The English Heiress (7 page)

“Very good,” Roger remarked with enthusiasm. “Then it would not be unsafe for me to go to the Hôtel de Ville and ask permission to set up a shop here? I would like to see the building with my own eyes and talk with some of Marot’s men.”

Foucalt again examined his guest closely, suspicion reawakened. However, a short reflection pointed out that there would have been nothing to stop Roger from going to see Marot secretly. There was no need for him to say he was going. Besides, a mental review of what had been said convinced Foucalt that no one but himself could be endangered, even if Roger was in league with Marot.

“I think it would be safe enough for you. The worst danger would be that Marot’s henchmen might seize your stock of guns without informing him. It is not likely that Marot himself would do such a thing. He is not a greedy man, you know, only bitter and warped. That is the worst of what the ancien régime has done to us—turned such men, men with good ideas and what might have been noble purposes—into bloodthirsty monsters.”

* * * * *

The high hopes that Leonie and Henry had for escaping had dimmed steadily throughout the week following their discussion. No opportunity was granted them to put either plan into action. Louis did not take Leonie to his bed and far worse, she had not even been able to induce him to enter the cell when he brought food. The first time he simply thrust the soup and bread into her hands through the narrowest opening possible, Leonie thought little of it. Louis had done it many times before. She suspected he had more than one set of irons in the fire.

She had made no protest and no attempt to draw him into the cell. Although her father was behind the door ready to act if Louis should come in. Leonie was not at all eager to try so dangerous an expedient. She had not told Henry of her own plan. She hoped to be able to convince him that Louis had given her the keys or she had stolen them without confessing openly that she was the thief’s mistress. To avoid raising this issue she had pointed out to her father that he was weak from long inactivity. A few days of exercise could not cure that completely, but it would be of some help.

Henry agreed and began to try to strengthen himself. Leonie was well satisfied. Her father would feel he was doing something—and actually he was, because he would need strength to escape—while she would get him out in her own way in a day or two. But two days passed then three, and still Louis did not come for her at night. On the fourth day, when he handed in the food, Leonie spoke his name softly.

“Are you angry for some—” she began.

But he did not let her finish, merely shook his head sharply and closed and relocked the door. Fear leaped up and tightened Leonie’s throat. Had they been condemned already? Could someone have overheard her father and herself planning? No, they had always spoken in English, but that in itself could betray that they were planning something. Leonie strained to remember whether the cell had ever been dimmer than usual, indicating that someone was listening at the half-window and blocking the light, but she could not recall anything like that. Perhaps she had somehow betrayed her thoughts to Louis? But he never paid enough attention to her to notice even what she wanted him to notice. Leonie bit her lip. It was far more likely, really, that Louis had outsmarted himself and suspected he might be in trouble. If so, his first move would be to show marked severity toward the prisoners.

Immediate panic subsided as Leonie squatted down beside her father and broke the bread in half. The bread was fresh! She bent to sniff the soup, an act she normally avoided as much as possible. Not only was the aroma appetizing but what was in the bowl was thick, more like stew than soup. For an instant, panic returned. Was this the last meal? In the next instant, Leonie nearly laughed. That Marot should order such a kindness was impossible. But that Louis should think of so considerate a gesture was equally impossible. Louis would be far more likely to omit giving them any meal at all the night before they were going to die on the principle that feeding them at such a time would be wasteful.

“How good this is, Papa,” Leonie remarked. She wanted her father’s opinion but did not wish to infect him with her fears and doubts.

“Yes. So was yesterday’s food. Didn’t you notice?”

“No,” Leonie said, much surprised. How could she have failed to notice something like that?

“I mentioned it to you, and you agreed. You must have forgotten.” Henry sounded troubled.

Leonie laughed. “I do remember now. I was thinking of something else yesterday.”

Of course, yesterday had been the day she was sure Louis would take her to his bed. Leonie had been so tense and excited, planning and replanning every move that she would need to make that she could have eaten stones without noticing. She did remember her father talking to her during supper, but her replies had been automatic. But if the food had been good last night also…

“I wonder why?” Leonie breathed.

“I am sure the poor man does his best to get us a decent meal whenever he can,” Henry answered, obviously surprised by Leonie’s reaction.

Leonie did not contest her father’s statement, although she knew he was mistaken. “Perhaps he does,” she said mendaciously, “but why is it suddenly possible for him to give us a really excellent stew two days in a row? That was never possible before.”

Henry thought that over and shook his head. “I cannot guess, unless my friends in town have given him money so that he can buy good food for us. Perhaps they were afraid to approach him before, or were in prison themselves, or didn’t know we were in need of help…”

Leonie bit her lip She could not say to her father that if anyone had given Louis money to feed them he would have put it into his pocket without a second thought. There had to be a reason. At least, she thought, soaking up the last of her share of the gravy with her last piece of bread, she did not need to worry about this being the “last” meal. Quite aside from Louis’ character, two last meals in succession were not likely.

In fact, Henry had come closer to the truth than Leonie. Louis had, indeed, been paid to feed Henry and Leonie well, and the reason he did not pocket the money as Leonie believed he would was because he wished to be sure Leonie and her father would be strong enough to serve his purpose. He was not quite such a cold-hearted monster as Leonie, in her bitterness, suspected. It was true he would not endanger himself for her, nor would he have hesitated to sacrifice her if that was the only way to accomplish his ends. However, when an opportunity came up to get what he wanted and possibly do Leonie a good turn, he was not averse to doing it that way. Leonie and Henry were being fed so that they would be strong enough to escape. Since Louis had every intention of protecting himself by sounding the alarm for the civil guard, there would be considerable running and hiding if the prisoners were to get away. Louis preferred that they get clean away, because he knew Marot would then concentrate—to the exclusion of everything else—on getting them back. This would accomplish the double purpose of making Jean-Paul blind to what Louis was doing and of making his behavior even more obnoxious to the people of the town.

Louis had gotten involved partly because he was always on the lookout for a situation he could turn to his own use and partly by pure accident. On the afternoon of his discussion with Maître Foucalt, Roger had gone to the Hôtel de Ville and made inquiries about setting up a business. His request had been greeted with surprise and suspicion, which Roger did not mind at all because it resulted in his being passed from one person to the other. Each clerk was afraid to admit that he did not know whether permission was needed, nor was anyone willing to accept the responsibility of giving permission.

The discussion and checking took so much time that Louis had appeared on the scene ready to close and check the offices before anyone had gone home. His strong if unofficial, influence with Marot was known, and he had been asked for his opinion on the subject of Roger’s case. Roger’s surprise had been masked at once behind lowered eyelids. Petty officials are too status-conscious to ask the opinion of a building janitor or night watchman. Ergo, Louis was more than he seemed, and from the repeated use of Marot’s name, Roger deduced that Louis had the ear of the town’s revolutionary leader.

Most reasonably, Louis had disclaimed all knowledge. Roger had flashed a bright blue glance at him while Louis was talking to one of the clerks. A very young man to… No. There were little lines at the corners of the eyes and mouth that told a different story. A second part of the story was told by Louis’ manner. There was no arrogance. He was pleasant and affable, even to the least and most pompous of the clerks. They feared Marot, but they liked Louis and did not fear him. Thus, Louis did not act the spy for Marot, at least not among the office personnel or not obviously. Now all Roger had to know was whether Louis was a faithful dog, a true worshipper of his leader, or a clever, ambitious devil.

By the next afternoon when Roger returned, he found his problem had been solved by a direct application to Marot. An honest tradesman was always welcome in Saulieu, he was told. He need only pay the same taille as any other artisan and he could set up quarters anywhere he liked. Roger paid with thanks, offering an assignat. It was accepted, but with a frown that showed how little faith the people had in their own government’s currency. Roger smiled to himself. He had a better use for his gold and silver than paying French taxes—and that way, he hoped was approaching at the very moment. Roger smiled at Louis, who had just come into the room, an asked if he would have a drink with him.

Louis was clever, but Roger was much cleverer, with years of experience in reading and outwitting men long used to the high-level chicanery called “legal practice”. As Louis had played Jean-Paul, Roger now played Louis. He was not afraid Louis would detect this, because he was offering just what Louis wanted in just the way Louis expected it to be offered—hedged around with safeguards to prevent Louis from betraying Roger. The safeguards, Roger assumed were necessary; however, the main reason Roger insisted so strongly on them was to convince Louis that he was the one who was safe the one with the upper hand, that it was Roger who felt insecure.

Nonetheless, Roger was not completely successful. He still believed that he might be able to free de Conyers, but after the briefest conversation it was immediately clear that he would not be able to induce Louis to allow Henry and his daughter—Roger learned at once that Marie and the young son were dead—to escape. Louis had ambitions beyond simple greed, and he was wise enough to know Saulieu was the only place these were likely to be fulfilled. However, in veiled terms he indicated that the there were ways an escape could be “arranged” that could not be traced to him.

That very night, well and ostentatiously armed, Roger went to a wineshop in a section of the town that should have been unknown to an honest artisan. His tailor would have been appalled at the set of his coat, which was badly distorted by the weight of gold rouleaux in one inner pocket and a fine Lorenzoni pistol in the other. A second pistol could be seen projecting from the top of Roger’s right boot, and a serviceable rapier, with a worn grip that spoke silently of considerable use, hung at his hip.

Fortunately, he did not need the armament nor to drink much of the execrable wine served. He was joined almost as soon as he seated himself by an elderly man, decently dressed—in which he differed drastically from everyone in the place except Roger—but with the hardest eyes Roger had ever seen. For a moment, Roger wondered whether what he planned to accomplish was worth the agony he might let loose on Saulieu. Were the lives of Henry de Conyers and his daughter of greater value than the others that might be lost? Roger knew that once the plan was set in motion there would be no way to stop it.

He had little time to worry. The man who faced him had no fears about betrayal. Had the authorities the power to take him, they would have done so long ago. He had his own methods for ensuring his safety. He did not need to deal in circumlocutions, therefore, and came to the point as soon as he had made certain of Roger’s identity.

“Louis le Bébé says you want a mob to break into the Hôtel de Ville. That will be costly, very, very costly.”

“That was not what I said, patron,” Roger rejoined. He had been told it was unhealthy to ask the name of the man with whom he was to deal and that he should call him patron, that is, “boss”. “What I said,” Roger continued, “was that I wanted Henry de Conyers and his daughter. The mob was Louis’ idea. And I do not see why it should be expensive. It should not cost much to incite a few rabble-rousers to preach violence.”

The old man smiled a grim acknowledgment. “No, likely I would not even need to pay those, but I do not want too much violence in this town. Besides, there must be a rabble to be roused. People do not suddenly take it into their heads to rush through the streets at night. And in this town, we cannot begin in advance to whip up the temper of a mob. Marot would not stand for it. He is no believer in freedom of speech. There has been unrest already, and the civil guard was called out at once to quell it. If you are to gain your purpose, there must be no sign ahead of time.”

Roger considered, his face expressionless. He was certainly willing to pay if the patron could keep the violence to a minimum. Besides, what he said was true. There would be enough room for bargaining without contesting the obvious. “There is another part to it,” he said. “I want the prisoners and I want them outside the gate. I do not care about the mob. If it can be done without any disturbance, that will please me just as well. When we come to a price, I will pay the whole whether one man or a hundred is involved.”