Storm Winds (64 page)

“I’m frightened,” Catherine whispered as she drew closer to François. The fire had gone out in the porcelain stove and the room looked cold and dreary in the pale morning light. “I didn’t think I’d be afraid, but I am. So many things could go wrong.”

“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” François said as he tucked the covers around her. “We’ve planned everything down to the last detail. The boy will be freed.”

“You and Juliette made plans before and the queen still died.”

“We were betrayed. It will be different this time.”

“I hope so.” She closed her eyes and moved still nearer into the security of his arms. “I pray it will.”

Dupree shivered as he pushed the coverlet aside and swung his feet to the floor. As always, he was bathed in sweat from the fever that attacked him every night. He knew he was growing weaker with every passing day.

He wondered if he was slowly dying.

No, he couldn’t die. Death would mean he could never be near his mother again. He had only to get through today and all would be well. He had realized he hadn’t the strength for extensive or elaborate schemes and had planned everything to explode in one splendid burst of violence and consummate vengeance. Mother would be pleased with him, the Comte de Provence would be pleased with him.

And Juliette de Clement, and Jean Marc Andreas, and the queen’s whelp would be vanquished … forever.

“Jean Marc is being very generous,” Nana said. “The money will help us free many prisoners. I somehow didn’t expect him to remain involved after the boy was freed.”

“Jean Marc seldom does what one expects him to do, and he’s not nearly as hard as people think.” Juliette rummaged through the basket of fans she’d set on the table. “I’ve brought you a gift.” She handed Nana the white lace fan on which she’d painted the Pegasus. Her eyes twinkled as she unfurled it with a flourish. “I thought it only proper you should have the best fan I’ve ever made, since it was you who taught me the art.”

“It’s lovely.” Nana took the fan and wafted it gently back and forth before her face. “But it’s much too fine for me. I certainly can’t use it here at the Café du Chat.”

“A gift doesn’t always have to be used, but only brought out now and then as a remembrance. I thoroughly approve of gifts.” Juliette reached across the table to clasp Nana’s hand affectionately. “And I just wanted to give you something as a farewell present. You’ve been a good friend to me during this last year.” Her face became shadowed. “It hasn’t been a happy time for either of us, has it? The queen …” She smiled with an effort “Jean Marc and I are leaving France tonight I hope we won’t be gone forever, but who knows what life will bring?”

Nana looked down at Juliette’s hand gripping her own. “Yes, it’s best that you leave Paris.” She squeezed Juliette’s hand and quickly released it. “And I thank you for the fan. You’d better go now. We all have things to do today.”

Nana actually looked shaken, Juliette thought with sudden anxiety. How strange, when she was usually fully in control of herself and any situation. “You are quite right, I must return to the Place Royale.” She pushed her chair back and stood up. “You’re a brave woman, Nana, and I admire you very much.
Au revoir.”
She started to turn away.

“Juliette!”

She glanced back at Nana and saw again that uncharacteristic expression of nervousness. “Yes?”

Nana gazed at her a moment and then shook her head. “Nothing. I just wanted to say I admire you, too … very much.” Nana met her gaze. “I hope all goes well for you.” She looked down at the silk fan. “And … be careful.”

Juliette nodded, then made her way out of the café. While she’d been inside the sun had disappeared and fog had descended on the city.

Her hired carriage waited at the curb a few yards down the street, but the coachman was nowhere to be seen. Puzzled, she stopped short. She shrugged and crossed the short distance to the door of the coach. Many cafés lined the Pont Neuf, and it was likely the coachman had only stepped inside one of them to refresh himself.

She opened the door of the carriage.

“Bonjour
, Citizeness.”

At first she didn’t recognize the man sitting on the seat of the carriage. The entire left side of his jawbone was crushed inward and his nose smashed and twisted until it bore little resemblance to the original orifice.

Then his pouty lips smiled with catlike pleasure and she knew who he was.

“Dupree,” she whispered.

“Certainly. And, of course, you do remember my old friend Pirard from the abbey? He’s standing right behind you.”

She started to turn her head.

Blinding pain crashed through her left temple.

Jean Marc opened the envelope, drew out the paper, and read the note.

He paled as panic engulfed him.

“Monsieur Andreas?” Robert gazed at Jean Marc in concern. “Is all well?”

“No.” Jean Marc’s voice was hoarse. “I’ll need a carriage.” His hand clenched, crushing the note. “Immediately.”

“Splendid, Andreas. You were very prompt.” Dupree’s gaze fastened eagerly on the oak chest Jean Marc carried. “You can put the chest down there by the bed. You won’t mind if I make sure the Wind Dancer is inside, will you?”

“Where is she?” Jean Marc strode into the room, kicked the door shut with his boot, and dropped the chest on the floor. “You said she’d be here.”

“She is here.” Dupree nodded to the armoire as he limped toward the chest. “A bargain is a bargain. I promised you the woman for the Wind Dancer, and there she is. Just open the door of the armoire.”

Jean Marc went rigid as he remembered the sight of Juliette’s mother in the chest in the casa at Andorra. “You promised she’d be alive, you bastard.”

“Perhaps she is alive.” Dupree smiled maliciously. “Why don’t you go and see?” He glanced casually into the dark interior of the chest as he lifted the lid. “Ah, those emerald eyes of the statue are quite magnificent, aren’t they?”

Jean Marc moved slowly toward the armoire, his stomach churning with fear.

Dupree closed the chest. “You don’t seem to be overeager to see your
petite amie.”

“If she’s dead, I’ll kill you.”

“You tried to kill me once.” Dupree sat down on the chair. “I admit that sometimes while I lay in pain all those months I wished you’d succeeded. Go on, open the door of the armoire. I want to see your face.”

Jean Marc drew a deep breath and opened the door.

Juliette lay bound and gagged, huddled up in one corner of the huge wardrobe. Her eyes were closed and her muscles lax. Dead?

“Juliette …”

Her lids slowly opened and she made a sound behind the gag.

Dizzying relief poured through Jean Marc. He lifted Juliette out of the armoire onto the floor and quickly jerked the gag down from her mouth. “For God’s sake, she can’t breathe, you
canaille.”

Dupree leaned back in the chair. “You may leave the gag off for a while if you like.”

Jean Marc’s hands trembled as he gently smoothed Juliette’s hair back from her face. “Did he hurt you?”

“My head …” Juliette’s voice shook. “He surprised me. We didn’t expect this, did we?”

“No.” Jean Marc glared over his shoulder at Dupree. “You have me and you have the Wind Dancer. Now let her go.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” Dupree said. “Not after I spent so much time planning the events of the day. Did you really think I’d let her go free to get in my way this afternoon?”

Jean Marc’s gaze shifted back to Juliette’s face. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you do. The queen’s whelp. You were going to try to take him from the Temple at six o’clock this evening. I shall arrive at the Simons’ quarters at five o’clock instead. Actually, you had quite an interesting plan, but I’ve improved on it. Shall I tell you how?”

Jean Marc didn’t answer.

“The armed guard to take the boy out of the Temple would never have worked. They would certainly have been challenged. I’ve arranged to have the boy taken out in a laundry cart driven by myself and I’ve made sure my old friend Pirard is at the gate to pass it through. Instead of the writ stating simply that the boy be removed from the Temple, I’ve substituted one that says the boy be drugged and given into my custody.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “That’s another fault with your plan. Citizeness Simon is a stubborn woman
and would have balked at giving Etchelet the child. But she’s always had a healthy fear of me and I expect no such problem. I shall even instruct her to give the boy the drink herself.”

“What drink?” Juliette asked.

“Why, one very similar to this.” He plucked a napkin off a goblet on the table beside him. “The one I’ve prepared especially for you, Andreas.”

“You can’t make him drink that,” Juliette said hoarsely.

“I believe I can.” Dupree struggled to his feet. Picking up the goblet in one hand and carrying the pistol in the other, he limped across the room toward them. “My mother was wrong. It seems Andreas is a man of sentiment. Of course I couldn’t be sure until he actually brought the Wind Dancer to ransom your life.”

He knelt beside them, carefully extending his bad leg to one side, and held out the goblet to Jean Marc. “Drink it.” He pressed the barrel of the pistol to Juliette’s head. “Or I’ll shoot and splatter her brains from here to kingdom come.”

Juliette inhaled sharply. “Don’t do it, Jean Marc. He’ll kill me anyway.”

“But not right away,” Dupree said. “I have a plan to school you in the same stimulating way I did your mother, the marquise.”

“Then kill me now.”

Dupree shook his head. “Think about it, Andreas. There are always possibilities. While she’s alive, she has a chance of being rescued. Etchelet might be able to save her from me. Or the potion I put in the goblet may be a drug and not a poison.” He smiled. “Of course, the chances of both are slim.”

“Don’t drink it.” Juliette pleaded, her gaze clinging to Jean Marc’s. “Please don’t drink it.”

“I have to drink it.” Jean Marc took the goblet and smiled into her eyes. “You see, the bastard’s right. I am a man of sentiment when it comes to you,
ma petite.”

“No,” she whispered.

“It will all come to the same thing. If I don’t drink it, he’ll shoot me.” He lifted the goblet. “And this will give you a chance.”

“I don’t want a chance. Not if it means—Don’t!”

He paused with the goblet at his lips and smiled lovingly at her. “It’s all right, Juliette. It’s only for a little while. Remember? Everything leads me to you. Even this.”

He drained the goblet.

“Jean Marc!”

His face contorted with agony and the goblet fell from his hand. Both hands clutched his throat. He tried to speak, but only a ghastly croak emerged. He slumped sidewise to the floor.

Juliette screamed and hurled herself across his body. “He’s dead. You’ve killed him!”

“I certainly hope so. That was the purpose.”

Tears ran down Juliette’s cheeks as she tried to creep nearer Jean Marc’s still body, hampered by the ropes that bound her. “Poison. It wasn’t a drug. It was a poison.”

“And very efficient too.” Dupree pocketed the pistol and pulled the gag back into her mouth. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t stay to mourn him, but I have business at the Temple.” He stood up and gazed at Jean Marc’s dark head cradled half against, half beneath Juliette’s breast. “What a touching picture. I really can’t bear to part the two of you by putting you back in the armoire.” He limped across the room and picked up the chest.

“I’ll return tomorrow after I take this lovely thing to my mother and we’ll get rid of Andreas and begin your lessons.”

Juliette’s shoulders shook with silent sobs as she huddled closer to Jean Marc’s body.

Dupree limped to the door, set the chest down until he opened it, and then struggled to pick it up again. “Good day, Citizeness. Until tomorrow.”

Louis Charles grabbed at his throat, his blue eyes pleading desperately as he tried to speak.

“What is it?” Madame Simon jerked the goblet away. “What is it, Charles?”

The little boy slumped to the floor.

“You said the drug wouldn’t hurt him.” Madame Simon whirled on Dupree. “You said it would just put him to sleep.” She sidled toward the fallen child.

Dupree stepped between her and the boy. “He is asleep.”

The woman tried to peer over Dupree’s shoulder at Louis Charles. “Then why is he so still?”

“He’s not hurt.” Curious bitch. Dupree moved around her and threw the sheet he carried over the boy’s body. “The drug works quickly.” He turned to the woman. “Roll the boy up in the sheet and then in another blanket and carry him down to the cart in the courtyard.”

She hesitated.

“Do it,” Dupree ordered. “Or do you want me to report to Citizen Robespierre that you’re not loyal to the republic.”

“Citizen Robespierre knows we’re loyal.” Madame Simon took a step closer to the shrouded body of the little boy. “Take the sheet off him. I want to see if he’s—”

“There’s no time. Are you going to stand there while even now Darrell may be on his way to rescue the boy?” He frowned. “Perhaps there’s a reason for your disobedience. Perhaps you’ve been bribed by Darrell to help the boy escape and don’t wish Citizen Robespierre to keep him safe for the republic.”

“No!” Madame Simon hurried forward and began to carefully roll the boy up in the sheet. “I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t hurt. It will take only a moment. I must make sure Charles can breathe through this sheet.”

“I have no objection to waiting … a moment,” Dupree said blandly, watching her throw the blanket over the limp body of the boy. “Citizen Robespierre would be most upset if you hurt the child.”

Dark had fallen by the time Dupree halted the laundry cart in the alley behind Robespierre’s lodgings
and the thick fog made the gardens, alcoves, and even the houses themselves barely visible for more than a few feet. He could hear the scampering of the rats in the garbage piled on the cobblestones but could catch only a faint glimpse of their eyes as they darted to escape the wheels of the cart.