Moonlight Surrender (Moonlight Book 3) (34 page)

“Now that we know where he is, we have to find a
way to get him out.” Restless, he stroked the hilt of his
sword as he cast about for some plan.

For Jacob, the straightest route between two points was always the simplest. He raised the pistol Duncan had entrusted him with.

“We could fight our way in.”

Duncan gently redirected the pistol’s muzzle until it
pointed to the ground. He laughed indulgently at Jacob’s
suggestion. His manner did not belittle Jacob, which was what he wanted. Jacob had a good heart and a loyal soul; it was only his mind that was a little slow.

“For that, we would need a score of you, Jacob. And even then, I’d wager,” he glanced at Beth, “there’d be
no getting out, once we were in. No, stealth will be nec
essary in this case. Stealth, and someone on the inside we could trust. Or bribe.” He blew out a breath. “Preferably both.”

Had this been London, the matter would have been settled in a trice. He knew many palms he had but to cross with gold in London to get his way. But Paris was a different matter entirely.

He looked to Beth, but she only shook her head helplessly. She slapped the reins against her hand in frustration. “I don’t know anyone here who could help.”

He had thought as much, or she’d have volunteered the information long before now. Duncan rubbed his hand along the back of his neck, thinking. “We need time to plan and think.”

“Time is short,” Beth reminded him. Robespierre looked as if he could arouse the crowd at any time to
murder all the people he held prisoner. He needed but a
whim; he already possessed the excuse.

“Without a plan,” Duncan countered, “it would be endless.”

Beth pressed her lips together, suppressing the desire to scream.

“We can go to the house of the old man Therese men
tioned,” she remembered suddenly, her eyes brightening. Perhaps they would learn something useful there. There was always hope. She saw a dubious look arise on Duncan’s face. “She thought we might be safe there,” she reminded him.

Duncan thought her suggestion over for a moment. “I don’t believe that we will be safe anywhere in this city, but going there is the only course open to us at the mo
ment. We cannot remain in this alley indefinitely.” He
glanced at the stone wall. “And I have never cared for places that have but one way out.”

He took the lead. “Do you recall the directions, Beth?”

“As easily as my own name,” she answered.

“You are a treasure,” he murmured softly, as they left the shelter of the alley behind them.

The man who opened the door to them upon Beth’s
knock looked as if he weighed less than she did. He was
stoop shouldered, with a face that had long since grown
to look soured on life. There were a few wisps of brown
hair dancing riotously upon his head, like feathers the
wind had blown astray. They swayed with every move
ment he made. A tiny fringe encircled his head by his ears. He wore spectacles and looked over them at the three who stood before his house with deep suspicion.

They had left their horses at the rear of the hovel. For the moment, they were safe. “Louis, Therese sent us,” Beth whispered.

He looked surprised that she knew his name. Still he stood here, his darkly spotted hands clutching the splintered wooden door to his chest as if it were a shield that
would protect him against them. One kick from Duncan’s boot could easily have separated the door from its hinges, but the man seemed not to think on that.

He squinted until his tiny eyes all but disappeared completely.

“Why?” he rasped, in a voice that had been long since been erased by whisky. “Why would she do that?”

Duncan felt helpless as this exchange went on. He caught only names and a word now and then. Their fate lay in Beth’s hand. A hand governed by an unsettled mind, but a worthy one, too.

Beth saw doubt enter the man’s eyes. Therese had said Louis had been the groundskeeper at the estate. He had been one of the servants who had fled when Robespierre had come to take her father prisoner. Ashamed of his cowardice, Louis had tried in his own small, frightened way to make amends by providing a little shelter for fleeing aristocrats. But never for long.

Beth pressed on. “She thought we might be safe here. The city is in upheaval, and she was worried about us.”
Beth paused. “She sends you greetings from the made
moiselle. Madam is dead.”

She said it solemnly, but with no feeling. Beth knew if she gave vent to any, all would spill out, and she could not let herself give in to it. Duncan was right. Cool heads would prevail here, not hot blood.

Louis stepped back, though the suspicion did not leave his face entirely. Quickly they hurried inside.
Louis bolted the door closed once more, then turned and
regarded the three in the dim light of his tiny home.

“You cannot stay,” he informed them, not realizing that only Beth understood him.

“We want but an hour or two here,” Beth assured him. “Perhaps even less.”

There was a time for trust and a time for secrecy, but Beth knew that risks had to be taken if her father was to be freed. She had to trust this man, though she did not feel comfortable doing so.

“What we need is information.” It was a handy word
to cover a myriad of things. She had no idea what it was
they needed, beyond a miracle. “There is someone in the Bastille, someone we must free.”

“You?” Louis looked at the men with her, and then at
Beth once more. “We’d likely see the Second Coming before you three could manage to free someone from those jaws of death. If he or she is in the Bastille, then they are as good as dead now.”

He turned from them and went to poke at the fire that did not seem to want to rise. Even on such a hot day, he wanted to keep a fire going. It was the only thing he had to keep the demons at bay.

Embers glowed and hissed at him, as if angered by the poker’s disturbance.

“We want to save Philippe Beaulieu,” she said to the
man’s back.

The poker fell. A moment later, Louis turned around again. He squinted at her face. “I thought you had the look about you.”

“He is my father.” Beth grasped Louis’s hand, imploring the man now. “Please, if there is some way we could get in—“

But Louis shook his head, genuinely sorry now. “No, none. For that, you would need someone great on your side. Perhaps even the sword of Lafayette himself.”

The name of the ex-patriot had her eyes widening.
“Lafayette?” she repeated. “Is he here? Is he in Paris somewhere?” A shred of hope began to grow.

Louis shook his head. “No.”

Beth fought to keep from throwing something in utter
frustration.

“What’s the matter, Beth?” Duncan took her arm. “What is he saying?”

“I thought we had found a way out.” Beth suddenly felt drained to the core. Louis looked at her, confused by the fact that she was speaking another language. “They are English,” she explained wearily, in French. “Here to help me rescue my father.” Which is becoming less and less of a possibility . ..

“Lafayette is not here,” Louis repeated, eager to correct the misunderstanding. “But he is close by. He is camped on the outskirts of the city, perhaps a half day’s ride from here. Rumors have it,” Louis qualified.

Beth didn’t understand. “Why would he be camped beyond the city?”

Louis spread his hands as he lifted his shoulders.
“Where else would the new Commander of the National
Guard be? It is said he is coming to guard the city. Though whether he comes to guard us from them or them from us, I fear I do not know.”

“Dear God,” Beth whispered.

Duncan saw all the color wash out of Beth’s face. He grabbed her, prepared to break her fall, should she collapse. She had the look of one about to faint.

“What?” Duncan demanded, frustrated that he couldn’t follow what was being said. “You look as if you’ve seen an apparition.”

“Almost.” Her mouth felt dry, and she tried to lick her lips. There was no way to describe how she felt. “He’s on the other side.” She looked at Duncan, trying
to make him understand the import of her words. “La
fayette is with the mob.”

There was something in her voice that caught his attention. “You speak as if you know him.”

“I do. I did,” she corrected. She began to roam about the tiny table, trying to organize thoughts that were completely scattered, like leaves in the wind. “I met him once, as a child.”

She turned on her heel and looked at Duncan. This had to be their key to her father’s cell. There was no other available.

“The important thing is that he fought beside my fa
ther in the Revolution.” She stared into the embers that
wouldn’t catch hold. “It would seem that he developed a taste for battle and wished for more.” She raised her eyes suddenly to Duncan. “We have to go to him. I
have to talk to him. He’s our only hope. If he allows my
father to go free—“

But Duncan was far more of a realist than Beth. “Why would he do that?”

“Because he is a decent man.” She said the words fiercely, as if to convince herself as well as Duncan. “Or was.” Helpless, she lifted her shoulders and let them fall again. “Because I can think of nothing else and as you said, we cannot fight our way in.” She shut her eyes to squeeze back tears.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Beth turned toward Louis. “Can you help us find him?”

Louis shrank into the shadows, as if hoping they would somehow blot him out from her view. “I am only an old man—“

Incensed, Beth grasped the frayed ends of his vest, holding him fast.

“I need you to help me save another man, a man you
know to be good and kind and decent. Tell me all you know about Lafayette and where he is camped.” Beth’s voice grew in agitation, if not in volume. “Tell me exactly, or tell me where to find someone who knows.”

They had no time to ride about, scouring the countryside. Every minute was vital now.

For a brief moment, Louis hesitated, torn between his desire to help and his desire to live out the remainder of his days untroubled by either side.

After a moment, he fell back and opened the door to the tiny room in the rear.

A horrible stench rose from the room. There was but one window and precious little light within the room. And death had come to hover there as well.

On a pallet lay a young man, no more than twenty or so. His right leg had been removed at the knee. The bandages about his stump were old and filthy. He looked at the people in the doorway with the eyes of bitterness.

“Take them away, old man,” he cried, rancor in every syllable.

Louis left the door open, though his heart seem to shrivel in his chest to do so.

“My grandson Marcus was a soldier with Lafayette. They sent him home a week ago. He is not expected to live.” The words came heavily. Louis could not bring himself to look at the bandaged limb. ‘The gangrene has spread too far.”

Beth could tell by the smell rising from the limb that Louis was right. Though her heart grieved to see such suffering, there was nothing she could do for Marcus. Curbing her sorrow, she forced herself to enter the airless room. She waved for Duncan and Jacob to remain outside with Louis.

“I need to see Lafayette,” she told Marcus softly. “I have urgent business with him.”

Marcus shifted the body that was all but shriveled now on the filthy pallet.

“Are you his whore?” he spat out.

She didn’t take offense. It was bitterness at life’s cruelty that made him say the words.

“No, that is not my business with him. He knows my
father, and I am looking for him,” she fabricated. She had no idea if the boy was secretly loyal to the Crown
or to Robespierre, or to no one. “I need to find where
Lafayette is camped.”

It made no difference to Marcus whether she did or not. If he did not answer, she would continue to plague
him with questions and noise. So he told her. “The encampment is fifteen miles southwest of Paris. He was to
leave for Paris tomorrow.”

Marcus turned his face to the wall. “God willing, it will all burn down to the ground soon, and me with it,” he whispered to himself.

But Beth heard.

She backed away and slowly closed the door. Beth looked at the old man. There were tears shining in the small eyes. “Godspeed, sir.” She shook Louis’s hand. “And thank you.”

“For what?” Louis asked, his lip curling in a cynical sneer. “I’ve undoubtedly sent you to your deaths, only faster than you could get there yourselves.”

But Beth did not hear. The old man and his grandson had lost all their hope, but she hadn’t.

She grasped Duncan’s hand. “I know where Lafayette is. We have to hurry.”

They left the hovel quickly and rode from the city as fast as they were able.

Chapter Thirty-five

The camp was not located where Marcus had said it would be. Rather than fifteen, it was more than twenty miles from the city outskirts.

Beth had begun to despair in her heart that they would never find Lafayette’s camp. But then, just as Duncan was about to suggest that they turn back, they saw it, a huge encampment located just beyond a ridge, far closer to Versailles than to Paris.

The soldiers’ tents were scattered about in the distance like so many lily pads upon the water. But unlike the green pads, what thrived within the tents was deadly.

“Thank God,” Beth murmured. “I was beginning to give up hope.”

She was about to give her horse its rein, but Duncan caught them in his hand, forcing her to remain where she was. Beth looked at him quizzically.

The thought of entering a camp with so many armed men gave Duncan pause.

“Beth, are you sure about this?”

They’d come so far to see Lafayette. How could Duncan possibly question her like this now? “Yes, I’m sure. ’Tis the only way.”

Still he kept the reins in his hand, hesitating because
he feared for her safety. “But you yourself said that La
fayette is now on a different side. He’s on the side of the rebellion.”