1:47 P.M.
“Splendid, Andreas. You were very prompt.” Dupree’s gaze fastened eagerly on the oak chest Jean Marc carried. “You can put the chest down there by the bed. You won’t mind if I make sure the Wind Dancer is inside, will you?”
“Where is she?” Jean Marc strode into the room, kicked the door shut with his boot, and dropped the chest on the floor. “You said she’d be here.”
“She is here.” Dupree nodded to the armoire as he limped toward the chest. “A bargain is a bargain. I promised you the woman for the Wind Dancer, and there she is. Just open the door of the armoire.”
Jean Marc went rigid as he remembered the sight of Juliette’s mother in the chest in the casa at Andorra. “You promised she’d be alive, you bastard.”
“Perhaps she is alive.” Dupree smiled maliciously. “Why don’t you go and see?” He glanced casually into the dark interior of the chest as he lifted the lid. “Ah, those emerald eyes of the statue are quite magnificent, aren’t they?”
Jean Marc moved slowly toward the armoire, his stomach churning with fear.
Dupree closed the chest. “You don’t seem to be overeager to see your petite amie.”
“If she’s dead, I’ll kill you.”
“You tried to kill me once.” Dupree sat down on the chair. “I admit that sometimes while I lay in pain all those months I wished you’d succeeded. Go on, open the door of the armoire. I want to see your face.”
Jean Marc drew a deep breath and opened the door.
Juliette lay bound and gagged, huddled up in one corner of the huge wardrobe. Her eyes were closed and her muscles lax. Dead?
“Juliette …”
Her lids slowly opened and she made a sound behind the gag.
Dizzying relief poured through Jean Marc. He lifted Juliette out of the armoire onto the floor and quickly jerked the gag down from her mouth. “For God’s sake, she can’t breathe, you canaille.”
Dupree leaned back in the chair. “You may leave the gag off for a while if you like.”
Jean Marc’s hands trembled as he gently smoothed Juliette’s hair back from her face. “Did he hurt you?”
“My head …” Juliette’s voice shook. “He surprised me. We didn’t expect this, did we?”
“No.” Jean Marc glared over his shoulder at Dupree. “You have me and you have the Wind Dancer. Now let her go.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” Dupree said. “Not after I spent so much time planning the events of the day. Did you really think I’d let her go free to get in my way this afternoon?”
Jean Marc’s gaze shifted back to Juliette’s face. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course you do. The queen’s whelp. You were going to try to take him from the Temple at six o’clock this evening. I shall arrive at the Simons’ quarters at five o’clock instead. Actually, you had quite an interesting plan, but I’ve improved on it. Shall I tell you how?”
Jean Marc didn’t answer.
“The armed guard to take the boy out of the Temple would never have worked. They would certainly have been challenged. I’ve arranged to have the boy taken out in a laundry cart driven by myself and I’ve made sure my old friend Pirard is at the gate to pass it through. Instead of the writ stating simply that the boy be removed from the Temple, I’ve substituted one that says the boy be drugged and given into my custody.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “That’s another fault with your plan. Citizeness Simon is a stubborn woman and would have balked at giving Etchelet the child. But she’s always had a healthy fear of me and I expect no such problem. I shall even instruct her to give the boy the drink herself.”
“What drink?” Juliette asked.
“Why, one very similar to this.” He plucked a napkin off a goblet on the table beside him. “The one I’ve prepared especially for you, Andreas.”
“You can’t make him drink that,” Juliette said hoarsely.
“I believe I can.” Dupree struggled to his feet. Picking up the goblet in one hand and carrying the pistol in the other, he limped across the room toward them. “My mother was wrong. It seems Andreas is a man of sentiment. Of course I couldn’t be sure until he actually brought the Wind Dancer to ransom your life.”
He knelt beside them, carefully extending his bad leg to one side, and held out the goblet to Jean Marc. “Drink it.” He pressed the barrel of the pistol to Juliette’s head. “Or I’ll shoot and splatter her brains from here to kingdom come.”
Juliette inhaled sharply. “Don’t do it, Jean Marc. He’ll kill me anyway.”
“But not right away,” Dupree said. “I have a plan to school you in the same stimulating way I did your mother, the marquise.”
“Then kill me now.”
Dupree shook his head. “Think about it, Andreas. There are always possibilities. While she’s alive, she has a chance of being rescued. Etchelet might be able to save her from me. Or the potion I put in the goblet may be a drug and not a poison.” He smiled. “Of course, the chances of both are slim.”
“Don’t drink it.” Juliette pleaded, her gaze clinging to Jean Marc’s. “Please don’t drink it.”
“I have to drink it.” Jean Marc took the goblet and smiled into her eyes. “You see, the bastard’s right. I am a man of sentiment when it comes to you, ma petite.”
“No,” she whispered.
“It will all come to the same thing. If I don’t drink it, he’ll shoot me.” He lifted the goblet. “And this will give you a chance.”
“I don’t want a chance. Not if it means—Don’t!”
He paused with the goblet at his lips and smiled lovingly at her. “It’s all right, Juliette. It’s only for a little while. Remember? Everything leads me to you. Even this.”
He drained the goblet.
“Jean Marc!”
His face contorted with agony and the goblet fell from his hand. Both hands clutched his throat. He tried to speak, but only a ghastly croak emerged. He slumped sidewise to the floor.
Juliette screamed and hurled herself across his body. “He’s dead. You’ve killed him!”
“I certainly hope so. That was the purpose.”
Tears ran down Juliette’s cheeks as she tried to creep nearer Jean Marc’s still body, hampered by the ropes that bound her. “Poison. It wasn’t a drug. It was a poison.”
“And very efficient too.” Dupree pocketed the pistol and pulled the gag back into her mouth. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t stay to mourn him, but I have business at the Temple.” He stood up and gazed at Jean Marc’s dark head cradled half against, half beneath Juliette’s breast. “What a touching picture. I really can’t bear to part the two of you by putting you back in the armoire.” He limped across the room and picked up the chest.
“I’ll return tomorrow after I take this lovely thing to my mother and we’ll get rid of Andreas and begin your lessons.”
Juliette’s shoulders shook with silent sobs as she huddled closer to Jean Marc’s body.
Dupree limped to the door, set the chest down until he opened it, and then struggled to pick it up again. “Good day, Citizeness. Until tomorrow.”
5:10 P.M.
Louis Charles grabbed at his throat, his blue eyes pleading desperately as he tried to speak.
“What is it?” Madame Simon jerked the goblet away. “What is it, Charles?”
The little boy slumped to the floor.
“You said the drug wouldn’t hurt him.” Madame Simon whirled on Dupree. “You said it would just put him to sleep.” She sidled toward the fallen child.
Dupree stepped between her and the boy. “He is asleep.”
The woman tried to peer over Dupree’s shoulder at Louis Charles. “Then why is he so still?”
“He’s not hurt.” Curious bitch. Dupree moved around her and threw the sheet he carried over the boy’s body. “The drug works quickly.” He turned to the woman. “Roll the boy up in the sheet and then in another blanket and carry him down to the cart in the courtyard.”
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She hesitated.
“Do it,” Dupree ordered. “Or do you want me to report to Citizen Robespierre that you’re not loyal to the republic.”
“Citizen Robespierre knows we’re loyal.” Madame Simon took a step closer to the shrouded body of the little boy. “Take the sheet off him. I want to see if he’s—”
“There’s no time. Are you going to stand there while even now Darrell may be on his way to rescue the boy?” He frowned. “Perhaps there’s a reason for your disobedience. Perhaps you’ve been bribed by Darrell to help the boy escape and don’t wish Citizen Robespierre to keep him safe for the republic.”
“No!” Madame Simon hurried forward and began to carefully roll the boy up in the sheet. “I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t hurt. It will take only a moment. I must make sure Charles can breathe through this sheet.”
“I have no objection to waiting … a moment,” Dupree said blandly, watching her throw the blanket over the limp body of the boy. “Citizen Robespierre would be most upset if you hurt the child.”
6:15 P.M.
Dark had fallen by the time Dupree halted the laundry cart in the alley behind Robespierre’s lodgings and the thick fog made the gardens, alcoves, and even the houses themselves barely visible for more than a few feet. He could hear the scampering of the rats in the garbage piled on the cobblestones but could catch only a faint glimpse of their eyes as they darted to escape the wheels of the cart.
Happiness surged through him as he clumsily got down from the wagon, tied the horse’s reins to the iron railings of a garden gate, and limped to the back of the wagon. The bed of the wagon was piled high with blankets and linens, and he was forced to burrow for a minute before he found the chest with the Wind Dancer he had placed in the wagon before he’d gone to the Temple. As he lifted the chest out of the cart, one of the sheets shrouding the boy pulled free, revealing Louis Charles’s silky fair hair.
Dupree swore with annoyance beneath his breath. He was tempted not to bother to recover the child. The thick, cold fog and the foul smell of garbage belching from the cobblestones of the alley made it doubtful anyone would venture out of their warm houses and discover the wagon. Yet it was essential no one find the whelp’s body until Nana brought Danton and the soldiers to confront Robespierre. He set the chest down on the cobblestones and carefully tucked the sheet back over Louis Charles’s head before pulling a blanket and several sheets on top of him.
Then he picked up the chest and limped down the alley to the street. Going up and down the stairs of the Temple had been a hideous strain, and his hip and bad leg throbbed with agony.
Yet what did the pain matter when his soul soared with exhilaration? He had done it! He had triumphed over all his enemies, he had carved himself a place in the court of Comte de Provence and perhaps history itself by killing the boy, and he had the Wind Dancer safe in his hands to give to his mother.
He reached the street and painfully made his way to the hired carriage he’d arranged to have waiting for him a few houses from Robespierre’s residence.
“Clairemont. It’s just outside the barriers. I’ll give you the direction once we reach the village,” he said as he opened the door of the carriage and set the oak chest inside before levering himself inside and onto the seat. He leaned wearily back in the coach and sighed with contentment as it started to roll down the street.
He had been good. No one could say he had not been very good indeed. Now he could go home to his mother for his reward.
“Quick, Catherine.” François moved swiftly out of the shadows of the alcove of the back door of the house across the alley from Robespierre’s residence. He ran toward the wagon and in another moment he had unwrapped Louis Charles from his shroud of linens and blankets.
“Is he all right?” Catherine appeared beside him, her gaze fixed worriedly on the boy’s still body. “Oh, dear, how pale he is.”
Louis Charles opened his eyes and drew a deep breath. “Stinks.”
Catherine laughed shakily in relief as she helped the boy to an upright position in the cart. “You’re in an alley. Of course it stinks.”
“No, all these dirty sheets stink.” Louis Charles wrinkled his nose in distaste. “It was most unpleasant lying here covered with all this dirty linen all the way from the Temple. No more laundry wagons, Catherine.”
“No more laundry wagons,” Catherine agreed as she reached over and hugged him. “We have a carriage waiting two streets from here.” She helped him down from the wagon. “Can you walk?”
“Of course. I wish you’d been there to see how well I did. It was just like one of Maman’s theatricals.” Louis Charles clutched his throat and croaked melodramatically. “I remembered everything you told me to do. I was so good, Citizeness Simon thought I was really ill. You should have been there to see me.”
“No, I shouldn’t. I was terribly afraid just knowing what was happening.” She draped the cloak she was carrying about the boy’s shoulders. “You did wonderfully well without us, Louis Charles.”
“The stuff didn’t taste good.” Louis Charles grimaced. “What was it?”
“Olive oil and bitters. Jean Marc had a taste of it earlier today and he was in complete agreement with you.” François put a tricorned hat on the child’s head. “Keep your head down and the hat shadowing your face.”
Louis Charles nodded as he fell into step with them.
“I saw Dupree get into a carriage. He’s going to Clairemont just as I told you he would.” Nana joined them as they reached the end of the alley, her gaze anxiously searching Louis Charles’s face. “He looks well enough.”
“This is Nana Sarpelier, Louis Charles,” François said. “You owe her a great debt. She substituted the olive oil for the poison Dupree had planned on giving you and tricked him into helping us.”
“Merci, Mademoiselle,” Louis Charles said gravely. “Though I wish you’d put honey instead of bitters in the olive oil.”
Nana laughed. “I thought it better if it tasted bitter in case Dupree became suspicious and tasted it. You’re very welcome, Your Majesty. It was a great pleasure helping you.” Nana’s face hardened. “Anything I could do to harm that canaille was a pleasure.”
François stared into Nana’s eyes. “Such vehemence. I wonder if you’ve been entirely honest with us regarding the ease of your task in dealing with Dupree these last weeks.”
Nana forced a smile. “I told you he did me no harm. I just don’t like the canaille.” She pulled up the hood to shadow her face. “Now take the boy to Monsieur Radon’s house and let me get on with my task.”
“You’ll join us at Monsieur Radon’s?” Catherine asked as she took Louis Charles by the hand and started down the street.
“If I can. If not, I’ll meet you at the Café du Chat tomorrow.”
François shook his head. “I want you at Monsieur Radon’s by midnight, Nana.”
“Oh, very well.” Nana watched them until they disappeared around the corner and then briskly proceeded to Robespierre’s lodgings.
She deliberately tousled her hair before pounding with both hands on the door. “Open the door!” She pounded again, her voice sounding frantic. “Citizen Robespierre! You must hear me.”
The door jerked open and icy green eyes glared into her own. “What is this? Is a man not entitled to peace at his evening meal?”
“Citizen Robespierre?” Nana’s gaze desperately searched his face. “Thank God I’ve found you. All of Paris knows of you, Citizen, but no one knows where you live. I’ve been sent from place to place until I’m nearly mad.”
Robespierre drew his small frame up like a bristling porcupine. “There are reasons why I can’t be bothered by all and sundry. If you have a relative condemned to the guillotine, then he must be guilty. The tribunal is always just.”
“I know. That is why I have come to you. You are an admirer of virtue and justice and I could not bear to see you made a victim.” She gazed into his eyes. “I’m Nana Sarpelie
r and I’ve come to tell you of a terrible plot threatening not only the republic but yourself. You must hear me out.”
Robespierre gazed at her without expression for a moment. He stepped aside. “Come in, Citizeness.”
8:10 P.M.
Anne Dupree lifted the golden Pegasus from the chest and set it on the table. “You’ve done very well, Raoul.” She stepped back and tilted her head to gaze at it appraisingly. “It’s magnificent.”
Dupree sipped his wine and basked in her pleasure.
She said, “But it doesn’t fit in this room. It belongs in an elegant salon.”
“I thought in a few days we’d leave for Vienna and take it to the Comte de Provence.”
She shook her head. “He’d claim it for the Bourbons. I have no intention of handing it over to him.”
“Very well, we won’t tell him we have it.”
“We?”
“You have it,” he amended quickly. “It’s yours, Mother.”
She turned back to the statue and smiled with pleasure. “Yes, it’s mine.”
“But you’ll come to Vienna with me?” Dupree pleaded. “The count will wish to honor me, and I want to share that glory with you. Now that the boy is dead, the count is heir to the throne. You could reign in his court.”
“I could have my own court here in Paris. I don’t need the Comte de Provence.” She touched the golden filigree cloud on which the Pegasus ran. “Everyone will want to come to my salon and see the Wind Dancer. They’ll fight for invitations. Of course, I’ll have to seek a means to pacify the National Convention, but I’ll find a way.”
Panic rose in him. “Very well, if you don’t want to go to Vienna, we’ll stay here.”
“No.” She turned to look at him. “I’ll stay here. You’ll go to Vienna.”
She was sending him away. His worst nightmare was staring at him from her implacable face.
For an instant, terror held him speechless. “Please,” he stammered. “You know I can’t go without you. I want to be with you, Mother. Always.”
“Look at you. You’d be an embarrassment, not a help to me.”