because it’s true.” She nestled closer into his arms. “I never know what you’re going to do next.”

  “Nothing at the moment. Hush.”

  She fell silent for a moment, absorbing his comfort and strength. Warmth flowed through her, not the tingling heat of lust but something deeper, cozier. She suddenly chuckled. “I feel very foolish kneeling here like this. We must look like two porcelain figures in a music box.”

  “You must be feeling better if you’re thinking in pictures.” Jean Marc cast a glance out the window and then rose to his feet and opened the door. “I believe it’s safe to leave now.”

  Juliette scrambled to her feet and grabbed the lantern. “Shall I light it?”

  Jean Marc was already going down the steps. “Not if we can avoid it. It might be seen.” Jean Marc knelt by the sphinx again, examining it closely. “I see no levers.” He pushed at the base. “The foundation is solid.” He pushed sideways on the body of the sphinx.

  It moved!

  He pushed again, harder.

  The statue swung to the side at a right angle, revealing a deep cavity measuring a good two feet square.

  “I can’t see. Light the lantern.”

  Juliette’s hands were trembling as she obeyed him. She drew closer to the sphinx, blocking the light with her body as she held the lantern directly over the dark cavity.

  She heard Jean Marc mutter a curse but she was too shocked to speak.

  The cache was empty.

  Jean Marc smiled and waved at the guard at the front gate as the wagon passed under the Sun King’s golden emblem.

  He snapped the whip and the horses picked up speed. As the wagon began to rumble through the streets of the town Jean Marc’s smile vanished. “So where is it?”

  “I don’t know. She said it was at the Belvedere.”

  “Then you’re evidently mistaken about her trusting you. She sent you on a fool’s errand.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Jean Marc shot her an impatient glance. “The Wind Dancer wasn’t there, Juliette.”

  “But I’m certain she didn’t realize it wasn’t still where she put—” Juliette stopped, her eyes widening as she remembered the queen’s exact wording. “But she didn’t put it in the cache herself.”

  “No?”

  Juliette shook her head. “She said, ‘I had it hidden in the Belvedere.’ Someone else must have hidden it for her.”

  “And then taken it out unbeknownst to her. Who?”

  “Someone she trusted.” Juliette shrugged. “It could have been anyone. The queen’s never been overly shrewd and trusted almost everyone at court. Her ladies-in-waiting, a servant, her family. We’ll have to ask her.”

  “And how do you propose to do that?”

  “I’ll go back to the Temple.”

  “No.” Jean Marc’s tone was sharp as a scythe. “You most certainly will not.”

  “But I’ll have to ask—” She stopped. “But François said he wouldn’t help me another time. I suppose you’re right. I won’t be able to visit her again, but there must be another way to find out.” She frowned. “William Darrell quite likely has access to Her Majesty.”

  “Who in perdition is William Darrell?”

  “I’m not sure. The name sounds English, doesn’t it? The queen told me to give him the money I received from you. If he’s trying to help her escape, he must be able to get a message to her.”

  “Perhaps. Did she tell you where to reach him?”

  Juliette nodded. “I’m to ask for him at a café on the Pont Neuf. I’ll go there tomorrow.”

  Jean Marc smiled sardonically. “In your chimneysweep disguise?”

  “Of course not. That wouldn’t be at all suitable. I’ll have to think of something else.”

  “I’m the one who’ll go.”

  Juliette shook her head. “I won’t tell you where he can be found unless you promise to let me go too.”

  “This place is no doubt a hotbed of royalist sympathizers with every agent of the Commune sniffing about.”

  “You exaggerate. So far I’ve found the Commune to be composed of bumblers and lummoxes. Look how easily I got in to see the queen. And tonight we danced past that guard at the gate—”

  “And were almost captured by the patrol,” Jean Marc finished. “They’re not all bumblers. You forget our friends François and Danton.”

  “But they’re no threat to us. It’s worth the risk. You want the Wind Dancer and I want the two million livres.”

  They reached the outskirts of the town and Jean Marc turned the wagon toward Paris. “I believe I’m going to regret this. I should leave you at an inn here with funds enough to take you to Vasaro on the coach.”

  “I’d only follow you.”

  “On foot?”

  “Why not? I’m young and strong and—”

  “Not a doddering man of thirty—”

  “Thirty-two.”

  “I was going to say that.”

  “You needn’t snap at me.”

  He glanced sidewise at her. “Why not? You’ve certainly recovered your equanimity and you’re clearly trying to annoy me. I should think it would offer you satisfaction.” He smiled crookedly. “Enjoy it, Juliette. When you realize why you are doing this, I think it will bring you little pleasure.”

  She had already begun to suspect why drawing fire from him had brought her such a feeling of exhilaration. But now she realized since that moment when he had held her in the pavilion the ex
citement and satisfaction of taunting him had entirely vanished. She looked away from him. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going back to Paris with you tonight, and tomorrow night I’m going to the café to see this William Darrell. The discussion is closed.”

  “Not quite.”

  Juliette gazed at him warily.

  “It’s a long trip back to Paris. I wish to be amused.

  Tell me a few anecdotes of your interesting past at Versailles.”

  “It wasn’t very interesting. All I did was paint.”

  “But you had many fascinating acquaintances,” Jean Marc said softly. “For instance, I think it’s time you told me all about the ‘triviality.’ Who was the Due de Gramont?”

  THIRTEEN

  The hair of the stylishly coiffed wig was so pale a shade of gold, it shimmered silver beneath the candles of the chandelier of the foyer.

  “Take it off,” Jean Marc said flatly.

  “Don’t be foolish, it’s part of my disguise.” Juliette drew the wine-colored velvet cloak more closely about her as she came down the staircase toward him. “I think it looks quite splendid. Marie said Madame Lamartine obtained the hair for the wig from a village in Sweden where all the women have hair of this color.”

  “Everyone at the café will be staring at you.”

  As Jean Marc was staring at her now. Juliette’s heart began to pound harder, and the excitement she had known the previous night suddenly returned. She could see an emotion other than displeasure in his expression. “Oh, but they’ll be staring at Jean Marc Andreas’s latest mistress, not at Citizeness Justice.”

  “My mistress?”

  “Danton said I needed a more clever disguise, and you were most insulting about my dirty face.” Juliette strolled over to the ornate gilt-framed Venetian mirror on the wall and patted the long curls spiraling in glossy clusters to touch her bare shoulders. “I look completely different. I believe I like this much better than being the lamplight’s daughter. Yes, this will be my permanent disguise.”

  “The one is as bad as the other. I dislike fair hair intensely.”