Chapter 23

Paris

Violet sat before the small pianoforte in the main room while the maid moved about, cleaning the flat. Since her aunt and uncle’s release, Violet’s captors had promoted Claudette to companion as well as maid. Having another woman share her imprisonment was a comfort, however minuscule.

Violet’s initial worries had changed into a mixture of anger and boredom. It was easier to escape the monotony of captivity and find diversion when her aunt and uncle were still in residence. Now that they were gone and Violet’s agonizing fears caused by their removal had receded, the tedium of imprisonment could only be borne by as much activity as possible. Violet took to walking about the room for a half hour twice a day. She requested needle and thread for embroidery. The instrument that had been provided was a welcomed surprise.

M. Lafarge’s second and last interrogation had been less threatening. He seemed unconcerned with her answers. Violet found the man’s behavior baffling, unlike that of his second-in-command. It was obvious that Capitaine Bourgeois was interested in her — to what end was a concern. Having Claudette about lessened Violet’s apprehensions. Surely, M. Lafarge or Capitaine Bourgeois would not have provided her a companion had they meant any mischief.

At first reserved and quiet, Claudette slowly responded to Violet’s attentions. The maid would not speak of her employment, but on matters of her own personal situation, she was open and easy. She would compliment Violet on her embroidery or her playing, always in a low tone. Violet was certain that fraternization was frowned upon by M. Lafarge, and Claudette seemed unwilling to endanger her position.

It was late afternoon, and Violet was working her way through a new piece of music she had recently received from Capitaine Bourgeois. She put aside her curiosity over the officer’s intentions and lost herself in thoughts of Richmond. Her parents would be having tea now, she supposed, and she wondered how they were bearing up. Were Uncle Armand’s reports comforting or not?

Violet was startled by the front door slamming shut. Her uncertainty increased at the sight of her visitor: one of the guards was standing at the now-closed door, a bottle in his hand. He was one of the men from the carriage ride — the one who had ogled her. He glanced in her direction, took a swig from the bottle, and pointed at the approaching Claudette.

“You — get out,” he demanded. When Claudette declared she would do no such thing, the guard took her roughly by the arm and forced her out of the room. He then turned back to stare at Violet.

A chill ran down Violet’s spine as she regarded the man’s feral look, but she steeled herself to show no fear. As regally as she could manage, she stood, chin up, looking down her nose at the ruffian.

“You’re a proud one, aren’t you?” he leered. “Been lonely too, I’ll wager.”

“I am a guest of the state. You have no business here. Be gone.”

“I mean you no harm, mademoiselle. I bring you comfort and companionship.” He began to walk towards her. “Une jolie fille like you shouldn’t have to be alone.”

Fear threatened to choke her voice. “I am content with my maid for companionship. It is my wish that she return.”

“Bah! You’re a prisoner. I make the rules, not you!”

Violet started to edge back toward her bedroom. “Leave this room at once, or I shall report your behavior to Capitaine Bourgeois!”

“Ah, but you’re a fiery one! I thought so in the carriage.” Violet turned to flee, but the guard was too quick. Dropping the bottle, he moved like lighting, pinning her against the wall. He seized her arms and pulled her into an embrace. “Stop fighting, petite fille — it’ll be so much nicer.”

Violet struggled as he tried to kiss her. “Stop it! Unhand me!”

“Stop your screaming. It’ll do you no good. No one will hear.” He tightened his grip. “We can make this easy, or we can make this hard.” He grinned. “Unless you like it rough. I’ve heard that about you aristos.”

Violet nearly gagged at the stench of alcohol on the guard’s breath. The man forced her hands above her head, and when she turned her face away from his, he slobbered on her neck. In her rising panic, she remembered something her father had taught her. Taking a deep breath, she rammed her knee as high as she could between the guard’s legs. The man screamed, released her, and stumbled away, holding his groin.

He gasped. “Merde! You whore! You’ll pay for that!”

Violet ran to the bedroom and shut the door, only to find there was no lock. Desperate, she leaned against it to hold it shut. Within moments, the guard was there, shouting curses as he tried to force his way in. Violet shut her eyes, focusing only on withstanding the onslaught. To her horror, she knew she was losing. The guard was too strong, and the door was slowing opening. She tried to think of what to do next.

There was a shout, and then the door shut as if the force on the other side had magically disappeared. Violet, panting, could not understand the noises from the other room at first. Slowly, she realized that it was the sounds of a man receiving a beating from many fists. Her fear was too great to open the door and see for certain, however.

“Mademoiselle, are you well?”

With a start, Violet realized it was Capitaine Bourgeois’s voice. “Oui! Help me!” she screamed at the door.

“Everything is in hand! Stay where you are!” the officer cried.

In direct opposition to Capitaine Bourgeois’s command, Violet slowly opened the door. She beheld the capitaine and two other guards standing over the figure of her attacker lying limp on the floor. From the man’s battered face and her rescuers’ bloody fists, she surmised her assailant had been beaten senseless.

Capitaine Bourgeois snarled, “Did this salaud hurt you?” He had a wild look in his eyes.

Violet shook her head, and the capitaine relaxed.

“Dieu merci!” He turned to the others. “Take Bernard downstairs, and do not bother being gentle about it! I will deal with him there.” The guards boldly dragged their comrade out the door, and for the first time, Violet saw Claudette was standing next to it, her hands to her face.

Capitaine Bourgeois noticed what drew Violet’s attention. “I walked into the front door of the building to hear your maid demand the guard come to your assistance. She had done her duty,” he nodded at the woman, “but as for the rest, I must apologize — ”

“For what, monsieur?” Violet cried, yielding to her outrage. “For making me a prisoner or for hiring brutes to guard me? I have committed no crime, yet I am being held, and I nearly lost my virtue. You are sorry? Then free me, Capitaine, and save your empty words for someone who wishes to hear them!”

With that, Violet retreated into the bedroom, slammed the door, fell on the bed, and allowed her hopeless tears to flow.

Bourgeois could easily see that M. Lafarge was unhappy as he entered his apartment. He had apparently left the ministry as soon as he received Bourgeois’s note.

“Tell me what happened!” he barked.

Resorting to his military training, Bourgeois gave a concise report of the incident in Mlle. Blakeney’s rooms. M. Lafarge said not a word, but his murderous glare spoke volumes.

“Where is Bernard?”

“Downstairs, under guard, awaiting your judgment.”

“Useless, all of them!” M. Lafarge growled as he rose from his chair. “Bourgeois, I will require two men. I will deal with this salaud.”

Bourgeois turned to obey, but a troubling thought stayed him. “Do you wish for my assistance?”

“Non. Stay here and guard the mademoiselle.”

“Monsieur, I must say that I am unhappy with the character of the men you have hired. Allow me to find proper soldiers.”

“Non, Capitaine. Not only is that unnecessary, it is impossible. The emperor is filling his armies. We will use what we have.” He smiled a hard smile. “Never fear. This shall not happen again. Bernard shall be an example.”

M. Lafarge swept out of the room, leaving an uneasy Bourgeois in his wake.

An hour later, in a small, ill-lit room off a stable on the other side of Paris, M. Lafarge stood face-to-face with another man. Bound in a chair behind M. Lafarge was the guard Bernard, bloody and barely conscious from the beating he had taken. Two other guards stood watch on either side of the man. The place smelled of wet straw and manure. If one looked hard, rats could be seen scrambling about the corners.

Before M. Lafarge stood a short, fat man, his fine clothes quite out of place amid the room’s squalor. Surrounding him were a half-dozen large, dangerous-looking men in rags.

“Is this the kind of men my money buys, Robineaux?’ He spat as he gestured behind him. “I am seriously displeased. You should know better than to try to cheat me.”

The other man glowered quietly as he was berated by M. Lafarge. M. Robineaux was well known among the criminal element of Paris, and he did not take kindly to the dressing-down. “I would take care, M. Lafarge, lest your words be misinterpreted.”

“Do not threaten me, monsieur! You know what I have done to keep the authorities away from your organization. You owe your livelihood to me.”

M. Robineaux ground his teeth. “Spies can be replaced.”

“But not the records I have secreted,” M. Lafarge answered back with a sneer. “Oui, monsieur, I have taken every precaution. Should anything happen to me, those papers will be sent to the proper authorities.”

“Now, mon ami, why such talk?” M. Robineaux returned in an offended tone. “You have been paid well. I believe you no longer trust me.”

“Why should I when you send me men like Bernard?”

The man narrowed his eyes. “A mistake, monsieur, nothing more.”

“I want him replaced with two others, and you will pay the cost, mon ami.” M. Lafarge demanded in a mocking tone.

M. Robineaux glanced at the bound man in the chair. “And poor Pascal?”

Lafarge’s voice was as cold as ice. “You deal with him. He knows too much.”

The criminal cocked his head. “What is it you are doing? I do not think you have told me.”

“I am protecting France, Robineaux. There is no money involved. Surely, that is no concern of yours.”

“You wound me, M. Lafarge. I am as patriotic as the next man.”

“Then see to it. And I want those two new men by the morning.” Without waiting for a response, M. Lafarge turned and left the building, his two guards trailing behind, leaving Bernard to the mercy of his fellows.

M. Robineaux approached the nearly senseless man, shaking his head. “Ah, Pascal. You disappoint me. You were told to keep ta verge in your pants. Now you have cost me money. Such a waste.” He turned to the men behind him. “See to it. I do not want him found.” M. Robineaux left the room.

Pascal Bernard was a thief like his father and grandfather before him. Being a thief did not always pay well, which is why he accepted the invitation to join M. Robineaux and his “organization.” Robineaux was known in the Parisian underworld as a careful and dangerous man, one who demanded total loyalty and obedience. Failure was punished with the most severe of penalties.

It took Pascal Bernard a long time to die.

London

Sir Andrew Ffoulkes was surprised when his butler announced that Captain Frederick Tilney was at his front door, requesting an audience. He was even more astonished at the captain’s story. He was frankly flabbergasted to hear his petition.

“Gad, sir, you do not ask for little!” he said kindly. “Sir Percy is the dearest friend in my life. It would be unsupportable to go against his wishes.”

Captain Tilney dropped his head. “I understand, sir. Forgive me for taking up your time.”

“Now, none of that! I am glad you have come to tell me your tale. If it means anything to you, lad, I appreciate what you tried to do for Violet. And I thank you for saving George’s life, for you certainly did. You should know that George will keep his leg, and it is expected he will fully recover.”

Frederick smiled slightly. “I thank you for telling me, sir.”

“I make you no promises, Captain, but I hope, once Violet is returned, that we may clear up this misunderstanding.”

“Can you tell me what is being done to recover her?”

Sir Andrew stared at his desk. “The government is involved. That is all I can say.”

Captain Tilney sighed. “I suppose that is all I can ask.” He rose and extended his hand. “Sir Andrew, thank you for taking the time to see me.”

Sir Andrew gave him a hearty handshake. “I wish you all the best, Captain.” He watched his butler escort the officer out of his study before he collapsed into his chair.

Oh, this is a muddle and no mistake!

Sir Andrew realized his culpability in the fiasco. He knew that Prinny had extended his favor on behalf of the captain and that the regent had withdrawn it when Tilney and Percy had a falling out. He should have said something to Prinny about his actions and had not. He did ill by his goddaughter and felt guilty over the captain’s difficulties.

He also was concerned over Percy’s plans. Odd’s fish, Percy pretends it is 1794 all over again! We need help, and that man, he glanced at his window, would be just the one!

But there is no turning Percy when he is determined. In thirty years, I have never gotten Percy to change his mind.

Sir Andrew smiled. He knew who would be able to, if anyone could.

He pulled out paper and began to write.