Chapter Nineteen
The eagerness with which Roger accepted Chaumette’s proposal was a measure of his growing need to escape from France. He should, of course, have been more suspicious, but he assumed Chaumette would depend on his trusted henchmen to enforce obedience. Certainly those who watched him now were far more attentive than those Toulon had set upon him. Since Roger had no intention of saying a word or making a move that would be suspicious, and since he had given up the idea that Leonie could be forced to escape without him, he was not much troubled by the man who sat in the kitchen listening to every word he said to his customers and, through a crack in the door, watching his gestures.
Leonie found the presence of Chaumette’s watchdog far more annoying. He seemed to be directly in her way, no matter what she wanted to do. Moreover, it made her feel ridiculous to have a man tagging along at her heels when she went out shopping, and to need to speak loudly enough so that he would hear when she bargained in the market. Also, it made her neighbors afraid to talk to her. Nonetheless, she accepted the inconvenience without protest. Roger had told her the whole story after they were in bed. She was not enthusiastic about the rescue of little Louis-Charles because she was sure the boy was in no danger where he was. It was wrong, she thought, to drag him to England where he would become a pawn to be used against his own country, to become detested by the people he would be set to rule over if France was defeated. As long as Louis-Charles was in France, it was possible republicanism would become abhorrent and the child would be made monarch by the desire of the people he would rule. Then he would be loved and he would be able to do some good.
Unfortunately, the choice was not theirs. To refuse Chaumette was to die. Leonie knew that. Therefore she accepted the situation and, with a psychological twist typical to herself, dwelt on the happy side—that she and Roger would escape from a situation that was growing intolerable. Roger explained the final bit in writing. Even in bed with the listener out of the house for the night, he did not dare so much as whisper his intention of ridding themselves of Chaumette’s men and taking Louis-Charles to England.
By January twelfth, Leonie, Roger and their watchers had settled into tolerance of each other. In the afternoon Roger stuck his head into the kitchen to tell Leonie he was on his way to pick up a shipment of gun barrels he needed to finish some urgent repairs for the gendarmerie.
“Will you take Fifi along?” Leonie asked casually, ignoring the man in the kitchen. “She could use a long walk. She’s getting fat since we go out so seldom.”
“Better not,” Roger replied. “I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait and I don’t like her running around loose. I should be back before closing time if anyone wants to see me, but not much before that. Citizen Vincent’s gun is right on the counter, if he should come in. I’ve written out what was wrong and the bill. Is there anything you want me to bring back?”
“No, thank you—oh, yes, there is. The baker is holding a loaf for us. Will you pick that up? My watchdog,” Leonie tipped her head toward the door to indicate Chaumette’s man outside, “looked a little weary after following me all over the market this morning.”
Roger laughed and went out, looking over his shoulder to make sure the man trailing him would not get lost. As soon as they were away from the immediate neighborhood, he stopped and gestured the man forward, asked his name, which was Garnier, and suggested that they might as well walk together. After his initial surprise Garnier agreed, and they strolled along, chatting agreeably enough about general things, like the high price of everything and the way the war was progressing. This last was a safe enough subject, France having expelled the British from Toulon and holding its own on other fronts.
Meanwhile, Leonie had moved into the shop. She was aware, after a few minutes, of men’s voices at the back door, but she paid no attention aside from an irritated hope that they would not eat all of the potted chicken she had prepared for dinner. In another few minutes the back door closed and the voices stopped. Then the bell attached to the front door jangled. Leonie automatically stood and looked toward the door, ready to answer a question or serve. The front door opened partway, as if someone were holding it from the outside and speaking to a companion or looking at something in the street. Naturally, Leonie’s attention remained fixed on the door as she waited for whoever was there to enter. She heard a soft movement in the kitchen behind her, and assumed it was the watchdog coming closer to the door so he could listen better. Thus she had no warning at all before a shout of “No!” and a simultaneous explosion in her head submerged her in blackness.
“You fool!” Chaumette spat at the man who now supported Leonie in his arms. “I told you to seize her, not to strike her. Imbecile!”
“I’m sorry,” the henchman stammered, his eyes wide with terror. “I was afraid if I only held her, she would cry out.”
“How could she cry out if your hand was over her mouth?” Chaumette asked furiously. Then, shrugging his shoulders, he added coldly, “It is too late to mend it now, but the blame for this lunacy had better not come upon me. You had better convince the lady that this was an accident, your fault, not mine, and that I mean her only well. She must be made to understand that I would not for the world have had this happen. She must be sweetened so that when I come, she will be willing to write a letter to her husband that will convince him she is well and happy, surrounded by every luxury, kindness, and comfort.”
“Of course, of course,” the man stammered.
Chaumette stared at him for a moment, then ground his teeth, “Danou, you are a jackass! I can read in your face what you intend. Do you know nothing of women? You think you can knock her around a little and she will agree to anything. Well, you are wrong! Somehow she will write a word, a phrase, that will betray what you have done. What she writes of must be real.”
“No, no, I never intended—”
“Let me make myself perfectly clear, Danou. To be sure I am not blamed for anything you do—and that I get the truth of it—I will tell Citoyenne Saintaire that I am furious with what you have done, and I will assure her that you will not be her keeper now that I know she was ill-treated. If she does not beg that you be set to guard her… Remember, Madame la Guillotine grows hungrier and hungrier every day, and what will happen to you before you get to her maw will make you think her kiss a sweet one. Do you understand me now?”
“Monsieur Chaumette—”
“Don’t you dare call me ‘monsieur’. I am Citizen Chaumette, just as you are Citizen Danou. We are equal—remember it! And do not waste my time with pleading. You have done enough harm. Take her to the house we have prepared for her. Here, I will hold her while you wrap her in that rug.” Then his rage rose again. “Stupid imbecile! Now you will need to bind her and gag her in case she wakes while you are transporting her. And remember not to let the horse go above a trot. The last thing we need is to draw attention and have someone find a woman bound and gagged in the fiacre.”
By now Danou was completely quelled. He removed the kerchief from around his neck to bind Leonie’s hands and used a strip of towel from the kitchen to gag her, then wrapped her in the rug he had just brought in and slung her over his shoulder. Meanwhile, the man he had been speaking to in the kitchen previously came down with some of Leonie’s clothes in a sack. Fifi looked up but at first did not move from the corner in which her bed lay. She recognized the scent of this man. He and the other had been in and out of the kitchen many times, and although they had never been named “friend” to her, which meant she must avoid them without fear or anger—therefore Fifi did not growl or think of biting.
The little bitch came to her feet, however, when the sack passed her. Faintly, there was the scent of the goddess. Then Danou walked by her with his burden. Intriguingly, it smelled powerfully of the goddess, mixed with other, less appealing odors. Fifi followed, slipping out the door as the man with the sack held it wide open so that Danou’s rug-wrapped burden would not bang against anything. D
own towards the end of the alley, where a fiacre was being held by a casual lounger, Fifi followed, sniffing and sniffing and greatly puzzled by what had happened. Her instincts told her it was not right that these men should remove things that smelled of the goddess. On the other hand, it had been made clear to her that these men were to be tolerated, even though they were not “friends”.
At the end of the alley Fifi hesitated. The sack was thrown into the carriage. Then the man who had carried it seized the thing that smelled like the goddess and yet did not smell like her. Just as the other man lifted it into the carriage, it gave a jerk and muffled sound emerged. That was enough. Fifi bounded forward, but it was too late. The door on the fiacre had shut, the horse began to move. Fifi barked twice, but the carriage did not stop, and the little bitch gave up that useless protest and began to follow. As muffled as Leonie’s moan had been through gag and rug wrapping, there was no chance Fifi would not recognize her voice. It was not merely the scent of the goddess that was being carried away, but the goddess herself. She had disappeared once from Fifi’s life, and the little bitch had no intention of permitting that to happen again.
The moan had been heard by Danou also. If Leonie had remained unconscious, he might have watched behind to be sure that no one was following them. It was far more important to Danou’s mind, however, to pacify Leonie. Let his companion, who was driving, watch for followers. The second man did glance back several times, but he was looking for men or horses and carriages. In any case, at first Fifi flowed so close that the body of the fiacre hid her from view. She was able to keep up in the beginning because the horse was not being urged to produce speed; however, she was a small dog. She had to run hard and she had no breath left for barking.
Inside the carriage, Leonie’s first connected thought was of the pain in her head. Her next, even before she realized that she was bound and gagged, was annoyance at the insistent voice in her ear. It was so urgent, although low, and so annoying, that she had to listen even though her poor head resounded like a drum and every thump produced a lance of pain.
“…forgive me, citoyenne. It was an accident, I swear it. I will explain everything. I beg you not to be afraid. It must seem terrible to you, I know, but you will pity me when you understand, and you will forgive me. Don’t be angry because you were ill-treated. I swear no harm will come to you. I am so sorry it was necessary to tie you and gag you, but…”
The voice continued, but the sense of it was lost to Leonie as she realized she was bound and gagged and in total darkness. Instinctively, she fought to free herself. The voice in her ear responded, trembling with fear.
“Please, please don’t struggle, citoyenne. You will hurt yourself. Have patience, please. You will be released as soon as we arrive.”
The terror in the voice was so apparent that Leonie became momentarily more concerned for its owner than for herself. She had not yet had time to feel frightened. The pain in her head and the complete inexplicability of what had happened had produced confusion rather than fear. Now the assurances she was being given and the fact that she was being supported gently so that the jolts of the carriage—as the word came into her head, Leonie realized she was being abducted. Again instinct conquered, and she writhed and tried to scream.
“Madame Saintaire, please, please be still. No one intends you harm. Everything will be explained. Please!”
This time it was less the assurance of the voice than a conviction of helplessness that quieted Leonie. Her struggles had brought a terrifying sense of suffocation upon her so that she had to stop. With her mouth bound she could only suck air through her nose, and that was enveloped in the folds of the rag. For a time no thought could pierce the need for breath, but as her laboring lungs provided for the needs of her body while the agony in her head, which had been heightened by her struggles to move and breathe, subsided, her mind began to catch up with what had happened.
She had been in the shop. The door had half opened—yes, but no one had come in from outside and attacked her. As she thought about it, the pain in her head could be localized to the back right. So someone had struck her from behind. But Chaumette’s man had been in the kitchen. There had been voices there. The door had closed. Could someone have overpowered Chaumette’s man? She thought that over carefully, fighting down the fear that threatened to set her choking again. No, there had been no anxiety or warning in either voice, no sound of a struggle or a body falling. Perhaps—no, Fifi was in the kitchen. If one man struck the other in a surprise move, Fifi would have barked. The little dog did not like violence.
Then it had to be one of Chaumette’s men who abducted her. But that was mad! Roger had agreed to do everything Chaumette asked of him. What good would it be to—Leonie did not even need to complete that question to herself. Chaumette was cleverer than either she or Roger had realized. As had happened before, they had been blinded by their desire to have what Chaumette offered. Fear gripped her then, but not the kind of fear that would make her struggle against her bonds. She was a weapon to make Roger obey, to prevent him from escaping to England. While she was a hostage in Chaumette’s hands, Roger would never rid himself of the guards or try to escape.
The conclusion she had reached seemed the only possible answer, and as Leonie again became aware of the careful way she was being steadied inside whatever she had been wrapped in, that answer fit what the voice had said. But the attempts to save her from being bruised recalled to her mind that she was in a carriage. Where were they taking her? How far? Panic welled up inside the shell of rational fear and threatened to suffocate her again. No, she told herself, it cannot be far. Even Chaumette would not dare remove her from the city. There was too much chance that an overly officious guard at the gate would investigate so odd-looking a bundle as she must be. In confirmation, the movement of the fiacre slowed even more, and the voice, which had been silent while Leonie caught her breath, spoke again.
“We have arrived, Madame Saintaire. Please do not be frightened. I must carry you inside. As soon as we are in the house, you will be released.”
Inside she would be trapped! Leonie stiffened as she felt herself shifted and prepared to kick her abductor. However, the cocoon surrounding her prevented her from bending her knees much, and she thought better of the idea. First of all, the kick would have no effect, swathed as she was, except possibly to annoy the man who was about to lift her. Second, even if she hurt him, what good would it do? Bound as she was, she could not unroll herself and run away. She could not even scream for help while in the street. She was as effectively trapped now as she would be inside—more effectively. If she seemed passive and they did release her as the voice had promised, she might have a better chance to escape later. Accordingly, Leonie did not resist when she felt arms slide under her.
However, she was not lifted. A fusillade of sharp barks erupted. An unfamiliar voice cried. “Damn that dog! I’ll kill it.” Leonie, who had recognized Fifi’s bark gave a convulsive wriggle, which brought her to her feet and, even gagged, managed to utter a muffled shriek. The voice that was familiar bellowed, “No! Don’t hurt the creature. Quick, carry this—this rug inside. Quick, I say.”
Now fear for Fifi made Leonie lunge and twist and cry out behind her gag so that the second man could barely grasp her.
“Stop!” the known voice whispered harshly. “Stop! I will bring the dog in to you safe. Stay still!”
It was not an easy decision to make. The voice could be lying. It occurred to Leonie that she could cause great trouble by squirming. If anyone was on the street or looked out of a window, a violently animated rug would certainly arouse suspicion. On the other hand, anyone who saw would probably be afraid to interfere. The best a person might do was report such a happening to the Section leader. But, if the men were Chaumette’s, such a report would probably be ignored. Besides, she simply could not struggle for long. Already her head throbbed ten times as hard, and her lungs felt as if they were on fire. Leonie allowed herself to sag forwa
rd into the arms that had been seeking to restrain her.
As she was lifted and carried, she heard the familiar voice calling, “Come, Fifi, come. Don’t be silly now, you know me. Come.”
No, Leonie prayed silently, no. Run, Fifi. Run home to Roger.
That prayer was not answered. Although Fifi would not have come to Danou, since she had never been told he was a “friend”, the scent of her goddess, the muffled voice and movement that proved the goddess herself was attached to the scent, that it was not merely clothing, was being taken inside the same place where the man who was not a “friend” was urging her to go. That was too complex a problem for the little dog. She only knew that is was right for her to be with the goddess, even if the goddess chose to shroud herself in a thing that smelled unpleasant. Nonetheless, Fifi did not like it. She followed the man carrying the goddess, but she barked her protest all the way, and when Leonie was set on her feet, Fifi rushed growling to pull at the covering she disapproved of so much.
Danou hastened to satisfy the dog’s desire, although he was not thinking of Fifi. The other man, however, launched a kick at her, which Fifi managed to avoid although she yipped in protest. This drew a shout of rage from Danou. “Damn you, Panel, get out! Didn’t you hear Citizen Chaumette say that Madame Saintaire was to have everything she wanted? You fool! Is it the way to please her, to kick her dog? Get out!”
The rage in the voice was clear enough to make Leonie reasonably sure that what was said was true. Her deduction must be correct. She was to be a hostage for Roger’s behavior. And for some reason she could not yet understand, she was to be well treated. The rug was coming off. Leonie trembled with the desire to run, not because she was frightened but because her capture was the ruin of all their hopes. Don’t be a fool, she told herself. You can’t get away now. You must seem to accept whatever they say. You must be quiet, docile—stupid—as you were for Louis. Perhaps you can fool them, escape later. The rug fell away completely.
The English Heiress (Heiress, Book One) Page 34