Talon cocked his head. “Indeed?”
“Is that so difficult to believe? You saved her life. And you introduced her to her husband. She cares about your happiness.”
Scratching his nose, Talon sniffed. “Codswallop. Has she spoken to LaBarre? His opinion of me is worse than the Parisians’ of Marie Antoinette.”
Jack barked a laugh. “You’re that special, mon ami?”
Talon chuckled. “Mayhap not. But the man has a long memory. He didn’t approve of me helping Edouard or Contesse.”
Jacques clapped him on the back. “It matters not. Hélène is your employer, not him. Comprends-tu?”
Sighing, Talon stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Very well. I’ll try to remember that when he gives me the lash of his tongue.”
“WE DO PLAN ON LEAVING for Paris today, aye, LaBarre?”
Talon eyed the mantel clock above the massive stone hearth in Edouard’s office, turning his disdain toward the foppish man scrambling to find his paperwork.
“Un moment, Monsieur,” the older man grumbled before shuffling through the mess of papers and books littering the desk. Stroking his chin, he opened the next cabinet. “Non, not that one...”
Talon swore under his breath. “Jesus, does this man know what he’s doing?”
LaBarre stood ramrod straight. “Pardon, Monsieur?” He gripped the lapels of his royal blue waistcoat and he sneered at Talon. Light from the window bounced off his snow-white wig tied back with a blue velvet bow as he returned to his endeavor.
Jacques nudged Talon with a stern look. Scowling, Talon crossed his arms and paced the floor. They’d never leave at this rate. He perused Edouard’s trusted lawyer. Phillipe LaBarre had aged significantly since Talon had last seen him. What was he, nigh on sixty? Physically, the man stood a few inches shy of Talon, but his lanky form lacked muscle and tone. Wrinkles snaked out from his watery gray eyes and gaunt cheeks. However, his sun-kissed face glowed with health, indicating that perhaps he’d just returned from holiday.
Talon grunted as he tripped over a stack of books on the floor. They scattered amongst the melee of papers. He lifted his feet. “How can you work in this mess?”
Philippe glared at him as he continued to leaf through files. “Not that it is your concern, Monsieur Barberry, but since Edouard’s death, my travels have taken me to many different provinces and colonies—twice this year alone. I’ve asked the house staff to leave my things in place.”
Talon let the Frenchman’s frosty retort roll off his shoulders. LaBarre still hadn’t forgiven him for leaving Contesse and Eric during their quest, even though it had been several years past.
LaBarre shuffled back and forth. Glancing at the clock once more, Talon sighed. “Do you have my instructions or not?”
The man finally pulled a small parchment from the middle of a stack on the desk and handed it to Talon. “Voíla. I received these orders a fortnight ago from Colonel DuPont, the head of the Societé des Amis based in Paris.”
Taking the envelope, Talon removed the missive and wrinkled his brow. “Bloody hell.” The thing was composed in French. While he spoke the language passably, he’d never learned to read it. English was difficult for him. Did the man think he’d be able to understand this? He handed the document to Jacques for interpretation.
Jacques squinted and turned the paper upside down several times. “Mon dieu, this is gibberish.”
Talon snickered as Philippe snatched the paper out of Jacques’ hand irritably. “Imbécile. It says Colonel DuPont wishes to meet our contact formally at La Rue du Temple in Paris on 4 July 1798. He will inform you of your final objective at that time. He is looking for an unattached man with covert skills, and he prefers one of Spanish descent.” Philippe flung the paper across the desk. Thrusting his fists to his hips, he glared at Talon. “Well, Monsieur? Do you meet DuPont’s requirements?”
Talon tipped his hat to LaBarre with a lopsided grin. “I suppose I must. Mademoiselle Beaupraît summoned me, didn’t she?”
Philippe leaned over Edouard’s desk, piercing Talon with keen eyes. “I know Edouard held a special regard for you since you are his daughter’s cousin, but I happen to know you better than he did. Like any gamin, you gave up on Contesse and ran from your responsibilities.” He arched a bushy gray eyebrow. “Jacques and Hélène assure me you are the right man for this task. I have my doubts. But if you betray our confidence at any time during this assignment, I won’t hesitate to expose you to the authorities. Comprendez-vous?”
Balling his fists, Talon glowered at the man. Like most gadjos, LaBarre had judged him by his heritage, and unfortunately, the Romani were just as suppressed in France as they were in England.
Clearing his throat, Talon replied in a cold, clear voice, “I’m not the wild youngster that you knew all those years ago, Monsieur. I’m older, wiser, and frankly a damn sight better prepared for this job.” He stuffed his hat on his head. “If you think you can find someone else, have at it. Au Revoir.”
Jacques jumped up, placing a palm to his chest. “Please, Talon. We have no other operatives that can fill this position.” He turned to LaBarre. “Mademoiselle Beaupraît and I personally vouch for Monsieur Barberry. And Edouard trusted him with the one person he loved most—his precious daughter. Need I remind you if you expose Talon, you endanger us all?”
Clenching his jaw, Philippe regarded Jacques. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he sighed. “Very well, I defer to you, mon ami. But be assured I have loyal eyes and ears all over the world. I will be watching you, Barberry.”
Glaring at the man, Talon stomped from the room. Damnation, he was tired of the disrespect. He’d sacrificed years of his life helping Edouard Blanchefort. He’d protected Contesse with his life. Would anything he did ever be enough?
LaBarre isn’t your employer... Perhaps this mission will unfold your true destiny. What do you have to lose?
Straightening his lapels, Talon held his head high. He’d spent most of his life trying to prove his worth—to both the white man and his clan. Jacques and Mademoiselle Beaupraît had asked for him specifically. Whether it was because Edouard had trusted him or that he’d led Contesse to safety, he knew not. But he wasn’t about to disappoint her.
PARIS, JULY 4, 1798
“Hell and damnation, why do they keep sending me to these blasted cities?” Crouched behind a wooden rain barrel, Talon wiped the sweat from his brow as he faced the beginning of a humid summer day. He’d left La Belle Maison earlier in the week to scout the meeting hall of the Societé des Amis in the heart of Paris.
As the din from the streets escalated, he shook his head. From the peasants on the corners to the slop in the streets Paris was noisier than London. Mayhap he’d never be comfortable in any city.
At least the food is tolerable.
He scanned the thoroughfare. He’d spent days camped outside the front stoop of his new employer’s abode, gathering information. In keeping with his assignment, he’d posed as a beggar in dirty knickers and a torn shirt.
He couldn’t complain. During the first scouting mission, he’d received a few livres from DuPont’s scullery maid. One morning, a small urchin no bigger than Maggie even offered him a small hunk of bread. Unfortunately, he’d had to threaten a young Parisian upstart who had claims, it seemed, on that street corner. Needless to say, Talon fit in rather well with the city vagabonds.
But he still had no idea what the true nature of his work entailed. Phillipe LaBarre’s scant information hadn’t been enlightening in the least. So, Jacques had supplied Talon with more details about his prospective employer.
Apparently, Colonel Michel DuPont was a seasoned officer in the French Navy. Like Edouard Blanchefort, DuPont’s father was a self-made man, joining Edouard’s efforts when DuPont was but a boy. As France fought for independence from the Crown, the man was eager to enlist in the French Navy to help his newly freed country acquire a foothold in the world.
As the head of the extremist Jacobi
ns, DuPont and his followers were the next generation of Edouard Blanchefort’s cause. In the beginning, they were mostly bourgeoisie men like Edouard from the rural provinces, grown from the altruistic foundations Edouard had started several years ago. Unfortunately, it had developed into a more dangerous assembly.
As DuPont’s zealots infiltrated Paris, their numbers grew. Now, the new National Assembly was a political nightmare filled with radical groups fighting amongst one another to secure power. The founding members could no longer control DuPont nor his followers. When the man was elected to the National Assembly, his power within the government became legendary.
And then a young French general by the name of Napoleon Bonaparte boldly proposed war against England and Holland. DuPont’s extremists overtook the National Assembly in full support.
Fortunately, the other caucuses in the French legislature joined forces to oust DuPont’s compatriots from the governing body and save their country from a world war. Now, DuPont was the only Jacobin left in the National Assembly.
Several elected officials volunteered him to oversee the takeover of Guadeloupe from the British, and DuPont decided to use it to his advantage. Struggling to make a comeback, he hoped to reignite the Jacobin movement in the colonies using the recent slave uprisings to aid his cause. His goal included infiltrating the Louisiana Territories—specifically the Cabildo government in New Orleans.
It was a long-winded conversation and an even longer carriage ride, but Talon had finally discovered his final destination. New Orleans.
He huffed a sigh. He hated politics. All the blustering about who had power and who would control the world was idiotic. Desperate for supremacy, men like DuPont would stop at nothing to use anybody they could to aid their cause.
While Talon wasn’t attuned to most world events, he was aware that New Orleans currently belonged to Spain. Since he was entering this interview under a false guise, he presumed he would be infiltrating the Cabildo government as a spy of Spanish descent.
Officially, he would work for DuPont, he’d be directly employed by Hélène as a double agent. Jacques had informed him to take the employment, no matter how unorthodox the job description. Apparently, lives were at stake, and only he had the skills to see this assignment through.
Talon scratched his beard with a smile. Ironically, Jacques and Hélène had asked him—a mere peasant—to stop DuPont from wooing the slaves to his cause. Most Romani clans isolated themselves from the British so as not to be used so indiscriminately. His own countrymen considered his people dung on the arse of English society. Yet here he was, knee deep in Paris filth to help these gadjos save their country.
“Brilliant. At least I’m getting paid.”
Shifting his feet to relieve the tingling in his feet, he hunkered lower. He’d arrived at Temple Street early, tracking every movement DuPont and his staff made. Except for the occasional delivery, there had been little activity from the two-story white brick edifice over the last week.
Squeezed in between two townhomes, the headquarters seemed a rather small place for such a substantial man. While the first flat appeared abandoned, the third was quite lively. Servants came and went at any given time, and this morning was no exception.
The scullery maid from the first flat had finished her mundane morning chores of sweeping the dust from the front porch and collecting the milk and bread that had been delivered. As the chamber maid at flat three opened the second-floor window to dump waste into the street, Talon stifled a yawn. These routines hadn’t changed all week.
However, at a quarter to nine, an anomaly occurred. A statuesque man in full military dress rang the bell near the third door. The butler promptly answered with a bow, and the man entered the abode.
Talon sat up. Intriguing. Standing, he stretched his legs. It was time to meet his new employer.
Scanning the perimeter, he swept the dirt from his wool breeches to make himself look presentable. Placing his lucky hat upon his head, he lifted his chin high and adjusted his persona. He was no longer Talon Barberry, a member of the Romani clan. He was now, Talon Barberry, Spaniard.
He strode to the door of the second flat and rang the bell. The old butler from the third answered the door, and Talon stifled his
surprise. With a cheeky smile, he tipped his hat. “G’day, sir. Er... loyalty?”
Eyeing Talon’s shabby attire, the man addressed him with a haughty jut of his chin. “Monsieur Barberry?”
Talon removed his hat and cocked his head with a wink. “Aye, my good chap, that’s me.”
“S’il vous plait, entréz-vous.” The butler bowed. “May I take your...”
Handing the man his dirty hat, Talon grinned. “Thank you, sir.”
Taking the brim between his thumb and index fingers, the butler wrinkled his nose at the garment. Talon stifled a smile. He usually didn’t dress in rags, but both he and Jacques had agreed that he should don inconspicuous clothing as part of his disguise. He was supposed to be a workhand, after all.
Jacques had wanted him to wear a typical skull cap like most laborers, but he refused to leave his favorite hat behind on any mission. When Jacques unceremoniously threw it on the dirty Parisian street and stamped on it several times, Talon nearly cried.
“Please wait here, Monsieur. Colonel DuPont will see you shortly.” The butler glanced at his clean chaise with a heavy sigh before slumping and plodding down the hall.
Eyeing the pristine damask chaise, Talon brushed the soil from his grimy backside. Saving the butler some grief, he meandered the hall to inspect his surroundings. The building was deceiving from the outside. Designed to ape the cramped townhouses abundant along the Parisian streets, the complex was one large, luxurious residence. The airy cathedral ceilings of the grand foyer soared to the second floor as an elaborate gold chandelier hung from the topmost beam. Dripping with shining crystals, it gleamed brightly in the morning sun.
Ivory paper decorated with light blue flowers hugged the walls. The rich mahogany of the aforementioned settee was polished to perfection against its ivory bench. A floral Aubusson carpet covered most of the parquet floor, and a mahogany side table adorned with a vase of sweet-smelling roses rounded out the room.
He gazed to the right down a long hallway that connected the three units. The first flat must have been the kitchen and dining area. In any event, the savory smells of brunch were coming from that general direction. He winced as his stomach grumbled.
A young servant girl in a white mob cap gazed up at him with wide eyes and busied herself by sweeping. Attempting to act inconspicuous, Talon linked his hands behind his back and whistled quietly under his breath.
Ambling around the foyer, he studied the paintings on the wall—presumably, members of the resident’s family. DuPont’s military portrait hung next to the door, and Talon scrutinized his new employer.
Perhaps in his early fifties, the man had broad shoulders that fit his French uniform well. His muscular physique and slightly distended midsection indicated that he’d never missed a meal. His square head gave way to a crop of graying hair kept short, á la military style, with long sideburns. He kept his face clean-shaven. His small, squinty eyes were a dull blue and his nostrils flared a bit at the bottom of his aquiline nose.
Talon shook his head. Colonel DuPont was not imposing in the least. He wouldn’t have picked the ordinary man out of a crowd.
A set of oak double doors opened from the left. Straightening his collar, Talon turned.
Show time.
Two men in military uniforms stood side by side, peering at him with wide eyes. The older man stepped forward. “Monsieur Barberry, do you speak English?” His accent was easily understood.
Perhaps ten years Talon’s junior, the younger man extended his hand, raising his brow with a look of disdain. His short blond hair gleamed in the sun and his sharp blue eyes were keen and enthusiastic.
Talon stepped forward, accepting the greeting. “Indeed, sir. Talon, if it please you
.”
His voice boomed off the rafters, and both men took a step back, their eyes’ widening. The younger one issued Talon another condescending sneer. “I am Lieutenant Pierre DuPont. My father, Colonel Michel DuPont.”
The colonel gave Talon a short bow. “Enchanté, Monsieur. Come. We have much to discuss.”
Crooking an eyebrow, Talon gave the man a nod. “Pleasure, sir. That’s why I’m here.”
The younger DuPont waved him through the doors. “Have you eaten? We have crêpes and coffee direct from the West Indies. The best in the world.”
Following the men into the room—the library by the looks of it—Talon pulled out a cane chair and sat at the oversized mahogany table situated in the middle of the room. Books lined the dark wood shelves in neat rows. The overwhelming smell of lavender accosted his senses as a large bouquet of the fragrant blooms sat upon the intricately carved desk near the window. He sneezed.
“Coffee, Monsieur?”
The maid stood over him with a steaming cup, and Talon nodded. Serving all of them quickly, she continued to bustle about. She gave DuPont a sidelong glance as she cleaned the crumbs from the highly polished wood. Talon frowned. Was she planning on wiping their mouths, too?
“Partez, you gamin.”
Talon whipped his head up. As the maid scurried off, Pierre slammed the door behind her. DuPont cleared his throat with a loud harrumph. “I apologize, Barberry, but I do not wish to be overheard. Frankly, I do not trust my servants to keep their mouths shut.”
The man’s voice boomed off the walls, and Talon raised his brow. He wasn’t sure closing the doors would make a difference. “Not at all, sir. I understand.”
Sniffling into his napkin, Pierre placed his palms on the table and stared at Talon intently. “I am not sure you do.”
Clenching his fists, Talon glared at the boy but held his tongue. The whelp had more fire in his belly than his father, to be sure. “Monsieur LeFevre has briefed me on the delicate nature of your situation. Although, I haven’t been given the details.”
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