Vintage Love (67 page)

“Why can’t the good priest bring him here on his own?” Enid wondered.

“He does not know about us,” the midget said sourly. “We have to try to keep every stage of our plans carefully separate. That has proved to be our best method in the past.”

Kemble studied the scrap of paper Renaud had given him. “Thirteen Rue St. Anne,” he murmured. “What sort of place is it?”

“It was a monastery,” the French agent replied. “It’s nothing now. You know the Assembly had turned against the clergy, who must submit to civil authority. The fact is, it has turned against all rule and order, and as a result, France has been set on its head. I doubt if we shall ever see things righted again.”

“I shall never live with it,” Ramon said sadly. “When the time comes, I shall go to Spain.”

“Are we to set out at once to meet this priest?” Kemble asked.

Renaud nodded. “He will be waiting for you at the monastery. If he should be out, it will not be for long, and you should wait for him.”

“And will the boy be with him?” Enid asked.

“Either at his side or well hidden somewhere in the building. So much rests on the saving of that poor lad. He will one day be the hope of France.”

Kemble sighed. “I think it might be well if the lady remained here in your safekeeping. I can manage the meeting with Father Braun on my own.”

“I cannot approve,” Renaud said. “Sir Harry’s orders are that you both should go.”

“And we do not disobey Sir Harry,” Renaud added, lighting his pipe again.

• • •

They wore identical gray cloaks, the only difference being that Enid had pulled her hood over her head to hide her hair. Kemble had been in an extremely cautious frame of mind before they left the house. He had buckled on his sword, borrowed one from the man at headquarters, and made her secure it on a belt tied around her waist. She had thought the precautions overdone, since they were only to meet with a priest, but she had not argued with him.

Now they moved slowly through the narrow, unfamiliar streets. This section of Paris was clearly a working-class area, judging by the rundown houses and the occasional, poorly clothed night denizens they passed along the way. Kemble had insisted that she keep close to him, and he held her arm in a grip that threatened to crush it.

“Shouldn’t we be there by now?” she asked in a low voice.

“The end of this street and to the right, if the midget’s directions were correct. Never can be sure, since he’s a malicious little beast!”

“I rather liked him.”

“You have strange tastes in people,” Kemble grumbled.

“I suppose that is why I shared your bed for a while,” she flared.

“Those were happier days. How I wish I were on the boards of Drury Lane right now—anywhere but in this unholy city!”

“You sought adventure, don’t you remember?”

He would have answered her but for his catching sight of some sort of torch parade moving up the street toward them. Perhaps twenty or thirty torches were borne aloft by as many people. As the crowd drew nearer, an angry roar could be heard rising into the dark night.

“Stand close to the wall!” Kemble said quickly.

Enid pressed herself against the wooden frame of an old house, and Kemble did the same, just in time. The torchbearers were joined by stragglers and curious onlookers. There was much cursing and loud shouting. Now Enid could see the two pitiful creatures whom the crowd was goading on. A man and a woman, with noble features now haggard, were shackled together, their once rich clothing a tattered collection of rags.

“Down with the nobility!” an ancient crone shouted, and jabbed at the man with a stick. Her prodding caused the couple to stagger to one side.

“Stinking aristocrats!” a man on the edge of the crowd cried hoarsely.

“Liberty, fraternity, equality!” Someone clamored shrilly for justice while at the same time taking part in the humiliating spectacle.

The mob came abreast of Enid and Kemble, and they scarcely dared breathe. And old man with toothless gums smiled at Enid in passing and said, “These were owners of a fine chateau, and now they are nothing!”

“Within an hour they won’t even have their heads,” a woman guffawed, and there was general laughter at this sally.

The procession moved slowly on, with a cripple on crutches and some yapping mongrel dogs bringing up the rear. Enid and Kemble waited until the eerie torchlight was well past them before they emerged into the street again.

“Poor souls!” Enid murmured as they resumed walking.

“Wouldn’t want to be in their places,” Kemble agreed.

“I keep worrying about Armand, and how it is with him.”

“Don’t harp on the man who stole you from me. And don’t expect me to worry about him as you do.”

She gave him a shocked look. “I vow you hope he won’t escape alive!”

“What I hope has nothing to do with his fate.”

“But you wouldn’t care, would you?”

“I have never wept over the loss of a rival,” Kemble acknowledged.

“What are we doing quarreling this way?” she cried with despair.

“It was you who brought the matter up!” he reminded her.

“Only because we saw such misery at close range.”

“I have a notion we shall see more before we finish.”

They had come to the end of the street. “This must be where we turn,” Enid said.

“That is what the accursed Ramon said, though who knows for sure?”

“Don’t confuse the directions and blame that poor little creature, for heaven’s sake!”

“That poor little creature is a professional in a game in which we are mere amateurs,” Kemble said savagely. “I’ll warrant he has killed many times his weight in men.”

She halted. “Listen!”

“What is it?”

“I hear someone running toward us!”

“So do I. Quick, backs to the wall again! Better that we be unobserved!”

They repeated their former actions. The footsteps came closer. Out of the darkness ahead emerged the shadowy figure of a man being pursued swiftly, and behind him raced two others with their swords drawn. The man ran straight toward where Enid and Kemble stood in the shadows.

All at once he stumbled and fell only a yard or two away. The swordsmen approached him, and it was then that Kemble let out a roar of outrage and ran forward, his sword drawn and ready. Enid felt a burst of admiration for the melancholy actor who had so suddenly been transformed into a man of action.

He stood over the fallen man, defending him with vigorous parries. She knew his efforts could not last very long, for he was neither that skilled a swordsman nor in perfect physical condition. With one swift motion she had drawn her own sword and leaped into the fray.

It became a vicious double battle, swords clashing, angry oaths filling the air, and the four fencers dancing back and forth around the fallen man. Enid dropped to one knee as her adversary almost overcame her, but she managed to struggle into a better position again. She could not tell anything about the size or facial appearance of her opponent, but she knew he was a skilled fencer.

As she parried blades with him, she waited for the right moment and then made a lucky lunge. Her weapon found its mark and he staggered back, clutching his ribs with a loud cry of pain. His partner, who was deftly outmaneuvering Kemble, whirled around and ran to his side.

Enid tried to make another strike, but the two swordsmen were now retreating. She heard them exchange a few words, and in the next instant they had turned and run off into the same direction from which they had come.

“Don’t follow them!” Kemble warned her. “They will lay wait to ambush us from some doorway.”

She stood staring after them regretfully. “You are probably right, though I hate to see them get away.”

“And so do I, madam,” said a pleasant voice with a slight accent.

She turned and saw that the man who had been lying on the cobblestones was now on his feet. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“I have sustained a flesh wound in my left arm and some loss of blood,” he told her. “I apologize for placing you both in such danger. And the gentleman is right. It would be wrong to try to follow them. They will be waiting for you and will strike before you can defend yourself.”

“An old trick,” Kemble muttered. “Why were you so easy a victim for them?”

“I was unarmed,” the man explained. “I never carry weapons. I count on my vocation to give me protection.”

“Your vocation wouldn’t have helped if we hadn’t shown up,” Kemble observed.

Enid was immediately alerted. “May I ask what your vocation is?”

“I am a priest, madam,” he replied.

“Is your church near here?”

“The monastery I belong to is. Alas, I am its only occupant at this time. The others have fled. Even men called to serve God are turning into insane beasts in this holocaust!”

“You are Father Braun, are you not?”

“You know my name!” he gasped in astonishment. “And you are English!”

“Sent to meet you,” Kemble told him solemnly. “We were on our way to the monastery when we came upon you. Or rather, when you came staggering toward us.”

“Come with me,” the priest said at once. “Those men could return. Esmond’s agents are everywhere.”

“Did they belong to Esmond?” she asked as they moved quickly along the street.

“Yes. And he is the vilest of all our enemies.”

“We know a good deal about him, too,” Kemble said.

The priest halted. “Here, this is the monastery.”

He led them into a gray stone building. To the left of the entry was a chapel, which he entered and then motioned them to follow him. After he found a candle and lit it, he made his devotions before the altar. For the first time Enid saw his face, the same ruddy, pleasant-looking face as that in the sketch Sir Harry had shown them. There was no question that this man, with his blue eyes and gray hair, was Father Braun.

When the priest had finished his prayers, she said, “Sir Harry showed us a drawing of you. I am quite satisfied.”

He nodded. “And I have no doubts about you two, either. Naturally, I was informed of your coming.”

“It’s lucky we arrived when we did,” Kemble put in.

“Thank the Lord for your timely appearance. I had been out for a little while, and I found the two men waiting for me with drawn swords when I returned. With no one here to come to my aid, I could do nothing but flee into the street.”

“What about the lad, the Dauphin?” Kemble wanted to know.

“He is safe below, in one of the dungeons,” Father Braun said. “We have underground cells for those wanting to offer contritions. That seemed the safest refuge, so I put him down there.”

“Let us go to him now,” Kemble urged.

Father Braun’s expression turned solemn. “You understand that this is a moment which will be recorded in history.”

“I hope so,” Kemble said fervently. “There are times when I fear our only mention will be in the list of the dead.”

“We are honored to have this responsibility,” the priest continued. “Remember, not only are the French people determined to kill off the royal family, but the Prussians and Austrians are aware that an exchange was made, and that the Dauphin is free and about to be delivered to England’s representatives. They are scouring this city for the lad.”

“Does Esmond know he was released and is here?”

“Why else would his men be loitering about and trying to kill me? It has not been voiced abroad that a deaf mute has replaced Louis Charles in his prison cell, but you may be sure the head of the French secret service knows it.”

“I think he must,” Enid agreed.

“Well, let us get on with it,” Kemble said impatiently.

“This way.” Father Braun picked up the tall white candle and led them out of the chapel and across the passage to a great oaken door. He removed the heavy latch, and they proceeded down a narrow corridor that gave way to a winding staircase.

“Careful,” he warned them. “The ceiling lowers here, and the last few steps are broken off.”

Enid and Kemble followed the priest along another tunnel-like corridor that had a slight curve to it. The priest was well ahead of them, and the flame of the candle cast a flickering, eerie light along the gray stone walls and ceiling. Enid felt her nerves grow more taut as they neared their destination. As Father Braun had said, this could be an important moment in history.

The priest halted and then gave a loud gasp. The door before which he was standing was partially open, and the small room beyond it was empty of life.

He turned to them in a grave state of agitation. “He is gone! The Dauphin is gone!”

“What are you saying?” Kemble demanded.

The priest turned back to stare blankly into the cell. “The boy has vanished. It is evident that while I was away for a short time, they found him—despite my bringing him down here and securely locking the door!”

Kemble pointed to the stone floor. “That is what remains of your lock!”

“Broken!” Father Braun advanced into the tiny cubicle and carefully examined it. He bent down by the cot and picked up a richly illustrated volume of animal studies. “Here is the book I left with him. You see the candle by which he read is still burning.”

“They cannot have taken him very long ago,” Enid murmured, trying to inject some hope into her voice.

“Now I think I understand,” Father Braun said. “They came and took the lad and left those two behind to finish me off. Fortunately, you arrived in time to save me.”

“Had we been earlier, we might have saved the Dauphin as well,” Enid lamented.

“What now?” Kemble asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” Father Braun shook his head. “This is a most disastrous turn of events.”

“Our mission is now pointless,” Enid fretted. “What do you think the chances are of getting him back?”

“With Louis Esmond as his captor, almost none,” the priest replied bitterly. “He will probably be brought back to the prison from which he was originally taken, or they may put him in some other prison. In the end he will be executed with the rest of the royal family.”

Kemble threw up his hands in despair. “And England will have no ace to play when the revolution fails. There will be no soverign available to put on the French throne.”