“I’m not afraid and I’m not mediocre. Why should I paint something no one wants to see?”
“Is that your excuse?” He leaned forward, his intent gaze holding her own. “I want to see what happened at the abbey, Juliette. I want to see what you saw.”
Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glittering with tears as she thrust aside the easel and snatched up the sketchbook sitting on the bench beside her. “You like to see blood? I’ll show you.” She picked up the pen with a shaking hand and began to sketch with feverish, reckless strokes. “You want to see rape? I’ll show you. You want to see death? I’ll show you. I’ll show you. I’ll show you …”
In a few minutes she finished the sketch, threw it aside, and began another. She finished that sketch and began another. The sketches flew from her pen like dead leaves drifting from a tortured, twisted branch.
Jean Marc sat quietly watching as the pile of sketches grew around her. Her face was set in terrible lines of stress and her eyes glittered wildly. Every now and then she muttered something unintelligible, but he knew she wasn’t speaking to him. He doubted if she knew he was there any longer.
Late morning marched into afternoon and then faded into the first blue hours of twilight, and still the pile of sketches grew on the bench beside her.
Finally, Juliette stopped, staring numbly down at the sketch in her hands.
“Are you finished?” Jean Marc rose to his feet and walked over to the bench where she was sitting. “May I see them?”
Juliette nodded.
Jean Marc began to leaf through the sketches on the bench. She had shown him, he thought grimly. She had shown him rape and murder and unsurpassed brutality. Dieu, how had she survived it?
He put the pile of sketches back on the bench. “May I see that last one in your hand?”
She thrust the sketch at him and closed her eyes.
“Who’s the kneeling woman?”
“Sister Mary Magdalene, the Reverend Mother.”
“And the man with the revolutionary bonnet and the scythe?”
“I don’t know his name.” She shuddered. “Butcher. He was the butcher.”
“And this is you?”
She opened her eyes. “Yes. Me. The butcher.”
“You said the man with the scythe was the butcher.”
“He was.” She wrapped her arms around herself to still her trembling. “And I was.”
He went still. “They made you kill the nuns?”
“Yes.”
Jean Marc was silent a moment. “How?”
“The blood.”
“What blood?”
“The blood in the chalice. I thought no one would do anything so bestial. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”
“Wouldn’t do what, Juliette?”
“Sister Mathilde. They brought her before the tribunal table and made her kneel before me. She was so frightened. I could see how frightened she was. Dupree said I had to toast his fine Marseilles and their work at the abbey. Someone brought the chalice of the Holy Sacrament from the chapel.” She stopped and moistened her dry lips. “I said no.”
“And then?”
“They cut Sister Mathilde’s throat.” Her eyes shut again. “And they filled the chalice with her blood. Dupree said I had to drink it and I said no again.
“They brought Sister Mary Magdalene before the tribunal and told me if I didn’t drink it they would kill her.” Her eyes opened and she stared blindly ahead. “I drank the blood but it made me sick and I threw it up. They killed the Reverend Mother and filled the cup again. They brought another nun to kneel before the tribunal. She was crying for me to help her. I tried to help her. I tried and tried but I kept getting sick. I should have been able to do it. I should have been stronger. All I had to do was what they asked and I still couldn’t do it.” The tears began to run down her cheeks. “They killed them. Six. I couldn’t do it and they killed them.”
“No.” Jean Marc scooped her up and cradled her in his arms. “Shh, it wasn’t your fault. They would have killed them anyway. You know that, Juliette.”
Her tears fell silently. “I know. I do know.” She leaned her cheek wearily against his chest and whispered, “Sometimes.”
Jean Marc rocked her back and forth, his palm pressing her face into his shirt. Mother of God, the pain she must have suppressed in these last weeks. She had cared for Catherine, managed the household, tried to manage all of them, and all the while carrying this hideous burden of horror and guilt within her.
She stayed in his arms a long time, clinging to him like a small child.
Dusk had become evening when she finally lifted her head and looked at him. “This was a very cruel thing you did to me, Jean Marc.”
“Yes.”
“But I don’t think you did it for a cruel reason.” She slipped from his lap to the bench and wiped her damp cheeks with the back of her hand. “So I shall forgive you.”
A smile tugged at his lips. It was evident she was rapidly putting this period of vulnerability behind her. “I’m very grateful.”
“You lie.” She straightened the lace fichu of her gown. “You don’t care if I forgive you or not.” She gazed up at him. “But since you made me give you all these sketches, I think you owe me something in return.”
“You wish to charge me for the sketches?”
“Would you give free passage on one of your ships or a loan without interest?”
This time he made no attempt to smother his smile. “I wouldn’t even consider it.”
“Then you must pay me.” She nodded triumphantly. “You must pose for me. I’ll paint you and find out all your secrets.”
He frowned. “I’m too busy for that nonsense now.”
“I’ll wait for a time that’s more convenient for you. You promise?”
He started to chuckle. Only Juliette would try to wrest a victory from her moment of weakness. “Very well.” He hurriedly qualified his statement. “When I have time.”
“Good.”
He tapped the stack of sketches. “Since I’ve agreed to pay for them, I assume all these sketches are now my possessions?”
She avoided looking at the sketches. “Of course.”
“Then I may do what I wish with them?”
“Certainly.”
“Tear them up.”
Her gaze flew to his face. “What?”
“I want you to tear them up.”
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
“Why?”
He smiled faintly. “A whim. Humor me.” He handed her the first sketch. “Tear it up.”
She took the sketch gingerly and tore it lengthwise.
“Again.”
She tore the sketch horizontally and dropped the shredded pieces on the path.
He handed her another sketch. “Tear it up.”
She ripped the sketch in half and then again.
She reached for the next sketch and ripped it in smaller pieces.
When all the sketches had been shredded she sat looking down at the bits of paper on the ground for a long moment. “You confuse me, Jean Marc.”
“Because I indulge my whims?”
“No, because I think perhaps you’ve been very kind to me and I wonder why. Sometimes it’s as if you’re two different men …” Juliette didn’t wait for a reply but jumped to her feet. “I’ve done as you wished me to do, and now we must go see if Marie has some supper for us. You’ve already made me miss dinner.” She turned away and started down the path to the house.
Jean Marc rose to his feet and caught up with her in four strides. “May I remind you that I’ve had no meal either? I’d think you’d be a little—”
“A package, Monsieur Andreas.” Robert met them as they reached the door and handed Jean Marc a small cloth-wrapped object. “A young boy brought it to the front door a few minutes ago.”
“Thank you, Robert. Will you tell Marie we’re ready for supper?” He slipped the cloth from aroun
d the package.
Juliette took a step closer and peered down at the object he removed from the wrapping. “What is it?”
“It appears to be a fan.”
It was a cheap paper fan like the ones Nana Sarpelier had been selling at the café. Juliette took the fan and unfurled it. Painted on the coarse brownish-white surface was the exterior of a café on which a sign portraying a slyly smiling cat waved jauntily in the breeze.
“She wants us to come to the café.” Juliette’s eyes were shining with excitement as she turned away. “You’d better ring for Robert and tell him we won’t be home for supper. I’ll go change my gown and put on my wig.”
“We don’t have to go tonight.”
“But why shouldn’t we?” She looked back at him in surprise. “Why wait?”
He gazed at her in rueful astonishment. A few moments earlier she had been more fragile and vulnerable than he ever seen her, and now she was again ready to grapple with Titans. “No reason. You said you were hungry.”
“Don’t be foolish.” The words trailed behind her as she hurried away from him. “We can do both. That Raymond person at the café said he made an excellent lamb stew.”
“You mentioned two million livres.” Nana Sarpelier spread several fans on the table. “We went to a great deal of trouble to accommodate you. We want the money before I give you the information.”
“That’s absurd. I can’t give you the money until I sell the—” Juliette stopped and then continued. “The object you spoke to the queen about. That’s the purpose of all this. You’ll have to trust me to give you the money later.”
“Trust?”
“The queen trusts me. Why shouldn’t you?”
Nana Sarpelier looked gravely at Juliette for a moment before she began to gather up her fans.
“Tell us,” Jean Marc said.
Nana stood up and tossed the fans back on her tray.
“The name,” Juliette urged.
Nana hesitated, then picked up the tray. “Celeste de Clement.” The next moment she was weaving her way through the tables of the café.
Juliette sank back in her chair, stunned.
Jean Marc lifted the goblet to his lips. “Your mother. Interesting.” He took another sip of wine. “And regrettable.”
“I didn’t think—” Juliette stopped and lifted her hand to her lips. “Why would she do it?”
“Steal the Wind Dancer? I’d think it would pose a temptation to almost anyone. She had the opportunity and seized it.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Juliette shook her head. “Of course she’d take it. But why would she stay here in Paris and become the mistress of that merchant if she had the Wind Dancer?”
“Because she knew she wouldn’t keep the Wind Dancer if anyone knew she’d stolen it. The assembly wanted it very badly at the time.”
“Then she had it all along at that house on the rue de Richelieu?”
“Presumably.”
“I … don’t think so. She said something about her papers …” Juliette’s brow knotted in thought as she tried to remember her mother’s exact words on the night of the massacre. “She said to get papers to leave Paris she’d had to bargain with Marat. She said, ‘That pig thinks I’ll send it to him but he’ll find I’m not so easily cowed—’ ” She leaned forward. “Don’t you see? Send. Not give. She was going to send him the price of the papers when she reached her destination, and what price would be big enough to appease Marat?”
“The Wind Dancer.” Jean Marc leaned forward. “Which evidently she never intended to send to him. When did she have the opportunity to take the Wind Dancer out of the country?”
Juliette tried to think. “The sisters told me they’d heard my mother had left Paris for a trip to her home in Andorra a few months after the queen was forced to leave Versailles.” Juliette smiled crookedly. “They were very gentle when they told me. They thought she’d abandoned me.”
“But she returned to Paris. Why?”
“She hates Andorra and thinks Paris and Versailles are the only civilized cities in Europe. Perhaps she thought the clock would turn back and the king would regain power.”
“It’s possible. There was a great sympathy for the royal family at that time.”
“But no more.” Juliette shivered as she remembered the threatening gloom of the Tower. She tried to focus her thoughts on the problem at hand. “Then she must have left the statue at Andorra and come back to Paris. If the queen did regain power, my mother could return the Wind Dancer and be showered with favor for her loyalty. If not, she could return to Andorra, pry the jewels from the statue, and discreetly sell them. Either way she’d have what she wanted. She didn’t realize she’d have to bargain for her life with Marat.”
“A bargain on which she obviously reneged.”
Juliette wearily shook her head. “I don’t understand it. She’s not an honorable woman but she’s really quite shrewd. She must have known Marat was a dangerous man to cheat.” Her hand shook as she brushed a pale golden tendril from her temple.
Jean Marc’s gaze narrowed on Juliette’s face. Dark shadows smudged the delicate flesh beneath her eyes and made them appear enormous in her thin face. In spite of her protest, the knowledge her mother had betrayed the queen had jolted Juliette and reliving the events at the abbey earlier in the day was enough to try anyone’s stamina.
Jean Marc threw a few francs on the table and stood up. “Come along. We’re leaving.”
She looked up, startled. “But we have to discuss this. I’m not giving up. Don’t you want to get the Wind Dancer back?”
“I have every intention of getting it back.” He pulled her to her feet, bundled her cloak about her shoulders, and propelled her toward the door. “I’ll not have my appetite whetted and then leave the table hungry.”
“Then we should decide what we’re going to do.”
“Tomorrow will do as well.”
“No, I want to—”
“Juliette.” Jean Marc opened the door. “I’m tired and I’m irritated and I can see a mountain of problems on the horizon for which I have no solution. If you don’t need your rest, I most certainly do. We’ll discuss the matter in the morning.”
She gazed at him for a moment and then, to his surprise, surrendered. “Oh, very well, if you’re that weary.” A sudden twinkle appeared in her eyes. “I keep forgetting you’ve passed your thirtieth natal day.” She preceded him toward the waiting carriage. “You can sleep and I’ll lie in bed and plan what we’re going to do.”
“Thank you.” Jean Marc made no attempt to veil the irony in his tone as he helped her into the carriage. He’d wager Juliette was so exhausted she’d be asleep the minute her head rested on the pillow, while he would have to remain awake and make sure the release she’d received this afternoon would be sufficient to keep her from again running barefoot through the streets of Paris. Dear God, how had he wandered so far from his original intentions? The role of seducer suited him much better than father confessor and guardian.
Well, he’d have more than enough to occupy his mind while he kept the vigil. How the devil was he going to get the statue from Celeste de Clement?
“I told her the name. I decided it would do us no good to be stubborn about it,” Nana whispered as she rubbed her cheek lazily in the hollow of William’s naked shoulder. “Was I wrong?”
“No. We need the other pieces of the puzzle.”
“She may not act on it. The woman is her mother.”
“Familial love doesn’t always triumph in this world.”
The bitterness in his voice startled her and she was silent a moment and then asked quietly, “What did the last message from Monsieur say?”
She could feel the muscles of his shoulder tense beneath her cheek.
“William?”
“He grows impatient.”
“We’re all impatient. Is that all?”
“No.”
“What else?”
William
turned over on his side. “Go to sleep, Nana.”
“I’ve decided we must leave immediately for Andorra,” Juliette announced as she came into the breakfast room to find Jean Marc at the table the next morning. “If we wait, my mother will start to sell off the jewels.”
Jean Marc took a bite of croissant. “And have you also decided how it’s to be done? Perhaps you’ve forgotten that we could go to war with Spain at any moment. As Andorra lies just over the border, we may have both the Spaniards and the French with which to contend.”
“That’s why we must involve François and Danton again.” She frowned. “They may be reluctant to help us, you know. François wasn’t pleased about my going to the Temple. However, we must think of some way to persuade them to our way of thinking.”
“Our way of thinking?” Jean Marc lifted a brow. “You seem to have made all the decisions without my participation.”
“Well, someone had to do something. Why are you just sitting there? I’ve told you what we have to do. Let’s go to see Danton.”
“Sit down and have your breakfast.” Jean Marc took another bite of croissant. “I have no intention of going anywhere this morning.”
“But, Jean Marc, we have to—”
“Pardon, Monsieur Andreas.” Robert stood in the doorway. “Monsieur Etchelet and Monsieur Danton have arrived and I’ve shown them into the Gold Salon as you instructed.”
“Thank you, Robert.” Jean Marc patted his lips with his napkin, placed it on the table, and rose to his feet. “Please tell Marie to begin packing Mademoiselle’s clothing.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.” Jean Marc came around the table and took Juliette’s arm. “She won’t be returning.”
Juliette was gazing at him in bewilderment. “Why are they here?”
“Because I sent for them.” Jean Marc propelled her toward the arched doorway. “Come along. It’s impolite to keep them waiting, and I’m sure an important man like Danton isn’t accustomed to being sent for before breakfast.”
“But why did you send for them?”
“Because last night I made a few decisions myself.” He threw open the doors of the Gold Salon. “Bonjour, gentlemen. Thank you for coming.”