Vintage Love (69 page)

“It does. And what about you?”

“We are not so well off. Thus far our mission has failed.”

“Bad news for Sir Harry,” Giraud said, shaking his unruly mane. “And he is someone who dislikes such news.”

“You’ll enjoy passing it on to him,” Ramon shrilled. “You like to see us all in trouble. You work with us because it suits you, but secretly you despise us!”

“What a mindreader you are!” the count exclaimed with mock incredulity. “Talent like yours ought to be on the stage!”

“Mr. Kemble is the play actor, and doing very badly in this new endeavor, I might add.” A sly smile crossed Ramon’s pixie face.

“Well, I have important things to attend to, so I shall bid you adieu. And I trust we may all meet again!”

Enid smiled. “We shall not soon forget our journey with you.”

“My body still aches,” Kemble complained.

“I’m hardened to it,” Pierre laughed. “I make the trip constantly.”

Renaud saw him out, and the threesome returned to studying the map for a while longer. Then both Ramon and Renaud went out to do their daily shopping. They explained that while they were engaged in this task, they would also contact another agent. The network was most complex.

Enid and Kemble were left behind to languish in their drab lodgings, and they moved to the parlor. She occupied herself by reading the illustrated book with Louis Charles’s name proudly inscribed on the flyleaf. Kemble paced about like a caged lion and occasionally peered out the sides of the shuttered front windows. He had brought the map of Paris with him from the kitchen, but cast it restlessly aside on a small gateleg table.

“I wonder how things are back in London. I trust my sister is not ruining my company of actors.”

Enid smiled at him. “She is a very popular actress, isn’t she?”

“Yes, but she is mean,” he said, frowning. “She has been like that from the time she was growing up.”

“Such things are often a matter of personality and are not easy to change.”

“I have always received a great deal of loyalty from my performers,” Kemble went on, “and I’m concerned that while I’m away she will lose some of them because of her unwillingness to pay a fair wage.”

Enid closed the book and put it aside. “In that case, they will rejoin the company when you return.”

“I suppose so,” he said gloomily.

“You wanted to do this,” she reminded him. “It was you and your friend Sir Harry who talked me into it.”

He shrugged. “You were in danger in London anyway.”

“I’m probably in more danger here.”

He stared at her. “Have you thought of Andrew at all?” he asked suddenly. “I mean, since you left London.”

She smiled ruefully. “He is never entirely out of my mind. I will be able to forget him only when I’m free of him.”

“Your father’s lawyers are still attending to that, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but with small success, I fear.”

“He tried to put you in a most compromising situation at Mother Mag’s so that he could claim you were immoral and fight the annulment on those grounds.”

“Happily, that attempt failed.”

“And with you over here, he can’t invent any other tricks. You know, it is strange to think that you first saw Paris when you were here with him on your honeymoon.”

“It was a different Paris then, and a different kind of honeymoon,” she reflected. “I really saw only the vicomte’s chateau and stately gardens, and my honeymoon was a complete mockery.”

“We could have become famous for rescuing the Dauphin,” Kemble complained abruptly, returning to his favorite subject once more. “Now we have lost our chance.”

“I have more faith in Father Braun than you have,” she chided.

Kemble made no reply to this, but he resumed his nervous pacing.

A few minutes later they were joined by a visitor—none other than the man about whom they had just been speaking. Father Braun knocked on the door and announced himself. Kemble let him in and brought him into the parlor.

As soon as Enid saw him, she asked the all-important question: “What have you found out?”

The priest seemed in a better mood today. He was relaxed and smiling. “It was Esmond and his men who broke into the monastery and abducted the Dauphin.”

“We guessed that last night,” Kemble said impatiently.

Father Braun nodded. “You are right. We guessed it, but we did not know it for a certainty. Now I do, so that is a step forward. Also, the fact that Esmond himself is back in Paris is most significant with regard to the fate of the prince.”

“What else have you learned?” Enid pressed.

“Esmond did not take the boy to prison. Instead, he brought him to the stone mansion that formerly belonged to a nobleman and is now Esmond’s own headquarters. The prince is locked up in a room in the cellar.”

“I trust he’ll be safer there than he was in your cellar,” Kemble remarked sardonically.

“The chances are that he is more securely guarded,” the priest replied, showing no anger at Kemble’s offensive tone.

“Do go on,” Enid begged.

“There is some other interesting information,” the cleric said, “that gives us a new picture of things.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“The exchange of the mute child for the Dauphin has been kept a state secret. Few know about it. The revolutionist faction does not wish to give any heart to the Royalists still at large, so nothing has been said. Esmond, naturally, is a party to the secret.”

“He had to be, to come to your monastery and seize the lad,” Kemble grumbled.

Father Braun did not argue the point. “But what I didn’t know is that he has not so much as whispered the identity of the boy to any of his underlings. To them the boy is simply the son of a nobleman, whom the monks attempted to hide.”

Enid was puzzled. “What is Esmond’s purpose in this? I would expect they’d guard the lad more zealously if they knew he was the Dauphin.”

Father Braun’s smile held no mirth. “You miss the point, my dear. Esmond is ambitious. He is not content merely to be the head of the secret police—he wants to experience the joy of becoming one of the leaders of the Jacobins.”

“Another Robespierre,” Kemble suggested.

“Exactly,” the priest agreed. “So he is keeping the identity of his prisoner from the others. He hopes to use the Dauphin in order to bargain for power. The prince, therefore, is not truly a captive of the revolutionists but is the personal captive of Esmond’s.”

“What does this mean to us?” Enid wondered.

“It might make it easier for us to rescue the lad.”

“Then why don’t we move at once?” Kemble demanded with his usual impatience.

The cleric’s pleasant face wore a reproving look as he replied, “Because, my good man, we cannot just storm the place like children at play. Esmond would call on the military and decimate us to minute shreds.” He paused. “And that cannot happen. What we must do is devise a workable strategy. We must either find someone we can bribe from within or design a plan for a small, quiet attack on the fortress. It will take a few more days to decide which is the more practical.”

Kemble frowned. “More waiting?”

“I’m afraid so,” Father Braun sighed. “You must learn to be patient, sir. I fear that is a quality you have too long ignored. I have had to wait my opportunity in silence many times. I did so while I waited for you and Lady Blair to arrive.”

“You probably ought to have brought the prince to Calais on your own instead of waiting for us,” Kemble said.

“I was on the point of doing just that when you appeared,” the priest explained. “I’d only had the boy a few weeks and dared not make another move for a while. Then he was taken from us.”

“Is there nothing we can do to be useful in the meanwhile?” Enid asked.

“Very little. You might try to acquaint yourselves with the location of Esmond’s headquarters. I see you have a map on the table there. I will show you where the nobleman’s mansion is.”

He moved to the table, bent over the map, and pointed to an area on the other side of the Seine. Then, having imparted all the information he had, he gathered his cloak around him and left the lodging house.

Not too long afterward the man wearing a woman’s shabby dress and the midget pretending to be a child returned. The man carried a shopping basket and the midget clutched a tiny wool toy in his hand, which he tossed away in disgust as soon as they were safely in the house. He then took up his clay pipe and proceeded to light it.

Renaud began to remove the produce he had bought, lamenting, “Every day food costs more and becomes more scarce!”

Ramon puffed on his pipe and shrilled, “I hear some people are eating rats and finding them quite delectable!”

Kemble looked appalled. His face turned a dull purple, then an ash gray. “We shall have none of that fare here!”

“I thought rats were a popular English dish,” Ramon goaded.

Enid stepped between them and turned on an enraged Kemble. “You know he is teasing you, trying to upset you! He is only poking fun at you!”

“That is not my idea of a joke!” Kemble stormed.

“Don’t worry,” Renaud reassured him, untying the bonnet perched atop his head. “We haven’t stooped to eating rats yet.”

“Did you talk to the agent in the market?” Enid asked.

“Yes,” Renaud said. “The big news is that some captured nobles have escaped. A dozen or more of them tunneled their way out of a prison on the fringes of Paris.”

“Did they get away safely?”

“We don’t know yet. At least the poor souls are no longer in a dark cell awaiting the hangman.”

She turned to Kemble with a hopeful expression on her lovely face. “Perhaps Armand was among them!”

“Why should you think that?” Kemble wondered.

“Pierre said he might have been moved closer to Paris.”

“That means nothing,” Kemble scoffed. “There are dozens of prisons in and about Paris. What makes you believe he would be in that particular one?”

“I don’t know,” she replied truthfully. “Perhaps it’s just a feeling I have.”

Kemble addressed Renaud. “Am I not right? There are that many prisons, I’m sure.”

Renaud nodded. “But fate plays strange tricks. It may be that Madam’s friend is among those who escaped. Let us hope so.”

“Thank you.” Enid flashed him a smile. “Oh—I nearly forgot! Father Braun was here!”

“Why didn’t you tell us before?” Ramon cried. “What was his news?”

She told them what the priest had said, and finished with, “So it seems we must go on waiting.”

“I know the headquarters,” Renaud said grimly. “It is also used as a torture chamber. Many have died there.”

“It’s no easy place to get into,” the midget observed as he puffed on his pipe.

“We watched a half-dozen heads roll after we left the market,” Renaud remarked, sinking into a nearby chair. “It is a most unnerving experience, even for us who have endured so much.”

“The people love the show!” Ramon shrilled. “They come hours in advance to get good seats. The women even bring their knitting and their handiwork! It’s a disgrace to the nation, but they love to see the keen blade drop and the heads fall.”

“Robespierre was there with some other bigwigs,” Renaud added.

“What is he like?” Enid asked.

“He’s the worst of the monsters.”

Ramon let out a devilish cackle of laughter. “He’s not much larger than I, and not nearly as successful with the ladies!”

Renaud gave him a look of disgust. “Ramon, you tire me!” Then, to Enid and Kemble, “It is not often you find so cunning a man as Maximilien Robespierre. He is close to the top of the party council at the moment. He is also a small man and a bachelor.”

“How old is he?” Enid inquired.

“Mid-thirties, more or less. He has neat, catlike features and hair that is always well combed and powdered, and his linen is spotless. He is shortsighted and wears reading glasses. And he hates the church, though he professed to believe in a supreme being. Robespierre is mostly to blame for the persecution of nuns and priests. He hates them. And though he is a bachelor, he claims that all priests should be made to marry.”

“He’s shifty, that Robespierre!” the midget put in. “Never able to look you in the eye!”

“He knows how to manage the masses,” Renaud said with contempt. “But one day they will turn on him, and then he will suffer the same fate as other tyrants have before him. We shall look forward to that day.”

• • •

That evening Kemble became most obstinate in his desire to get away from the house. Enid pleaded with him not to leave, saying that important information could arrive at any time.

“You can take whatever message comes in,” he said.

“But I can make no move without you,” she protested.

“I’ll stay out only a short while. Just enough to get some air and exercise. I’m not used to being cooped up like this.”

“The streets are unsafe at night,” Renaud warned him, “especially for a lone man who does not know Paris that well.”

“Then you come with me,” Kemble challenged him. “Who would attack a man with an elderly lady at his side?”

Renaud frowned. “You mean to go out whether I accompany you or not?”

“Yes.” The actor was clearly disgruntled.

“Then I had best go with you. The lady can remain here for messages. Ramon will guard her.”

The little man gave Enid one of his leering smiles. “I will even comfort her if she wishes.”

“None of that!” Renaud admonished him angrily. “A word to Sir Harry and he’d soon take your rattle away!”

“I was only having a joke,” Ramon said sullenly, and walked away.

Kemble glared after him. “I could do without him and his jokes!”

Renaud shrugged. “He is a good agent. He serves a purpose … Where shall we go?”

“Let us walk toward Esmond’s headquarters and study the streets around it,” Kemble suggested. “Then I’ll feel I’m putting my time to something useful.”

“Very well,” Renaud agreed.

“Don’t stay away too long,” Enid pleaded. “I don’t enjoy the prospect of being here alone, even with Ramon.”

“It will be all right,” Kemble assured her.

But she knew his assurance was based on his impatience to be off, and therefore didn’t count for much.