Chapter Thirty-Three

 

 

 

“Let’s see it then,” Roucelle said, sitting in what looked like a dangerously insubstantial chair for his bulk as thunder raged overhead.

With a glance toward François, who slept on the rug before the fire, Claudine stepped toward the table and loosened the ties on a small velvet bag. She tipped it up gently and, as one, every eye in the room seemed to focus on the single, flawless diamond that tumbled onto the table, Bastien muttering a most unchildlike oath at the sight.

Roucelle darted out his plump fingers and seized the gem. He cupped it in his hand as he pressed a jeweler’s glass to his eye. Squinting, he turned the diamond this way and that, occasionally muttering something unintelligible or tapping it here and there with a yellowing fingernail.

“Fit for a queen, indeed. I never thought I’d see it.” Roucelle shook his head, letting the glass tumble from his eye to the tablecloth. “Professor, you were not wrong.”

“Well”—Dee held out his hand and Roucelle placed the diamond there—“I get it right on occasion.”

“The diamond,” Claudine explained, “is as priceless as they say, but it meant nothing to the queen, nothing at all.”

“While the gentlemen were resting, I made contact with Captain Pascaud,” Dee commented innocently. “The first dawn after the storms break, we sail for England.”

Bastien’s gaze moved over to the chair where François slumbered, wondering what life must be like to be a child like that, one with such a family to call one’s own. Bastien tightened the tricolor flag that he wore as a sash and whispered to Adam, “I’ll be back in a bit, boss.”

“You don’t go far,” Adam replied, scrubbing the boy’s hair affectionately.

Bastien pushed the door open and darted out into the rain, his pace slowing to a walk when he made his way through the streets, head bowed. He barely noticed the woman who emerged from the tavern opposite to walk alongside him. He was lost in his thoughts until he heard Sylvie’s voice say, “Hello, son.”

With wide eyes, he turned, tears clouding his vision. She lowered the scarf that covered her face, and he whispered, “Ma?”

“Bastien.” She stooped to embrace him before she drew him into a side street. “You didn’t think your old ma would leave you to it?”

He shook his head, overwhelmed at the sight of her, by the fate he had imagined befalling his mother at the hands of Tessier, and yet here she was, unharmed and vibrant as ever.

“He doesn’t know I’m out,” Sylvie whispered, searching his face. She seemed to read his very mind. “He’d kill me if he did.”

At that, Bastien shook his head, clinging to her skirt as he whispered, “We can go now, Ma—go and tell the others and—” It seemed so obvious to him that he could hardly understand why they were still standing there. He took her hand, tugging it helplessly. “They’ll help you, Adam and the professor.”

Sylvie shook her head, gaze darting around. “You think they’d let me go free when we got to England? No, boy, you’ve got to help me.”

“What?”

She kneeled before him and whispered, “I need that diamond.” Sylvie was obviously ready for his shocked response and she silenced his blustered complaints, saying, “No, no, listen. They don’t need it, do they? All they want is to get to England, so why not?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I won’t take—”

“If I haven’t got that diamond by the time they leave, I’m dead.” Sylvie’s eyes were fixed on him, unblinking, and he thought then that she would never betray him, this mother who had been through so much. “Bring it to me and we can go back to Paris. He don’t care about nothing but the Star. You’ve got to get it for me.”

“I’m going to tell them, get Dee’s help,” Bastien declared, sure that someone would know how to solve this awful problem, that they could somehow save his mother. “He’s nobody to fear anymore, is he?”

At that, Sylvie drew back, her face slackening. “You don’t know him,” she said fretfully. “Fetch it for me, please.”

Bastien nodded earnestly and threw his arms around her neck, holding her closer than he had in years.

“I love you,” he whispered in a small voice, hearing her return the sentiment. “And I’ll get it.”

“Good lad.” Sylvie smiled. “Now go on, I don’t know how long he’ll be out. You can find me in the rooms behind Bertrand’s butcher. Bring it my way tonight and then we’ll take the bloody thing and be gone together.”

Bastien simply gazed at his mother, heart wrenched as he found himself rooted to the spot. She wouldn’t leave him, he told himself, yet not so long ago, hadn’t she done just that? He remembered the pain of waiting in the pig field for the mother who never came, eyes full of bitter tears, his heart torn in two.

Not again, she wouldn’t.

And what would Adam think?

But if my ma’s life depends on it…

“I’ll do it.”

“Good lad.” Another kiss and she whispered, “Now go.”

Bastien returned to Roucelle’s house at a far slower pace than he had departed from it, watching the ground sadly where the thick mud slurped and pulled at his boots. The sun was setting by the time he pulled open the door, his shoulders sloping when he dropped into a seat at the table and stared at Roucelle’s sleeping face.

“Bastien,” Gaudet called in welcome as he hurried downstairs, greeting the boy with a smile. “Where have you been?”

“Thinking about Ma,” he muttered, wanting to tell the man who had shown him such kindness exactly what had happened, what she had asked of him.

I owe you all so much, he knew, but she’s my mum.

What the bloody hell would you do?

“If I come to England, what’s going to happen to me?” Bastien already knew the answer to the question, of course, but he wanted somebody to make the decision for him, to say the right thing.

“Monsieur Adam has given you the key to his home. You are practically brothers,” Gaudet told him kindly, no doubt about that, and when he spoke again, it was with humor. “And if you fancied something more exciting, there is my own house. Whatever you wished, you would have a family to call your own.”

Bastien nodded, feeling his lower lip tremble for a horrible moment before Gaudet saved his embarrassment and asked, “Supper?”

For some reason that was the thing that pushed Bastien over the edge, tears suddenly coursing from his eyes. He could hardly speak, deep shudders running through his thin body and he sobbed, “My ma—”

“What is it?” Gaudet put his hand on his shoulder and Bastien bolted forward, resting his face against the playwright’s shoulder just in time for Dee and William to emerge from the kitchen. “Bastien, tell me all.”

It all came out then. Bastien finally told them what had happened, how his mother had reappeared and appealed to him to steal the diamond. As he talked, Gaudet, Dee and William said nothing but simply listened, occasionally nodding, but no more than that. He gabbled until he had nothing left to say, collapsing back into his chair.

“Well,” Gaudet mused, folding his arms over his chest and glancing over at Dee. “We can’t have this.”

“Give her something else.” William shrugged. “Tessier’s never seen it and she won’t know either. I’m sure you,” he gave Gaudet an indulgent look, “have something suitably flamboyant to hand.”

“But what about Ma?” Bastien looked from one to the other, searching for any hint of optimism. “If he catches on, he’ll kill her.”

“We’ll kidnap her,” was Dee’s response, as though it was the obvious option. “Leave her with no choice but to join her boy in England.”

“Don’t worry, Bastien,” William decided and Gaudet agreed with a nod. “Your mother will come to no harm as long as she stays with us. There is safety in numbers, after all.”