My Brother's Crown (12 page)

C
HAPTER
S
IX

Catherine

T
he dragoons were nowhere in sight when Catherine stepped out of the print shop. She closed the door and headed out, moving along the side of the building as quickly as possible. When she reached the end, she took a moment to glance around and then darted into the alley that ran behind the warehouse.

Moving past the stables, she spotted Jules's black gelding in one of the stalls. The papermakers were gone, and there were no other unfamiliar horses or carts in sight. In the equipment shed beside the stable, she noted that the space for the delivery wagon was empty, as were those for the rag carts. That was as it should be for this time of day. All would be returned later in the afternoon in plenty of time for Eriq to pull aside one of the drivers, make arrangements to borrow cart, rags, and clothing, and still meet up with her as planned.

Her stomach clenching at the thought, Catherine tried to calm her nerves as she reached the back door of the warehouse and slipped into the building. Thanks to a large pallet of boxes stacked in the delivery area, she was able to make her way unseen to the entrance of the corridor on the far right. The passageway was dark, barely illuminated by a small window near the ceiling about halfway down.

She pressed forward, confident of her steps as she made her way through the damp, dingy space. She had spent so much time here as a child that she could easily maneuver around, even in the dark.

All of the children had played hide-and-seek in the warehouse when it had first been built. As the youngest, Eriq's small stature had left him at a disadvantage, and he would often stomp off in frustration. But the rest of them—Amelie, Pierre, and Catherine—would play there for hours, their fathers and Jules oblivious as they worked nearby.

Catherine had been the one who first found the hidden vault off the supply room, behind the sliding panel, and she had shared her discovery with the others as proudly as if she had uncovered a cache of gold. Not only had the secret space made a perfect hiding place for their games, but over the years it had also come to serve as an occasional refuge whenever the print shop or warehouse grew too noisy and chaotic and she felt like slipping away somewhere quiet simply to read or write.

As she grew older and she and Pierre began to think of each other in a whole new way, he sometimes teased her about the two of them meeting there so that he could steal a kiss.

“But if I give it voluntarily, how can you call it stolen?” she had teased in return.

Not surprisingly, their first kiss had ended up happening exactly there, in the privacy of the vault, when she was sixteen and he was eighteen. As a proper young woman, sneaking away to a hidden spot for a romantic encounter with a handsome young man was not something she made a habit of doing, not even after that man became her betrothed. But in the two years since that first kiss, they had managed to meet up in the vault for brief moments of privacy now and then, each time Pierre asking if he might steal a kiss and each time Catherine replying that he need not steal it, for it was a gift.

Smiling at the thought, she reached the end of the corridor now and paused to listen for any telltale sounds. Then she took another couple of quick steps and slipped into the supply room, quickly moving past shelves of paper until she came to the side wall. In the dim lighting, she found the lever at the floorboard, pushed it, and then stepped back as the panel hiding the vault slid upward with a soft swish, propelled by
the power of the pulley system her brother had designed. She stopped the door once it had risen by several feet, bent low, clutched her skirts around her legs, and ducked inside.

Catherine reached for the panel and manually pushed it back down until it was an inch or two from the floor. Even if Pierre would be along soon, she dared not leave the panel open more than that lest someone else happen into the supply room and spot the strange opening.

Though the windowless vault was nearly pitch-black with the door down, she had never been frightened in it as a child, nor was she now. She moved farther into the darkness to wait for Pierre. Originally designed to serve as storage for important documents, the vault was small, perhaps four paces deep by five paces wide, and it was usually empty except for business cabinets. But this time, after a few steps, she banged into something hard. Stifling a yelp, she took a step back and rubbed her hip before leaning forward to slide her hands over the object she had run into, deciding it was a table. Going by feel, she moved around the obstruction and then tried to keep going—only to bump into something else. When she put her hands down to feel what this item might be, she realized it was not a table but something softer and made of fabric, perhaps a chair or couch.

Before she could explore more, she heard footsteps in the supply room. Though she knew it had to be Pierre, she spun around and held her breath as she watched the sliver of light at the base of the panel door. That door once again swished open, the glow of a lantern preceding the man who held it as he bent low and stepped inside.

“Catherine?” Pierre whispered in his deep baritone.

“I'm here.”

Standing straight, he pushed down the door and held up the lantern as he moved closer. In the glow she saw that the first thing she had walked into was indeed a table, with a basin and pitcher on top of it. Glancing behind her, she realized that the second item she had bumped into was neither chair nor couch, but instead a small bed tucked against the wall.

Catherine was startled. She had no idea why this previously functional room had been turned into some sort of bedchamber, though she had a feeling that with all his long hours of late, her brother had
needed a place to rest. Regardless, the presence of that bed now made her meeting alone here with Pierre not just borderline inappropriate but positively scandalous.

“I cannot stay,” she said, feeling her cheeks flush as she turned back to face him.

“This shouldn't take long,” he replied, clearly oblivious to the source of her concern. “I just wanted to say how sorry I am that I can't help you with Amelie. There are things that… things I can't speak about right now. I'll be able to explain later. You must trust me.”

Catherine took a deep breath, aware of his usual scent, a mix of turpentine from the ink, linen from the paper, and sweat from his hard work. She tried to ignore it, just as she was trying to ignore the warm, inviting bed directly behind her.

“I do trust you, Pierre,” she whispered, forcing herself to focus on the matter at hand. “But I don't have time to wait. Amelie must be rescued sooner rather than later.”

“Don't be foolhardy, Catherine—”

“Foolhardy?”

He set the lantern on the table.
“Oui.
You and Eriq need to cancel whatever grand rescue the two of you have cooked up and wait instead for Jules to decide how the situation should be handled.”

Catherine understood what he was saying, but she was tired of waiting on Jules's decisions when it came to anything important. If a matter was business related, he could move on it quickly, but if it had to do with the family, he couldn't seem to make up his mind. With everything progressing so slowly, they would all be broken on the wheel before he had perfected a plan. There were stories of Huguenots tied to wagon wheels and then beaten, as the large wheels were turned, until their limbs were broken. The torture always ended in death.

She shuddered. “
Non,
we will not cancel our plans. You must listen to me instead.”

Pierre bristled. “Are you saying I need to bend to your will?”

“Non.
You don't understand.” Catherine stepped away from him, bumping against the table again. “I'm trying to figure out what is best for our families, starting with rescuing Amelie.”

“We are all trying to figure out what is best for our families—”

“Non
. You and Jules are trying to figure out what is best for the business.”

“Catherine,” Pierre said, stepping closer. “It's not that simple.” He reached for her hand. “Give us more time, please. We are working on it. Will you trust me?”

Her heart skipped a beat. She wanted more than anything to trust him.

Leaning even closer, he placed a hand on her cheek, his breath on her face warm and sweet. “I know you think you have it all figured out, but things are complicated. You don't understand all the nuances—”

She pulled away. She did understand, full well, what was happening. Jules and Pierre lived as if they were men in a fire but denying the flames all around them. “You must not be so rash,” he said.

Rash.
That was a word Jules sometimes used in referring to her. He felt she had been given too many privileges as a young woman and expected too much now, in return. It wasn't true, but she feared Pierre was beginning to think the same. Once again, he had been influenced by his older friend and business partner.

Her face grew warm this time with anger. “I didn't come here to argue with you, Pierre. It's time for me to leave.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then he said simply, “Fine. I shall walk you home.”

“
Non
. You should go back to work.”

He shook his head. “It's not safe for you to travel alone.”

“I managed to get here, didn't I?” She pushed against his shoulder. “Go.” She didn't want to spend another minute with him.

He seemed ambivalent, but finally he handed her the lantern, saying he would leave first, through the doorway to the front of the warehouse back to the shop, and she should wait five or ten minutes to exit through the back, using the corridor, the same way she came in. “Put the lantern on a shelf in the supply room,” he added.

Then he turned to go, listening at the panel for a long moment before sliding it up, slipping out, and quickly pulling it back down again.

Catherine exhaled, glad he was gone. Was that normal, to feel this way about the man to whom she was betrothed? She simply didn't know.

Putting such thoughts from her mind, she set the lantern on the table and waited for what seemed like an excess of five minutes, left the vault, extinguished the lantern, and set it down in the supply room as directed.

By the dim light from the high window, she grabbed a stack of paper—the good kind
—
from a shelf and tucked it under her arm as she hurried to the corridor.

Catherine made it safely across the bridge without spotting a single dragoon. Retracing her earlier steps, she walked at a brisk pace through the
traboule
and out the other side, past the cathedral.

A few blocks from home, she came to La Boutique de Lyon
,
a dress shop owned by friends who were Catholic. Glancing into the show window as she moved past, she came to a complete stop at the sight of a magnificent Parisian gown. The dress was breathtaking, made with cut velvet and pinked silk, its waist tiny, its skirt full. Though her family certainly had the money to afford such a dress, she knew it was never to be. As a wealthy Huguenot, all of her clothing was well tailored but far less ornate—and almost always gray or black.

Catherine sighed, so weary of modesty and simplicity. She thought of the splendid stained-glass windows and statues in the cathedral and could not believe God wanted her to live such a drab existence in comparison. What was the point of being French, of living in the most elegant country in the world, if she could not dress fashionably?

Of course, as soon as the question popped into her mind she felt bad about it. She also realized she was still standing on the street, gazing in wonder at the beautiful gown on the other side of the window. Even amid potential danger, the fact that she could be completely stopped by the sight of finery was shameful. Good thing Grand-Mère had not been with her, she told herself as she turned away, or the woman would have recited Bible verses to her about the love of money and the root of all evil.

Catherine was nearly to the end of the block when she heard what sounded like several horses
clip-clopping
together along the upcoming side street. Her view was blocked by a building on the corner, and she could not see who it was, but fearing it might be dragoons, she quickly backtracked to the boutique and dashed inside. Shifting her stack of paper to her other arm, she took a deep breath and told herself to calm down.