The English Heiress (44 page)

“Well,” he temporized, “she seems to be very sure of where she wants to go.”

Hastily the men knotted the illicit scarves of office around them, lit the lantern they had prepared, and set out to follow the dog. For all of Roger’s brave words, he was almost as surprised as Pierre at Fifi’s steady trot and purposeful manner. Naturally, as hope grew stronger, he tried to depress it, telling himself that Fifi might merely be following a route she had often taken when walking with Leonie. But the little dog did not stop to sniff or leave her mark. She forged steadily ahead until it was obvious they were beyond any reasonable walk for a dog or even for shopping. Pierre slapped Roger gently on the shoulder.

“By God, I think you were right. I think your Fifi does know where she’s going. Listen, Roger, do we dare stop her, or will it mix her up? We can’t simply walk up to the house and knock on the door. We must plan something, some way to get in.”

“I won’t stop her,” Roger replied quickly, “but we don’t have to knock. Fifi will.”

Pierre looked puzzled, then grinned and nodded. Of course, the dog would bark and scratch at the door until someone woke to let her in. He and Roger would only have to wait out of sight beside the door. When it opened, they would burst in. Content with this plan, the men followed Fifi, their hope growing stronger as the little creature began to pick up speed without losing a bit of her determination. In fact, they had a bad scare when Fifi broke into a run and darted down an alleyway. They had to run too, and would have missed her altogether, except that an errant gleam of the bobbing lantern picked up a splash of white on her coat as she wriggled through the gate.

Fifi knew nothing of the dangers surrounding her mistress. She was totally unaware of the plan Roger and Pierre had to get into the house. She was only delighted at having played the game of “finding” so perfectly. Dimly she was aware that the distance for finding had been unusually long, and this added to her joy because she knew the goddess always made a bigger fuss than usual when she found someone far away. The god had been very pleased. He had caressed her almost too much and had given her a marvelous dinner. Thus, Fifi was most anxious to get to Leonie. She wiggled franticly through the fence and galloped to the door, barking shrilly.

“Stop, Fifi!” Roger ordered in an agonized tone.

What a fool he had been! He should have grabbed her when she began to run. He should have tied a rope to her or had some way to control her. There was no way for him or Pierre to get over the wall in time to surprise anyone who came to the door. Nonetheless, Pierre dropped the lantern he had been carrying and both of them leaped desperately, trying to get a handgrip between the spikes on the wall to pull themselves over. Fifi might not be heard immediately, or whoever was in the house might be slow to answer her summons because it was so late.

Chapter Twenty-Three

To Leonie, each second that had passed since her rude awakening had seemed like an eon of torment. She felt that the hand on her breast had squeezed her nipple forever, that the stinking breath had choked her forever, that she had been paralyzed by sick loathing and fear forever. The thin yapping that came through the closed window jolted her mind out of its numb horror. Fifi! Fifi was not dead!

Time and place whirled and then steadied into reality. Leonie recognized that she was only held gently by the blankets, not forcibly restrained by Marot’s henchmen. In the same moment Panel’s head lifted as he too, heard Fifi’s barking. He hesitated, knowing he had to let the creature in to silence her but reluctant to leave the delights he had only begun to taste. He was a stupid brute, wholly unable to recognize any emotions he did not himself feel, and had easily convinced himself that all of Leonie’s actions had been inspired by a desire for him.

Throughout the day he had not responded in any way that would give Danou cause for suspicion. However, Danou had gone home, or out, for the night. During the day both were on duty so that Leonie might never need to be left alone, but at night, when she was locked in her room, one man was allowed to go off duty. Panel was thus alone in the house and did not fear interruption from Danou. Neither did he fear that Leonie would reject him. His hesitation to leave her was solely because of his reluctance to break the rising sensation of lust that was gripping him. But at the same time he knew he could not permit the dog to go on barking. That might arouse the neighbors’ curiosity.

“Lousy bitch,” Panel groaned, and began to heave himself away from Leonie.

Hatred and disgust were already boiling in her. Now terror for Fifi was added to the mix. Leonie was sure that Panel would kill the little dog as soon as she came in. Her hand slid under her pillow. As she withdrew the pistol, she cocked it, pushed it right against Panel’s head and fired. He was dead before he fell forward atop her, but Leonie did not know that immediately. To her frightened mind it seemed as if he had dodged the bullet and was attempting to restrain her. She struggled wildly, striving to grasp her other pistol and throw off the limp weight that was crushing her.

Roger and Pierre heard the shot as they came over the wall. Each crouched instinctively for a second or two, both assuming that a guard had fired at them. For Roger the movement was only a momentary shrinking. He was far more afraid of the reprisal that might be taken on Leonie than of whatever danger threatened him. Accordingly, he sprang to his feet almost at once and ran through the dark in the direction of Fifi’s yapping. Pierre shouted at him to wait, then realized that no second shot had been fired and rushed to follow him. To Pierre the silence was proof that their enemies were wily. They did not waste ammunition shooting into the dark. Plainly they were saving their balls and powder for shots at a surer target.

He called a warning to Roger, who paid not the slightest attention. Cursing all women and their effect on men, Pierre followed his friend as swiftly as caution allowed, dodging and weaving but moving fast. When he heard the explosion of another shot much closer, he cursed aloud. It was very difficult to see in the dark, but it seemed to him that the door had opened just as the shot rang out and Roger had fallen forward into the greater darkness within the house. The dog’s yapping stopped simultaneously. Pierre fairly leaped forward, throwing caution to the wind, only hoping to get to the door before Roger was dragged inside.

The sound of that second shot, which Roger had fired to break the lock on the door, and the cessation for Fifi’s barking drew a wail of bitter anguish and rage from Leonie. She was still pinned down by Panel’s body because she had been struggling single-mindedly to get her second pistol. Now, galvanized by rage, she gave a frantic heave and the limp corpse rolled aside. The lack of resistance told Leonie what she previously failed to notice, that her shot had been effective. However, at the moment she felt neither satisfaction nor horror. She was intent only on revenging poor Fifi, who she believed, had returned from the dead only to be more finally destroyed by Danou’s pistol.

Half mad with rage and grief, Leonie pulled her second gun from under the pillow and rushed out into the corridor and to the head of the stairs. A dark form was just turning from the lower hallway to mount the staircase. Leonie had the alternative of waiting until she could discharge her pistol at point-blank range or firing immediately. If she waited, she could not miss, but if her pistol misfired or she only wounded the man, there would be no escape for her because she would be within his grasp. If she fired immediately, there was only a small chance that she would miss her target completely. He could not dodge and he was below her in a straight line. She, however, could run back to her room, perhaps block or lock the door, and have time to reload her guns.

Without more ado, Leonie pulled the trigger. However, in the second or two it had taken to make her decision, Fifi, who had stopped barking when Roger opened the door, now scented the goddess and let out a shrill yap of joy, darting up the stairs between Roger’s legs and causing him to stumble forward. Leonie had aimed for the broadest part of the body, the chest, hoping that even if the man climbed more quickly than she expected the bullet would still hit him. Roger’s fall saved him, the bullet merely creasing the top of his shoulder. Nonetheless, the shock of tripping and the sudden, hot stab of pain wrung a resounding English oath out him.

“Roger!” Leonie shrieked, casting away her pistol and nearly falling down the stairs herself in her anxiety.

The English oath had made the whole situation clear to her. Fifi, against all expectation, had found Roger and led him back—and I have killed him! Leonie thought. Hysteria rose in her, but before it could break, Roger’s head lifted.

“Leonie!” he exclaimed, and then he gasped, “Leonie!” She was stark naked.

“Have I hurt you, beloved?” she cried.

Pierre, rushing down the corridor after Roger, had cowered aside instinctively at the sound of Leonie’s shot and raised his own pistol, but had to jerk aside again when he was nearly brained by Leonie’s flying gun. By then the voices had made clear that there was no immediate enemy and he started forward, only to turn his back. It was dark in the hallway, but the white gleam of Leonie’s body was unmistakable. Still, the shot—and Roger had fallen… Pierre was wondering whether he should go to his friend’s assistance at the risk of offending Leonie’s modesty, when Roger answered the girl’s question in a voice of such strength, which displayed only mingled relief and irritation, that he felt it more expedient to stay where he was.

“What the devil are you doing with that gun—and stark naked?” Roger roared, getting to his feet.

“Thank God,” Leonie sobbed. “Oh, thank God I missed.”

“Yes, never mind that,” Roger growled, ignoring the ache and the trickle of blood from the slight wound, and struggling out of his coat. “I have been dying with fear for you, and I find you defending this house. Did you agree to play this game of Chaumette’s?”

“No,” Leonie gasped, but she scarcely heard what Roger said. In the relief of knowing herself safe, the horrors of this dreadful day—which had culminated in Panel’s attack on her, his death and Roger’s miraculous escape from death by her hands—was too much for her. She felt herself being wrapped in something, and that made her whirling mid fix on Roger’s question. Why was she naked? But that was a crazy thing to ask. Roger must know that her abductors had brought no nightclothes or linen with them. Of course she was naked. She could not sleep in her shift, which she had worn all day. It needed airing. Besides, there were other things to worry about that were far more important than what she wore to bed. Where was Danou?

That question checked for a moment the dizzy spinning in Leonie’s brain. Her eyes searching the corridor and fastened on Pierre, who was just turning to face them, having judged from the sounds that Roger had covered his woman. To Leonie that slow movement spelled doom. She was sure it was Danou, who had been lying in wait in one of the rooms and now had them trapped. Uttering a choked cry of warning, Leonie tried to throw herself forward to protect Roger. To him it seemed as if she were trying to get past him, to escape him, and the agony of the last few days exploded into raw rage so that he slapped her, forehand and backhand.

The pain, coupled with the belief that they would both die in that moment, pushed Leonie past the hysteria that had been rising in her, directly into unconsciousness. She toppled forward limply, right onto Roger, who staggered back down the few steps he had climbed. Pierre was enormously surprised at what he had heard and seen, but surprise had never slowed his reflexes. He would have been long since dead if it had. Now he leaped toward them just in time to save Roger from falling over, and between them they eased Leonie down. Although Roger had not fainted, he was a little use as Leonie who had, and Fifi dancing around the pair of them yelping with excitement, added to the confusion.

All the noise, Pierre noted, had produced no reaction. There had been plenty of time after the three shots were fired, the dog’s barking, and the noise of Leonie and Roger shouting at each other, for someone to come—even if that person had originally been asleep. Thus, Pierre deduced that they were alone in the house. He mentioned this to Roger, who paid him no attention, alternately agonizing over his own cruelty and Leonie’s unfaithfulness. Shaking his head sadly over the degeneration a woman had produced in a previously cool and clearheaded companion, Pierre went to block the back door against intrusion. He did not expect any, but leaving the door open was asking for trouble. Then he ran upstairs to find a more effective covering for Leonie than Roger’s coat. The garment did not conceal a great many essentials, which explained pretty clearly to Pierre what had turned Roger’s head, and it seemed to him that both Roger and Leonie would feel much better when she was adequately covered.

The only open door was that of the room in which Leonie had been imprisoned, and Pierre naturally tried that first. Inside, the candle Panel had carried was still burning. The light was not bright, but the scene that met Pierre’s dark-adjusted eyes cleared up the puzzle of Leonie’s behavior. He whistled softly, his eyes skipping from Panel’s unbuttoned breeches to the discarded pistol to the horrible wound in the dead man’s head. Such a woman! Perhaps Roger was not such a fool, Pierre thought a trifle wistfully. Perhaps if he had met a woman who combined such loveliness of form with such determination of character, his head would also have been turned.

Of course, Pierre was crediting Leonie with rather more than she had really accomplished. He thought she had somehow wrested the pistol from Panel. This small detail was corrected when he came down carrying a blanket. By then Leonie had recovered her senses, and as her first words to Roger had been a warning against Danou, Roger’s suspicion had been reduced enough to permit him to listen to what she said. What he heard then made him mute with shame, so that instead of apologizing and explaining he said nothing.

Pierre’s arrival temporarily settled Roger’s problem because he gave them no further time to talk. Since it was possible that Danou would return to the house at any moment, he sent Roger to get Leonie’s clothes. She refused, with a convulsive shudder, to reenter the room where Panel lay dead, and dressed in the parlor. Then Pierre hurried them out of the house, the blanket serving Leonie in lieu of a cloak. The commissioner’s scarves stood them in good stead, as did the weather. The streets were empty, even of bands of thieves and the night watchers—in some cases a distinction without a difference—so that they made their way through the freezing drizzle without interference to the docks on the Seine where Pierre’s boat lay. Once there, a sufficiently haughty manner, coupled with the official scarves, overawed the two miserable guards who were standing watch.

Even when they were aboard there was no time for explanations. Roger was needed to help man the ship and to stand guard in case they were challenged. Unfortunately, these duties did not fully occupy his mind. His offense against Leonie assumed enormous proportions, and he had more than enough time to dwell on a series of most unpleasant facts. That he had behaved abominably might not have been much of a problem. Roger had a glib tongue and an agile mind when he had a clear purpose and a clear conscience. He could devise both reasons for what he had done and arguments for why he should be forgiven. More difficult was the time and place in which to present these reasons and arguments. During their walk to the ship there had been more pressing things to discuss, such as whether it would be better to sail directly for England in the small vessel or return to Pierre’s base and transfer to the Bonne Lucie.

The decision had been to sail directly. The weather was wet and cold but not at all stormy, and Pierre was relatively sure it would hold for the short passage across the Channel. Whether the calm would continue long enough for them to sail against the prevailing winds to Brittany and then cross was much more doubtful. In ordinary times Pierre could have guaranteed Roger’s safety in his own home town if they had to wait out a winter storm, but in the present political situation he was not sure. All in all it seemed a lesser risk to cross immediately in the small but sturdy fishing boat. However, small was the operative word. There was barely room aboard to find a sheltered corner for Leonie. There was certainly no place that would provide the privacy necessary to the soft explanations and affectionate caresses Roger thought necessary to comfort her.

Having got that far, the third and only insurmountable problem presented itself. Roger began to wonder whether it would not simply be better to allow Leonie to think the worst of him. He knew it would not be fair to press his love on her at this moment. She was a great heiress. She was young and beautiful. She could marry where she chose—a younger man, wealthier, of greater rank than his own. It would not be fair to bind her to him before she had seen men more suitable to her age and station. Roger remembered quite well that he had argued this subject with himself previously, remembered his rationalization that Leonie might be pursued and taken in by a fortune hunter who cared more for her purse than her person. He saw now that the rationalization had only been a salve on his guilty conscience. The guardian appointed—and most likely it would be his father, who was already the executor of her uncle’s will—would take good care that she did not marry unsuitably.