Viridian (The Hundred-Days Series Book 2) (14 page)

“Oh, thank God.” His shoulders
fell. “How in the hell would you get on, in a carriage or a hallway, if the
lady were willing and the moment presented itself?” He groaned. “What a
nightmare.”

She couldn't help it; he'd given
her far too broad a target. “If
I
am ever willing, Tyler, I will give
you ample notice.”

He opened his mouth to say
something, and judging by a hint of color blushing his ears it was not his
usual retort. A door flying open behind him froze the words on his lips.

A mole-eyed young man, a clerk if
Ty's information were correct, glared at them from the doorway. Blinking twice
at the sight of her standing there with her hem nearly at her waist he barked,
“What is the noise? What in the hell are you two about up here?”

Ty turned, smoothly and slowly as
though he had every right to be 'up here'. “I am looking for Doctor
what's-his-name's office. He sold me a potion and it doesn't work.” Ty gestured
to her, at the fabric still bunched in her fist, and threw up his hands. “Look!
Look at her. And not a thing. See?”

Olivia preened at Ty's compliment,
bawdy as it was.

Thrusting forward, he tugged up on
the waistband of his pants. “Not a thing happening. No better than I was
before.”

The boy raked fingers through his
shock of brown hair, swallowing, looking more confused than suspicious. His
expression ran the gamut from bewildered to sympathetic. “Unfortunate. Unfortunate,”
he mumbled several times, while his brain seemed to weigh if he were truly
awake. Finally, he pointed to the stairs. “A floor below, monsieur. I wish you
luck, with your coin and your...affliction.”

Ty inhaled, ready to wrap up the
charade, but the door closed in haste.

She could not blame the boy. In his
place, she would have run for the hills well before their exchange was over.

Turning back, Ty winked and took up
their bag. “See what trouble your ridiculous undergarments have caused?”

She followed him to the stairs,
throwing a hooded glance over her shoulder as he let her pass. “Not as much as
they could have.”

CHAPTER TEN

They met the next afternoon in the
cellar of a tavern owned, indirectly, by Philipe. It was a regular meeting spot
for Whitehall and French resistance alike. Philipe maintained safe grounds for
agents without putting his name on the deed.

He was waiting when she and Ty
arrived at the back entrance. Grayfield, mercurial as ever, came last.

To say the tavern was
dank
would be an understatement. A warm orange glow of lamplight was muted by beads
of water dotting the cellar's smooth limestone walls. At least the smell was
pleasant. Damp oak kegs and a yeasty odor of good beer hung on the still air.
Olivia nestled deeper into her shawl against a chill, tracing the grooves of a
rough wooden tabletop and waiting for the men to finish conversing.

She tapped a foot against the
earthen floor, feeling each second drag by. It was important that Grayfield and
Philipe decode Talleyrand's letters, understand their intent and consequences.
It was her responsibility to follow whatever orders that produced. Until those
orders arrived, she had other places to be.

Glancing up, she found Ty's eyes on
her, watching from across the table. She stared back, waiting.

His expression, like his intensity,
went unchanged.

“Major,” she murmured under Ethan
and Philipe's rapid-fire exchange.

“Miss Fletcher,” answered Ty with
the barest hint of a smile.

She cocked her head. “What are you
so fixed upon?”

His brows raised. “Upon you, miss.”

She stared back with no idea what
to say. Was it flirtation, or was he teasing out of boredom? As quickly as
she'd caught his gaze, Ty turned his attention back to Ethan and Philipe,
leaving her more confused.

“We've verified that Talleyrand and
Fouche are not in collusion with each other.” Ty rested a finger atop one of
the letters. “But this also proves that Talleyrand is up to something. We
should take care with it, while we close in on Fouche.”

“We cannot spread ourselves too
thin, and we are already running to keep up with Fouche.” Ethan leaned back,
thoughtful a moment. “What do you propose?”

“Two birds with one stone,” she
interjected, suddenly feeling as though she could read Ty's thoughts.

Ty smiled in return. “Eliminate
both problems as we go. Save ourselves trouble at the end.”

Philipe nodded slowly. “You make an
excellent point. If we eliminate Fouche, who will inevitably take his place?
Talleyrand is a different shade of the same imperial cloth.”

Sitting forward, Ethan rested palms
on the table as though trying to impress some great point. “Listen to me very
carefully, all three of you. We toed a line with Osipova's letters, knowing the
Russians were behind her. We
overextended
recovering these documents
from Talleyrand. He too claims powerful alliances, including our own
government. However we approach this, it cannot result in crossfire.” He looked
from her, to Philipe, to Ty. “Britain, and Whitehall in particular, cannot
afford a diplomatic fracas. We're still mending the last one.”

Ty held up his hands.
“Surveillance. Nothing simpler. No covert entries, no interrupted
correspondence. For now, we watch.”

An opportunity to snare both
wolves. Holding her breath, Olivia watched the struggle play out on Grayfield's
face.

Ethan exhaled slowly, and nodded. “
Cautious
surveillance. I'll give approval to that much. Conditionally.”

Ty looked set to argue. “What
condition?”

“Elena Breunig,” Ethan bit back.

She'd known Ethan long enough to
grasp his meaning. They could observe Talleyrand but only in the course of
their regular assignment. No drawing more attention than necessary, nothing to
attract the woman's killer. And the moment that changed, they were done with
Maurice Talleyrand.

Philipe winced, tight lines drawing
up beneath his eyes. “We hadn't spoken in at least a year, but Elena was no
intrigue. As you said Olivia, agent of influence.”

Nodding, Ethan massaged his temple.
“Not much more than a politician. No intelligence more significant than a
letter home.”

A cold trickle of realization ran
down her spine. Whoever had executed Elena knew what she was, how to earn her
confidence. They had killed her for much less than what her own assignments
with Ty entailed.

Ty's eyes were on her, but his
words aimed at Grayfield. “I understand. Conditionally.” Reaching inside his
coat for the spectacles they'd found, he held them up for Ethan and Philipe to
inspect. “Any thoughts on the owner? Have you seen these before?”

Ethan took them first, staring then
closing his eyes. “Yes, and I can almost grasp where.” Then he exhaled, opening
his eyes again and passing the evidence to Philipe. “No idea, not right now.”

“Expensive,” remarked Philipe,
peering through an intact lens, testing an earpiece. “Well used. Look at how
the gold inlay is burnished.”

“But clean,” Ty agreed. “Well used
and meticulously cared for.”

“I do know of a man who wears such
frames. I cannot say that these belong to him, and I’ve not a clue what Elena
would be doing in his company.”

Her own eyes widened in imitation
of the others, eager for what Philipe had to say.

“Emil DuFresne.”

Ethan and Ty exchanged a stony
glance, and Ty nodded. “That is where we have seen them before.”

“What am I missing?” she asked.

“Last fall,” explained Ethan. “We
interrupted a deal between a Dutch merchant and DuFresne to purchase ships for
France's covert efforts. A woman was harmed in the process, and a good portion
of the lower London docks were charred.”

“I remember the fire,” mused
Olivia, “but I had no idea of the story behind it. Burning a building would fit
with Elena Breunig's killer, however.”

“It wasn't DuFresne.”

Ty's mumbling surprised her.
“Pardon?”

“It wasn't DuFresne who burned the
warehouse, if you must know.” He crossed arms over his chest, looking a touch
defensive.

“Well it wasn't me, either,” she
teased. “Not this time.”

Philipe passed the spectacles back
to Ty. “Then you already know the most important bits. DuFresne is a bureaucrat
on the fringes of importance. Useful, but unremarkable. He
is
one of the
longer running wolves in Napoleon's pack.”

“And it seems he's trying to raise
his stock.” She hesitated to force a connection, but Olivia felt there was
something they were missing, or something which had yet to be revealed.
“Association with Fouche?”

Philipe shook his head. “He's
shrewd enough to play all sides, same as Fouche and Talleyrand, but working
directly for one of them? Not that I've heard.”

“Three or four months is nothing to
a man who can play the game patiently,” said Ethan. “Because we haven't found
DuFresne's connection doesn't meant there isn't one.” He glanced from her to
Ty. “Look into it, while you're about the city.”

She caught Ty's eyes on her and
shook her head, reading his thoughts:
And their list grew longer.
Elena Breunig
should be avenged, and Emil DuFresne should be studied, but they had to break
it all into manageable pieces.

“Then we're settled.” Philipe stood
up. “Gentleman, upstairs for cards? I'm in no mood to be trusted with a
billiard stick.”

Ty nodded. “We'll come up for a
bit.” He gave her a wink. “And of course the lady, too. But she may not play.”

Pretending to frown, Olivia let him
pull out her chair. “Why not?”

“Because we enjoy winning from time
to time,” drawled Ethan.

She smiled, mollified. “Then you
may enjoy it, for now. I'm going out for the afternoon.”

Ty was at her elbow uncommonly fast
for a man with the prospect of competition ahead of him. “Would you like some
company? An escort, at least.” He smiled. “Keep you out of trouble.”

She smiled, suspecting he was only
asking to be polite. “No, thank you. This is a solitary errand.”

To her amazement, his smile fell as
flat as his words. “I'm here if you change your mind. Otherwise, I will see you
tonight at the hotel.” If she didn't know better, Olivia would guess he was
disappointed.

“Olivia?” His voice was soft now,
calling her back as she turned to go. “Remember what I said. Take care of
yourself.”

His expression was earnest, so much
so that she nodded, not able to meet his eyes. “Always.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Olivia was mad if she believed he
would let her go anywhere by herself. It had been less than a fortnight since
Elena's murder. He would let her
believe
that he was staying behind; he
wasn't about to engineer an argument. She didn't need to know that he'd slipped
from the tavern just minutes behind her, tailing up the street at a safe
distance.

He should have known it wouldn't be
easy. It became obvious four streets down, when he'd been forced to duck or
press no less than eight times. Olivia may not have been quick enough to spot
him, but her instincts were honed enough to sense that someone was there. Thank
God for doorways and a churning afternoon crowd.

He'd crossed a line at the tavern.
Catching himself studying Olivia, his first impulse had been to look away.
Instead he had stared, wanting her to notice him and eager for her reaction.
What had he expected? Batting lashes, a coquettish smile? And all of it under
Grayfield’s nose. Ty shook his head, rattling loose the whole idea. He'd been
away from the army's bracing routine and London's measured indulgence for too
long. For the hundredth time he reminded himself that Olivia was engaged, and
that he was hardly monogamous.

They passed the invisible borders
of everyday Paris with its neat, middle-class shops and well-tended public
houses, over an unmarked threshold into a different city entirely. Dirt coated
everything; it smeared peeling plaster, forming small dunes in the corners of
each window. Mud slicked the cobblestones, oozing between the bricks from the
ground beneath. Everything was broken. Wood slivers dangled from doors. Windows
housed cracked panes framed by torn-off shutters.

None of the splinters had been
plucked away, and neither had the shutter's mate. What would be the point?
Those were improvements made by people with
hope
. These people had none.

Olivia turned into the next wide
alley. It had been a true street once, when Paris was smaller. A tannery's
stink blew through on an occasional gust of wind. It didn't deter a wild band
of urchins milling between the buildings, children who had probably lived with
it their whole lives. Ty tried to ignore the stench, breathing through his
mouth.

A stranger in the area caught
attention immediately. Olivia wasn’t dressed especially fine, but she didn't
have to be. Anyone with fewer holes and less filth on their clothes was a
potential mark for the raggedy band.

Two of the smaller children tailed
her, chirping demands like baby birds. Olivia kept walking, not a hint she was
aware of their presence.

They yanked at her skirt while a
boy of perhaps twelve shuffled to get ahead of her, walking backwards with
practiced ease. “Look at this fine miss,” he sneered. “Too much silk in her
mouth. Can't speak to us trash.” He winged a clump of dirt, smacking it onto
Olivia's bodice. She didn't flinch or slow her pace, nearly stepping on the
boy's toes. Another little girl skipped beside her now, smacking at her with a
stick. Yet another boy, younger than the first, called out from his perch on
some nearby steps. “Get the dog on her.” A wiry arm pointed. “Get the dog!”

His older companion nodded, still
darting, obstructing Olivia's path. “Think I will. Get over here, dog. Take a
piece of this highbrow.”

Olivia didn't flinch, didn't slow
or quicken her pace, not that Ty had expected her to.

It wasn't a dog at all that rushed
Olivia, but a
child
. A small girl, brown curls a scarecrow tangle around
her chubby face, dress not fit for the rag box. She lunged, snatching Olivia's
dress for leverage, mouth snapping for all she was worth.

It took effort not to show himself
and intervene. Children such as these were not truly children; they were bitter
and confused adults in miniature, no comprehension of their ability to maim and
injure but willing to use every bit for survival. He held back, reminded that
Olivia was capable of handling herself against much worse. Still, he'd be
ready.

Olivia hooked the girl's bony arm
without warning, grabbing the petite terror. Maneuvering rather cleverly, she
flipped the grubby child upside down, face turned outward to neutralize a set
of nipping teeth and clawing fingers.

“What are you doing with Gabby!”
cried the older boy.

Hefting the girl like a sack of
potatoes, Olivia pointed with her free hand. “This? This isn't Gabby. This is
an animal.”

“No, she's not!” shouted another
girl, the one close to Gabby's age. Arms folded tightly over her chest. “She's
a
girl
.”

Olivia shook her head. “No. Little
girls do not hit and they do
not
bite. This,” she gave Gabby's upended
little figure a shake, “is an animal.”

Ignoring further shouts and
questions, Olivia wrestled her growling, snapping burden to a nearby balcony,
where an old laundry rope dangled from an overhead rail. Locking Gabby's legs
together, Olivia began to loop cord around her tiny ankles.

At last she had Gabby's attention.
“What are you doing to me! You're hurting!”

Olivia's answer was flat, almost
eerie in its tonelessness. “Hogs bite. You must be a hog. I'm going to tie you
up like one.”

“I'm not, I'm not! I'm a girl!”
Arms flapped, and tears fell up her face into her dirty hair.

Olivia flipped Gabby over, dropping
her hard on her feet against the cobblestone. Then she feigned a wide-eyed
expression he knew well. “So you are! Look at you.” She brushed hair back from
Gabby's face. “You
are
a little girl, and a pretty one. I didn't notice
it when you were trying to bite me.”

The effect was like magic. Ty could
hardly believe his eyes. Gabby looked down shyly, raking a shabby boot across
the ground.

Olivia stood up and rested hands on
her hips. “I expect you're a smart, helpful little girl too. You all must be
very smart, out here seeing and hearing so much.”

That earned a clamor from the other
children, bouncing and pressing forward, eager to be noticed. Shushing them,
Olivia raised a hand up. “Let us all make a bargain.”

Excited whispers.
Ty found
he was excited too, eager to see Olivia's plan at work.

“I'm looking for someone. Anyone
who can tell me a single thing about him gets a franc.”

He saw disbelief, mistrust on every
one of their faces. His chest ached; these children were far too old for their
short little lifetimes.

Reaching deep into her reticule,
Olivia pulled out two coins. “Gabby, you may go first. I'm looking for a
Monsieur Pierre or Peltier. A street sweep by trade. An old man.”

Gabby jumped up and down with her
tiny little hand outstretched. “
Mademoiselle
Peltier lives above a shop
at the corner.”

A coin dropped into her palm.

Clutching it to her chest, Gabby
raced on stout little legs for a nearby doorway, disappearing inside.

Olivia glanced around. “Now someone
else's turn.”

The oldest boy loosened his hat as
if freeing his thoughts. “Her father's an old man. A pensioner.”

“Here you are,” beamed Olivia,
dropping a franc into his dirty palm.

More worldly than Gabby, he bit the
coin before stuffing it into a threadbare pocket.

“Anyone else?”

Heads shook, tiny faces trading
disappointed glances.

Olivia reached back into her purse.
“You have all been very helpful. If I hadn't met you today, I wouldn't have
discovered anything.”

One franc went into each hand,
squeals and giggles reaching a fever pitch. The children danced around one
another, tugging at Olivia's skirts. They were probably pick-pocketing her all
the while, but Ty was enchanted nonetheless. Unable to resist her any longer,
he stepped out from the doorway, raising his hat to Olivia's surprised
expression.

One fair brow arched. “Are you
following me?”

Even caught, he wouldn’t admit it.
“No. We are traveling in the same direction.”

Olivia shook her head, then looked
to the children. “This man is following me. I want you all to keep him here,
until he pays a toll. He must give another coin for each of you.”

What was she doing?
“Olivia...”

“Good afternoon, major.” Affording
him a heart stopping smile, she turned away.

They were mobbing him already, tiny
fingers grasping at pockets and lapels.

He tried shouting over them.
“Olivia, what the devil...”
            Her arm rose, waving over her shoulder, but she didn't stop or look
back.

“Get out of there!” He swatted at
octopus arms, trying to beat them to his bank book. “I'll make you a better
bargain.” He held his purse, grabbing their attention. “Two apiece. Then you
all run after her and keep her where she is.”

Gleeful cheers echoed around him as
he hastily doled out the payment. The children began to run, and Ty rubbed his
hands together.
Who was the clever one now?

But the children weren't running
toward Olivia, who was shrinking smaller and smaller into the distance at the
end of the street. They chased
each other
, ran in and out of houses, and
visited general mayhem on their surroundings. Evidently they weren't traitors,
after all.

“Now see here!” He stomped out into
the middle of the street, forcing a running pair to dart around him. “You were
all supposed to...” Frustrated, he raised his voice to command volume. “We had
an agreement!”

They weren't listening, not one of
them. He might as well be a doorpost. Sighing, Ty stuffed his hat back on his
head. He was startled when a tiny pair of fingers wrapped his own.

It was Gabby, staring up at him
with her wide blue eyes. “I know where she's gone, monsieur. I'll show you.”

Tugging insistently as though he
were a poorly trained hound, Gabby grunted and strained until he gave in,
allowing her to lead him down the street. “I'll show you,” she promised, “for nothing.”

*          *          *

She had asked to go alone, and she
had meant it. Upon exiting the shop, however, and finding Ty leaned against a
nearby building, Olivia was glad he had followed her. Relieved. The last thing
she wanted just now was to feel more alone.

Straightening the smart line of his
top hat, Ty crooked an elbow at her approach. She took his arm, and he led them
out onto the main street, keeping pace beside her without saying a word.
Stealing glances now and then when they paused for a hand cart or sidestepped
other pedestrians, Olivia searched for something in his expression. Ty looked
straight ahead, observing the activity around them, showing not a hint of his
usual irreverence.

Working up her courage, she
broached the silence. “Are you upset with me about the children?”

He laughed, glancing left and then
right as they reached an intersection. “No.”

“Are you upset?”

Ty shook his head, squinting at the
crowd as they passed. “Why? Should I be?”

She had no notion how to handle Ty,
when he wasn't being
Ty
. “I hope not. You're just unusually...quiet.”

He stopped their progress, meeting
her eyes. “I'm not being anything, Olivia. I am simply here. Here if you wish
to talk, here if you'd rather say nothing at all.”

She could have hugged him just
then. Instead she exhaled and tried to settle a jumble where her heart had
been. “Every time a new scrap of information about my parents surfaces, I tell
myself to hold back. Do not hope too much, or be too eager.”

“In case you are disappointed.”

She nodded. “It was much worse, in
the beginning. I invested myself in every shred of gossip, got my hopes up no
matter how far-fetched. Even with years of discipline...” It took a few breaths
to find her voice. “I am still gutted when it proves to be nothing.”

Drawing back on her arm, Ty brought
them to a stop at a flower stall erected hopefully on the wide corner of the
intersection. Not much was in season yet, just a few bundles from the hothouse.
Ty reached out and plucked a lavender stalk, waving it under her nose. “To cheer
you up?”

She pulled back. “I hate cut
flowers.” Something she'd told John a hundred times.

“Hmph.” Reaching back to the
farthest wooden shelf, he produced a cigarette. “Better?”

She sighed slowly, for effect.

Shrugging, Ty poked the flower and
cigarette into place, nodding to a scowling peddler. “A tin of sweets, then.”

“Better,” she agreed, taking his
arm again.

Ty exchanged coin for the tiny pink
box and held it out.

“No, thank you. After supper.”

He slid the tin into his pocket.
Taking his arm again, they moved off. “I take it you did not hear what you'd
hoped at Monsieur Peltier's?”

“I thought I had. I asked a few
probing questions and he began to tell the most incredible story.” She tried
not to recall the crushing disappointment that had followed. “My parents and
what the day was like, and the crowd. But suddenly the queen was there, and he
started muttering about Princess de Lamballe's execution. After a few minutes
of that, his daughter joined us. She took me aside to say he's had some malady
of the brain for nearly two years now. First not recalling words, but now
sometimes he mistakes her for other people.”

Ty exhaled beside her, sounding as
disappointed as she felt. “So it was all a fabrication.”

“Not entirely. She said her father
was forced to help clean up in the aftermath of the queen's beheading, and some
of the others. It scarred him. She thinks that's why he cannot recall things
properly.”

His fingers brushed hers with a
reassuring pressure. “But if he knows something of your parents...”

“It's gone,” she admitted bitterly.
“I doubt there's any untangling the truth from the fairy tale with Peltier.”