Brass and Bone (5 page)

“You have no choice. You will go, or suffer for it,” he said.

The lady smiled. “No more than I have already, monsieur. I am a French citizen by birth, not one of your servants, yet you have treated me like a criminal. Why should I help you? I will not go unless I receive something in return: my freedom from you and yours for all time.”

“Freedom?” raged Sir Eli. “Freedom, you say, you witch? Do you know who I am?”

“Who you are?” the lady said, her voice soft. “But of course I know. You are the Witchfinder General, the man who murders my people and steals their belongings. You are the son and grandson and great-grandson of men who did the same.” She moved forward to stand beside me, and I couldn’t help but notice how the blue of her eyes began to darken as she spoke. “But not this time, Sir Eli
Matthew
Hopkins. This time, I have the upper hand. I have something you want more than wealth or power. I have something you cannot take from me by simply murdering me, for you need me alive. This time, perhaps for the first time in your life, you are faced with defiance. I have something you want but cannot have without my cooperation. I will do this thing for you, Sir Eli Hopkins, though doing anything for a Hopkins is the ultimate sin for my kind. I will do this, but only on certain conditions.”

“Conditions.” The Frenchie laughed disdainfully. “You are in no place to negotiate, witch. Do as you are told.”

The girl ignored him as she continued. “First, when this thing is done to your satisfaction, you shall set me free. And not for just a little time, mind you. Not just until you can set your dogs,” she gave a disgusted look at the Frenchie, “on me again, but for the rest of my days. Next, I will be set free in my own country, in
la belle France
, and I want your guarantee, in writing, neither you nor yours will ever interfere with me again. I would ask for your word as an Englishman on this, Sir Eli, but while I would trust any other English gentleman in such a matter,” she turned her gaze on me and gave me a brief smile, then resumed, “I will not, I cannot, trust a Hopkins. These are my terms.”

The Frenchie stood up. “On no account, mam’selle! Eli, you cannot be listening to her babbles. You know what she is. What she is capable of.”

“And I know what you are, Henri,” Sir Eli looked at him. “I know your story, remember. But in this matter, I have no choice. The damned witchblood have gone into hiding of late. This one is all we have. All we have…alive, at least. And as you have heard Herr Tesla say, the blood must be from a beating heart, else I’d drain her now and end all this trouble by sending you a bottle of her filthy blood. No,” he raised his hand, but a calculating look had come into his eyes. “No choice. But I have certain conditions to be met as well. You will go with her, Henri. You will make sure all is done which should be done. Then, you will follow my orders—my orders, Henri, do you hear?—and release her. Are we agreed, gentlemen, ladies?”

“Damn it, Eli.” As soon as the curse left Henri’s lips, he threw Abigail an apologetic look before eyeing Sir Eli once more. “You cannot be serious! How can I go? Who will fill my position? What will WFG do—”

Sir Eli waved his hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. You will go.”

“Just one moment,” Abigail said. “I cannot say I understand all this, but I must know one thing before I can possibly agree to help you. Simon and I—or at least our services are, for want of a better word—for sale. But I need to know precisely where you want this thing,” she pointed at the brass box, “taken.”

The angry color in Sir Eli’s face was fading and he was looking again most corpselike. “Forgive me, my dear. I thought I had mentioned that already. It is rather a long journey, but I shall provide whatever money and equipment you need to repair your grandfather’s airship.”

My heart sank as I saw the look of utmost joy on Abigail’s face, but she said never a word.

“And when it’s airworthy, I wish you to take this box,” he waved at it, “with its contents, along with Mademoiselle des Jardin and Henri d’Estes, to Australia.”

“Australia!” I gasped. “Good lord, that’s halfway around the world! Surely, Abigail, you cannot accept such a commission.” I gave her my most pleading look.

She was having none of it. I doubt she’d heard anything at all past “repair your grandfather’s airship,” but she proved me wrong, as Abigail so often does. “Two passengers, Simon, myself and our man Rupert,” she said, and went off into one of her calculating modes, some blather about weight and displacement and airspeeds and buoyancy, a place where I do not have the learning nor talent to follow. “It can certainly be done, with careful planning. We’ll need fueling stops, and I shall have to plan a most careful route. In fact, it will be quite an adventure, don’t you agree, Simon?”

I did the only thing possible under the circumstances. I covered my face with my hands and groaned.

France, my home, was so close I could see it. I could almost reach out and touch it. While the sea took up most of the scene before me, there was a haze on the horizon I knew to be France. I leaned forward against the balcony’s chill stone railing, trying to make out some faint details, but my attempts were for naught. I was still here in this damned icy England. Stuck on this little estate of Lady Abigail’s, so near to my homeland. Waiting to fulfill the duties to ensure my freedom.

And when I did, I would be free of the Witchfinders forever. If it was blood they wanted, then they should have it and be done with me.

I sensed Henri as he approached me from behind, long before his strong fingers seized my arm. He’d been in excellent spirits, but I’d refused to speak with him since we left Sir Eli Hopkins to his liquor, though I longed to release my anger.

I jerked my arm away and widened the distance between us, never once removing my gaze from my beloved France.

Henri grabbed me. Try though I might, I couldn’t struggle against the pleasure that came with his touch. Instead of fighting back as my anger would have me do, I let him pull me into his embrace.

He held me for a moment, brushing a kiss against the top of my head, before I spoke. “Bitch, am I?”

He laughed, and I hated him for it. “What would you have me do, my darling? Rush to your defense with Eli right there? Why, he’d have my head instead of yours if I tried such a thing.”

I slapped his face.

Henri brushed a strand of gold from my eyes as he responded, still chuckling under his breath. “Surely you aren’t surprised, Cynara. Your very blood makes you my most hated enemy. No matter what we’ve shared in the past.”

“As you are mine,” I whispered into his waistcoat, breathing in his familiar scent of tobacco and cologne. I became consumed with my once-cherished memories of the time I spent in his favor and, despite his hateful nature, I wanted nothing more than to be with him as I used to be. I spoke, my voice thick with the emotion brought on by those remembrances. “Henri, you must know that I expected nothing from Jean-Pierre—”

“Except my inheritance?” Henri turned to stone in an instant before shoving me away. “You are my weakness, Cynara. I admit it. But you are still a witch and a thief who has harmed me greatly.”

“I have harmed you?” My nails dug into my gloved palms as the dull ache of his rejection filled my chest. “Need I remind you of my time under your beloved Sir Eli? You are a murderer!”

“That may be.” His expression became unreadable, and he shrugged. “But my attempts failed, and you are still alive despite my best efforts. Worse still, I am now bound to you whether I wish to be or not.”

“Ah, yes.” I frowned as my anger took its rightful place in my heart. “You are now my jailer. Such a role will interfere with your gallivanting and whoring, I do not doubt. But perhaps it will not be for long. Perhaps it will be I who will come to my senses first, and push you out into the sea somewhere.”

The sounds of footsteps startled us, and we sprang apart. I turned to see the young man, Monsieur Thorne, stop before us. He seemed as surprised as we were, but recovered from it with ease. He begged our pardon for his interruption, though he would never know how grateful I was for it.

“
Non
, Monsieur Thorne, do not apologize, I pray. There was no interruption. I was simply admiring the gardens of this lovely manor. Tell me, can it truly be France I see? Or is it my own homesickness playing tricks with my heart?” I smiled at him as he approached us.

Simon Thorne returned my smile, gesturing with one long-fingered hand. “Yes, that is France. We’re so close to the sea here you can spot the opposite shore on a clear day. There is another outlook, just on the other side of the gardens, where you can view France best. In fact, often one can make out the ships sailing to Calais.”

“Really? Would you be so kind as to show me?”

Monsieur Thorne seemed surprised by my request, but he was too much of a gentleman to refuse me. He extended his arm.

I glanced up to see Henri’s dark expression. I knew that expression well; I recognized it as jealousy. “Excuse us, monsieur.” I gave him my best smile in order to calm him. Henri was known in our small family for his temper. His possessiveness. It would be a shame to see him release it on someone as kind as Monsieur Thorne seemed to be.

His expression shifted into his usual careless look of unconcern as Henri waved us on, and we left him, settling into a peaceful silence as we walked. I will admit I had become lost in my thoughts when my companion broke into them.

“Do you miss it much, mademoiselle? France, I mean.”

“
Oui
, I do. It is my home, monsieur, and this country is so very different.”

Monsieur Thorne glanced down at me as I pulled my fur-lined cloak closer. “If I may be so bold to ask, then why are you in England? Something to do with d’Estes, I suspect?”

I stiffened at his question, and considered a harsh response, but relented. There was something calm and reassuring about Monsieur Thorne, an aura I found myself responding to more and more as we strolled along a graveled path. “
Oui
. At least, to some extent. My purpose here in England and with him is a personal one.” I smiled, though I knew it was tinged with sadness. “But it is of little matter. One day, perhaps, I may share it with you if we become good friends. And I suspect we shall, for you are a kind man, I can see. But tell me, have you been with your Lady Abigail long? If I may be so bold as to ask such a personal question…”

My companion returned my smile with one of his own, equally sad. “Longer than you can imagine. But you must not get the wrong impression. We are only close friends and, uh, business associates. Nothing more.”

“That is not how you wish it, I think?” The question slipped from my tongue, and it was his turn to stiffen. I hastened to apologize. “Forgive me, monsieur. I fear my manners deserted me, and for mere curiosity’s sake.”

“Perhaps I too shall tell you more someday, when we become better friends, mademoiselle.” His topaz eyes gleamed with mirth.

I laughed despite myself as he led me up a set of steps. When we reached the top, I gasped at the beauty of the scene before me. The sea spread out its fanfare of blues and greys. But here, I could see more clearly the array of ships he spoke of. Their steam and sails billowed outward as their flags, both English and French and those of other lands, snapped against the winds.

“Oh! Monet himself could not paint a more beautiful scene!”

“You are familiar with Monet, then.” Monsieur Thorne joined me as I sat on the bench closest to the sea.

I nodded. “
Oui
. My beloved benefactor was a great patron of the arts. Why, Monsieur Monet himself stayed at the comte’s countryside estate for months before he left for his travels in the South.”

He chuckled as he leaned forward. “I see. You know him well, I perceive.”

I nodded, never once taking my eyes off the scene spread out before me, which was indeed very like a painting. “
Oui.
He is a great storyteller at dinner. But when he is behind his easel, Monet becomes someone quite different.”

Monsieur Thorne made no reply and once more, we fell into the comfortable silence that seemed to settle around us. It was pleasant being so still, so safe. Yet my mind continued to wander away from the peace to the future. Thoughts of escaping Henri and England mingled with the events that had led me here. My memories of the past week seemed as vivid as the blue spread out before me, and I became so immersed within them I jumped when Monsieur Thorne stood suddenly and began to speak.

“Perhaps we should return before Abigail and Monsieur d’Estes come looking for us,” he said.

I nodded, taking in one last look at France before accepting his offered arm. As we walked away, I made a vow to myself I would live long enough to see my home once more, even if it were only to be buried within its blessed soil.

***

Dinner was an uneasy affair. The food was good enough, it was true. And Monsieur Thorne and Lady Abigail were delightful, finishing each other’s sentences, full of laughter and the joking only seen between very old and dear friends. But Henri was in a dark mood, one no amount of wine could shake from him. When Lady Abigail finally stood, I asked to be excused from any further gathering. My freedom from one sort of captivity only to be trapped into another, and then the trip to this lovely little manor, as well as the day itself, had exhausted me. I wanted nothing more than to retire to my chambers.

“I shall escort you there, Mademoiselle des Jardin.” Henri stood and moved around the table to pull out my chair.

I hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Very well.” I stood, turning to the others. “Good evening. I once again thank you for your most kind hospitality.”

I slipped past Henri before the others could respond, though as we moved through the small manor to our rooms, the air between us was thick with a tension I was most curious about. I kept telling myself this was the reason I had accepted his offer of escort, though I knew better. Somehow, in a way that I could not understand, I still wanted him. Wanted his love and affection instead of the hateful scorn I was sure to continue receiving from my former lover.

When I entered my rooms, I will admit I was not surprised when he followed me and closed the door behind us.

“I want to know where it is, Cynara.” Henri’s tone was harsh, his words slurred from the amount of wine he’d consumed at dinner.

I threw my shawl over the couch. Then and only then did I turn to face his anger. “Whatever are you speaking of?” I asked, a smile on my face though I felt like snarling.

“You know damned well what I mean. My uncle’s money. My inheritance. Where is it?”

I chuckled despite myself. “So this is why you have been in such a temper this evening.”

“Temper…” Henri breathed out the word as he attempted to calm himself. “I convinced Eli to sign over your possessions to me as payment for watching you during this fool’s errand on which he has his heart set. But when I received the books today, do you know what I found?”

I sat on the edge of the sofa, amused. Henri was too well trained to lose himself to anger. Too well bred. I tilted my head to the side, freeing the pins holding my hair in place, and waited for him to continue.

“Nothing! I found absolutely nothing! How is it you could spend a fortune in so short a time?
My
fortune, gone! The estates, sold. The gold, dwindled down to a few hundred pieces.” Henri stamped over to stand in front of me, glaring down as he ranted. “So let’s have it. Where is it?”

“Oh. The money signed over to me, is it?
My
fortune, do you mean?” I bit my lip as if in thought. “Let me see if I can recall. Ah, yes. I remember now. I instructed my lawyer to give it to
les soeurs
—the nuns of Notre Dame.”

Henri stared at me, almost choking in his rage, as I tried not to laugh. “The…tell me you are joking, Cynara,” he managed at last.

“Well, not all of it went to the nuns, of course.” I ran my fingers over my sleeve as if to brush away something unpleasant. It amused me when I saw Henri took notice of my movements even through his anger. “Some of it went to the orphanages in Paris. I thought if I do succeed in killing you, and then myself, then I would have no use for it. Better it be used for something good.”

Henri grabbed my arms, yanked me to my feet and shook me. Before, I had found his anger humorous. Now, he had invited my own wrath. I slammed the heel of my boot against his foot and as he dropped his hands, I did the most
gentile
thing I could think of.

I slapped him.

For the second time that day.

“You forget your manners too easily, monsieur. Tell me how it is you came to be such a brute. So ill-bred, and from such a family as yours? You disgrace the memory of your dear uncle.” I had no wish to anger Henri more than necessary, but I could not help but display my own rage. “And me? Do you take me for a fool? And worse, a weak woman who can be easily frightened?”

Henri rubbed his jaw, breathing heavily. Then, with one quick motion, he seized me about the throat.

“Tell me the truth,” he insisted. “Your new wardrobe. Your baubles. You had the money to buy them from somewhere. Now, where is my money?”

I turned my gaze away from him until his grip began to tighten. Only then did I meet his eyes, letting the ice in my veins lace through my words. “I have been to Death’s threshold many times, monsieur, but as of yet He never allows me to pass. He may, however, invite you into His domain to stay unless you release me this very instant.”

I could see his struggle, but Henri did as he was told, releasing me before turning to storm across the room. He grabbed the doorknob, holding it as if for an anchor, before he lashed out.

“You will release every
franc
and
sou
to me before this is over. I can promise you that, my darling.”

“How can you speak to me in this way, Henri?” I stayed still, silently willing him to turn around to face me. “Do you not remember the words of love you once spoke to me? What has happened to change you so?”

I was sure that, for a moment, Henri would come out of his anger to love me as he once did. Or that this was all a wretched nightmare from which I would wake up to find myself back on the comte’s estate. But it wasn’t a simple nightmare. Henri wrenched open the door, rushing from my room and into the hall.

With that, he left me. I stayed on my feet long enough to ensure Henri would not reenter my rooms before collapsing on the sofa to rub off the marks his fingers left behind. Henri could threaten me. And perhaps he would make good on his promise to see me dead.

But Henri would die a pauper before I released my wealth, my security, to him. That was one promise I vowed to keep.

***

It wasn’t long after Henri’s dramatic departure when a knock sounded on my chamber door. I waited for a maid to allow entry to whoever was on the other side, until I remembered I had no maid of my own to command here. I sighed and took a sip from the wine brought to my room by Lady Abigail’s servants before standing to open the door.