Storm Winds

  “Versailles?”

  Juliette nodded. “The queen hid the Wind Dancer at Versailles just as everyone thought.”

  “And she told you where?” he asked incredulously.

  “Of course she did.”

  “There’s no of course about it. She’s refused to tell anyone what happened to it for the last two years. Christ, I never thought you’d be able to do it.” Jean Marc’s gaze narrowed on her face. “Why should she tell you?”

  “Because she knows I wouldn’t betray her,” Juliette said simply.

  “You were willing to sell me her statue.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “But I thought you’d know the money would go to her.”

  “You didn’t mention that aspect of our arrangement.”

  “I wouldn’t steal from her.”

  “My apologies.” Jean Marc’s grip on her shoulders loosened slightly. “My faith in human nature isn’t of the highest, and two million livres is a very tempting sum.”

  Her gaze searched his face. “You wanted to believe that of me, didn’t you?”

  “Perhaps I did.” He smiled faintly. “I do have occasional stirrings of conscience regarding my intentions toward you. It would have been comforting to find you lacking integrity.”

  Juliette glanced away from him. “She looked terrible,” she whispered. “I wish I hadn’t gone. It was much easier remembering her the way she was at Versailles. I can’t ignore her any longer.”

  “And you wish to ignore her?”

  “I thought I did. She ignored me all those years I was at the abbey and that … hurt me. Perhaps if I give her the money to escape from that horrible place I can forget her.” She paused. “I have to forget her. She gets in the way of my painting.”

  “And nothing must get in the way of your painting.

  “Would you let anything get in the way of your business concerns?”

  “Touché.” Jean Marc smiled faintly. “We’re much alike, n’est-ce pas?”

  She nodded and shifted her shoulders uneasily. She wished he’d release her and step away. His grasp was not painful but her flesh was tingling oddly beneath his hands. She took a step back and his hands fell away from her. “Are there soldiers at Versailles?”

  “Only a company of National Guard to prevent theft.”

  “Good. Then perhaps I can manage without help.”

  “You’re going alone to retrieve the Wind Dancer?”

  “I told you François wouldn’t help me with anything but papers to get beyond the barriers. It should be much safer now. François said Dupree has left Paris on a mission for Marat. Perhaps you could ask François to—”

  “If I can get papers to get you beyond the barriers to go to Versailles, you’ll continue on to Vasaro.”

  She should have known Jean Marc would not easily give up his determination to get her away from Paris. “How can I go to Vasaro when I have to bring the Wind Dancer back to Paris to give to you?”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “You’ll help me? Ah, that is good.” Juliette suddenly frowned. “Why? That wasn’t in our agreement.”

  “I can alter the agreement if I so desire. After all, I’m the one who’s paying the ransom for the Wind Dancer.”

  “But you’ll still pay me the two million livres, even if you help me? The agreement will still stand?”

  He was silent a moment. “You believe I’d cheat you? I thought you judged my greed to be an honest one.”

  Did a flicker of hurt cross his face? No. She had to be mistaken, for his tone had reflected only mockery.

  “I suppose my faith in human nature isn’t of the highest either, and I’ve never really understood you, have I?”

  “All you have to understand is that I want the Wind Dancer,” he said. “If you’re captured with it in your possession, I’d have a devil of a time getting it back from the National Convention. It’s more sensible for me to help you find it and make sure I get it instead.”

  “That’s true.” Her brow knitted in thought. “You mustn’t tell François we’re going to Versailles. When you ask him for papers, tell him to have them made out to us as husband and wife. Let’s see … we’ll be Citizen Henri and Madeleine La Croix and pretend we work at Versailles for one of the nobility. I’ll decide which one later. I’ll wear my plainest gown and cape and you must wear something much less elegant also. Perhaps you can arrange to bribe one of the guards at the gate at Versailles. You seem to be very good at bribing people.” Her eyes began to sparkle. “It’s rather like a painting, isn’t it? First we do the background and then we sketch in the foreground and add color and texture. It will be very amusing.”

  “Amusing?”

  “Well, interesting anyway.”

  Jean Marc smiled. “You remind me of a child eager to dress up for a masquerade.” His smile faded. “One more thing. Before I give you the money for the Wind Dancer, I want a writ of separation from the royal coffers for the statue signed by Marie Antoinette.”

  “What good would that do? The republic would confiscate the statue anyway if they knew you possessed it.”

  “The Wind Dancer has existed thousands of years, republics and monarchies coming and going. Who knows how long this one will exist? I want the document.”

  “You want me to go back to the Temple?”

  “Merde, no! It may take time, but I’ll find a way to get a message from you into the Temple asking the queen for the bill of sale. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  “We’ll have supper soon. Go wash that dirt off your face. It bothers me.”

  “Do you think it doesn’t bother me?” Juliette said indignantly. “I had to pretend to be the lamplighter’s daughter. Do you think I’m wearing these smudges as beauty patches? It was part of my disguise.”

  “You don’t need beauty patches.” His gaze was suddenly intent. “They would be redundant.”

  Juliette felt a queer ripple of heat go through her. She knew she was no beauty but he still found her pleasing. How quickly his manner had switched from cool incisiveness to sensuality. “I agree.” She quickly turned toward the steps. “I’m aware that no artifice would make me beautiful like Catherine or my mother. Nor would I wish to be. It would only get in my way.” She was mounting the steps quickly, not looking back at him. “You’re fortunate I’m not a beauty or you’d be without your supper until midnight. Even with the help of three maids my mother took at least four hours each day at her toilette.”

  “Yes, I’m very fortunate.”

  The weariness in his tone caused her to look back at him but his face was mirror-smooth.

  The emblem of the Sun King on the zenith of the gates shone in golden splendor in the moonlight, and for a moment Juliette was wafted back to those other times she’d stopped at that very spot. The memory was so strong it was a shock to see not the Swiss guard, but a soldier wearing a black cocked hat flourishing a revolutionary cockade and a uniform sporting a tricolored sash.

  Juliette tensed as the guard approached with crisp military precision the wagon she and Jean Marc rode. The light cast from the lantern he carried revealed a face weathered by sun and time with a long nose and slablike cheekbones. His eyes narrowed as he examined the papers Jean Marc handed him.

  Juliette drew the woolen cloak more closely about her as a chill of apprehension ran through her. The guard was taking a long time with the papers and he didn’t seem the sort of man who could be easily bribed. What if it was the wrong guard? The papers he was examining had been hurriedly and clumsily forged, but Jean Marc had assured her it wouldn’t matter. The papers were only to give an appearance of authenticity in case there was more than one guard at the gate. There wasn’t. If this was the one who had accepted Jean Marc’s bribe, there was no need for subterfuge.

  “You come very late, Citizen. Eight bells tolled only moments ago.” The guard held the papers closer to the lantern.

  “We’re on our way to Vendée and wished to claim the belonging
s we left here two years ago, when our master fled the palace.”

  The guard’s gaze was cold as it shifted to Jean Marc’s face. “It says here you were employed by the Duc de Gramont as his coachman.”

  Jean Marc shrugged. “The times were bad, and it was better than starving. Thank God for the revolution. My wife and I have now opened a fine café on the rue de Rivoli, where we grovel to no one.”

  “Then why do you go to Vendée?”

  “It’s only for a visit. Vendée was the place of my birth, and we thought to give these belongings to my brother, who has not been as fortunate as we.”

  It was the wrong guard. He was asking too many questions.

  The guard lifted his lantern to shine on Juliette’s face. “This is your wife? She was also in the service of the Duc de Gramont? In what capacity?”

  “Maidservant.”

  The guard’s expression was growing more suspicious by the moment.

  “Why lie to him?” Juliette asked suddenly.

  Jean Marc stiffened and turned to look at her.

  “Everyone knows what a canaille the duke was. He kept me at court to use me as his strumpet. I was only eleven years old when he forced his way into my bed.” She cuddled lovingly close to Jean Marc on the seat of the wagon. “I know you’re trying to hide my shame, but this good man must have heard how the duke used children to soothe his lust.”

  “It’s true. I’ve heard many such stories about the duke since I was assigned here.” The guard smiled wolfishly. “It must have pleased you that the duke was beheaded at La Force last month, Citizeness.”

  “It wasn’t his head I wanted struck from his body.”

  The guard chuckled and lowered the lantern. “Pass through, Citizen.” He handed Jean Marc the papers. “Go to the queen’s vestibule. There will be someone there to direct you to the chamber where all the boxes are kept. You know where it is?”

  Jean Marc nodded. “Of course.”

  “If the guard’s not on duty, call out for him. He’ll probably be in the guardroom playing cards.”

  “I’ll do that.” Jean Marc snapped the reins and the wagon rolled slowly through the gates into the Cour Royale.

  The wheels creaked as the wagon lumbered over the cobblestones of the vast courtyard.

  “It was the wrong guard,” Juliette whispered.

  “You can’t always be sure a bribe will work. Anything can happen. Sometimes they’ll become frightened. Sometimes their duty will be changed.” Jean Marc shrugged. “It was fortunate you knew of the Duc de Gramont’s lascivious tastes. Your lie disarmed him completely.”

  “It was no lie.” Her gaze was searching the massive bulk of the palace just ahead. Light streamed from a few windows on the lower floors, but the other windows were dark, empty of life. “Pull into the shadows over there by the east wing. We can’t chance encountering anyone else on the way to the Belvedere while we’re in this wagon. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”

  His expression was suddenly harsh. “What do you mean, it was no lie? De Gramont raped you?”

  “What? Oh, de Gramont was my mother’s lover, you know.”

  “So that gave him the right to—”

  “We have no time to talk of trivialities,” Juliette said impatiently as she jumped down from the wagon and started across the courtyard. “If we hurry, we should be able to make it to the Belvedere in forty minutes. Take the lantern but don’t light it until we need it.”

  “Trivialities? I don’t regard the rape of a child as a—” He broke off as he noticed she was almost out of earshot. He grabbed the lantern from the wagon and caught up with her by the time she reached the corner of the wing. “We’ll discuss this later.”

  “If you like.” For so cynical a man Jean Marc was reacting most peculiarly. The idea of her in the duke’s bed clearly bothered him and the knowledge filled her with inexplicable excitement. The Neptune Basin was just ahead and her pace quickened. “Do you think the gates of the smaller palaces will be guarded?”

  “Perhaps. I couldn’t gather any detailed information without incurring suspicion. If they are, will that be a problem?”

  Juliette shook her head. “I know the grounds of the Petit Trianon very well.” She grinned. “I hid from Marguerite in every glade, fountain, and building at one time or another.”

  “Marguerite?” Jean Marc nodded. “Oh, yes, your charming nurse. Whatever happened to her?”

  “She fled to Spain with my mother the night of the massacre at the abbey.” Juliette turned left at the Basin. “François tried to persuade my mother to take Catherine and me with them, but she wouldn’t agree. He became very annoyed with both of them.”

  “I can understand his feelings.”

  “I told him it would do no good.” She frowned. “We should go faster. Are you able?”

  “Able?”

  She carefully avoided looking at him. “Well, you must be over thirty and you get no exercise.”

  “I’m thirty-two, which is no great age.” Jean Marc’s tone was icy. “And how do you know I get no exercise?”

  The excitement was growing within her. “You take carriages everywhere and you work for hours in your study. You cannot be very fit.”

  “I don’t spend all my time with my ledger books. Perhaps I should demonstrate my fitness to you,” he said silkily. “I assure you I’m no aging de Gramont.”

  Jean Marc appeared unable to let the subject of de Gramont alone and was obviously sensitive regarding his own age. Juliette thoroughly enjoyed turning the tables, pricking at his aplomb now when usually she was the one on the defensive. “Oh, I know that. The duke was in his fifties.” She pretended to think about it. “But he hunted a great deal and his body was amazingly strong for—”

  “Set the pace,” Jean Marc grated between his teeth. “I assure you I’ll keep up.”

  She cast a sidewise glance at his grim expression and then thought it best not to answer at all. She increased her speed until she was almost running past the silent fountains and ghostly statues toward the gates of the Petit Trianon.

  The Belvedere was an enchanting enclosed pavilion crowning a grassy hillock. The graceful octagonal structure overlooked a small rivulet issuing from a pond behind the Petit Trianon. Four steps surrounded the Belvedere with pairs of sphinxes set at intervals.

  “She said it’s under one of the sphinxes on the stairs facing the pond,” Juliette whispered as she strode down the winding walk bordering the lake. “The one on the left.”

  “Buried?”

  “No, a hidden cache.”

  They had reached the four steps of the pavilion and Jean Marc halted beside a sphinx. “It appears—”

  “Hush! I hear something.” Juliette glanced over her shoulder across the rivulet toward the palace of the Petit Trianon. Dots of light punctuated the darkness. “Mother of God! Lanterns! Come with me.” She flew up the steps of the pavilion. What if the doors were locked? The knob turned under her hand and she pulled Jean Marc inside and closed the glass-paneled door.

  Jean Marc pushed her to the side and peered through the glass. “Soldiers.”

  Juliette’s heart skipped a beat. “Searching for us?”

  “Possibly.” Jean Marc watched for a moment and then shook his head. “There’s no urgency. Probably a patrol making rounds. We were lucky not to have run into them coming from the palace.”

  Being in the pavilion was no real shelter, she thought desperately. Not only were the four doors glass-paneled, but the long windows were almost floor to ceiling and separated by only narrow strips of wall. It was as if they were captured in a crystal box.

  “Are they coming here?”

  “I don’t kn—yes!” Jean Marc ducked away from the door as a beam of light played on the glass illuminating the interior of the pavilion. He dragged Juliette to the right of the door, pressing her against the wall.

  She could hear voices outside, then the crunch of booted feet on the steps. The door beside them was flung
open.

  Juliette was afraid to breathe. A huge figure appeared in the doorway. Light played on the glittering panes of the door directly across the room. She could see the flame of the lantern reflecting on the glass.

  And Jean Marc’s and her own reflection barely discernible in the shadows.

  Juliette could feel Jean Marc’s muscles tense as he readied to spring.

  “All secure, Corporal?”

  “All secure, sir.” The soldier stepped back and shut the door. His boots clattered on the steps as he rejoined the patrol.

  Juliette’s heart was beating so hard she marveled the men outside didn’t hear it.

  Jean Marc peered carefully through the glass of the window to their right. “They’re going away.”

  “Toward the palace?”

  “No, toward Le Hameau. We’ll wait a minute until they move farther away and then we’ll have to be quick. We don’t want to run into them on our way back to the gates.”

  “I thought for sure he’d seen us.”

  “He wasn’t looking hard. He saw only what he expected to see.”

  Juliette sank to the floor and leaned back against the wall, trying to steady her breathing. She was shaking and the icy cold of the mosaic marble floor seemed to pierce through her woolen gown to her bones. She wondered if Jean Marc could see how frightened she was as he stared so intently at her. She moistened her lips. “It’s the same.”

  “What?”

  “This pavilion. Versailles. Even the gardens are still well cared for.” She gestured to the exquisite arabesques painted on the wall, the clear blue sky drifting with fleeting clouds on the cupola above them. “I expected it to be defaced. Paris has changed so much. The queen used to have wonderful parties in the gardens of the Trianon and she had a concealed trench dug around this pavilion. Faggots were lit so that it looked as if it were floating on a cloud of light.” She wished he would stop staring at her. He mustn’t see how weak she felt. It was dangerous to show anyone her weaknesses but most of all Jean Marc. “I tried to paint it once, but I’m not good at fire.”