My Brother's Crown (11 page)

She couldn't imagine a more miserable existence, not to mention the area couldn't remain safe for Huguenots forever. No, only one
choice remained for them, to leave the country entirely. In the end, anything less would surely condemn them to prison or death.

Catherine's mind was churning when Jules joined her in the office at last. As he came through the doorway, she eyed him suspiciously.

“Why are you buying a paper mill, especially one so far away?”

“That is not your concern.”

“But if you're determined to branch into yet another business, why bother to buy theirs? Why not just build a new paper mill here in Lyon?”

He hesitated before answering. “The chemistry in the rivers is wrong. Too much calcite.”

“But Le Chambon? It's so far away.”

Jules shook his head. “As I said, this isn't your concern.”

“My concern,” she replied, her tone verging on disrespect, “is that you are taking on new businesses when you should be doing the exact opposite. You know it's true.”

“Catherine—”

“My concern,” she repeated, even more angrily this time, “is that you plan to move us to the Plateau to live. Please, Jules, tell me it isn't so.”

His eyes flashed. “I will not discuss this now,” he hissed, his jaw tight as he glanced toward the print shop.

Catherine lowered her voice. “The walls don't have ears, Jules. Surely you can trust everyone here.”

Whether that was true or not, she could tell by the glare he gave her that she had pushed things as far as she could. Better to calm down and focus on why she'd come in the first place, in order to discuss the retrieval of their cousin from the convent. The Plateau they could talk about later, in the privacy of their home.

Jules sighed and gestured toward the exit. “You should be going. You know you're not supposed to be here.”

“But that was because of Uncle Edouard. Now that he's gone, your rule about my staying away no longer applies,
oui
?” She hoped the mention of the man's name might soften Jules's heart toward Edouard's now-fatherless daughter, Amelie.

“What do you want, Catherine?” Jules asked wearily.

She exhaled slowly, gathering her thoughts. “I need your help.”

Jules shook his head.

“I have not even asked you yet—”

“Whatever it is, it's not a good idea.”

Catherine met her brother's dark eyes and saw a rigidity there, one that told her she no longer held sway over anything he may or may not do. Thanks to the seven-year difference in their ages, the two of them had never been very close, though they had gotten along well enough when she was younger. He had even seemed to value her opinion at times. But since their father died—thrusting Jules into the position of family patriarch, legal guardian to Catherine, and manager of all their business holdings, properties, and finances—he'd begun to shut her out. These days, barely a civil word passed between them. And the further he continued to go down the wrong path, enmeshing them within a country that was growing harsher toward Huguenots by the day, the wider their rift became.

“Very well,” she said at last. “Then I shall ask Pierre to help me instead.” She turned and left the office. Several of the printers paused to watch as she crossed through the shop, including the oldest one, who had worked for her family since he was a boy. He gave her an encouraging smile and she nodded in return. Just as she reached the passageway to the warehouse, the door swung open and Eriq appeared.

“Catherine!” Jules scolded from behind her.

She kept going, ignoring him.

“What is wrong?” Eriq asked. “Can I help?”

Catherine shook her head. “
Non, merci.
” He was just a boy. What could he do?

“Catherine!” Jules demanded again, his voice even louder this time.

Behind Eriq, Pierre appeared in the doorway.

“What is going on out here?” he asked, his brow furrowed as he looked from Eriq to Catherine to Jules.

She gestured for him to come closer. After pulling the warehouse door shut behind him, he did as she asked, the four of them clustered
there together in the passageway between the two structures, where they could speak in relative privacy.

Keeping her eyes on her betrothed, Catherine straightened her shoulders, drew in a deep breath, and spoke directly to him in a voice that sounded calm yet determined.

“We need to retrieve Amelie from the convent,” she whispered. “Now that Uncle Edouard has passed, there is no reason for her to stay.”

Behind her, Jules let out a groan. “You have no idea what you are asking.”

She turned and gave him a glare. “If you're not willing to help,” she snapped, “at least do not interfere.”

“You don't understand the legalities involved. It's not as if we can march up to the place, knock on the door, and tell them we want her back. It's far more complicated than that.”

Catherine's jaw clenched. “So file a petition, or write a letter, or do whatever it takes to undo the mistake Uncle Edouard made by sending her there in the first place. It is a convent, not a jail. You are her guardian now, Jules. They cannot hold her there against your will. Surely our solicitor can help. The law must be on our side.”

His eyes widened, and Catherine realized he was looking at her with something almost like pity, as if she were too ignorant to grasp the complexities of the situation.

“The
law
? We no longer have any redress from the law.”

“I know Huguenots are no longer allowed to bring cases into the courts, but perhaps—”

“Catherine,” Jules barked, cutting her off. “I'll take the proper steps when the time is right. Not before.”

“But what if there comes a point where we have no choice but to—” Catherine had been about to say “flee the country” but thought better of it at the last moment and held her tongue. Maybe some walls did have ears.

Still, they all knew what she meant. “Amelie needs to be with us,” she said.

“For now, she is better off in the convent.”

“She would be safer with us.”

“Oh? And how safe do you feel these days, little sister?”

Catherine cringed, hating the way he turned his last words into an insult instead of a term of endearment.

Leaning forward, she dropped her voice even lower. “If we are forced to flee—”

“Do you not understand?” he hissed. “This must be handled with great thought. It's not just our family who would be cast off into the unknown. So would everyone associated with us.”

“That is not my concern right now,” Catherine said. It was not that she didn't care, but there was nothing she could do. Nothing any of them could do in the long run. “My concern is Amelie. If she is not with us, and we are forced to… go… we will we have no choice but to leave her behind. She will be lost to us forever.”

With a heavy sigh, Jules looked over her shoulder to Pierre, as if to say,
You talk sense into her. I cannot seem to get through.

Turning back, Catherine's eyes met those of the man she loved. Yet by the expression on his face, she realized almost immediately that he wasn't going to take her side. Her heart sank, for she couldn't stand how easily he was influenced by her brother. The two men owned equal shares in the business, but he seemed to follow, without question, every one of his partner's mandates. True, Pierre was five years younger than Jules, but how could he not have a mind of his own when it came to matters of such importance?

“Catherine,” Pierre said, hands raised in a gesture of futility. “You must understand—”

“What I understand is that my cousin is being held against her will in a place run by agents of the king, the very ones who would just as soon see every Huguenot wiped from the face of the earth.”

Though she had spoken in a whisper, her words hung in the air between them.

“Even so, I cannot take part in this,” Pierre said, shaking his head sadly. “Your brother is moving carefully in this matter, and that takes time.” He hesitated, and then he added, “You cannot
steal
away and do this, at least not
as soon as you leave here
.”

His emphasis on the words “steal” and “as soon as you leave here”
confused Catherine for a moment, but then she realized he was trying to give her a private message by using words only she would understand. He wanted her to go to their secret place, the vault hidden behind the supply room, where they could discuss the matter further in private. She appreciated the thought, but this was of concern to all of them, Jules included.

“It's not as if I would go in blindly,” she said, turning once more toward her brother. “I have a plan.”

Jules laughed. “Oh? And exactly what does this plan entail? Do you think you will be able to sneak Amelie past the Mother Superior as one might smuggle a criminal past his jailer?”

“If necessary.”

“And if no one will help you?”

“Then I shall do it by myself.”

“Oh?” Her brother's eyes were mocking now. Cruel.

“That's enough,” Pierre objected, though he didn't outright contradict Jules's position on the matter. “Catherine, you could not free your cousin now, not for all the money in the king's
vault
…”

“Yes, Pierre, I understand!” she snapped, tired of his attempts to end the conversation now when she knew full well he was only going to maintain his same position once they were alone. Regretting the harshness of her tone, she met his eyes and gave him a knowing nod.

Then she made one last appeal to her brother. “We owe it to Amelie to free her. And yes, Jules, I will do it alone if no one will help me.”

“I
will help you.”

The voice was Eriq's, who until now had been silently listening to the entire exchange.

“What?” she asked in surprise.

“I'll help however you want.”

She swallowed hard, considering his offer. Though Eriq was only a little more than a year younger than she, Catherine had always thought of him as a child. Now that he was seventeen, however, even if his general demeanor was still not fully that of an adult, at least he had the physique—and clearly the heart—of one more mature. Maybe what
she needed most was simply brawn, which he had, as well as the reckless bravery of one who still saw the world with idealism and innocence. Perhaps his help
would
be enough to get the job done.

She stepped toward him. “
Merci
, Eriq. It's good to know that
someone
here still understands the difference between right and wrong.”

She had more to say, but this was not the time or place. Instead, she simply took the young man's arm and suggested he see her out. Despite her frustration with Pierre, she paused long enough to flash him a look, one that assured him she would meet him as requested, though not until she had a chance to chat with his younger brother first.

And though Catherine expected to hear objections from both Pierre and Jules as she and Eriq started off through the print shop, neither man said a word.

Once they were in the office and she had pulled the door shut behind them, Catherine spoke to Eriq in quick whispers, saying he could pose as a rag peddler, which would be a plausible cover as long as he dressed the part. He would need to bring along a cart and rags, which could be used to steal Amelie away from the convent.

“You plan to hide her under the rags in a cart?” he asked, his eyes wide. The often filthy cloths were used for everything from diapers to corpse wrappings before being collected and thrown, still soiled, into the wagon.

“If I have to,” she said, knowing she would even climb down in there with Amelie herself if it meant bringing her cousin home.

In the end, they agreed to meet at six that evening on the west side of passerelle St. Vincent. He was to come with the cart and in disguise so they could head straight to the convent from there.

“We can do this,” he said when their scheme was set, almost to reassure himself as much as her.

She gave his hand a squeeze. “Yes, we can. See you in five hours.”

With a final nod, the young man returned to the shop. Catherine watched him go and then waited there for a long moment, expecting Jules to come in and try to talk some sense into her. When he did not appear, she finally turned to go to meet Pierre in the vault.

First, however, she had to get herself outside and all the way around to the back of the warehouse, which put her once again at the risk of being sighted by the dragoons. Before going out, she retrieved her headpiece and reaffixed it to her hair. Tugging the veil securely over her face, she unbolted the door, wondering if either Pierre or Jules realized what had happened today, that the youngest among them had been the only one willing to stand up and act like a man.